Nob stared at the floor, his big gnarled hands dangling between his legs. He shook his head sadly. «A horrible and misbegotten blow it were, sire, as could make you for-
get Juna! Aye-I am more glad than ever that I killed the bastard that gave it to you from behind.»
Blade was washing his hair now and he winced as he touched the sore spot. Half to himself he said, «If the blow was such a bad one, and I took it from behind and off guard, I cannot understand why I still live.»
«Aye, master, I can answer that.» Nob was all agrin. He went to a closet and brought back a battered helmet. The crown was bashed in but the metal was unbroken.
«I took it off a Samostan corpse,» Nob explained, «and begged that ye. wear it. For ye had none of yer own. Aye-those bastard Samostans make gobd helmets and armor. That ye must give them. No helmet of Patmos, nor even of Thyme, would have taken such a blow and kept ye alive.»
Blade took the misshapen helmet from Nob and examined it closely. The plume, shaven to a mere tuft, was blue and the insignia, the medallion in front, was of a snake with its tail in its own mouth. There was a stirring in the curdled mists of Blade's mind and for a moment the circled serpent nearly had meaning. Then it vanished. He read aloud the legend beneath the snake.
«Ais Ister.»
He frowned at Nob. «What meaning has it?»
Nob scowled in his turn. «Hectoris is not one to hide his brag, master. `I Act for God'-that is the meaning of it.»
Blade held out a hand as he let the helmet drop and roll on the floor. «A towel, if you please. `I Act for God.'
Hmmm you are right, Nob. This Hectoris, whoever he may be, is not a man of becoming modesty. I would like to meet him one day.»
Nob bent his big body and laughed. He could not stop. He laughed and laughed and Blade, who had come to like the rascal so soon after rediscovering him, did not know whether to laugh also or curse him. He did neither and waited for the spell to pass.
«You will meet him,» Nob could say at last. «No fear there, master. We have sent his scouting party running in defeat and disgrace, and we have taken his pet priest, and in the bargain you sent him such a message of defiance as no man could hear without his ears scorching. And Hectoris is a proud man and nothing has ever stood before him-as ye know from what happened to Thyme when you and I first met and-«
Blade held up a hand. «That,» he said, «is just what I do not knowl Try to get it through that thick pate of yours-I remember nothing. Tell me. Tell me all of it.»
Nob looked at him. His jaw was hanging again. «Aye, master, I suppose I must. But it is a long story and there is little time-our lives and that of Patmos is in the balance, or I do not love Juna's Reece, and Hectoris will not bide his coming. But I will-«
«You will be brief,» said Blade fiercely. «Now get to the matter. Everything that is important, nothing that is not important, and from the beginning. Briefly!»
Nob did not do so badly, for Nob. Scarce an hour had elapsed before Blade knew all that he must. Some of it appalled and frightened him. Of some of it he was proud, and of a very little he was ashamed. But one thing was certain-he had set a great many wheels in motion and now time flitted away and he had best look lively or those very wheels would crush him.
When he had heard Nob out he said, «Go find Edyrn and ask him to meet me in the place where Ptol is kept. As soon as may be. Then see that Izmia receives this message-that I will see her when I can and I cannot say when that will be. Repeat that.»
Nob did so. Blade nodded at him, then smiled, and clapped him on the shoulder. «It appears that you and I have sworn friendship, Nob, and so bound our lives, or our deaths, together. So you tell 'me and so I take it to be, for though I am sure you are a great liar when it is required I do not think you lie to me.»
The man showed his gums. «Aye, sire, that is the truth of it. We swore an oath each to the other.»
«Then be about your tasks, man. And I will be about mine. I must find out what I have been doing, rightly or wrongly, to save our lives and defeat this barbarian Heatoris.»
«Ye have done a great deal, master. Some of it, mind ye, I did not approve of-such as enlisting the Gray People and taking away the penthe and-«
Blade pointed at the door. «Go.»
Nob had the last word as he brushed aside the door hanging. «If ye want to see Ptol alive, master, ye had best hurry. He has not so much blood in him as a fat man might be thought to have. And he is a stubborn wretchhe has spoken nothing yet of import.»
«I will see to it,» said Blade. «Ptol will talk.»
CHAPTER 9
Blade marveled at his own cruelty. He knew that the Richard Blade of Dimension X was not the gentlemanly Blade of Home Dimension; still he wondered. And wondered also at the Patmosian idea of torture. They had merely locked the fat priest into a dungeon and there, after bleeding him a little, and touching him lightly with hot irons, had left him for Blade to deal with.
Ptol cowered at the sight of Blade. He whimpered and lisped and clutched his leather-cuffed right stump to his flabby chest. Blade, accoutered all in black leather and metal harness, wearing a gleaming helmet with the medallion of Izmia on it, loomed near seven feet tall. He drew his great sword and, leaning easily on it, surveyed the priest. He remembered nothing of Ptol save what Nob had told him. Ptol did not know that.
Blade prodded with his sword at the leather bandage. Ptol screamed and tried to squirm away.
«What happened to your hand, priest?»
Ptol had lost weight. His flabby jowls swayed as he raised his head to stare at Blade. Blade credited him his due-there was still a hint of defiance in-the man.
«You ask that?» Ptol was sullen. «You who struck it from me?»
Blade touched his sword to the man's remaining hand.
«So I did. And it occurs to me that, since I have taken one of your hands, I may as well have the other. What say you to that, priest?»
Ptol thrust his left hand at Blade. «I say strike it off and be damned! Kill me. Juna will revenge me.»
Blade smiled. «You are hardly one to call on Juna,
priest. But keep your hand. There are other ways. But first will you talk? I would know everything you hide in that fat little carcass. Everythingl The plans of Hectoris,
his numbers of men and ships, his landing places and, not least, the intrigue you were sent to carry out in the Pal ace.»
Something flickered in Ptol's eyes, then was gone. Blade turned on his heel and stalked out. «You have five minutes, priest.»
It took ten minutes for Blade to make his arrangements. When he returned to the dungeon Ptol was still defiant. To Blade's vast amusement he offered Blade a deal.
«We should be friends,» Rol lisped. «I come bearing an offer of great honor from Hectoris-he has heard of you and wants you for his friend and companion in arms.» He stared bitterly at his leather stump, then added, «I will forgive this, Blade. Come over to us. Patmos is doomed and you cannot save her. The king and queen have declared war on lzmia and have fled to the safety of Thyrne, which Hectoris now rules. They-«
A faint memory stirred in Blade's mind. A will-o'-thewisp, yet he thought it of something physical remembered, something physical and emotional. He broke in.
«What of Juna, priest?»
Ptol did exactly the wrong thing. He smiled craftily and, with spite, said, «She is taken along as hostage, naturally.» Again the crafty smile.
Blade leaned on his sword and frowned. «What value could she have as hostage?»
Ptol's small eyes were lewd. He nodded and a thread of spittle dribbled from a corner of his pursy mouth. «We have many spies in both Patmos and Thyrne-there was a spy in the party you took through the salt marshes, Blade. We have heard that the goddess Juna, or Vilja, if you will,