Several times during the crossing Narlena's fears flooded back into her mind, and she stopped, trembling, clutching Blade's hand, and sometimes looking desperately from the desolate city to the countryside ahead. Once she looked down into the rushing, murky blue green water of the river far below. That was the only moment when Blade took an extra firm grip on her arm. He remembered the woman fleeing from the battle who had preferred hurling herself to death in the river below to fleeing to at least a temporary safety in the darkened countryside beyond. But the moment passed, and she again began to put one foot slowly in front of another. Eventually they came to the hill on the far side of the river, climbed up it, and looked back down its slope to the river, the bridge, and Pura beyond.

To see the corpse of her city lying there naked in the daylight was almost too much for Narlena's precarious mental balance. Once again Blade saw her cringe, tremble, and cling to him, saw tears start from her wide staring eyes and her lips tremble. But it passed after a few minutes. Then she drew him gently but irresistibly behind a clump of flowering shrubs and then drew him down to the ground, onto the sun-warmed grass amid the hum of insects and the sweet-sour scent of the yellow flowers of the shrubs.

It was well on into twilight before the darkening sky and the insistent clamor of his own empty stomach made Blade sit bolt upright, then spring to his feet, and hastily rouse the sleeping Narlena. Night was moving in on Pura, and they had more than three miles to go before reaching the safety of her vault. It was time that they got started.

Blinking sleep from her eyes, Narlena rose to join him, and together they swung out along the crest of the hill, moving parallel to the river and keeping well south of it. Blade had no desire to cross the river any sooner than he had to and risk a meeting with Waker gangs prowling streets which they inevitably must know far better than Narlena or himself.

Although they moved at a pace fast enough to make Narlena pant, it was still almost dark before they reached the bridge. Blade looked across it into the darkened ruins and then down into the river rushing past under the bridge. If its current had not been so swift and its banks not a sheer drop of nearly a hundred feet on both sides, Blade would seriously have considered swimming the river. He did not like the idea of crossing a bridge that prowling Waker gangs could easily seal off. He himself would have had no objection to spending a night in the open countryside, but he doubted whether Narlena's mind or body could endure the experience.

As the moon rose and lit the visible face of the city, it showed nothing moving. With sword and spear held ready, Blade led the way out onto the bridge, half crouching as he stalked forward. Every few yards he dropped on his stomach to peer out from behind the tangled thistles toward the far end of the bridge and the piles of rubble beyond.

It took them many minutes to cross the bridge this way, minutes that rasped like files on even Blade's trained and tough nerves. It must have been far worse for Narlena. But though her face in the moonlight was white as flour, she kept moving steadily and made not a sound. Perhaps returning to Pura and feeling the cover of darkness over her again was easing her mind.

Finally they both lay on their stomachs behind a mass of thistles grown almost to the proportions of a hedge, looking up at the ridge of debris that lay between them and the entrance to Narlena's building. They could not move at a rush across the hills and valleys of piled rubble. They would have to pick their way across it, clearly visible to anyone lurking in the shadows or watching from a high window. And they would be unable to move fast if attacked.

Blade took a deep breath and motioned forward. Up the slope they went as fast as their legs would carry them, then down into the first hollow and down on their stomachs for a momentary halt. Then on again-brief pushes forward, longer pauses lying in pools of shadow that should provide concealment, then on again. They could not move silently; chunks of rubble turned under their weight or came loose and went clattering down slopes.

Over the last crest now, and down the last slope, half-climbing, half-falling, down into the shadow of a massive slab of fallen wall precariously balanced at an angle. Stare out into the empty street, grip weapons, catch breath, get ready to make the final rush across the level street to the door of Narlena's building.

Blade turned to Narlena and murmured with teeth bared in a flickering grin, «Almost there, Narlena. If your people had known how to move like this by night, half the ones the Wakers got would still be alive and free.»

She nodded. Then he motioned her forward again. They had just slipped from the shadow of the wall slab and were straightening up, ready for their run, when the sound of racing feet hit their ears from farther up the street. A second later a human figure burst from the shadows. It was a man in Dreamer clothing, sprinting toward them as though he were running for his life. He was. Hard on his heels came half a dozen Wakers.

Blade waited long enough to get a clear look at the approaching Wakers, a brief few seconds that were enough for the Dreamer's frantically churning legs to carry him many yards closer. Then Blade plunged forward, passing the man at the edge of the rubble. He crashed into the Wakers before they could notice or prepare to meet the gigantic figure hurling itself at them out of the darkness.

Blade took out his first victim without using either sword or spear. He shot out one long leg, and his foot connected with the nearest Waker's kneecap. The man screamed and dropped to the ground. Blade leaped over his falling body into the gap his fall left in the advancing line. He swung the sword in one hand to decapitate the man on his right and thrust with the spear at the man on his left at the same time. The second man jumped back in time to escape with a graze on his side, but he could not save himself a second later from the sword. Blade whipped it around and brought it down in a slashing blow that took off the man's arm at the shoulder.

One dead, one dying, and one down in a matter of seconds. Two of the survivors were on his left, one on his right. Blade retreated a few steps until he could get a clear view of all three survivors. They showed no signs of either coming after him or of running. They were going to stand and fight. As he watched, they drew into a rough triangle, each facing outward in a different direction.

They lacked the precision Blade had seen in the first gang of Wakers. No doubt they were of a different gang, not as well trained. But that would not make them easy victims. Blade began sidling around the triangle, keeping out of the range of a spear thrust or sword slash. He was afraid of a lucky spear cast and also of the fight going on and on until time or the noise it was making brought yet more Wakers on the scene. He spared a glance toward where he had left Narlena. She had flattened herself in the rubble again, and beside her was the fugitive Dreamer.

Watching Blade circling around their triangle without venturing to attack seemed to have given the Wakers more courage. They flourished their spears and made feints, faces, and obscene gestures with them, but they said nothing. Were they also afraid of other Wakers hearing the fight? If these men were outside their own gang's «territory,» they might be so, and with good reason.

Time to end the fight. The triangle was not something Blade cared to try breaking by force. But his opponents could not come at him, either, without breaking up the triangle. How to get them to come at him? Blade shifted his grip on both sword and spear ever so slightly, feeling underfoot for a loose piece of rubble. Then he bore down hard on it until he felt it turn under his foot, exaggerated the stumble with a whiplike snap of his trained muscles, went down, hit the ground with a thud-and rolled hard to the right, straight into the legs of a Waker rushing out of the triangle, spear poised high to thrust down into Blade's chest. Blade took the man off his feet with a crash and a thump, leaped to his feet, and hurled his spear into a second man before either of the others could recover from their surprise. Then he spun around to slam the heel of his right foot hard into the fallen man's chest; the man fell back and lay still. The last Waker turned to run, but Blade caught him before he had gone ten feet. Desperately the man turned to fight, but be was no swordsman. Blade feinted at his thigh to bring his sword down; then he thrust hard at his stomach. The heavy, clumsy sword would be no good against a target smaller or less vulnerable than a man's stomach. But into that it plunged straight and deep. As Blade jerked the sword free, the man doubled over and sagged to the ground, blood gushing from the wound just above his greasy belt.