Hades’ Daughter. Book One of the Troy Game by Sara Douglass

She stumbled often, her bulk and awkwardness combining with fear to trip her feet, but there was no one there to aid her. Pandrasus had long gone, vanished into the swirling guards, and Tavia Cornelia had left back at the palace, and was now either caught in the fires or in the desperate struggle through the streets.

BRUTUS STEPPED INTO THE DARK HEART OF THE LAB-yrinth, and looked at his father.

Silvius, blood streaming in a thick rich river down his cheek and neck, gradually became aware of him. He dropped his hands from the shaft of the arrow, and held them out in appeal to Brutus.

‘What have you done?” he said, his voice a groan. “What have you done?”

Brutus looked at his father for a long moment. There was no pity on his face.

‘I have taken my heritage,” he said, and placing the pail on the floor, he leaned down and took the arrow in one hand and a handful of his father’s hair in the other.

Steadying himself, and firming his grip on his father’s head, Brutus said, “This I do for all Trojans, but I leave the Dorians—and all kin who ally with them—to their fate.”

And then he thrust the arrow brutally deep into his father’s brain.

HIGH ON HER SACRED HILLTOP, GENVISSA BOWED HER head, and smiled secretly, and kissed the flower that Brutus had sent to her. He was the man she needed .

CORNELIA REACHED THE DOOR OF THE HOUSE ON which she had stood, and stopped, staring at the chaos before her.

Suddenly Deimas materialized out of the crowd, blood streaming from a cut in his scalp, his face both pale and furious.

‘Witch!” he spat. “Look at what you have done.”

More angry than he could ever have thought possible, Deimas seized Cornelia by the arm and shoved her back inside the house.

‘Know that I save Brutus’ son, not you ,” he hissed.

HIS FATHER’S CORPSE VANISHED, LEAVING BRUTUS breathing heavily, staring at the now-empty blackened floor of the heart of the labyrinth.

‘Quick!” Membricus called. “People die!”

Without acknowledging him, Brutus picked up the pail and the bristle brush, and turned to the path that led back out of the labyrinth. He began to tread it slowly and most awkwardly, for as he went he bent down between his legs and drew a long line of pitch from the black heart of the labyrinth out along the path that led to the steps leading upward.

As Brutus walked, a growing line of black trailed behind him, leading the darkness from where it had been trapped in the labyrinthine heart to its escape at the foot of the steps.

And as he walked, Brutus was very careful never to look behind him, never to look at that trail of pitch.

He could not afford to see what it was that followed him along that black path from the heart of the labyrinth. If he saw it, if it knew he had seen it, it was close enough to snatch him.

Membricus, who could see, moaned, and turned aside his head.

Brutus was leading forth the evil that for centuries the labyrinth had trapped. It was the heart of the Game, the seduction and then the entrapment of evil, and Brutus was leading it directly into the streets of Mesopotama.

DEIMAS SHOVED HIS FACE CLOSE TO CORNELIA’S.

‘Call them back!” he shouted, trying to make himself heard above the shrieking and crying of the crowds. “Call your hired swords back!”

She stared at him, as if wondering who he was, then managed to collect herself. “I cannot,” she said.

“Who could make themselves heard above this din? Besides, I doubt they would listen to me. Not now.”

She was right—no one person could now make their voices heard above the horrific din of the

crowds and the fighting and the roaring fires—but that did not stop Deimas giving her a sharp, frustrated shake.

Then he looked back out at the death flowing down the streets, his face despairing.

BRUTUS WORKED QUICKLY AND METHODICALLY, THE sounds of the chaos outside sifting through the guardhouse and down to its subchamber.

He had almost reached the path’s final curve when Membricus, against all his better judgment, looked once again at what followed Brutus along the line of black pitch.

DEIMAS, ONE HAND BURIED IN THE SHOULDER OF COR-nelia’s robe, studied the crowds, then abruptly lunged into them, dragging Cornelia behind him.

