The traditional prayer was over, but before they could complete the customary gestures, Adar’s voice continued: “I also beseech You to extend Your protection beyond our simple selves to include all here who fight in Your name, even those with a different understanding of Your glory. Aryaalans, B’mbaadans, Sularans, and the others, all perceive You differently, but they do know and revere You… as do our Amer-i-caan friends. Our hateful enemy does not. I know it is.. . selfish of me to ask You to deny so many of Your children their rightful, timely reward in the Heavens, but Maker, we do so desperately need their swords! I beg You not to gather too many in this fight, for even should we be victorious, the struggle must continue, and it will be long, long. Instead, let those You spare be rewarded later, with a brighter glow in the night sky, so all will remember the sacrifice they made!” he lowered his head. “I alone ask this of You. If it is Your will to deny my own ascension in return, so let it be.”
The rest of those present stared at him, shocked by the bargain he’d made, and Keje’s red-brown eyes were wet with tears. Following Adar’s example, together they crossed their arms on their chests and knelt to the deck, ending the prayer at last.
“You take too much on yourself,” Keje insisted.
Adar blinked disagreement. “I only wish I had more to offer than my own meager spirit.”
“Then you may add mine as well,” Keje said, and Adar looked at him in alarm. Once spoken, the bargain could not be taken back. “Idiot. Do you think I would be separated from you in this life or the next, brother? The boredom would destroy me.” He paused. “Two last things; then you must leave. First, if we are victorious but I do not survive, send my soul skyward with wood from Salissa.” He grinned. “Perhaps the Maker did not hear me. Finally, I will trust you to give Cap-i-taan Reddy my thanks.”
Adar embraced him then, wrapping him in the folds of his cloak. “I shall.”
“I say,” exclaimed Courtney Bradford. “I believeejeblock of elevated dwellings and shops, half a mile southeast of the Great Hall. The sheltered area covered almost six acres, and as the hours passed the space was filling with wounded. Nothing of the battle could be seen from where he stood, gazing westward, but the noise was overwhelming, even over the cries of the wounded.
“I think you’re right,” Sandra said tersely. “Now put that rifle down this instant and help me with this patient!”
Self-consciously, Bradford leaned the Krag against a massive “bamboo” support and peered at the limp form placed before her. All around them, other nurses and Lemurian surgeons fought their own battles to save the wounded, even while ever more arrived. Many had terrible, purplish red burns, and their fur was scorched and blackened. Others had been slashed by sword or axe, and many were pierced by the wicked crossbow bolts with the cruelly barbed points. There were few minor wounds. Those were tended by medical corpsmen right amid the fighting, or in one of the several field hospitals or aid stations. Those who were able returned to their posts with a bandage and some antiseptic paste on their wound. Only the most severely hurt were brought before Sandra. In spite of the fact that she was, after all, still just a nurse, she’d become the most experienced trauma nurse in the world. An orderly passed by, lighting lamps with a taper.
“I’d love to help you, of course, but I fear there’s little point,” Bradford said. Sandra spared him a harsh glance, then looked at her patient’s face. The jaw was slack and the eyes empty and staring, reflecting the flickering flame. “Dead, you see,” Courtney continued bleakly. “Perhaps the orderlies would be good enough to fetch us another?”
Sandra closed her eyes and held the back of her hand to her forehead. It was a classic pose, and for a terrifying instant Bradford feared she would faint, leaving him alone to deal with everything. To his utmost relief, she sighed and wiped sweat from her brow. She strode quickly to a basin and began washing her hands. Surreptitiously Bradford yanked a flask from his pocket and look a long, grateful gulp.
“Yes. I’m sure they will,” Sandra said woodenly.
Bradford wiped his mouth and replaced the flask. Then he glanced around. “I haven’t seen young Miss ‘Becky’ since the fighting started. I thought she was in your care.”
“So did I,” Sandra replied, “but she told me last night that she’d decided to stay with Mr. O’Casey at HQ. Said he’s protected her quite sufficiently up till now, and she preferred to stay with him, where she might see more of the ‘action.’ ” Sandra sounded worried, and maybe even a little disappointed. “It’s just as well, I suppose. She should be perfectly safe, and”-she gestured at the wounded-“I doubt this is the best environment for a child.”
