Blade scrambled down into the valley, sword in one hand and drawn and cocked pistol in the other. The closer he got, the worse things looked. Blade was hardened to grisly spectacles, but the sheer savagery of what had happened here impressed itself powerfully on him. He did not wince or become sick to his stomach. He did find himself looking over his shoulder more often than before.

The way the bodies lay told Blade a good deal about the attackers' plans. Their first target had been the leaders and the rear guard, all of whom had been picked off in the first moment and perhaps by the first volley. Leaderless, panic-stricken, uncertain which way to turn, the caravan had stopped in its tracks. Then the riders had swept in to finish the work at close range with steel and lead, slashing and shooting at men too paralyzed with surprise and fear to either fight or flee. With the men down, the slaughter and looting of the pack animals began. It went on until the riders had taken all they were looking for, or at least all they could carry off.

They must have been looking for guns and ammunition, among other things. Not one of the dead had a gun by him. Pistols and powder horns were scattered around several torn packs. All had been smashed or cracked, as though the riders had been determined to make useless what they couldn't carry away with them.

Three of the robed desert riders lay dead among their victims, and two more and their mounts lay sprawled on the opposite side of the valley. They too had been stripped of their guns. The fight hadn't been completely one-sided. But Jannah's worshippers had still brought off a notable victory tonight.

Blade walked slowly up and down the valley, not quite sure what to do next, trying to look at the bodies as little as possible. Some of the shooting had been pointblank work with the heavy blunderbusses. Too many of the bodies had heads blasted to pulped bone and flesh, or chests and stomachs blown up and trailing bloody rags of internal organs across the sand.