Yekran nodded and sprang down into the crowd. Blade heard his voice rising loud and clear and profane. A moment later the reserves began to break up and drift back south.
And a moment after that, from the east, came a single great burst of sound. Hundreds of voices were all shouting the same name at once.
«Krog!»
The terrible cry seemed to paralyze every man and woman in sight. Except Blade. He bounded down the wall, ignoring the pains the violent motion sent shooting through his head. Yekran too was already on the move, heading toward the east-west street at a dead run. Blade bulled a path through the reserves and caught Yekran as they both turned into the street. Then they halted.
Streaming toward them came a mob of Dreamer fighters, fleeing in a mad panic from what was behind them. Blade recalled that Erlik had been in command here but could not see him in the confusion. The wall itself was alive with Wakers shouting «Krog!» and «Blue Eye!» at the top of their lungs and pouring forward. The Dreamers on the roofs continued to hurl down stones, fireballs, and arrows, but the People of the Blue Eye ignored them. And the wall was abandoned! With the wall abandoned, there was nothing to stop Krog's fighters from storming straight into the heart of the enclave.
Blade whirled on Yekran. «Back to the north side. Send all the trained fighters from the reserve down here. Then get ready for another attack from the north. They're trying to hit us from two directions at once.»
Yekran vanished at a run. Blade whirled around and faced the fleeing Dreamers, drawing his sword and whirling it high over his head. His voice roared out, louder than even the war cries of the oncoming Wakers.
«Stop and fight, you damned cowards! Do you want to be slaves? Do you want to see Pura in ruins forever? What kind of fools are you?»
Some of the Dreamers, ignored him and pelted right on past him as if he had not been there. But others jerked to a stop as if Blade had thrown a rope around their necks. They turned and stared at him.
«Yes, you!» he bellowed. «Stop and help me, you idiots. We can still win this battle. We can still win Pura!»
Whether they understood his words or only his tone, more of them stopped. Blade pointed back toward the oncoming Wakers and waved his sword again. «Come on, then!» He ran toward the enemy, and a dozen men followed him.
Blade had never been more certain in all his adventures that he was rushing to his death. But even a few minutes delay in the rush of Krog's fighters. . He stopped worrying about possibilities and fixed his attention on the oncoming Wakers. They had slowed from a run to a fast walk. But in the excitement of being inside the enclave with victory in sight, their discipline was going. They were coming on in a formation as ragged as that of any other Waker gang, fighting pairs scattering and breaking up. Blade saw Halda just behind the front rank, waving her arms and yelling at the fighters. Everyone seemed to be having trouble with discipline.
Blade pulled his little band to a stop just outside accurate spear-throwing range. At the sight of them the Wakers stopped and started pulling their formation into some sort of order. Good. That meant a little delay right there. Then Halda sprang out in front of the line, bloodstained and filthy but so magnificently alive that for a moment Blade almost found himself admiring her.
«Blade,» she shouted. «Why are you fighting for these stupid cowards? Come back to the People of the Blue Eye and help my father rule Pura!»
«Do you want that, Halda, or do you just want me to come back so you can stick a knife in my ribs while I sleep? Maybe you're afraid of fighting me here? You'd rather torture more helpless women?»
Halda screamed in raw, incoherent rage, and for a moment she could not say a word.
Blade stepped forward a few feet and shouted, «Let Krog himself come out and tell me this! Then maybe I'll believe it!»
Blade licked his dry lips. He had already delayed the Waker charge by several minutes. If Krog came out, exposed himself. .
A familiar slim figure pushed his way through the front rank of the Wakers and stood facing Blade, hands planted on his hips. He threw his head back and shouted, «Blade, my daughter speaks with my voice. Come over to us now, and live. Stay where you are, and die!»
Blade nodded. This was going to be delicate. If the Dreamers thought he was really betraying them, one of them might put a spear in his back as he walked toward Krog. But he didn't dare say anything to them.
Slowly he moved forward, a step at a time, arms spread wide, hands empty, sword well-sheathed. Behind him he heard the Dreamers mutter and swear and spit on the pavement. «Who's a coward now?» one of them snarled. He heard a rasp of metal and took another step. He expected to feel a spear tearing through him before he took the next one.
He didn't. There was less than a hundred feet between the Dreamers and the Wakers, but Blade had walked ten miles with less strain and tension. Soon Krog seemed close enough to touch. Meanwhile the thunder of the battle to the north continued. Blade licked his lips. Time, time. Where were those damned reserves he had told Yekran to bring? If this didn't work. .
Krog took a step forward until the two men were only a yard apart. Blade held himself completely motionless, giving no sign of his tension. Krog took another step forward-and Blade moved.
Flat-footed, with no build-up, he launched a kick at Krog's kneecap. The man reacted while the kick was in midair, but he jumped sideways, not backward. He was still in range when Blade launched himself forward. One arm beat down Krog's guard by sheer brute force and the other fist crunched into the side of the man's head. Krog would have gone flying into the air if Blade hadn't grabbed him by the collar of his tunic. Before Blade could make another move; Halda's voice shrieked, «Kill him!» and a building seemed to fall on Blade.
The Wakers did not dare use their weapons while Blade held Krog, for fear of slashing their own leader to pieces along with Blade. For a moment Blade held the unconscious man up as a shield, then half a dozen pair of hands clawed at both of them and snatched Krog away. Blade drew his own sword and had it up in time to ward off a whistling slash. A backhand cut opened one man's neck, a blow to the groin dropped another. Several more went down from wounds inflicted by their comrades. The Wakers were too closely packed to safely swing their weapons the way they were doing. That was all that kept Blade alive, that and his own lightning speed and tremendous strength.
He thrust and slashed and parried in a lethal sequence, constantly changing, murderously unpredictable. He forgot about Krog, forgot about the battle to the north. He forgot about the Dreamers standing by and watching him die; forgot about them so completely he didn't even resent their standing by. Gradually he cleared a space about himself; gradually the men he cut down piled up about his feet or crawled away. Gradually he backed toward the wall so that at least he could protect his back. He took minor wounds, and the blood oozed down over his body until he looked like some nightmarish monster.
The knowledge that he was going to die was stronger than before. He was running out of breath, running out of strength. He fought in deadly silence now. Halda joined his opponents, and her light sword was as quick as a snake's tongue, darting in and out and sometimes leaving red where it fell. Was she just playing with him?
A roar erupted from behind him, a solid thunder of running feet, battle cries, and cheers. The faces around him suddenly turned and stared. Blade bowled a man over by sheer impact and planted his back firmly against the wall. Then an arm lunged up from below and seized his kilt.