Kicking and screaming

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The two other two soldiers had thrown open the door to the rampart walkway and bolted out into the night. No sun yet, only a misty grey halflight, the world still lost in monochrome. Twisting his hand again, his fingers found the clay bowl of the lamp. Fear uncoiled in his belly. The noise of the gulls had been tormenting him all day; they sounded so much Kicking and screaming human voices crying in agony. Then there were figures in the doorway, a low guttural laugh, and the door thudded closed once more. One soldier remained, backing away along the tunnel with stark terror in his eyes. He tried to recall everything that he had seen during his inspection of the walls days before: there were inner and outer gates, both firmly closed and barred from the inside, with a vaulted passage running between them and a chamber above. Somebody passed him a waterskin and he drank deeply. The club was broken and the giant tossed it Kicking and screaming; openhanded, the two men circled. Nazarius, his face more than usually sombre, was kneeling beside him. Glaucus was reeling, clutching his bleeding ear and letting out a high keening shriek. Bone cracked, and he smelled fresh blood in the darkness. Still running, they crossed the expanse of open Kicking and screaming between the theatre and the lower end of the agora. His body was pinned to the wall, the bodyguard’s full weight pressed against him. Another blade pressing into his back. Brinno stepped back into the portico.