hobbled headlong into his last fight, where two Minwanabi soldiers hammered at the shield of an Acoma.
Hide and wood parted with a crack, and a blade struck home. The Acoma warrior went down, and his dying eyes met those of his officer.
'Force Commander,' he called clearly, before an attack. t and
pointing his sword, and warriors turned and converged. The clash of arms swelled on all sides. Believing the sound to be amplified by his fever, Keyoke focused only on the recognition reflected on enemy features.
'The Acoma Force Commander!' someone called clearly and Keyoke was beset by enemies. His sword spilled their blood, but his feet were not nimble. His guard was.
hampered by his lameness, and in the press of cut and thrust he was aware of other soldiers rushing him from behind. He could do nothing to prevent himself being surrounded.
Driven to his knees and crippled, he wrestled through spinning vision to ward off the blows hammered down on him. The Minwanabi soldier before him suddenly stiffened.
His expression of astonished disbelief was swallowed by darkness as he fell. Keyoke caught sight of a meat cleaver protruding from Minwanabi armour, and a frightened servant backing away. Keyoke cut sideways with his sword, and at least one more enemy died before he could avenge his fallen comrade. The servant perished anyway, cut from chest to crotch by another soldier, and then the same bloody sword was pointed and slashing at Keyoke. More men pressed in from the sides. He fought them, with a skill honed by forty years on the field.
Sweat ran down Keyoke's temples. He blinked salty drops from his eyes and slashed through a white haze of pain.
Dimly he noticed an Acoma servant crouched near him, and hands attempting to prop him upright. Then the servant's eyes went round and he lurched forward. His back lay opened to show the white ribs, and his weight drove Keyoke to the ground.
Blinded by dust and agony, Keyoke struggled to rise. His ears rang and his hands would not grip. Numbed fingers trampled over his face.
Then a figure in orange and black was shouting could not find his sword, and he was conscious of wetness Hooding down his flank beneath his armour. He gasped, but there seemed to be no air to fill his lungs. Above him he made out the shape of a Minwanabi soldier, pulling back his blade from the thrust that had dispatched the valiant servant.
Keyoke groped in the dirt, found his sword, and struggled against the twitching weight of the corpse to raise his guard.
The soldier pulled the servant aside, then aimed a killing stroke at the beaten old Force Commander at his feet.
Keyoke raised his arm to parry and drew upon his last shred of strength to commend his wal to Turakamu. Then sword met sword, and the laminated hide screeched with the impact. The blow deflected, but barely. The Minwanabi stroke missed the heart and glanced down to pierce through armour and gambeson and, finally, through the flesh of Keyoke's belly.
The soldier jerked back his blade. Flesh tore and bled, and Keyoke heard a distant, hoarse cry, as torment forced his own lips to betray his weakness before an enemy. At the ending of life, Keyoke invoked his soldier's will to greet death with head up and eyes open. Through the pounding of blood in his own ears, the Force Commander heard a distant voice crying, 'Acoma!' He felt only pride for that one brave soldier.
Blurred shapes swam in and out of focus. Time seemed unnaturally slowed. Through the darkness, a hand caught the Minwanabi soldier's arm, yanking back the descending sword. Keyoke frowned and faintly wondered whether this was the god's reward for lifetime service: for his valour in Acoma defence, he would not feel the death blow.
'Turakamu,, he muttered, believing himself bound for the Red God's halls; then the earth overturned, and he knew nothing as the sword slipped from his hand.
to rein back. 'Keyoke!'
Chapter 9 Masterplot
Sounds intruded.
Through an encompassing dark, Keyoke heard voice They echoed dreamlike through his mind, amid a growing'
awareness of pain. He listened for the singing of warriors'
the Minwanabi dead who would attest to his valour as I entered the hills of Turakamu.
But there came no singing, only spoken words in a voice'
that sounded like Lujan's.
No, thought Keyoke. No. Through a stirring rush anguish that mushroomed into despair, he listened more'
carefully. There had to be singing.
'. . . not regained consciousness since the battle,' Lujan voice continued, '. .