«Well, slave, are you going to tell me why Blade was sending you food now?» Halda's voice was unsteady. She was obviously aroused.
«I told you already,» said Narlena in a small voice. «Liar,» said Halda coldly. then in a shriek, «Liar!» The needle jabbed in again. This time Narlena screamed.
Halda was relentless with her instruments-the needle, for what seemed like hours, until Narlena's body was covered with little spots of blood as though she had been attacked by a swarm of leeches; other needles, thrust deep under her fingernails and toenails; pincers and hot irons; something Blade was never able to remember clearly that Halda clamped over Narlena's groin, making her writhe and heave so that it took all the strength of the four sweating guards to hold her down. She did not scream because she had long since lost her voice. Only a rasping, hissing sound came out of her raw throat.
Blade's own throat was as dry as dust, too. But he knew that his stomach would rebel against even a mug of water. Only by keeping his hands clamped across his chest was he able to keep them from moving toward the hilt of his sword.
Krog's face showed no expression during all the torture, although his eyes occasionally flickered in Blade's direction. Each time that happened, Blade managed to meet Krog's gaze with an unflinching, expressionless face. It became an effort after a while. Blade was not sure how much longer he could keep himself under control when Halda finally stood up, her body glazed with sweat and her eyes as dull as if she herself had been tortured. She shook her head.
«Either the slave is telling the truth or she will die before she betrays Blade. There is nothing more I can do.» She turned to the guards. «Take the slave back to the slave quarters.» The four hefted Narlena and went out. Halda lingered for a moment behind them, turning to Blade with eyes still filled with hatred and distrust as well as the glaze of fatigue. «Why, Blade, why? What could she give you that I could not, that so great a bond could grow up between you? Why?» The last why was almost a scream. Gasping, her breasts heaving, she stumbled out through the curtain leaving Krog and Blade alone.
Krog's expression now changed for the first time in hours. A slow thin smile spread across his face. Blade wished he could return that smile. Krog said quietly, «Much of this I did because if I had refused it, Halda would have gone among her faction. She would have said I was getting soft, that I was giving in to you like a weak old man. And then her faction might have made great trouble for both of us. And for Narlena as well.» He paused. «And some of it I did because I was not sure what you were doing. I did suspect disloyalty. I advise you not to make me suspect it again.» He nodded in dismissal. Blade went out.
Chapter Sixteen
In spite of the punishment she had taken, Narlena healed more quickly than Blade would have believed possible or had dared hope. This was thoroughly good news, for it meant they could make their escape sooner.
It had to be «their» escape now. Blade's original idea had been to get Narlena out and then stay behind long enough to cover her tracks before making his own escape. That was no longer in the cards. Blade didn't know exactly how suspicious Krog was, and he certainly didn't want to find out the hard way. He and Narlena would have to succeed or fail together.
Besides, time was becoming more important than Blade had expected. The former slaves were coming along well in their training; so well in fact that Krog's ambitions were coming to the fore again. The week after Narlena's torture Krog called Blade aside during a training session and asked him if he thought the People of the Blue Eye were ready to take the offensive again.
Blade had expected this question, but it was still a disagreeable one to answer. If he urged Krog to wait, he might once more be arousing the man's suspicions. If Krog placed him under guard again, it would be more difficult to manage an escape. But if he assured Krog that the people were fit for combat and ready to hurl themselves once more against their enemies, Krog might take this as a signal to launch his long-awaited attack on the Dreamers. And the Dreamers needed time badly.
«Well, Krog,» Blade said slowly, «some of the new fighters are ready for anything. But most of them will need more time before they will be as good as the original people. Remember, they were starved and weak many of them, before they joined us. It takes a long time to make a half-starved man strong enough to swing a sword for hours on end or tramp all right through the streets of Pura. We do not want to wear them out and use them up the way their former masters did.»
Krog nodded, but Blade did not like the skeptical look in the man's eyes. «So. If we should take the offensive in the next few weeks, it would be mostly with the old fighters-you might call them my fighters?»
Blade nodded reluctantly. He suspected a trap lying somewhere in Krog's words. But he had no idea where it might be found.
«While your fighters go right on training, getting better, stronger, more loyal to you. Certainly, certainly.» Krog nodded again, and this time there was no mistaking the glint of ironic amusement in the man's eyes. «Blade, I think what you want is to play a very old game. I learned to recognize it when I was only so high.» He held his hand about three feet off the ground. «If I play with you, soon your fighters will outnumber mine. Then you can pick up the leadership of the People of the Blue Eye as easily as a child picking up a stone lying in the street. No, Blade, I will not play. And I think you had better be very careful if you want to go on being my War Master. I cannot find anyone as able as you are. But I can find people who will not play games with me.»
And that was that. For a moment Blade was almost tempted to throw caution to the winds and rely on his own speed and strength to enable him to kill Krog, snatch Narlena from the slave quarters, and make a run for it. Then the moment of madness passed. He realized that Krog had told him no more than the truth: he was going to have to be very careful. If he lost his post as war master, he would lose his freedom of movement and almost all chance of escape. But if he kept his mouth shut and his eyes open, sooner or later a chance would appear and he could at least snatch at it. There could no longer be an escape carefully planned for weeks in advance. But one improvised on the spur of the moment might work just as well. And even if it didn't, he had no other choice.
So he apologized to Krog and agreed that if the leader thought it was proper, the new fighters could certainly be included in the next offensive. The ironic amusement disappeared from Krog's face, and he returned to a straightforward discussion of plans. Among those plans was the attack on the Dreamers. Krog mentioned no specific time for it-a small consolation. Then he dismissed Blade, who went back to his work.
The next morning when Blade began his rounds he found that Krog had assigned no less than four guards to «escort» him-two from Krog's faction and two from Halda's. Apparently father and daughter could at least cooperate in keeping an eye on Blade. Blade was not worried, though. He mentally noted the four guards as yet another obstacle in the path of making a fast getaway when the time came. Then he went about his business as if they had been invisible and inaudible, except when he chose to snap orders at them. He would be damned ten times over before he would give Krog or Halda the satisfaction of even thinking that they had cowed or intimidated him.
The days settled back down into a routine of training, inspecting fighters and weapons, discussions with Krog and Halda, and patrols of the area around the tower with mixed squads of new and old fighters. On those patrols Blade was particularly alert. He had seen Narlena go out on working parties even before all her cuts and bruises were healed. If he should meet her somewhere out there in the maze of streets surrounding the tower. . well, he still went armed.