The warrior ducked through the entryway and motioned to Vorgens with a huge, pawlike hand.
“Out. Danger. Fire.”
Vorgens stalled. “You mean you’re worried about me?”
The Komani took another step toward Vorgens, and fingered the pistol on his hip.
The whole far end of the tent suddenly dissolved into flames. The Komani gave an involuntary shriek and leaped for the entrance. Vorgens, without time to think about it, dived straight into the burning plastic wall.
He jumped headfirst, as hard and as far as his legs
^ ^ ould catapult him. He landed, hands down on cool moist grass, and somersaulted. Getting to his feet, Vorgens saw that Altai’s plan was working just as her sketch had shown.
The dome of the tent behind him was engulfed in fireFlaming tents stretched off on either side of him, but the ground between them was clear. The heat was intense though. Not even the grass would last long at this rate.
Vorgens took off at top speed, straight down the alley of fire, legs pumping as hard as they could, lungs sucking in searing, spark-filled air. Smoke burned at his eyes and he could feel that parts of his face and hands were scorched.
Finally he was free of the flames and stumbling down the shrub-choked slope that marked the edge of the meadow and the end of the Komani camp. Gasping for breath, exhausted and riddled with pain, he sprawled in the bushes.
For several minutes he lay there, chest heaving, legs aching, watching the heavy black smoke, occasionally mixed with tongues of flame, billowing from the Komani camp.