«Well, warrior of whatever people you call yours,» said Pardes. «Welcome to Karan.» Again the teeth-baring smile.
Blade could not keep his face quite straight at the phrases. Pardes had no eyebrows to raise, but he would have raised them if he'd had them. His lips pursed, and he raised one slab-like hand to pull at his jowls. «Well, well. So it seems that you understand the speech of Karan. That does make you something new-unless you are perhaps an escaped slave. But that does not matter. What does matter is that you are now mine. By the laws of Karan I am free to wield you as I do this.» He swung the club off his shoulder and swished it through the air, letting it pass within inches of Blade's face.
«You do not flinch? Good. This will be interesting, when the time comes for you to appear in the Arena.» He turned to the guards. «Take him to my compound and see that he is fed.» He strode away, swinging the club like a willow twig.
Blade realized that he had been holding his breath. He let it out in a long whooosh as the four guards started pushing and hauling him away. Not only was the land filled with deadly games, it now seemed that one of the chief players had chosen him for a piece in the games. Would he be just a pawn, or could he hope to rise higher? If he lived long enough, Blade knew he could and would rise. But living long enough in Dimension X was sometimes a problem.
The next morning the Karani army marched down from the mountains with its string of enslaved Scadori prisoners and its own dead and wounded. The bodies of the Scadori dead were left lying where they fell, prey to the sun and the wind and the scavenger birds. No doubt both Pardes and Iscaros thought that the rotting bodies and later the bleached skeletons would serve as a deadly warning to the Scadori the next time they came storming over the pass. Blade was not so sure of that.
At least Degar and Chudo were probably alive. The main body of the Scadori, servants, women, and all, had reached the shelter of the rough ground where the Riders of Death could not charge or even get within archery range. If Iscaros had obeyed his orders, he might have reached the pass before the Scadori archers could settle into position. But he had sought out glory for himself and his men instead. So more than two thousand warriors of Scador marched away safely through the pass before the infantry of Karan could come up to the attack.
Blade learned other things about the battle from overheard conversations among the soldiers. The Karani had been warned of the Scadori attack by several of the mountain tribes, bribed or threatened out of their traditional alliance with the Scadori. Blade suspected the tribes had signed their own death warrants by that change.
As for the sudden night attack of the Karani infantry, that was Pardes' idea. He had contrived to mount them on commandeered farm horses from many miles around, and sent them pounding through the darkness until they could dismount in the forest and move to the attack on foot. That explained why there had not been a Karani in sight in the afternoon, and a thousand or more attacking the camp in the night.
There were seventy-odd Scadori prisoners in the line that marched off, roped together at neck and ankle, Blade marching with the others. Pardes might have his eye on Blade, but the eunuch obviously had too much sense to single him out for any further special treatment. Blade tramped along with the others, naked, barefoot, unwashed, his cuts and bruises untended, his throat baked dry. In spite of the meal served him in Pardes' compound, his stomach was beginning to growl like a cageful of starved lions.
But he started out strong, tough, unwounded, and not despairing of his future in Karan. Most of the other prisoners were in much worse shape, and their defeat and capture had knocked out of them most of the will to live. As their captors drove them along like cattle, the Scadori began to sag and stumble. Each time one went down, the Karani infantry guarding them would close in, cut the man out of the file, and lay his belly open with a sword. It was always a slash across the belly, so that the man lay on the ground shrieking in agony until his strength failed. Sometimes that took a long time, so that the prisoners marched miles farther on before the dying man's cries faded away behind them.
After this happened a dozen times, something new was feeding Blade's determination to live. It was a desire to live long enough to kill a few more Karani. When and where didn't matter. He would quite gladly pick them up by their collars and bash their heads together, or strangle them very slowly with his bare hands, if he couldn't find a weapon. But he was quite certain that at least one Karani was going to pay for every Scadori prisoner left writhing and shrieking on the ground.
After a few days there were no more executions. Everyone still on his feet was determined to stay there until he dropped dead. Some of them did just exactly that. Thirty miles a day on a few swallows of water and half a loaf of coarse bread was too much for even the hardened Scadori.
It was not beyond Blade's strength. There were times when he wasn't sure about that, but somehow he was always able to go on putting one foot in front of another. Sometimes exhaustion, sun, dust, and the sweat pouring into his eyes blinded him so that he stumbled and staggered along. Before too many more days his back was burned raw by the sun and his feet left traces of blood as he walked. But he kept on going.
One night a Karani soldier slipped in through the guards and offered him a full skin of water and large slabs of bread and meat. Blade recognized the man as one of Pardes' personal bodyguard, poured the water on the ground, and threw the bread and meat in the man's face. He would make this march on his own, with the strength that he had in him, without accepting favors from any damned Karani. He would do that or die.
As the prisoners started off the next morning, Pardes himself rode in close to the line, staring hard at Blade. Behind rode his usual companion, a hard-faced officer whose right cheek was a mass of scars above his brown beard.
Blade returned the stare, although it cost him more strength than he could really spare to keep his head up until the eunuch rode off. By now it was all he could do to keep his body upright and moving forward.
That was more than a good many of the other prisoners could do. By the time they reached a large river, only about thirty were still on their feet. None died after that, however. They were allowed to drink all the water they wanted, bathe, cut each other's hair and beards, pick out each other's lice, and generally make themselves look and feel human again. Although the food did not improve, Blade felt his strength returning rapidly. He had lost nearly thirty pounds, but what was left was all muscle and bone and sinew. The soles of his feet were as tough as shoe leather, and he was alert and aware again. The Karani guards were careful to stay at a safe distance from him, and both Pardes and his henchman were unmistakably impressed.
After a few days spent recovering, the surviving prisoners were loaded aboard a large flat-bottomed river galley and began a journey downriver. The days passed, the river widened slowly, and its banks became less covered with forests and more studded with farms, plantations, and towns. The towns grew larger and closer together, and the traffic of barges, galleys, and fishing boats on the river grew thicker. Twice they passed ferries crossing and recrossing the river, propelled by paddle wheels driven by horses on a treadmill. Blade noted all this with interest. Karan had a civilization, no doubt about it. But the smell of decadence and weakness rose from that civilization, even from the small sample Blade had seen so far.