In the back of the silk-canopied wagon a man was sitting. At first he seemed to be almost as old as Lord Leighton, with stiff white hair fringing a nearly bald skull and bushy white eyebrows shading deep-set eyes. At a second look, Blade saw that the man could hardly be more than forty, and his body was sound and whole, although softened by too much food and too little exercise. The eyes were black, and instead of Lord Leighton's sharpness they had a cloudy, vacant look.
«My dear one,» Tressana said. «Look what I have here.»
«Eh?» The dark eyes focused slowly on Blade. «Oh. A man, with no clothes on.»
«Yes. I found him.»
«Good for you.»
«Thank you, Manro.»
«Is he of Elstan? Is he?» Manro's voice had the eagerness of a child wanting to know if there will be ice cream for dessert.
«Oh, I think he might be. I found him like this, where our people don't go.»
«They don't go-?» Manro seemed to be trying to grasp an idea just beyond the reach of his wits.
«No. They don't. Do you remember? You gave the order yourself last year.»
«Ah, yes. It was a good order. I remember now.» Blade wondered if Manro could remember as much as his own name.
«Yes,» Tressana continued, «and the Jaghdi love you and obey that order. So a man who comes where we found this one may be of Elstan.»
Manro struggled to get the next question out. «You-you-know-don't-sure-he is Elstan?»
«He says he is not. Indeed, he is very tall for an Elstani. May I have the right of First Justice upon him, until we are sure?»
Tressana had to repeat the question three times before Manro would answer. Then he nodded. «Yes. Yes, pretty Tressana. You have First Justice on the man.»
«Thank you, my dear.» She leaned out of the saddle and patted the man on the cheek. The expression on her face would have turned Blade's stomach, if it hadn't already been turned by the rest of the conversation between Tressana and her half-witted husband.
Tressana turned in her saddle and signaled to Curim. He rode forward, and Blade saw that he was carrying something like a large dart in one hand. He waved it, and Blade saw that the point gleamed darkly with some tarlike substance. Before Blade could react, Curim raised his hand and threw the dart.
It sank deep into the flesh of Blade's left buttock, and he wanted to yell out loud with both pain and surprise. He also wanted to drag Curim out of the saddle and break every bone in the man's body.
He'd taken two steps toward Curim when suddenly his legs felt weak and his head began to spin. Curim laughed. Blade took one more step, then fell face down into the trampled and dung-spattered grass and passed out with Curim's laughter in his ears.
Blade's first sensations on waking up were dizziness and nausea. Fortunately he was lying down and his stomach was completely empty, so neither sensation did any harm. He lay quietly until he could get a better picture of his position and the world around him.
The first thing he noticed was that the length of wire was gone from his wrist. He briefly cursed the Jaghdi.
Losing the wire meant losing a good part of the value of the experiment of carrying it into Dimension X. Also, there was the matter he'd mentioned to Lord Leighton, about advanced technology looking like magic. They might be even more suspicious of him after they discovered that nothing they had could cut, work, or melt the wire.
Blade was lying among wooden boxes and empty sacks in the back of a wagon. Both ankles were shackled and the shackles were fastened to the wagon bed by a length of chain strong enough to hold a gorilla. Now that the Jaghdi had him, they obviously intended to hold on to him. They also intended to keep him alive for whatever «First Justice» might be. The wound in his buttock was not only bandaged, but padded so heavily that he could almost sit comfortably on it. He'd been bathed and rubbed down with some sort of perfumed oil, and there was a bowl of porridge and a leather bottle of water within easy reach. He wasn't hungry, but he drank half the water before looking around him again.
The wagon was parked facing the west and a glowing red sunset. Against the glow Blade saw the silhouettes of several more wagons and, beyond them, mounted sentries trotting back and forth. He couldn't see out the front end of the wagon. All around he heard the sound of neighing and grunting animals and smelled smoke, animal dung, and roasting meat. Voices murmured, sometimes rising in song, and once someone started beating a small drum.
As the drum died away, a tall, shadowy, mounted figure seemed to materialize in front of Blade. He saw a lance and a helmet silhouetted against the sunset, thought of Curim, and was glad his hands were free. Then Jollya's voice said:
«Blade?»
«Yes. I'm here. In fact, I'm likely to stay here for a while.»
She laughed. «I wouldn't be at all surprised if you do so. But you're under Tressana's protection now, so you don't need to be afraid of Curim.»
Her tone irritated Blade slightly. «What makes you think I'm afraid of Curim?»
«If you aren't, you aren't enough of a warrior to spot an enemy when you see one. And if you're not a warrior, then you're a liar, even if you're not of Elstan. And if you're a liar, why should I come here to talk to you?»
«I'm not going to try guessing your reasons for doing anything, Jollya.»
«Wise of you.» The sarcasm was unmistakable.
Blade ignored it. «So Curim is my enemy. Are you going to tell me something I don't already know, such as what you are?»
«You won't take Curim's word that I want you for my bed?»
«I wouldn't take his word for the sun rising in the east,» said Blade, laughing. He was enjoying the verbal fencing, although he knew he'd have to be careful not to reveal too much about himself.
The laughter seemed to irritate Jollya. «Are you a lover of boys, then?»
Blade would have laughed even louder if he hadn't been afraid of being overheard. «When I want company in bed, I take a woman. But that doesn't mean I expect your company there.»
She thought for a moment, then said, sounding almost relieved, «I believe what you have told me about yourself, even if you lied about your camp in the ruins of the city.»
Blade realized he was on very delicate ground and was being warned about it. «I hid my camp very well. It is not my fault that you couldn't find it.»
«It is said by some that there was no camp.»
«Foolish men will say all sorts of things.»
«So will desperate men, Blade.»
«Also tree.»
Jollya was silent for so long that Blade wondered if she had anything more to say. Then she spoke quickly, in almost a whisper.
«Blade, I do believe that you are not of Elstan. The metal of your bracelet makes me sure of that. It is not-«
«You have it?»
«Yes. I said I wanted to show it to my father. He is Keeper of the Animals, but there was no one here to speak for the Keeper of the Stones. Also, this wire is neither animal nor stone, so any of the Keepers could really claim it.»
Part of this speech might as well have been in Arabic for all Blade could understand of it, but he was relieved to know that for the moment at least the wire was in safe hands. He'd worry about getting it back later.
«Thank you, Jollya. There is a warrior's honor in you.» He didn't mind letting her know that he was grateful. She might not be his friend, but she seemed at least to be the enemy of his enemy Curim.
Another long silence, then she spoke in a strangely subdued voice. «Thank you, Blade. I-that-my father-«She gave up the struggle for words, dug in her spurs so violently that her mount squealed, then rode off at a trot. Blade knew that he'd said something right, but wished he knew what it was. Right now, though, the best thing for him to do was get some more sleep.