Blade did not see from whence came the little dagger. He barely saw it flash before it was in the sergeant's heart.
For a big man Nob was lightning fast. He plucked out the dagger, concealed it again and caught the falling man all in the same smooth movement. He frowned and made sympathetic sounds. «Poor fellow-he's come down with something, I vow. All this excitement, I've no doubt. Very bad for the heart, sir.»
Blade did not know whether to laugh or be stem. It had been murder, but he was in no position to sit in judgment. This was Dimension X. And had he not, only a few minutes before, slain a man with one blow? He contented himself with saying, «Yes, Nob. There is certainly something the matter with his heart.»
As Nob eased the dead man to the cobbles, the trap sprang shut.
From beyond the gates came a high wail of trumpets. Blade had never heard this exact sound before, but he knew what it was.
«Charge!»
The gates crashed inward, torn away from the wall by frantic horses as the Samostan cavalry surged in. Banners fluttered and there was a continual call of trumpets. As the mounted horde jammed through the gate, too compressed and disorganized to be an immediate threat, Captain Mijax and Gongor set about assembling their men into squares of defense. There was a great deal of running and shouting and orders and counter-orders. Blade, after the first glance, knew that it was over for the Thyrnians if they stood and fought. Once the cavalry disentangled itself and was organized it would cut the foot soldiers down like weeds before a mower.
Nob was calm. He bent to pick up a last bauble that had eluded him and, eschewing the sling, stuffed his loot into various pockets. He tapped Blade's arm. «This is not the place for us, master. Gongor and the captain will stand and fight because they must, and because they are fools. But no law says that we must be fools also. You come with old Nob and maybe I can save our skins. I know this district and I know something better-every sewer in it. That's our way out, master. The sewers.»
Blade was more than ready. Horsemen kept pressing into the square and forming up in a half moon, the horns of which were designed to outflank the pitiful force of Thyme. By this time Gongor had succeeded in getting his men into a series of small squares which in turn formed one large square. Blade, fascinated and for the moment unmindful of his own peril, knew this to be a mistake. One large solid square would have been better. As it was, the squares were fragmented and afforded lanes by which the cavalry could infiltrate.
There was worse. A sudden hail of arrow fire came from the wall. Men in the squares screamed and fell. Blade saw Captain Mijax drop his sword and, still on his feet, use both hands to pluck an arrow from his eye. Another shower of arrows hissed in and the captain went down. The old white-headed man. Gongor, came to stand over the fallen captain and take his place. His snowy locks waved like a banner in the fading moonlight and he brandished his sword and shouted over the din.
«Rally to me, men of Thyme. To me, to Gongor. For Juna and our sacred city. To me. To Gongor. I invite you to die with mel»
Blade, who did not miss much, saw lance throwers join the archers on the wall. He noted that the lance throwing technique was one he had studied in old books back in Home Dimension. The lances themselves were little more than javelins, short and with heavy blades, razor sharp. They were fitted loosely into long sockets and when thrown the lancer retained the socket in his hand. Behind each lancer was a soldier with a supply of the deadly javelins-as the socket came back empty he fitted a new javelin into it.
By now Blade and Nob had taken shelter in one of the market stalls. Nob must have guided him there, for Blade had no recollection of the journey across the square. They crouched behind a counter and watched the dreadful havoc wrought by the javelin and arrow fire. The pitiful little squares were shrinking, half the remaining Thyrnians were down, dead or dying, and still the Samostan cavalry bided its time. The trumpets howled without halt and the cavalrymen cheered and brandished their shiny sabers, but they waited. When they did charge, Blade knew, it would be all over. The cavalry would be in among the shattered squares like wolves in the fold. Once the Thyrnians broke and ran, the horsemen could slaughter them at will.
Nob was on his hands and knees under one of the stalls. «Look you for a sewer top, master. Bound to be one about-I remember the market hags using them when I were only a younker. Look lively, sire, or by Juna's tits we've no chance. They'll ride us down like cur dogs.»
At that moment came a deeper braying of horns and Samostan foot soldiers began to march out of the streets and lanes leading onto the square. They had been lurking all this while, plugging every exit like corks in so many bottles. Now that the trap was sprung, and the Tbyrnians forced to stand and fight, the footmen wished to be in on the kill. They spilled into the square, six columns of them, advancing slowly with hoots and cries of derision. There were lancers and crossbowmen, slingers and swordsmen, all wearing the snake device on their armor and tunics. And the legend: A is Ister.
Nob was getting nervous. «Blast my balls,» he snarled, «there has got to be a sewer entrance hereabout. There must be! I remember. Many the pocky corpse I've seen tossed down-ahhhhhhh.»
Nob jammed his fingers into a crack in the cobbles and began to pry and pull, cursing all the time. A slab of stone began to move. It was a solid square into which half cobbles had been cunningly mortared for disguise.
«This is it right enough,» Nob gasped. Rivulets of sweat eroded the grime on his face, leaving white streaks. «As heavy as Juna's conscience, I vow. Give us a hand, master.»
Blade was experiencing a weird, an irrational, ambivalence. He could not understand it and was both puzzled and worried. He could not deny it-half of him wanted to flee, to gain safety and get on with the mission. The other half wanted to stay and fight with the doomed Thyrnians. Madness! He looked a last time at old Gongor, his white head shining like a beacon in the battle haze, walking from group to group of his men, encouraging and soothing, laughing while he promised them nothing but death. Part of Blade wanted to stay and fight. Much of the veneer of civilized life as he knew it in Home Dimension had worn away. He was becoming a new man, the man he always became in X Dimension.
He went to give Nob a hand. The bearded man was cursing and sweating and one of his fingers was bleeding. «If we don't shake our arses we're going to be caught,» he rasped. «I'll be a ball-less priest else. I don't recall these cursed things being so heavy. Aha, now! Just so, master. Catch that edge and we'll heave together-ar, now. Now-«
Blade put his great sinews into it and the sewer cover came up and away, out of its framing, so quickly. and with such impetus that Nob toppled over backward with a curse. His breeches split, and his pockets as well, and coins and jewels split and rolled around the stall enclosure. Nob began to scrabble about, frantically picking up his loot, swearing all the time by Juna's tits that he did not deserve this fate.
Now it came. A great cry of trumpets from the cavalry was answered by the braying horns of the foot. The blood raced in Blade's huge body, pounded in his temples, and he felt the hairs prickle on his neck. He sweated mightily and yet felt cold. He stood wide legged, shield adjusted, sword in his hand, and for a moment the battle madness took him. He would not run. He would stand and fight with the Thrynians.
The cavalry came on savagely, a long curving crescent of flashing sabers. On Gongor's right flank-Blade and Nob were on the left-the horses were already in among the broken squares and the butchery had begun. Blade caught a last glimpse of Gongor. That venerable old man was wielding a scarlet sword astride a pile of dead, slashing at four mounted lancemen who surrounded him. One of the chargers, a massive black beast, reared and pawed at the lone man. For an instant Gongor appeared to be wearing a crimson helmet, then he disappeared and the tide of cavalry swept over him.