women, the phalanx tattering and coming to pieces now, were pursuing. Blade cupped his hands and shouted, cursing like a madman. Isma was playing directly into Org's merciless hands, leaving the sheltering advantage of the forts to fight on the open plain. Blade groaned aloud and started forward. If he could get to Isma in time, take command from her, he might yet avert the disaster that was building. Beyond the moil he saw Org's four ranks of reserves moving into position to attack, and behind them, moving slowly in a wide horned crescent, were the war chariots. Totha was leading them, standing beside her driver and brandishing a spear.
Xeno appeared at Blade's side. Blade was about to give him orders when new disaster struck. The catapults were now back into action, all of them, hurling arrows, balls and chunks, fire and shrapnel into the battle that was beginning to shape on the plain. Isma had managed to get her women into a square, and for the moment was beating back the barbarians, but now the deadly hail from the catapults was falling short and wreaking havoc in the square.
Blade sent Xeno on the run to silence the catapults. He went to join Isma in the square. There was still a chance, if he could get the women back up the glacis and into the fort again. Blade was grim as he made his way through the crowded ranks of the square. It would not be easy to withdraw in the face of constant fierce attack.
Another barrage of arrows from the catapults slammed into the packed square. One arrow gutted three women just beside Blade. They fell, screaming and bleeding and thrashing about, strangely linked together in death. A huge block of teksin slammed four more women into bloody mush. Blade pushed on, becoming more and more alarmed. Isma had formed her square badly. It was too tight.
Then he was beside her. She was attended by what was left of the Lordsmen. They were few now, and badly frightened, the fight gone out of them.
Not so Isma. She rested in the center of the square, leaning on a lance, a bloody sword at her side. Her helmet was missing and her hair was down around her shoulders, streaked with dirt and blood. Her corselet had been slashed away, and one of her breasts was exposed and bleeding from a long scratch. As Blade approached her dark eyes were enigmatic and her smile was chill. She greeted him.
'You see, my Lord Blade, how my people can fight! Soon we will destroy these barbarian scum.'
He regarded her grimly and shook his head. 'Not this way, Isma. We must get back into the fort. Quickly! While we can. This way we are fighting Org's battle!'
Another salvo of shrapnel from the catapults sprayed through the square. A Lordsman screamed and fell with half his face gone.
Isma did not flinch. She stared at Blade in defiance. With her hair wild around her she looked like a beautiful bloody witch.
'I will not, Blade. I stand here. Here we fight. Here we win, or perish!'
Org's main reserve had not yet come into the attack. His bowmen, what few were left, poured a desultory fire into the square that was not nearly so damaging as the catapults. The war chariots had wheeled out far to the left and halted, still in crescent formation.
Blade ran it all through his mind in a split instant and made his plans. There was still a chance.
Now he pointed to where some half-dozen of the women, wounded or dead, had been dragged into the Pethcine ranks and were being raped. There was no system about it, no order, and Org, if he even noticed, did not seem to mind this contravention of discipline. The women had been stripped of their armor and lay naked on the plain. Some moved, writhed, showing signs of life. Some were obviously dead. It made no difference to the Pethcine warriors who were so inclined: they dropped their weapons, raped the dead or badly wounded women for a minute or so, then recovered their weapons and got back into the ranks. The moans of the still living women could be heard at times above the battle din.
Blade pointed with his sword. 'That will happen to you, Isma, and all your people unless you obey me!'
She glowered at him. 'It will not. Nothing can defeat me - I am Isma, High Priestess of Tharn!'
It was useless to argue. Blade knew it. She would not be cajoled. He would have to make the best of it.
He stepped close and seized her arm. She tried to pull away and he was brutal, tightening his grip until she would have cried out in pain but for her fierce pride. One of the Lordsmen, bolder than the rest, stepped forward. Blade glared at him. The man shrank back.
'Very well,' Blade said. 'We will fight your way, Isma. And the Gods have pity on us. Look. See that?'
He released her arm. She followed his pointing finger. Org had sent a column of Pethcines to get behind them, cutting the square off from the fort and the glacis.
Blade shrugged. 'It is decided now. We fight here.
But listen to me, listen well, and there may still be a chance.'
Isma, with the fickleness of women, did listen. She had had her way, and she knew that Blade planned well.
Blade loosened the square. He formed six ranks, detaching the Lordsmen and sending them into the front rank, and remained with Isma in the center of the square. The catapults had ceased firing now, for which Blade was thankful, but there was no sign of Xeno. The ceboids on the flanks had reformed and were waiting for orders. The glacis and the plain around the square were choked thick with the dead and dying. Org's column, once it had moved in to cut them off from the fort, had halted and was waiting. Blade noted that many of the savages in that column were wounded or battle weary. He did not think they would attack. Org was running short of manpower and was using his wounded as a cork, to plug up Blade's escape.
The wind had fallen off now and the rain stopped. Rays of faint sunlight fought through the massy clouds and set the Pethcine banners to shimmering. Still the main attack did not come.
Isma sank white teeth into a scarlet nether lip and stared at Blade. 'Why do they wait? They are cowards, then? Afraid!'
'Not Org,' said Blade with a grim smile. 'Be patient. They will come when they are ready.'
He gave orders and had a platform of corpses built so that he could see above the battle. He must know how it was with Zulekia and Honcho.
Four bodies this way, four bodies that, then another cross-hatching of dead women and Lordsmen and another, and he had a platform. He leaped up and peered in the direction of the Pethcine tents. What he saw gave some
