ward and he threw a tiny,
round object into the pile of broken wooden shelves on the floor. A roar
deafened Simon, and a blaze of white flame blinded him. The wooden
shelves were afire, the flames feeding on the powdered spices that
floated in the air. Heat seared Simon's face.

_Death of God! He truly is a devil!_

By the time Simon and the others had recovered from the burst of fire,
the enemy was out the door and running for the cellar stairs. Simon
cried out wordlessly in frustrated rage. He must not get away, not after
all he had done to them.

As the man in black reached the foot of the stairs, Philip stepped into
the doorway, drew his bow as calmly and carefully as if he were hunting,
and loosed an arrow. The man in black jerked to a stop. Simon could see
the shaft of the arrow protruding from his right thigh.

The man reached down and with a sudden movement snapped away the arrow
shaft. He drew a dagger with a strange blade that did not gleam; it was
dead black. He raced on up the stairs, limping, but with inhuman
strength and speed. Two more arrows flew at him, but missed, clattering
against the cellar walls.

Friar Mathieu stood at the top of the stairs. He held his arms out, a
lit white candle in one hand, blocking the stalker's path. The man came
at him with the dagger.

"No!" Simon screamed.

With a sweep of his arm the man in black threw Friar Mathieu down from
the banisterless stairs. The old priest fell six feet to the cellar
floor, struck with a loud, sickening thump, and lay there, still.

And the enemy was gone.

By the time Simon and the others had climbed up to the kitchen, the man
in black had vanished into the maze of dark rooms on the first floor of
the palace.

Simon, wild with rage and grief, forced himself to think. He was alive,
God be thanked, and he had saved the Tartars, but just for this moment.
The man in black, seemingly routed, might renew his attack at any time.

_And Friar Mathieu. Dear God, don't let him be dead!_

What was the creature Simon had fought in the darkness? Christian?
Saracen? Or, as his most frightening imaginings hinted, a being from
hell itself?

Clearly it was not some Filippeschi bravo who had somehow broken through
the palace's defenses. Simon's inspiration on the battlements had been
right; the Filippeschi attack had been only a diversion.

If a demon of this sort opposed the alliance, Simon felt more than ever
determined that the alliance must