art the blood
trickling down Dugald's cheek. The force of the combined blows sent
Dugald staggering. He fell back, crashing into a bush, and hung against
it. Stark fear shone in his eyes. He screamed: "Dugald! _Dugald!_ To me!
To me!"

For a second, everything went silent; nobles quarreling, guards
roistering among the captures--suddenly the battlefield was still. Then
the reaction to the rallying cry set off an entirely different kind of
hubbub. The sound now was that of an alerted pack of dogs.

Once more, Geoffrey swept his hand across Dugald's face, feeling his own
skin break over the knuckles. But there was no time for anything else.
Now they had to run, and not in silence. Now everything went by the
board, and the nearest safety was the best. Behind them as they tore
through the brush, they could hear Dugald shouting:

"That way! The Barbarian's with him!" The Barbarian was grunting with
every step. Myka was panting. Geoffrey was in the lead, his throat
burning with every breath, not knowing where he was leading them, but
trying to skirt around the pack of nobles that would be running toward
them in the darkness.

He crashed against plated metal. He peered at it in the absolute
darkness this far from the fires and torches. "Tankette!" he said
hoarsely. "Empty." They scrambled onto it, Geoffrey pulling at The
Barbarian's arm. "Down, Myka--inside. Ought to be room between steering
posts and motor." He pushed the woman down through the hatch, and
dropped back to the ground. He ran to the crank clipped to one track
housing and thrust it into place. "You--you'll have to hang
onto--turret," he panted to The Barbarian. "Help me start." He wound
furiously at the starting crank until he felt the flywheel spin free of
the ratchet, and then engaged the driveshaft. The tankette shuddered to
the sudden torque. The motor resisted, turned its shaft reluctantly,
spun the magneto, ignited, stuttered, coughed, and began to roar. The
headlights flickered yellowly, glowed up to brightness as the engine
built up revolutions. The Barbarian, clinging to the turret with one
arm, pushed the choke control back to halfway and advanced the spark.
Geoffrey scrambled up the sharply pitched rear deck, clawing for
handholds on the radiator tubing, and dropped into the turret seat. He
took the controls, kicked at the left side track control without caring,
for the moment, whether Myka was in the way or not, spun the tankette
halfway round, a