Nils snuffed the flame and the room went dark. The only light was faint, cloud-thinned moonlight through small windows in the east wall. He went to the nearest man, then moved crouching down the west row, killing each in turn—
Until, when he’d almost reached the end, he heard a bellow of alarm and rage from the hall outside. The dead guard had been found in the entry hall. Men were springing from their beds at the noise, confused in the blackness, staring toward the sound. Several groped for their weapons on the wall. Nils moved like a giant beweap-
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oned dervish then, slashing, slaying. There were shrieks and shouts. The double doors burst open, and a man stepped in with a lamp. More men were turning toward the uproar; swords were being drawn. Nils’s great blade swept and hewed, and men fell, until only eight or ten still stood, desperate. Seeing death upon them, they rallied.
Nils gave way then, backing quickly toward the far end of the barracks, and the guardsmen, encouraged, pressed him. The foremost he slew, and the second; the rest hung back. One called to bring halberds, another called for a bow. Nils reached the door, slipped the bar, threw it open and ran into the courtyard.
Instantly they were after him, though not too closely.
He raced to a stairway and up the wall. The guard at the corner waited for him, and struck down at him with his sword. Nils fended it as others reached the stairs behind him. His huge left hand shot out, grabbed the guardsman’s ankle, shoved upward, twisted, jerked. The man’s arms nailed to keep his balance, and Nils’s sword thrust up into him. Then the Northman pounced to the top of the wall, spun, and struck down his leading pursuer. The rest hung back again; there were only a nand-ful left, He turned; his back to them, hopped onto the parapet, and sword in hand jumped off.
He lit crouching, not falling, and loped off into the night. He was outside the skirt of garden walls, and no one was willing to pursue him.
PART V
CLOSURE
THIRTY-SIX
Baver sat on the sleeping shelf in his cell. It was night, and the only light was the faint glow from an oil lamp down the corridor. He was grateful for that much. Charles DuBois had told him about the dungeon in the City of Kazi, and like the rest of the crew he’d gotten a mini-briefing on what had happened to Chan and Anne there. Then there was the canto in the Järnhann Saga, about the dungeon Nils had been in in Hungary.
This is probably one of the most civilized prison cells on the planet, he told himself. No leg irons, I’ve got my own latrine bucket, my own water pail—and the sleeping shelf has a straw mat on it! It’s not even really filthy!
He half grunted, half chuckled. Semi-barbaric accommodations for a semi-barbaric prisoner. He had become semi-barbaric, at least outwardly. But semi-barbaric hadn’t been enough. The true, hundred percent barbarians had escaped.
Or was Nils actually a barbarian? In antiquity, barbarians had evolved into civilized men—men whose society was ruled from towns, by governments. Could barbarians evolve into something besides civilized man? Maybe Nils
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was that something else; maybe he only seemed to be a barbarian because he lived in a barbarian milieu. Or was he simply a new and fuller flowering of barbarianism?
Flowering of barbarianism! This time Baver’s chuckle was genuine.
What, he asked himself, would Nils do if he were here? The answer seemed obvious: Nils would sleep. He wouldn’t fret, and he wouldn’t try anything heroic. Not unless there was a good prospect that it would work, or some prospect anyway.
Or—If there was no prospect at all that it would work, no prospect at all of freedom, probably Nils would do something to go out on his own terms. To create an effect, probably dramatic, instead of going down silently.
Or would he? Baver shook his head. When it came to Nils Järnhann, guesses were suspect. Good guesses required understanding, he told himself, and he certainly didn’t understand Nils. Admired him, liked him, was intrigued by him—yes. But he didn’t understand him.