Even as he stamped downward with his foot, he knew that this was the end. He was off balance, and Halda was rushing in, sword poised. He twisted frantically. Her thrust at his chest missed, but he knew that his throat was wide open. Then a scream rose above the uproar. .
«She's mine!»
. and the meaty chunk of a spear sank into flesh. Blade twisted again, staring at Halda, watching the sword that had been ready to end his life drop to the pavement with a clang. Both Halda's hands went up to jerk futilely at the spear transfixing her body. Her eyes stayed open for a moment, staring at Blade, then drifted shut as she joined the other bodies on the ground.
Not quite sure if he was sane or not, Blade stood and stared as Narlena and Yekran charged past him, screaming wildly, while a hundred or more Dreamers ran behind them in a solid mass. The charge struck the Blue Eyes like a battering ram hitting a gate. Once again there was a crash that nearly deafened Blade. For a moment the two fighting masses surged back and forth, clawing at each other. The shock of seeing both Krog and Halda go down struck the Blue Eyes, and their discipline and training broke. One more surge forward by the Dreamers and the Blue Eyes were fleeing madly down the street. Arrows, jeers, and a few overly bold Dreamers followed them. Blade was relieved to see Yekran dash after them and bring them back. He also noticed that a good number of the Blue Eyes were surrendering-and recognized many of them as former slaves he had trained himself.
The numbness of battle was gone now. Instead Blade seemed to be feeling everything, sensing everything, more intensely than before. Narlena seemed more lovely than any woman he had ever known as she stepped toward him, looking down at Halda's body.
«I said I would live at least until I killed her,» Narlena said quietly. «And I-look, there's Krog!»
Blade's eyes followed her pointing hand. The Waker leader was groaning and struggling to sit up. Narlena drew her knife and looked inquiringly at Blade. Blade shook his head, walked over to the man, and knelt beside him. He felt neither fear nor hatred toward Krog. In fact, he felt as if he were above all human emotion.
Krog's eyes flickered open, looked up into Blade's, and found no expression there. «Do you hear me, Krog?''
«Yes.»
«Will you take your gang and all the other Wakers and go far to the north, away from Pura?»
Krog was silent.
«If you agree, I will take your people prisoner when I catch them. If not, they will all die, and then you will.»
«All right. We will leave Pura.» With a faint smile he said, «I do not know if the Dreamers deserve to have the city, Blade. But I know that you do.»
Blade rose. He had to fight to realize that he had actually not captured all the surviving Wakers and driven them out of Pura. He found himself facing Yekran, noticing a long bloody slash across the man's muscular chest and the quiet joy in his eyes.
«We should have come sooner,» Yekran said. «But on the north side they just kept coming and coming. I remembered what you once told me about splitting one's forces. So I kept everybody there until the attacks stopped. We used everything we had, and killed more than half of them.»
More than half. How many was that, exactly? Blade didn't know. But he knew as if he had seen it engraved on a wall in front of him that the power of the Wakers was broken. They would have to follow Krog north-follow him, or die in Pura. The Dreamers-no, the Purans-would see to that.
But there were still things to be done. His brain was working with unnatural clarity, and he knew it.
«Yekran, give me a light.»
«A light?»
«Yes, of course.» Why couldn't the idiot see as clearly as he what needed to be done? «Some of the Wakers may be hiding in the buildings. Patrols have to go in after them, bring them out. Give me a light and half a dozen men, and I'll start.»
Yekran handed him one of the marconite lights but shook his head as he did so. «Blade, you are wounded and tired. And you have already saved us three times this night. You should lie down and rest.»
The word seemed to echo in Blade's mind for a moment-rest, rest, REST-the last echo flaring sharp, agonizing pain in his head. He staggered but kept his face expressionless. Another near-miss by the computer.
«Afterwards, Yekran, afterwards.» Without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked slowly toward the nearest building. The strength seemed to be draining from his legs, but perhaps if he walked very slowly-?
His path took him toward the wall and toward a body lying about fifty feet behind it. A familiar body, among all the strangers. Erlik. The little man who had doubted that Pura could be saved. And he had died helping to save it. His sword was still clutched in his hand, and three Waker bodies lying near him told how well he had learned what Blade had taught. Blade kept on walking, holding the light tightly in both hands.
The pain came again, pulsing harder and harder, increasing steadily as the computer's grasp on his brain tightened. The wall of the building ahead seemed to fade from purple to lavender to white. Then it was transparent, and then it was gone entirely. A great flood of golden light poured out. Blade kept walking past where the wall had been, feeling nothing now, seeing only the golden light. It grew brighter until it was almost blinding him. At the same time a hot wind seemed to be blowing on him from all directions. A strange heat. It did not burn, did not take his breath away. It matched the light though. The light itself was still getting brighter and brighter.
Blade closed his eyes and let the heat envelop him bit by bit until all sensation faded away.
Chapter Twenty
In the west-bound train Richard Blade unfolded the newspaper, re-read the article in the society column, and grinned. Now that it was no longer a surprise, he could savor the amusing quality of it even more.
Annie was getting married-Annie, the wild and free. Had she simply been having a final fling with him on that cruise? Possibly, since she must have met the fellow she was marrying before that. But Annie must not have been planning to marry him at the time; Blade doubted that she would have sailed with him without telling him about the other man. She was much too honest to play games.
However, that was a rather fruitless line of speculation. What was down in black and white in the paper was very simple. Lady Annette Cecile Pangborn, second daughter of the Earl of — , had announced her engagement (Nobody announced anything for Annie!) to Commander Edward Francis Martin, R.N., currently commissioned on HMS Devastation. Place and date and the other inevitable social details followed.
So Annie was going to marry the C.O. of the Royal Navy's latest thing in nuclear submarines. All things considered, it was a good match-or at least it sounded like one. A Royal Navy officer, particularly one who had qualified for a plum assignment like command of Devastation, would be likely to have the kind of mind Annie would respect. She might even be completely faithful to Commander Martin for as much as five or six years.
For a moment Blade wondered what Commander Martin would say if he learned about marconite and what it might do for submarine design. If the scientists sweating over it now could crack the secrets of the marconite, by the time Martin had put up his fourth stripe, the nuclear submarine might be as obsolete as the battleship. Blade was very glad that it was the scientists who were tearing their hair out over the lamp he had been clutching when he materialized in the computer room. It looked like a long job, one that he wouldn't have for the Crown Jewels of the realm.
In fact, life generally looked very good at this point. After a week of debriefing, interrogation, and all the usual tests-the idea behind some of them apparently being to make him sick if he wasn't already-he was on leave. A summer month in the Cornish cottage would get the knots out of his system. The only minor fly in the ointment was that the MG was in the shop for a new transmission; so he was taking the train down and then renting a car. But he could think of nothing sillier than to complain about that after surviving yet another Dimension X trip. And a remarkably satisfactory one, too. He had done good work for the people there, survived a half dozen battles with no more than comparatively minor wounds, and come back with a major find.