The groaning sound welled up and up and up, shaking the sky. A vast, crashing sound boomed right behind and a grinding, splintering undertone was swiftly consumed by a roar that shook the ground and sent hurricane winds lashing ahead of the angry god's advance.
Zoe wrenched them free from gravity's cruel bonds and the Queen sprang ahead, soaring over the line of dunes. Below her, startled soldiers turned from their deadly play of iron, then shrieked in horror. The roaring deep rushed up, swallowing everyone on the beach, driving jumbled wood, canvas, cordage and stone cast up from great depths against the land. Lesser waves surged between the high dunes, boiling up the shallow streambeds and foaming in the river mouth.
The Queen turned at the top of her leap, heart in her throat, and saw the great fleet crashing to ruin on the shore.
Many ships had ridden out the sudden wave, but more were shattered wrecks, some still afire-for even Poseidon's wrath could not quench combusting phlogiston-and they glowed and smoked, far beneath the raging surface, shining stars drifting into the abyss.
Weeping for her sailors-many Palmyrenes served aboard the fine, trim ships-she fluttered out of the sky, an armored harpy, circled by quick winds. Sand crunched under her boots as she landed on a slope strewn with the dead. A sunflower banner leaned drunkenly not far away and the Queen looked down into a vale behind the dune ridge, where men still clashed, raising a great smoky din, blades and spears flashing in the dimming, flame-shot light.
More of her allies-a motley band of Huns, Sahaba and Persian land knights-climbed past her, their grim-faced captain aiming to join the battle.
"Fools," she growled, seeing the mighty shape of the King of Kings rampaging among the melee.
A snapping crack of thunder drew her attention and the Queen turned to the north. Light blazed in the air over a town, even now inundated by the rushing waves. She drew back, feeling enormous forces unleashed, making the sky ripple and shake. Her blue eyes went wide and a great, dreadful chill settled in her heart, making her limbs weak. The stone door is breaking!
The earth bounced under Maxian's hands and he let the shock fling him to his feet. The Persian sorcerer was taken unawares by the violent motion and spun in alarm. A towering black wave crashed against the seaward side of the amphitheatre, foam boiling through the pillared terraces and arched tunnels. Maxian let the full power of the Oath rush into him, opening his heart to sixty million striving lights, his fist dragging through suddenly thickening air. The sorcerer screamed in fear, seeing a wall of surging dark water spill across the amphitheater floor. Dahak sprang into the air, conveyed by a ghostly cloud of winged spirits.
Maxian snarled, lean face splitting with a furious grimace and leapt up himself. His blow cracked into the Persian's shields, splintering wards visible and invisible alike. Wreathed in lightning, his fist smashed across the serpent's temple. Stunned, the sorcerer flew into the first rank of seats, smashing through marble and brick and lava stone. His shields flickered and the prince bounded into the ruin. Lightning roared up from the earth, catching the Persian as he staggered to his feet.
Howling, the creature writhed in torment. Maxian stabbed in, fingers stiff in a sharp, cutting sign. The Persian's chest dimpled with crushing, irresistible force. Another shriek of agony pealed from an inhuman throat. Ghosts blew away in a sparkling cloud, unable to resist the prince's advance. Haloed in whirling, incandescent fire, Maxian forced a burning hand towards the sorcerer's scaled neck.
Squirming away, the Persian clawed at the prince's face with razor-sharp talons. Black fingernails bit into Maxian's neck, but the skin healed as fast as they tore, stiffening into dark hide-like armor. Maxian slammed his fist down, crushing the serpent's shoulder. Bones and scales popped, blood spattered on the marble seats and the Persian gasped, unable to breath, collarbone cracking.
Floodwaters broke on the lower seats, fountaining back from the retaining wall. Across the oval, pillars tore loose from their moorings, vanishing in the foaming sea. Statues of the gods and heroes toppled from the upper deck and the entire edifice shivered, bricks splintering. The sea rushed back, cresting, and the eastern wall of the theater collapsed with a grumbling, sharp roar. Bricks, stone, timbers, marble, blocks of tufa larger than a wagon-everything was swallowed by the sea.
Maxian's eyes blazed bright, the power of an entire Empire shining from his mouth, his skin, every pore. The Persian tried to turn away, seeing his destruction in the terrible brilliance. The prince pinned him, one knee cracking a weak arm against the stone floor. His fist opened, flames lashing the sorcerer's broken face and Maxian forced his fingers-spread wide-onto the Persian's forehead.
"You," Maxian growled, savaged throat barely able to form the words, "will never threaten my city again!"
Dahak screamed, a long, wailing, unending cry of torment, his body thrashing violently, every limb loose in abandoned, unhinged motion.
"Rome! Rome and victory!" Alexandros lunged forward, fighting his way through struggling men. The line of legionaries and Goths had broken open, letting the Persian Immortals pour into the gap. A giant of a man was in their midst, howling like a titan, laying about him with an impossibly huge sword. Even the ghostly centurions fell back before him and the Macedonian saw the heavily armored pushtigbahn widening the gap with brutal efficiency. "With me, men of Rome!"
Alexandros loosened his grip on the shield in his left hand. Shouting wildly, he sprang in front of the giant, throwing a high cut at the man's head. The giant spun-so nimble for his great size! — and blocked effortlessly. The Macedonian tried to slip the blow, letting his sword bind on the longer, larger weapon, but so great was the other's strength the spatha was nearly torn from his hand. Alexandros scrambled back to avoid losing his head. The shield was held only by a single strap in his fingers.
The Persian champion rushed in, his blade flickering in tight, controlled slashes. Alexandros blocked hard, swiping sideways to catch the blurring tip and felt his arm rock with the blow. He threw the shield at the man's feet, all of his strength in the motion. The giant hacked down, catching the Macedonian's sword and driving the blade into the sand. Alexandros rolled away, suddenly weaponless, and the man shouted in pain. The flung shield had smashed into his trailing foot and he toppled, going down to his knees.
Heedless, Alexandros plowed into the Persian, slamming his armored hip into the man's face. The golden mask crunched, skewing to one side. The Macedonian followed with a kick to the giant's throat, then gasped, his own foot snatched from the air by a blurring hand. He slammed down on the sand, breath punched from his breast. Alexandros rolled, sand spraying, and a massive fist smacked into the ground. The Macedonian twisted, cracking his vambrace-encased arm across the dented mask. The giant grunted, his tree-like neck barely moving with the blow.
Alexandros scrambled to his feet, sliding back. One of the Roman centurions pitched him another sword and the Macedonian caught the spinning blade from the air. In a single motion he grasped the hilt, flipped the scabbard away and fell into a guard stance.
The giant rose as well, wrenching the golden mask and helmet from his head. Enormous mustaches, dripping with sweat, jutted into the air, and keen, bright eyes looked down upon Alexandros. A huge grin split the man's face.
"A worthy foe, by Ormazd!" he shouted in a basso roar. "The very likeness of the Greek devil Iskender!"
"I am the very Macedonian devil," Alexandros snarled, feeling his muscles waking to the task. "And you the greatest of the Persians, I wager?"