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That’s my damned machete, Adam thought with a burst of indignation.
Zeinab was halfway across the ridge with Jemmahor in tow. The apprentice skidded to halt, then snatched a rock from the ground and whipped it at the charging Al-Saboor.
Ralph ducked with a yelp, fumbling his knife.
Zeinab grabbed Jemmahor’s arm and hauled her back into a sprint.
Adam lashed out at Scarface with a kick, and he went back down. Then Ralph was on him.
Adam dove under a blow from his own damned blade, taking Ralph in the ribs with his shoulder instead. He swung an arm around the man’s legs, catching them and flipping the skinny thug over his back.
Ralph landed with a stream of curses, and Adam skidded against the ground. Spinning around, he clutched at a handful of sand and whipped it back at Scarface. The mercenary had reclaimed his rifle, but dropped it again to cover his eyes with a scream.
Adam used the breath of time that bought him to look for Ellie—only to find her still lingering by the remnants of their cut ropes as Constance tugged at her arm.
“Come on, Ellie!” she urged.
“Get out of here!” Adam roared.
“I will not leave you!” Ellie shouted back, her voice raw.
Adam wrenched the rifle from Scarface’s hands—and looked up to see that Gaps, stationed by the tomb, had finally noticed the melee. He was darting toward them, his own gun raised.
There was no time for Adam to swing the rifle around and aim.
He threw the gun itself at Gaps instead.
The rifle hit him in the face, and Gaps went down.
Beyond him, Adam picked out Jacobs’ lean figure at the base of the ledge, where he had run to investigate the explosion. He was no longer looking at the crown of rocks above them. His eyes were on Adam. He took in the groaning pile of Al-Saboors at Adam’s feet with a cold glance… before his gaze snapped to Adam’s left.
Adam followed it—and saw a pair of dusty figures stagger out from under the boulder hiding the entrance to the tomb.
Neil’s glasses were skewed, his face smudged with dirt. His waistcoat had lost its buttons. He was holding an actual goddamned sword in his hand—though not in a way that indicated he had any idea what to do with it.
But he was alive.
Beside him stood a bareheaded, battered Sayyid, his beard pale with dust. As he straightened after crawling out from under the boulder, Adam realized he was also carrying something with him.
Wooden stick. Long-eared head. Forked tail.
For a moment, the night seemed to hold its breath. The desert breeze whispered and the stars sprawled overhead… as Sayyid held a legend in his hands.
“Well, hell,” Adam breathed with quiet wonder. “They actually found it.”
“Neil!” Ellie shouted, her voice tight with relief and fear.
Her cry echoed across the ridge, bouncing off the high walls of the cliffs that surrounded them.
Julian lurched from behind the shelter of one of the boulders scattered around the tomb entrance, his blond hair in disarray and the sleeve of his khaki jacket torn.
Dawson peered over the top behind him, took in the scene, and promptly dropped from view again.
“Forget the rest of them!” Julian jabbed a finger toward Sayyid as his voice rang out across the ledge. “That Egyptian has my staff!”
Grasping the aged bone hilt at his side, Julian whipped out a sword. The blade caught the moonlight for the space of a breath—and then burst into cold blue flames.
Julian charged at Neil, who flinched back, bringing up the ancient scimitar in his hand more on instinct than out of any real technique.
