
The knight sneered. "Hospital? Are you heretics so
foolish that you have carpenters for doctors, or so blasphemous that you worship
in their wooden stalls?"
"Was our Christ not a carpenter?"
"I'll hear no more blasphemy!" And the knight raised his sword and
struck.
Malachite watched the arc of the blow from above, unable to reach out and
stop it--and in the speed and force of the blow, he recognized the inhuman
strength of the wielder.
The heavy blade sliced cleanly through the arm the monk raised for protection
and struck fiercely into his brain pan. The monk's body, wracked by spasms,
tried to crumple, but steel lodged in bone held it aloft. Not until the knight
kicked at the monk's face did the body jar loose and fall twitching to the
ground.
"God of my fathers... no," Miriam said, hand covering her mouth,
gaze ensnared by the bloodshed below.
Had she not been standing beside Malachite, he would not have heard her, because
with the fall of the sword, true panic seized the crowd. Screams. A press
of bodies, but in conflicting directions. Some of the fleeing dropped or knocked
the injured to the ground. A few foolhardy souls flung themselves at the knights
but were quickly struck down or trampled under hoof.
"There is a cellar," Miriam said. "We can hide."
Malachite shook his head as he saw the knights, several with torches, converging
on the wooden building. "No." Perhaps they had wished at first to
search the compound, but now their blood was up, and they were determined
to cleanse the world with flame. And there were Cainites among them. The boy
had said it, and Malachite had seen as much now with his own eyes. But these
Cainites were of the West, or recently returned from the Levant, perhaps.
They cared nothing for Malachite's authority under Michael, nor for Constantinople.
To them the Dream was nothing more than a vision of gold to fill their coffers.
But they will stay back, Malachite thought, back from the flames.
His nose twitched at the scent of smoke--not from within the city walls or
the smoldering ash of the surrounding neighborhood this time, but from flames
licking fresh timber at the base of the building. There are mortals among
them as well, he suspected. To handle fire so brazenly, they would likely
be mortals. He hoped as much, for it would increase his chances of escape--his,
and the boy's, and...
"They're setting the building on fire!" Miriam realized, her mortal
senses lagging behind Malachite's.
He grabbed her by the sleeve and dragged her stumbling to the far side of
the roof. "Climb onto my back," he told her. "Hurry."
"But they're setting fire to the building!" she told him, as if
somehow he did not understand that. "There are still people downstairs--some
of them can't walk!"
Malachite understood that as well. "You can do nothing more."
"They can't walk! They can't get out!"
"Thousands are perishing in this city. Go down there, and you will be
one of them. Are you so ready for death?"
She hesitated, unable to argue with his blunt assessment.
"Climb onto my back and hold tight. Now."
She did so, but Malachite could feel the weight of her guilt at saving herself
while those she had cared for would die. He gave her no time to reconsider
but jumped at once. The ground rushed to meet him. His bones and stringy muscles
absorbed the jolt, aided by the strength and resilience of the blood. Miriam
coughed and sputtered, the breath knocked from her.
"Hurry!" Malachite said, jerking her to her feet when she staggered.
She had bitten her lip, and blood ran down her chin. "Can you carry the
boy?" he asked, seeing that she could walk. "He is not heavy."
She was confused for a moment but then nodded. Malachite handed her the frail
body.
Taking her by the sleeve, Malachite began leading her away from the building.
This was no orderly siege but rather an impulsive slaughter. The crusaders
had formed no organized perimeter. Still, to remain near the building was
to court disaster. Already the flames were whipping high on the other side.
Screams filled the night: terrified, pained, silenced by sword, tortured by
fire.