Chapter 88One after another, the soldiers of Genghis fell before Shakespeare, collapsing like dominoes in the carpet of dried feratu. They came at him again and again, raging and howling and lashing out, but not one of them even slowed him down a little.
Shakespeare doubted he had ever been in deadlier form. Whoever the opponent, he countered every move with certainty and grace. The experience of a lifetime of violence guided his every step and thought.
All the same, he knew from the start that the battle was lost. His allies fought with no less fury and perfection than he—Alexander and Hercules fought with far more—but the enemy was already slipping through their gauntlet.
One and two at a time, they squeeze through our fingers, leaking into the crystalline maze. How soon until th
