As the enemy line shrank, Blade's hopes rose of finding a way around it and saving the records. The pile of parchment in the middle of the circle of cushions was nearly a foot high now. With all that material in the Baran's hands, the blow to the Thieves from tonight's work would be even more deadly.
Suddenly a lucky bolt from the roof struck down one of the defending archers. A man facing Blade saw this, turned, and ran toward the pile of barrels to snatch up the fallen crossbow. For a moment there was a gap in the enemy ranks. Blade hurled himself through that gap.
He did not try to strike at the men on either side of him, only get past them. They struck at him, but their swords grated harmlessly across the mail he wore under his tunic. Then he was leaping over the parchment, scattering some sheets like snowflakes, to attack the two men who'd been piling it up.
One had been wearing a mask, but now it dangled around his neck. Blade recognized a face known from another time and another desperate battle-another of the five Treases who'd been the judges of his testing before the Master. The other man he didn't recognize, but saw him holding the short thrusting sword and small circular shield favored by the Fighters of Junah.
Blade stopped worrying about the parchment and concentrated on staying alive against two men he knew would be formidable opponents. That saved his life-that, and the fact that once more he faced two good men who had never fought together before.
Blade's longer sword gave him an edge over the Fighter of Junah. Before the Hashom could prevent it, Blade disabled the Fighter's sword arm. Blade turned to meet the Treas, and shouted in fierce delight as he saw the look in the man's eyes. This man had seen Blade in action before, and knew how deadly he was. That knowledge made him afraid, and although he was a Hashom he couldn't keep the fear off his face.
Blade shouted again and pressed his attack. The Hashom's sword gave him an equal reach, but he was not as fast as Blade. Slowly Blade closed, twice getting through his opponent's guard to inflict minor wounds. Even more slowly the Hashom retreated, face growing pale and desperate in the knowledge that he was being backed against the piled barrels. Blade knew that sort of desperation would sooner or later lead a Hashom into a suicidal charge.
Before the Hashom could reach that point, Blade saw the Fighter of Junah moving in again. Blade shifted to a position where he could meet both men, then saw that the Fighter wasn't carrying a weapon. In his good hand he held a lighted taper. Blade leaped to place himself between the Fighter and the pile of parchment, but the other was quicker. The taper flew forward into the parchment as Blade's sword bit into the Fighter's neck. The papers must have been soaked with oil, because they blazed up in a column of flame as high as a man.
Blade's slash knocked the Fighter to one side, straight into the path of the Hashom. In that moment the Hashom launched his charge. He tripped over his falling comrade, twisted frantically in midair in an effort to save himself, and fell headfirst into the fire. He screamed and went on screaming until the flames sealed his throat.
By that time Blade's attention was elsewhere. Over the clash of weapons and the cries of dying men he heard a growing uproar on the roof. It sounded as if a whole regiment of the Baran's army was gathering up there. In another moment the hole in the roof was ringed with faces, and a dozen crossbows fired together.
The hail of bolts knocked one of the enemy's archers dead from his perch on the piled barrels. Miraculously the other man escaped with no more than a bolt in the leg. He was raising his crossbow to return the fire when three men came swinging down through the hole in the roof on long ropes. Blade stared, not really wanting to believe what he saw. One of the three men on the ropes was the Baran himself, swinging down into the battle like the star of an old-fashioned swashbuckling movie!
The Baran's swing was precisely timed and aimed. He plunged down at the remaining archer, legs outstretched, and kicked the man in the stomach. The unfired crossbow flew high in the air, while the man flew off the piled barrels so violently that he smashed into the wall.
With equally perfect timing; the Baran let go of the rope and dropped lightly on top of the barrels. For the moment he was out of reach of any armed enemy, but he was well behind the enemy's line. As he rose to his feet, several of them turned and recognized him. A throwing knife flashed through the air and bounced off his mail. Blade ran to the pile of barrels. His sword in one hand, he gripped the heavy timber bracing of the pile with the other and started hauling himself up to join the Baran.
A Thief ran at Blade, so blindly that Blade only needed to hold his sword out and let the man spit himself on it. Then Blade was hauling himself up on top of the barrels. As the Baran reached out to help him up, Blade heard an ominous crack from below. The bracing was giving way.
Slowly one of the heavy beams pulled free of its fastenings, while a second below it split completely across. A loud creak, and one of the immense oil barrels began to shift. With the deadly inevitability of an avalanche, it rolled out of place and dropped six feet to the floor, splitting open as it did.
Golden-brown oil poured across the floor like an incoming tide. It reached the glowing ashes of the pile of parchment. Suddenly there was hissing blue flame sweeping across the surface of the oil, toward the pile of barrels and toward the fighting men.
The flaming oil reached two Thieves and their robes blazed. As they screamed and twisted, Blade raised his voice until it could be heard even over the flames and the screams. «Get off the roof!» he roared. «Get off the roof, fast! The building's going up! Get off the roof, you idiots!» The Baran was staring around him, eyes fixed on the flames that were beginning to dance around the pile of barrels. Blade grabbed the Baran by his belt and by one arm and lifted the man as easily as he could have done with a child. «Catch him!» he shouted to the men on the floor, and saw four of them turn and brace themselves. Then he heaved the Baran off the pile. The ruler of Dahaura flew through the air like a football and landed in the arms of the waiting men. All four of them went down, but the Baran was unhurt.
Blade waited long enough to see the Baran on his feet, then jumped, hurling himself twenty feet through the air and dropping twelve feet to the floor. He landed with a jar that seemed to loosen every joint in his body and every tooth in his head. His fall was cushioned by the sprawled body of a Thief, so he was on his feet again in a moment. As Blade rose, the barrels of the pile behind him began to give at the seams, leaking their oil into the fire. The blue flames blazed higher.
The Baran and the four men who'd caught him were already on their way toward the door. Blade looked around him. The warehouse was filling with smoke, but the light of the flames let him see that the fighting was nearly over. The floor was littered with bodies of both sides. Some of Kubin's men and the Dyes were dragging off struggling prisoners, while others tried to gather up the bodies of their comrades.
Blade stopped them. «No time for that,» he shouted. «We've got to get out of-«His words were lost as the whole pile of barrels erupted in flame. A roaring blue wall swept to within feet of Blade, swallowing most of the bodies and nearly catching several of the living men. They jumped back, beating out smoldering patches on trousers and tunics. One tore a flaming hood from his head just in time to keep his hair from catching fire. Then all of them were scurrying for the doors, with Blade bringing up the rear.