Firesong by William Nicholson Page A

slipped out of reach and sprang back to strike again, fighting the way he had been taught to fight in the dance of death called the manaxa. He offered himself to the blades only to spiral away, leaving bloody wounds in his wake. But even he could not escape the press of so many swords for long. A slash of searing pain across one shoulder, and he felt the warm slick of blood down his back. He moved out of range, but too slowly, and took a blade in the gut that made him gasp the breath out of his lungs. He turned and saw the steps, not far off now, and felt himself stumble. Dimly, from far off, he felt the pain of his wounds, felt himself growing weaker, knew he must fall –
    Suddenly there was space opening up round him, and there was another fighting with him, a wild thing, a creature masked in blood. With one great howl of rage, Mumpo exploded through his tormentors, and sprang up the stone staircase, urged on by Bowman, followed by the wild one.
    ‘On, Mumpo! Run!’
    Bowman cleared the way for Mumpo, and saw behind him the wild one who wore the bandits’ dress, climbing the steps backwards, fighting off his own people. He heard him shout, saw him turn his bloody head and shout –
    ‘Go, Bowman! Pull down the tunnel timbers behind you! Go!’
    Bowman didn’t know who this stranger was who fought so hard for them. All he could see was a hideously disfigured face and a ferocious arm wielding a long serrated blade.
    ‘Come with us!’ he cried. ‘Hurry!’
    Now the stranger was up on the ledge, pushing Bowman into the tunnel.
    ‘Go! I’ll hold them! Destroy the tunnel!’
    It was the voice Bowman recognised at last.
    ‘Rufy! Rufy Blesh!’
    ‘Go!’
    ‘You’ll be killed!’
    Rufy turned on him, his hollow eyes staring out of his smashed face.
    ‘I’m dead already, Bowman! Now go!’
    Bowman turned and followed the others into the tunnel.
    ‘Pull down the timbers!’ he cried.
    Jamming his sword blade between two of the support beams, he wrenched, and a beam came away. A tumble of loose stone fell, kicking up dust in the dark.
    ‘Pull down the timbers!’
    Now the others understood. Miller Marish on one side, Sisi on the other, they attacked the beams, and dragged them down, running back as the rock above came crashing to the tunnel floor. Back and back they went, and the more the tunnel collapsed, the more they could feel the rolling thunder of the rock above, as it settled down once more to fill the little thread of space that men had made.
    When they came out at last, choking and dust-grimed, into the place where the fissure opened to the air high above, they stopped to regain their breath and take stock. Behind them they could hear the continuing rumble as the immense weight of the land above settled, closing the one exit from the river rift, sealing the Barra klin forever in its own icy fortress.
    Bowman searched the faces of the young women, trying to identify them in the darkness and dust.
    ‘All here? Do we have all of you?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Kestrel, almost crying. ‘All here.’
    Mumpo was bent over, clutching his stomach.
    ‘Mumpo! Are you hurt?’
    ‘Not too badly.’ He looked up and forced a smile. ‘You should have left me there. I would have killed them all.’
    Rollo Shim’s back and leg were bleeding copiously. They did what they could to bind the gash. There was no light to do more, and they wanted to move, to run, to be far from this terrible place.
    ‘Can you walk, Rollo?’
    ‘Yes. I’m ready.’
    ‘Then let’s go!’ cried Bowman.
    ‘Rufy!’ Kestrel was hunting among the faces in the dark. ‘Where’s Rufy?’
    ‘He held the gate for us,’ said Bowman.
    ‘They’ll kill him!’
    She saw Bowman’s answering look and understood, and spoke no more.
    They set off back down the maze of cracks and fissures, moving as fast as they could. Above them there came the mewling cry of the cat, stalking the edges of the fissures, guiding them on their way. From time to time the cat