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?