There were crushed feet and broken arms as they hustled the bomb outside, but in five minutes it was safely inside Chara's machine. Again Blade knelt beside it, working furiously but carefully to arm it. He set the fuse for ten minutes from the moment the timer began counting, then ran a length of teksin cord from the fuse to the inside handle of the hatch. Now if anyone opened the hatch all the way, the cord would pull tight, setting off the bomb instantly. That was his insurance against curious mercenaries in Konis.
After setting the booby-trap he stuck his head out through the hatch for a moment. Good. The other three machines had already lifted out, Peace Lords jammed shoulder to shoulder on the platforms and clinging to the turrets as well. Others were scrambling into chariots and some of the more athletic were climbing up behind the cavalrymen on their horses. As fast as each chariot or horse was loaded, the driver or rider turned it about and headed away across the plain as fast as it would go. Chara stood on the machine's platform, urging everybody on with shouts and yells. In one hand she waved the Principal Technician of War's jeweled belt, in the other she waved a Looter rifle. She waved it so wildly that Blade ducked back inside in case she accidentally fired it off. As he did, he saw two men loading Silora's body into a chariot.
Chara sprang down to the ground at a word from Blade. He lifted the machine into the air and turned it until the shimmering milky sphere that was the dimension door was centered in the forward screen. Then he gave it a small amount of forward speed, ducked through the half-open hatch, then closed it solidly behind him. He took a final careful look at the dimension door. At least he would be able to tell Lord Leighton what the damned thing looked like. The machine was perfectly on course. Then he took a quick look at the ground slipping past ten feet below, swung himself over the railing, and dropped.
He landed harder than one ankle could really take. But he closed his mind to the stab of pain and sprinted toward the chariots. His own was there, one of only half a dozen left. All the cavalry was gone, and so were all the Peace Lords. He leaped in just as his ankle gave up the struggle, sprawling on his face on the floor of the chariot. The driver needed no orders, but whipped up the horses. The chariot swung about and began to roll.
As Blade pulled himself to his feet he saw a Looter war machine sail low overhead. It was heading for the dimension door. As Blade watched, the door ceased to be shimmering and milky, and showed a clear view of rocks and grass and buildings rising beyond the grass. The door was open and through it he was looking into Konis. Among the buildings Blade saw a polished metal oval gleaming-the machine that kept open the door from the other end.
The first Looter war machine plunged through the door while Blade's bomb-carrier was still a hundred yards away. Blade's wobbled in the disturbed air behind the other and swung off course. For a moment it looked as if it would slide past the door. Then some force flowing from the door itself caught it, steadied it, guided it smoothly and surely through the door. Blade mentally uncrossed his fingers. Now his work was done, and there was nothing left but to wish for good luck and fast horses to get clear in a hurry. The bomb could be no more than five minutes from going off, less if the mercenaries in Konis got curious.
It was less. The chariots had gone no more than another two hundred yards when the heat and the light of the sun itself seemed to burst into Tharn. For one split second white incandescence gushed through the dimension door. Then the door died, leaving only a fire that now had no beginning and seemingly no end.
The flame licked out and caught the dimension door machine. The metal blackened and buckled and peeled. Something exploded inside and the vast machine heaved itself into the air. It rose high enough to turn end over end before it came down, trailing smoke and flame. It came down squarely on the cargo machine, crumpling it inward. How much ammunition was left in that machine Blade didn't know. He only knew the size of the explosion that followed, as a sheet of flame blotted out the whole scene behind him.
Bits of metal scythed down two of the chariot horses. They screamed and fell, tangling the other two. Blade clung to the chariot as it leaped into the air with a corkscrewing motion. It was still in the air when the blast wave hit. Blade's grip on the chariot failed, and he spun helplessly through the air, to crash down on the ground and smash himself into blackness.
The first things Blade saw when he could see again were two faces bending over him, both wearing concerned expressions. One face was Chara's, disfigured by a massive bruise that covered most of one cheek. The other was his son's. King Rikard's red gold hair was matted with blood, sweat, and the filth of a long day's battle. But he and Chara both smiled as they saw Blade's eyes flicker open.
«Have we won?» was the first question that came to Blade.
The others both nodded. «We could not have won much more thoroughly than we have,» said the king. «When the explosions came, it seemed that the mercenaries lost their courage. Many of them tried to surrender or run. They did not succeed. Others, who still had ammunition for their weapons, turned their weapons on themselves. Most of the mercenaries are dead by now, and those who are not dead now will mostly be dead before darkness comes.»
«How long have I been out?» was Blade's next question. He was taking an inventory of his aches and pains as he did so. His ankle was swelling, his head ached, he was bruised and scraped all over, and his chest felt as though a ballet troupe had been dancing on it in logging boots. Also there were gaps where two teeth had been.
«Nearly three hours,» said King Rikard. «If you had not been breathing we would have thought you dead, and that would have been a grief to all of us. We have already lost many of the people this day, for the mercenaries fought well until they lost their courage. More than six hundred of the people will not see tomorrow's sun rise, and some of those hurt will not see many more. Anyara is among the dead.»
«I join you in mourning her. Tharn owes her much.»
«Yes. There is another whom Tharn owes much, also.»
«Silora?»
«Yes. Her body is safe in the same tent where Anyara already lies.» He hesitated. «Father, I speak in this for all those who doubted Silora, including myself. It is a grief to me that I doubted her, and a greater grief to me now that I cannot apologize to her. But there is something that may still be done. Will you accept that she lie in the same tomb with the Beloved Zulekia?»
For a moment Blade felt his eyes watering with more than fatigue and dust. Then he nodded. «I accept that; I accept it gladly.» He sat up, realized that his bones would not fall apart if he moved, and stood up. For a moment he had to brace himself on his son's shoulder, then stood alone.
«Let us get back to our people.»
As King Rikard predicted, the last of the fighting died down before nightfall. There was not a live mercenary anywhere in sight, and cavalry patrols armed with captured guns were on the prowl to make sure that those who had run away kept on running until they dropped dead.
More than two hundred thoroughly confused and frightened Peace Lords were prisoners-or guests. They weren't quite sure which, even after Blade assured them that they would be welcome in Tharn and find good homes, freedom, and useful work there. No doubt he looked like one more dusty and blood-spattered barbarian to them. He could hardly tell them of his real origins, however.
But Blade knew the Peace Lords would come around in time, and be a valuable aid to Tharn in its groping back to civilization. There would be problems getting them settled in, but nothing that his son and the council could not solve. What Tharn needed Mazda for had been done this day, and would not have to be done again.