What would happen if the Hashomi came out of their mountains and offered their support to such a warlord?
What the Master hoped to see happen was the steady rise of the Hashomi to more and more power, until in the end they-and he-were the real rulers of this Dimension. . or its ruins. It was an ambitious plan, particularly against the present Baran, who seemed to be a gifted, just, and popular ruler. He would be a formidable opponent even for the Master of the Hashomi. Still, the Master's plan offered the best hope that five thousand men could have for seizing an empire.
There was also no doubt that the Master's plan doomed many hundred thousands of people to death or misery, and for no reason except the satisfaction of his ambitions to rule. There was even less doubt in Blade's mind now than there had been-the Hashomi were his enemies, even if the Baran of Dahaura might not be his friend.
Blade looked at the man lying at his feet. This man was one of the Master's trusted counselors and advisers. For that he deserved death several times over. Yet Blade had never found it possible to cut the throat of a sleeping man in cold blood, unless his own life or mission was at stake. That wasn't the case here. The amount of ken injected into the Treas would keep him asleep for several hours, and give him total amnesia for several days. By the time anybody could get anything sensible from him, Blade would be long gone. Blade arranged the man as comfortably as possible, tied him up again, and started north.
There were hints of dawn in the sky when Blade reached the foot of the cliffs. He'd deliberately chosen a route up them as difficult as he could manage. The Hashomi were at home among their mountains, but not on them. They preferred to revere their sacred White Mountain from a distance, without scaling its twenty thousand feet of ice, snow, and rock. They had only limited skill in rock-climbing, and no idea what Blade could do.
That was a weakness, and Blade was going to take full advantage of it. The Hashomi could doubtless trail him as far as the base of the cliff. There his trail would end, and nothing would face them except the rock towering five hundred feet before it became a reasonable slope. They would look at it, and for some time they would be wondering if Blade had developed wings and flown off into the sky.
The Hashomi were not so stupid that they would go on wondering forever. Someone-probably the Master-would realize that since Blade could not have done anything else, he had climbed the cliff. Search parties would climb the easier routes along the north side of the valley and plunge into the mountains on Blade's trail. But it would be a cold trail. Blade would have gained many hours on the Hashomi, perhaps a whole day.
With that kind of a lead, he knew he could stay ahead of nearly anyone, in any Dimension.
He tied the climbing rope and the axe to his belt, and pulled on the boots with the heavy nailed soles. He carefully stowed the rest of his gear, and adjusted the pack so that it rode snug and comfortable, pulling him neither forward nor backward. He didn't want to find himself being pulled off balance while he was hanging by his fingers and toes over hundreds of feet of empty air.
He took a final swig from his water bottle, then stepped forward, raising both hands and one foot. He felt the rock solid under his curving fingers, felt his spikes gripping the foothold. Peace flowed through him. This was no longer the weird battle against the Hashomi. This was the familiar battle against the strength of the rock and the weaknesses of his own body. Blade relaxed, and began to climb.
Chapter 11
Blade marched north for two days before turning east toward the desert. This would still further confuse his trail. It would also bring him out of the mountains as close as possible to the oasis of Habin D'er. The Hashomi maps he'd seen showed it no more than an easy day's march from the foot of the mountains. At the oasis he could wait until one of the trade caravans came by, then join it for the journey across the desert.
Three more days marching eastward brought Blade out of the mountains. If the Hashomi were on his trail, he saw and heard no sign of it. The mountains were vast and the Hashomi hardly numerous enough to comb them boulder by boulder for a single man skilled in both evading and fighting. As long as they didn't guess how many of their most vital secrets Blade was carrying off, they might not even think it worthwhile pursuing him.
Of course, the word would sooner or later be out, and the Hashomi in Dahaura would be on the lookout for him. He'd have to disguise himself and perhaps lie low, until he'd gained power and influence or the protection of someone who had them. That should not be impossible. Even if there were as many as a thousand Hashomi in Dahaura, there were also a million other people in the city, and Blade was an expert at being invisible to his enemies.
On the morning of the fourth day he came through the last narrow canyon on the fringes of the mountains and looked out across the desert. Here the peaks came down almost to the sand, with only a mile or so of boulder-strewn ground separating them. The sun blazed down so that even the reflected light from the sand half-dazzled Blade. He still could not miss a patch of lush greenness far out on the eastern horizon. He took careful bearings on the patch, filled his water bottles from a last feeble stream, and settled down to wait until dark.
At last the chill darkness of a desert night came down on the land. Blade crossed the boulders and struck out into the desert. His sense of direction kept him on course as his legs carried him steadily up and down one dune after another. Every hour or so he stopped briefly to rest and look back at the mountains. Slowly they were fading away in the darkness. Blade made up his mind that if he ever entered those mountains again, it would be as an armed enemy of the Hashomi.
If that time ever came, it would help to have Mirna and her women on his side. He hoped she could keep her plans secret and her women alive until then.
Shortly after dawn Blade climbed a dune and from its crest saw a spot of green on the horizon. Two more dunes, and the spot was still there. Two more dunes after that, and he could make out individual trees. Now the ground leveled out, and Blade's pace increased almost to a trot as he covered the last mile to the fringes of the oasis.
As he passed the first trees, he heard from the opposite side of the oasis the bubbling cries of camels, the thud of many feet, and the rattle and jangle of harness. Blade stopped in mid-stride and swerved to the left, where a stand of squat trees with palm-like leaves and purple berries offered some cover. Before he could get out of sight, a dozen bearded men in white robes burst through the trees. Most of them had single-handed curved swords and those who didn't carried thick double-curved bows and filled quivers.
Again Blade stopped. He spread his arms and raised his empty hands. «I come in peace, my friends,» he said. «Are you of Dahaura?»
The answer was an arrow that missed Blade's ear by less than a foot and thunked into a tree well behind him. Blade darted to the left, trying for the cover of the trees. A second arrow whistled past his nose and plunged into the middle of the trees, while a third sank into the hard sand at his feet.
The precision with which those arrows were landing showed Blade that the men were missing him deliberately. If he tried to run or fight, they could easily make him look like a pincushion before he could give one of them a single scratch.