“Perhaps…” said Bradford. He lowered his voice. “You do know she represents… considerably more thaer it is, right now I don’t much care. I only hope she’s safe.”
A thundering rumble came from the dock, almost uninterrupted now. They’d grown accustomed to the sound of battle to the south, but this was closer, louder. She looked up worriedly.
“Don’t fret, my dear. They’ll stop the blighters,” Bradford assured her. “It’s all part of the plan, you see. Rest assured, I know everything that’s going on, and it’s all part of the plan.” Sandra noticed that Bradford had picked up the rifle again, nervously fiddling with the rear sight.
“I haven’t heard Walker ’s guns for a while,” she said, drying her hands and motioning the orderlies to bring another patient.
“Ah, well, of course not! She has limited ammunition, you know. Saving it for the Jappos! Besides, you wouldn’t hear her, would you? Not over all that noise!” He waved vaguely westward. “Goodness me!” he said, tilting his head to one side, listening. “They’re really going at it!”
On the waterfront, hundreds of firebombs arced through the night sky, leaving thin, wispy trails of smoke. Most fell behind the line, amid shops and storehouses, and erupted with a searing whoosh! of roiling flames. One fell directly atop a laboring gun crew, punctuated by a chorus of terrible screams. They were cut mercifully short when the ready ammunition placed nearby exploded. The rest of the guns never even slowed their firing, as the densely packed red-hulled ships drew closer and closer to the dock. Pivoting on her cable, Big Sal brought her augmented broadside of twenty heavy guns to bear on the enemy flank, and her well-aimed shots crashed remorselessly through the ships at point-blank range, demolishing those closest to her. But there were so many. With a tremendous shuddering crash, the first Grik ship smashed into the dock, splintering wood, and dropping both its remaining masts upon the anxious horde waiting in the bow. Many were crushed amid piteous shrieks. Regardless, the rest swarmed over the head-rails and onto the dock. Another crash came, and another, as more ships followed the example of the first. The area between the dock and the seawall began to fill with Grik. Some appeared dazed in the face of the onslaught of fire and missiles raining upon them, so close on the heels of their rough landing. Most didn’t even pause. They immediately swept into their instinctual, headlong assault. The slaughter was horrific. Mounds of bodies were heaped at the base of the wall as the big guns snapped out, hacking great swaths of carnage into the surging horde. The docks became slippery with blood and gore, but the furious, ululating, hissing shriek continued to grow as more ships grounded, or warriors leaped across to those that had, and found their way into the assault.
As promised, Adar had taken Selass ashore, but he hadn’t gone much beyond it himself. Now he paced behind the wall with Chack’s sister, Risa, at his side, calling encouragement to Big Sal ’s warriors, who defended this section. They were heavily engaged. A single Grik warrior either vaulted or was launched entirely over the top of the wall and the warriors behind it. It landed nearby with a crunching thud, and, wild eyed and slathering, it tried to rise to its feet. At least one of its legs was broken. Risa quickly dispatched it with a meaty chunk of her axe, and Adar looked at her appreciatively. “Well-done,” he said. “You made that look quite simple.”
“It was,” she answered d/font›
“Even so. I expect you’ve had much practice in war of late.”
Risa shook her head. “Not much, really, since the fight for Salissa. I was on her during the battle before Aryaal. We were late to the fight.”
Adar remembered. “Late perhaps, but instrumental. Both you and your brother have much honor due you.”
Risa blinked, and with a wry grin she shook her head. “You knew, before this all began, that Chack did not even like to fight? He was afraid of injuring someone.”
“I knew,” Adar confirmed. “Your mother was perplexed, but proud of his restraint. She was always utterly without fear,” he recalled fondly. “Where is she now?”
Risa gestured toward Big Sal, invisible through the choking clouds of smoke, except for the stabbing, orange flashes of her broadsides. “Home. She wouldn’t leave. She only ever wanted to be a wing runner; now she is a warrior as well.”
“We are all of us warriors now, I fear. Even your peaceful brother.”
