«Norn?» Still no answer. Under the mass of mole rats he could see shiny bones. The big one leaped again, closer this time. Fear and hatred surged in Blade and he nearly flung his spear bar.
Norn's body seemed unhurt. He studied the chains. She was suspended by irons around her wrists and a collar about her neck. These led to a master chain suspended from the flies over the stage. A belt around her narrow waist, with yet another chain leading off to one side, carried her weight and prevented the irons from cutting her flesh. Thoughtful of Jantor, Blade thought grimly. He does not wish to give me damaged goods.
He circled the pit. To draw her in he would use the chain that was attached to the waist belt. It was out of reach, belayed around a peg high on a wall. He cast about for something to stand on. Norn opened her eyes and gazed at him.
For a moment she could not speak. Her mouth was dry and her lips encrusted. She looked down at the writhing mass of horror; her body convulsed as she sought to scream and brought out only a parched sound. Her glance came back to Blade and there was no recognition.
He called to her. «Norn. It is Blade. Don't look at them. I'll have you safe in a minute.» How could she have known him, with his head shaven and reeking of blood. Furiously he sought for something to stand on. He could not reach that damned chain and the stage was bare.
Norn spoke in a cracked voice. «Blade? Is it you, man Blade?»
«It is,» Blade snapped. «Save your breath. Don't look down. Just believe that I am here and nothing is going to happen to you.»
She said, «It is a trap, man Blade. Jantor knew you would come here.»
«I know that.» Blade leaped from the stage. He pushed a Morphi sleeper from a seat and with a great heave wrenched the seat from its fittings. «I expect Jantor any moment,» he told her as he leaped back onto the stage. «That is no great problem. He still needs me and I need him.»
By standing on the seat he could reach the chain. He undid it and began to pull her toward him. The mole rats, sensing the cheat, set up a renewed cry. Norn closed her eyes and retched.
Blade caught her feet, then her waist. He tied the chain again so she could not swing back over the pit. There was now the problem of getting the irons off her.
«There are clasps,» she whispered. «I cannot touch them or I would have given up and dropped into the pit long ago. You see them? Where the chains fit into the wrist irons and the collar.»
Blade found the joins and twisted the irons loose. Norn clung to him, trembling. «I did not think you would come, man Blade. I did not think you had love for me.»
Blade did not answer. He had a decision to make. Should he go to Jantor or wait for Jantor to come to him? Time became increasingly important as the computer wound toward the return phase. He had thought to get Jantor and the Morphi leaders together, to arrange a truce, to get them to unite against the orbfolk. To succeed he must first get Jantor to call off the rape and havoc, then send a message to Sybelline and Wilf bidding them turn on the power. With the Morphi elders as prisoners, and with Blade in command, there was a bare chance that something could be worked out.
«Blade?» Norn was stroking his cheek.
He did not love her, but he could not refuse her comfort. He held her close to him and gazed out over the crowded arena. The sleepers stared back at him, some in the act of applauding. From the pits came the hungry snarls.
What had gone wrong? Where was Jantor? Surely by now his spies would have told him that Blade had taken the bait.
He stroked Norn's hair. «Can you walk?»
«Not well. I am sore and stiff. My legs pain and I have not eaten or drunk. But I will try.»
«I'll carry you.» He tossed her over his shoulder.
«Where do we go?»
«To find Jantor.»
Her mouth was against his ear, her whisper husky with fear. «No need for that. See?»
All around the arena, doors were opening. Gnomen troopers blocked them. They were in the wings and behind the sets and in the flies overhead. They all carried spear bars; Blade recognized the scarlet-dyed denims and the red fylfots drawn on each bald head. These were Jantor's personal bodyguard, the best and most intelligent of the Gnomen.
A subchief advanced to within six feet of Blade and the girl and held up his hand. All the Gnomen halted. Blade could feel Norn trembling.
The subchief peered at Blade in puzzlement, as though he did not really believe what he was seeing.
«I am the man Blade,» he said calmly. «The blood is Morphi blood, not Gnomen, and I am as impatient to see Jantor as he to see me. Where is he?»
The subchief pointed with his spear bar. Jantor, as hairy and toad-like as ever, wearing a purple plastic cape, was striding down the aisle toward the stage. He did not smile or frown, but kept his deep-set brown eyes firmly on Blade and the girl. His voice, when at last he spoke, had the coarse gravelly quality that Blade remembered.
Jantor wasted no words. «Where is Sybelline?» He paused just below the stage, looking up at Blade.
Blade was very conscious of the pit. A wrong answer now, a wrong move, a misunderstanding or tantrum on Jantor's part, and both he and Norn would be food for the mole rats. Not even a desperation message via the crystal could snatch him back to HD before his flesh was gnawed from his bones.
«In the power complex,» he said. «Six miles below. She is awaiting my signal to turn on the power.»
Jantor watched him with hard eyes. He gestured around the arena with its hundreds of sleepers. «There has been a slip-up here. All males intact and no female raped. I am served by fools. How would you send this message, Blade?»
Only the truth would serve him now. «There is a chute atop the Government Building. It leads to the power complex. I will send my message down the chute, attached to some object of weight.»
Jantor nearly smiled. «Will send, Blade, with some weighty body? Perhaps your corpse!»
«Perhaps. But hear me, Jantor. It was not my intention to send any message until I had conferred with you.»
«To what purpose, Blade?» He pointed with his bar at the sleepers. «You think I want them awake? Am I a fool, then? There are many of them, even after all we have killed or depowered, and few of us. They have terrible weapons and we have only spear bars. You are a fool, Blade, or you are mad. Turn the power on and they will destroy you as certainly as they will me. And you are a double fool to trust Sybelline, for I have long suspected her of being a traitor, of betraying us to the orbfolk.»
«That is true.» Blade nodded. «She is in touch with the Selenes, but she has not yet betrayed us. She wants me. She thinks that together we can rule both the Morphi and the Gnomen, and make a peace with the Selenes. She has been promised much by the orbfolk. If you will have patience, Jantor, and give me leave, I think I can handle Sybelline.»
Jantor said harshly, «She is as vicious as a mole rat.» He stroked his bald head. «I do not like your ideas, Blade. I do not know if it is better to kill you now and have done with that worry or to listen to you.»
Blade bluffed. He smiled. «Listen to me for a few moments. You can always kill me later. But first-you know I had nothing to do with the rape and death of Alixe?»
Jantor stroked his beard. «I know that. It was Sart. I know also that you and he killed many of my best men when you escaped. For this I can forgive you, for it was a natural thing to do. But Sart must be given to me. Does he still live?»
«No,» lied Blade, not knowing he spoke truth. «He died of his wound. Sybelline is with her son Wilf in the power complex, no one else.»
Jantor snorted. «Her pup and lover. But that is nothing against him. In fact I have nothing against Wilf except his choice of mothers.»