Blade roared orders to the gunners around him. Then he spun around and called out to Dzhai. There was no need for him to speak quietly now-a raging thunder storm would have been drowned out in the crash and roar of the battle. Kukon's rowers put their backs into a faster stroke without waiting for a signal from the drummers. The men at the tiller heaved furiously, feet scrabbling on the deck. The rudder went hard over and Kukon began to turn.
As she did, the first line of enemy horsemen swept out of the darkness. They were moving along the shore at a fast trot, eyes forward, swords in their hands, guiding their horses by the pressure of their knees. They were so completely intent on pressing home their charge against their enemies on land that they did not think of the sea, or of what might come from it. So Kukon caught them totally by surprise when she swept out of the darkness and fired her bow guns into their ranks.
All four guns went off together with a flash and a shock that temporarily blinded everyone on the foc'sle and knocked everyone except Blade flat on the deck. Before anyone could rise or regain his sight, Blade's ears told him that Kukon's salvo had reached its target.
All four guns had been crammed to the muzzle with every stray bit and piece of matter the ship's gunners could find. Beach stones, nails, jagged chunks of wood, old musket balls and old muskets-flying death in a thousand shapes tore through the Steppemen. A hideous chorus from screaming men and screaming horses filled the night, nearly as deafening as the blast of the guns, drowning out every other sound just as thoroughly.
Blade opened his eyes and looked toward the land. The details of the slaughter, mercifully, were half lost in the darkness. At least two hundred Steppemen must have gone down. Nearly as many more had fallen as their horses stumbled over corpses or panicked at the blood and mangled bits splattered all over them.
Blade also saw that Kukon was coming up fast on the shore-much too fast. In their enthusiasm to get in close and get at the enemy, Dzhai and the rowers had worked too hard. Before Blade could open his mouth to shout an order, Kukon ran aground with a tremendous jolt and a horrible grating sound as her keel ploughed over the gravel of the beach.
This time everyone aboard went off his feet. Blade included. Screams sounded as some men fell over benches or were hit by the flailing ends of oars. Other men went clear over the side.
Blade scrambled to his feet. There was no need to tell the gunners what to do. They were getting up as fast as he was and leaping to clean and reload their pieces. He sprang up onto the heavy gun and looked at the scene on shore again.
It was impossible to make out what was happening among the tribesmen's huts. Flames rose in a dozen places. Around the flames, lost in their glare or lost in shadow, swirled scores and hundreds of savagely fighting men. Blade could hear a continuous roar of cries and shots and the clash of steel.
Beyond the piles of dead or dying men and horses, more Steppemen were riding out of the darkness. These saw Kukon. Some of them realized what she was, some of them realized what she had done-and some of them even realized who the tall man standing on her bow was. Steppemen began leaping off their horses, slinging their swords across their backs, and unslinging bows and quivers. Arrows began to whistle toward Kukon, sinking into her timbers and sometimes into the bodies of her men.
Under cover of the archers, other dismounted Steppemen began picking their way over the bodies of their comrades, heading for Kukon. Blade saw these men coming on, heard the whistle of arrows around him and the screams from his own crew. He realized that the Steppemen had thoughts of capturing Kukon. He also realized that they very well might do it. The pirates on land weren't going to help-they were much too busy with their own battle. Prince Durouman's men-where the devil were they?
As Blade tried to pick out the landing party from the tangled scene on shore, he heard a choked cry behind him. He turned to see Dzhai reeling, convulsively trying to pluck an arrow out of his stomach with his crippled arm. Then a second arrow sliced down and struck him just below the left eye. His mouth opened to let out a gush of blood, and his eyes rolled up in his head. Blade leaped to catch him and lowered him gently to the deck. As he did, he felt the pulse fade out of Dzhai's wrist, and the body went limp.
Blade suddenly realized that he'd been holding his breath. He let it out between his teeth with a long hiss. Then he rose to his full height, unslung the great Steppe sword from his back, and raised it high over his head.
«Men of Kukon!» he roared. «For our ship, for Captain Dzhai, for all our comrades, for our allies the Free Brothers of Nongai, for our ruler Prince Durouman-follow me!»
Then he turned and leaped through a gap in the bulwarks.
Blade landed precariously on Kukon's ram, which now rose a few inches above the surface of the water. As he struggled to keep his balance on the slippery surface, Kukon's heavy gun fired again. The blast knocked him off the ram into the water. He went completely under, came up spluttering, and found his footing. The water was only a little more than waist deep.
He raised his sword again and plowed forward, water churning about his armored torso. Around him he heard the whistle of more arrows; behind him he heard more splashes as Kukon's men at last started following him.
He hoped enough would stay at the oars to back her off the beach into deep water, but for the moment he couldn't care too much about that. He was no longer thinking of tactics or strategy or high-level politics. He thought only of closing with the enemy, of fighting and killing.
So it was not a man who emerged from the sea and charged into the oncoming Steppemen. It was a giant who roared warcries in a voice as terrible as that of the sea itself. It was a giant who swung a two-handed Steppe sword as easily as if he'd been swinging a feather fan.
Yet the sword was not made of feathers. It had the weight and the deadly edge of steel. Where it struck, Steppemen died. They died with their heads lopped off or split apart like rotten fruit. They died trying to hold their guts inside their gaping bellies or trying to stop the spurting blood from hacked-off arms and legs. They died, sometimes, before they could even cry out or fall to the ground.
In one way or another, all whom the giant struck died. The giant did not die. He kept on, blood and water dripping from his sword and his armor. He no longer shouted or cursed. He saved his breath for fighting.
Archers might have brought him down. But the press of men around him was too thick for the archers to shoot without hitting their own comrades. Some tried anyway. None of their arrows struck the giant. Some struck down the men around him; most struck the ground or men who were already past feeling anything that could happen to them.
Blade had long since lost track of the number of men he'd faced and struck down. He was beginning to lose track of time. He could hardly see any more, with the darkness and the blood, sweat, and water dripping down into his eyes. He could still see clearly enough, though, to know when Prince Durouman and the landing party from the boats came to join him.
He saw the prince in the lead, sword in one hand, mace in the other, both weapons continuously striking and smashing. He saw the prince's musketeers following behind their leader, trying to keep up with him as he crashed into the enemy. Most of them were no longer trying to shoot. They held their muskets by the barrels and swung them like clubs. The butts of the muskets were already matted and glistening with blood and hair.
The commandant's guards were also there, thrusting savagely with their short swords. Blade saw only five of them, but saw each one of them kill a Steppeman. They would certainly win back their honor tonight, if any of them lived to enjoy it.