He slashed his sword down and started to run, straight at the oncoming mass of seedies. It was, he thought, a throwback to an earlier era, when the primary role of a commander was to be the man who literally led the way. He wanted to look over his shoulder, to make sure they were actually following, but that would make his doubt visible. In any event, it was too late. If they’re not following, this is going to be a really short charge . . .

Pistol shots sounded from behind him, and seedies in the front rank went down. Marcus gritted his teeth and focused on the man directly in front of him, a thin, wiry type with a scraggly beard. He carried a cudgel, which he waved over his head in an impressive but impractical fashion.

Marcus timed his move carefully, slowing his headlong run and pulling up short before he collided with the thin man. The seedie hadn’t been expecting that, and his club was already coming down in an arc that took it over Marcus’ head. Marcus let the man’s wrist bounce off his shoulder and thrust, the seedie’s momentum doing most of the work of driving him onto the blade. The man just behind him, a larger fellow in a long flapping coat, stumbled to an awkward halt and tried to bring his spear to bear; Marcus jabbed with his off hand, breaking the seedie’s nose with a crunch and buying him enough time to let the dying man slide off his blade. The spearman, one hand clutching at his face, thrust vaguely in Marcus’ direction, and Marcus sidestepped and lopped off his hand at the wrist.

He left the crippled seedie to scream and tried to look around. The Leatherbacks had followed, enough of them at least, and the two groups had collided in a general melee that bore little resemblance to any kind of organized military action. Small groups fought back to back for a few moments before the press tore them apart, the battle dissolving into a confusion of individual duels. Marcus watched a teenage girl fire a pistol full in the face of a huge, bearded man, then charge another seedie with a butcher knife, ramming it past his frantic parries to open a huge gash in his thigh. She spun, triumphant, only to find a spearman thrusting his weapon into her ribs. When she opened her mouth to scream, only bubbling blood emerged.