He thrust his staff into the first soldier's throat. He felt the windpipe collapse under the blow, saw the man fall, and heard him choking as he thrashed on the ground. His comrade slashed at Blade, who stepped back and whirled his staff end for end. It smashed across the back of the soldier's neck, sending him forward on his face. Then the other end came down with all of Blade's strength behind it, against the base of the soldier's skull. He died without a twitch or a whimper.
Both men were down, but the animal under the wagon was still piping shrilly. Blade could hear the snorts and curses of other soldiers rising out of sleep. He had even less time to waste than before.
He dashed to the fourth wagon, drew the sickle blade, and slashed at the curtains. After the first slash, he put the steel away and ripped with his bare hands. The curtains gaped open, and several women stuck their heads out to stare at Blade.
«Twana?» he called softly. Then, louder, «Twana!» A faint cry of surprise, then the sound of a struggle. A woman screamed; another sprawled on her stomach, half out of the wagon. Beside her, Twana's face appeared out of the darkness. Blade reached with both hands, clutched the girl by the shoulders, and heaved. With an astonished yelp, she flew out of the wagon. Blade's grip on her was all that kept her from sprawling on the ground.
She was barefoot and wore nothing but a length of cloth knotted about her waist. Even the quickest of glances told Blade that she was breathtakingly lovely, although shaking with cold, surprise, and fear. He snatched up a blanket dropped by one of the dead soldiers and ripped the shirt off the back of the other, then thrust both garments at Twana.
«Put these on and then run!»
«Run?» she repeated, her eyes wide and her hands trembling so that she could hardly grip the clothes.
«Yes, run!» said Blade. He would have liked to be gentle with the terrified girl, but there was no time. «Run toward the hills and the wall.» He pointed into the darkness. «Find a spring at the foot of the hills and hide there.»
«The Wall? It is forbidden. I cannot…»
«If it's forbidden, then the soldiers won't think of looking for you there,» said Blade. He felt like shouting. «Or do you want the soldiers to catch you again?»
That thought seemed to frighten Twana out of her paralysis. She snatched the garments from Blade's hands and dashed off into the darkness without bothering to put them on.
Blade hoped she'd be able to outrun any pursuers and wouldn't hide herself so thoroughly he couldn't find her himself. Meanwhile, a little quick work around the camp, and the soldiers might have too much on their minds to pursue him or Twana.
All the women in the two wagons started screaming at the top of their lungs. Blade couldn't make out a single word. He ignored them and bent to strip the dead soldiers of their weapons. He'd picked up a sword and was just picking up a bow when he saw two more soldiers coming at him out of the darkness.
Blade swung the bow sideways, cracking one man across the ankles. He yelped and began to dance around as if on hot bricks. Blade raised his sword and blocked the second man's thrust. The man's momentum carried him past Blade, who whirled and took his head off with a single slash. Blade slung the bow, picked up the quiver, and jumped onto the driver's seat of the nearest wagon. Now he could see more clearly what lay around him.
The camp was coming awake slowly, but too fast for Blade's comfort. He pulled an arrow from the quiver and looked for the two torches. If he could shoot them out, he'd have total darkness on his side. Then the musketeers and archers might not risk shooting for fear of hitting a friend.
Someone in the camp fired a musket, and someone else screamed in agony as the ball plowed into him. Blade found the first torch, aimed at it, and loosed his arrow. Someone ran into the circle of light around the torch just in time to take the arrow in his chest. Another scream tore the night, and a dying hand clutched the torch for a moment. Then the hand unfolded, and the torch dropped to the ground, going out as it struck.
Two arrows whistled over Blade's head; then a musket ball thudded into the wagon just below his feet. Some sharp-eyed soul had apparently picked him out as the source of the trouble in the camp.
Blade sprang down from the wagon seat, slung his bow, and charged into the camp. That was the last place anybody would think of looking for him at the moment. He ran until he felt as if he were skimming the ground, leaping over tent cords and men still wrapped in their blankets. As he approached the second torch, he saw a group of four men burst out from the tents, heading in the same direction. They reached the torch first. As the man in the lead clutched it, Blade recognized him. It was the Aygoon.
Blade didn't even break stride. He was on the men before they could even see him coming. They wore no armor. Blade's sword swung, taking two of the men in a single slash. One clapped his hands over a gaping chest; the other gushed blood where his jaw had been. They fell back, driving the third man with them. Blade turned to face the Aygoon.
The Aygoon started to drop the torch, raising his sword with his free hand. Before he could complete either movement, Blade's left hand closed on the shaft of the torch. Blade's enormous strength snatched the torch away as if the Aygoon had been a child. The man struck a desperately clumsy, one-handed blow with his sword. Blade blocked it easily, then thrust the torch into the Aygoon's face. His beard and hair blazed up. He dropped his sword with a scream and clawed at his face. Blade put an end to the Aygoon's agony by splitting his skull with an overhand slash. Then Blade turned and ran, bloody sword in one hand and torch blazing in the other.
He didn't throw the torch away. A plan had leaped into his mind. If he carried out that plan, not only he and Twana, but Twana's village, might be safe from the Shoba's soldiers.
On the far side of the camp lay the five cannon and the canvas-covered wagons that held their powder and shot. Blade charged across the camp toward those wagons as if he were trying to set an Olympic record. The torch danced and flickered wildly but kept burning. Arrows and musket balls whistled past him in all directions. Everyone in the camp seemed to be in a panic of firing. None of the shots came close to Blade, but he heard a number of screams as men hit their own comrades. With their commanding officer dead, it might be quite a while before even the best-trained soldiers got themselves sorted out.
Blade ran past the cannon and up to the first of the wagons. He yanked off the cover and saw a pile of canvas bags. They bulged as if they held shot. Not what he wanted. He moved on to the next wagon.
A bullet whistled inches from his ear as he tore the cover off the second wagon and saw a dozen fat wooden barrels, all heavily tarred. A large wooden mallet lay in the bottom of the wagon. Blade picked it up, as another musket ball flew so close he felt the wind on his skin. Two sharp blows, and the wood of the barrel's head cracked. Black grains trickled out. Blade thrust the torch against the canvas cover, waited until the flames began to rise, then threw the canvas over the barrels. The tar took fire. Blade threw the torch in among the barrels and ran, as arrows began to whistle down around him. He ran off into the darkness, and he'd covered about two hundred yards before the power wagon exploded.
The sheet of flame seemed to wash over the whole camp, and Blade saw tents go down and wagons topple over as if they'd been shoved by a giant hand. Bits and pieces of flaming wreckage shot into the air like fireworks. Then the long rumble and roar of the explosion surrounded him. The shock wave was so violent he nearly stumbled. He kept on until the last of the flames died. Then he slowed down and made a wide half-circle around to the other side of the camp, where the animals were tethered.