That had been ten years ago. Once in power, Krog had set out to make the People of the Blue Eye as strong among the Wakers as he himself was strong among the people. Half a dozen small wars and as many defeated and swallowed small gangs later, he had very nearly done this. Then he won over the People of the Green Tower into a close alliance. First he had defeated their war master in barehanded single combat; then he persuaded the other masters that two strong gangs combined could loot and kill the Dreamers more effectively. The two gangs had been allies now for three years, and the Green Towers had even begun to pick up and use some of Krog's military ideas.

The alliance was a frightening menace to all the other gangs, who had not failed to notice what Krog was doing or to hear of what he was planning to do in the future. They had tried upsetting his plans by warfare. But singly or even in pairs the other gangs were no match for the People of the Blue Eye. Krog had trained his people to a level of skill and discipline that had not been seen in Pura since the collapse of the old security forces a century ago.

Now for the first time in the history of the Wakers no less than nine gangs were talking of an alliance to smash the Blue Eyes and the Green Towers and put an end to the menace that was Krog. Or at least so the rumors ran. The people were confident that there was no real danger, otherwise why would Krog risk a duel that might leave his old war master dead, with the new one of uncertain skill and loyalty? The people's faith in Krog's judgment was great. Only the hot-blooded fighters of Drebin's faction were likely to mutter sourly about all the occasions when Krog had passed up a good, bloody finish fight with a rival gang in favor of sitting down and running rings around them with that quick tongue of his.

All this, Blade realized, left him in an awkward position. He had to stay alive, and that meant killing Drebin and succeeding him as Krog's war master. But as war master of the People of the Blue Eye he would have to help Krog lead them in a general war against most of the other Waker gangs, a war in which the people would certainly be outnumbered. If they were defeated, Blade knew that he would most probably die and that Narlena would either be killed or enslaved again by the victors.

But if the people won, Krog would be much closer to realizing his plan of uniting the Wakers and ending the Dreamers once and for all. Blade would then have to lead the Wakers against the Dreamers as energetically as he led the Dreamers against the Wakers before his capture. He might think of sabotaging the Waker war effort, but that would do the Dreamers no good if they lacked the strength to take advantage of any Waker mistakes or delays. And if he was detected, he would most certainly die. Narlena would die with him, and both of them would most probably die very slowly.

It was a nasty position to be in. Blade could not see a way out of it. He still could not see a way out of it when the tenth day arrived, and with it his death-duel with War Master Drebin.

Chapter Twelve

The day of the duel dawned half overcast, hot, and stifling. In the tower, where the few wandering breezes could not find their way through the narrow windows, it was like a Turkish bath. Blade was dripping with sweat before he had even risen from the leaf-filled cloth pallet that formed his bed. So were the two guards who brought him his breakfast-a mixture of ground nuts, bits of dubious meat, and a bowl of water.

He drank only some of the water and then asked one of the guards for his knife. The man looked at him with sullen suspicion. «You think I'm crazy?»

«No, I'm not planning to do anything to you or myself. I just want to shave.»

«Shave?»

«Yes.» Blade fingered his beard. «Cut my beard off, like Krog does. Understand me?»

If the guard did, he gave no sign of it. But after a moment he drew his knife from its sheath, placed it on the floor between him and Blade, and backed off several feet, hefting his spear as he did so. With the guards staring intently and warily at him, their spears aimed and ready, Blade scraped his cheeks and chin as well as the lack of soap and the dullness of the knife permitted. When he was finished, his face felt as if it had been sandpapered, but he felt he had made an important gesture, one that both Krog and the People of the Blue Eve in general would recognize. Krog set himself apart from all the other Wakers Blade had met by shaving. So by shaving, Blade would be openly allying himself with Krog and whatever plans the leader might have. Blade called to the two guards and told them he was ready.

The courtyard was already packed with people by the time the two guards led him downstairs. All the free men and women of the People of the Blue Eye were there, as were the slaves who were sitting on the ground outside their tents under a guard of fighters with drawn swords. Even a sizable contingent of fighters from other gangs had appeared. They had to sit or stand on top of the wall in order to get any kind of view over the heads of the mob in the courtyard. All of them were wearing white armbands, indicating some sort of truce arrangement.

Blade was surprised at first that Krog would permit the other gangs to observe a death-duel that could easily give the impression of disunity and weakness among the people. Then he realized that this was a gesture of defiance on Krog's part. «I despise you so much,» he seemed to be saying to the other gangs, «that I can afford to risk losing my war master in a duel, even though my war against you is close at hand. You are so weak and contemptible that I don't need to worry about any of the ordinary precautions when I prepare to fight you.» Blade doubted that Krog actually was that arrogant inside, or at least hoped he wasn't. Otherwise Blade would be serving a madman if he won today. But he also appreciated the gesture.

A murmur broken by a few cheers rose behind Blade, and he turned to see Drebin emerging from the darkness of the building. The bandage was gone from around the man's arm, and only a pinkish line of scar tissue marked the dirty but well-muscled arm. Two attendants followed behind Drebin, one carrying his sword in an oiled-cloth scabbard and the other carrying three spears in a leather shoulder sling. Drebin himself wore only a very short kilt, with a knife on the belt, and leather wrist braces. As he stepped out into the courtyard, he postured and posed for a moment, rising first on one leg, then on the other. This drew a few more cheers. Apparently Drebin's unarmed combat skill was something well known to the audience.

There was a thirty-foot square marked out with white paint on the ground up against one of the walls. Drebin's attendants led him through the crowd to one side of it while Blade's guards led him to the other. Then the guards handed Blade the same weapons Drebin was carrying-knife, sword, and the three slung spears. Blade hefted spears and sword, testing their balance. There would be problems in using throwing spears in an arena closely hemmed in on three sides by a dense crowd. The People of the Blue Eye might not worry, but he would.

Then for a third time the murmuring broke out. This time there were a great many cheers, most of them sounding genuine and unforced, as Krog and Halda stepped out of the building. The crowd made a path for them as they strode toward the arena, looking neither to the right or left, radiating confidence that their mere presence would clear a path for them. Halda wore her usual display of steel, and today even Krog was armed with a light sword. Blade was sure that in Krog's hands one sword would be more than enough.

At the edge of the arena Krog stopped and looked from Blade to Drebin and back again, drew his sword, and raised it over his head. «The People of the Blue Eye are here met to see the duel between the War Master Drebin and the fighter Blade. The duel shall continue until one or the other be dead. The weapons of nature as well as of human working may be used. I shall be judge. Shall this be so, O people?»