She cried and beat at his hand and arm, but Deimas ignored her as best he could, and dragged her deeper and deeper into the press.

He prayed to whichever gods that were listening that the Trojan swordsmen would soon put a stop to the slaughter.

MEMBRICUS SAW A DARK, SWIRLING CLOUD OF DARK ness, evil incarnate—all the evil that had been trapped in the labyrinth since the day the city had been founded and the Game called into being.

He groaned again, then sobbed, and turned his face aside once more, a hand over his eyes, wishing he’d not been so foolhardy to look at what he knew would be there.

‘Courage, Membricus,” Brutus muttered as, finally, his back aching with having to walk doubled over, he reached the foot of the steps. He painted the pitch up to the foot of the first step, then stood up, wincing as he straightened his back.

‘We must get out of here,” he said. ” Now!”

CbAPGGR GUDGCVeRUTUS AND MEMBRICUS SHOUTED AT THE SIN gle warrior remaining in the guardhouse to flee, then they burst into the street.

And instantly stopped, unable to move for the press of the crowds that fought to pass through the narrow gate opening in the walls.

‘Gods!” Membricus muttered. “I had not thought it would get this injurious!”

Brutus didn’t even bother to reply. He placed one hand on Membricus’ shoulder, then gave a great heave, pushing him along the wall of the guardhouse and away from its door. With his other hand, Brutus grabbed at the warrior who’d followed them out, pulling him to safety as well.

There had not been an instant to spare. Blackness seethed out the doorway and instantly poured upward, as if seeking the light. It combined with the smoke of the fires, acting upon it as would cold water poured on red-hot metal.

There was a crack, followed almost immediately by a hissing and spitting so violent that the crowds forgot their desperate need to push and shove, and instead crouched down, hands over their heads.

Then, stunningly, the blackness and smoke overhead disappeared, leaving nothing but uncorrupted blue sky above them.

There was a stillness as, for a time, no one dared to move, then, from far away, came a faint shout.

‘The fires have gone out! The fires have gone out!”

Membricus, lowering his hands from his head, looked at Brutus, and frowned.

‘There is great danger,” said Brutus, standing. “We must get our people out. Now.’ There is no time to waste.” He shouldered his way into the now rising and murmuring people in the streets.

‘Trojans, hear me,” he shouted, his voice carrying far back into the city. “This city is doomed. Run, run, run for the bay and the ships!”

There was another long, still moment, then a sudden surge of movement as people once again grabbed at the hands of children, and at the baskets and packs tied to their backs, and hurried toward the gate.

‘Quick, but calm,” Brutus shouted, and amazingly, people seemed to heed him, for there was no more pushing and shoving, nor was there undue panic, although faces were tight with anxiety. “Quick, but calm.

If we hurry we will be safe, we will be safe !”

And the Trojans, composed but hurried, poured in an ever-increasing stream through the gates of the city and ran down the road toward the beach.

Brutus strode into the street, moving several paces away from Membricus, shouting encouragement and urging people ever forward. Membricus was about to follow him, when he stopped, stunned.

While people were now more relaxed, and moving quickly and far more efficiently through the streets toward the gate than they had previously been, not all people were moving.

Stranded here and there were still islands of people, sometimes composed of a single person, sometimes of a group of three or four or more. About them parted and flowed the stream of Trojans on their way to the gates and escape.

‘Who…?” Membricus murmured, then stopped, knowing the answer.

This I do for all Trojans, but I leave the Dorians— and all kin who ally with them— to their fate

, Brutus had said as he murdered (once again) his father, and now Membricus knew what it meant. The Trojans were free to go, free of the long-trapped evil that Brutus had released to settle on Mesopotama, but the Dorians, and presumably the swordsmen that Cornelia had hired to kill the Trojans (kin allied with the Dorians) , seemed as if they were stuck, their feet mired into the street paving.