Chapter Sixteen
In spite of the punishment she had taken, Narlena healed more quickly than Blade would have believed possible or had dared hope. This was thoroughly good news, for it meant they could make their escape sooner.
It had to be «their» escape now. Blade's original idea had been to get Narlena out and then stay behind long enough to cover her tracks before making his own escape. That was no longer in the cards. Blade didn't know exactly how suspicious Krog was, and he certainly didn't want to find out the hard way. He and Narlena would have to succeed or fail together.
Besides, time was becoming more important than Blade had expected. The former slaves were coming along well in their training; so well in fact that Krog's ambitions were coming to the fore again. The week after Narlena's torture Krog called Blade aside during a training session and asked him if he thought the People of the Blue Eye were ready to take the offensive again.
Blade had expected this question, but it was still a disagreeable one to answer. If he urged Krog to wait, he might once more be arousing the man's suspicions. If Krog placed him under guard again, it would be more difficult to manage an escape. But if he assured Krog that the people were fit for combat and ready to hurl themselves once more against their enemies, Krog might take this as a signal to launch his long-awaited attack on the Dreamers. And the Dreamers needed time badly.
«Well, Krog,» Blade said slowly, «some of the new fighters are ready for anything. But most of them will need more time before they will be as good as the original people. Remember, they were starved and weak many of them, before they joined us. It takes a long time to make a half-starved man strong enough to swing a sword for hours on end or tramp all right through the streets of Pura. We do not want to wear them out and use them up the way their former masters did.»
Krog nodded, but Blade did not like the skeptical look in the man's eyes. «So. If we should take the offensive in the next few weeks, it would be mostly with the old fighters-you might call them my fighters?»
Blade nodded reluctantly. He suspected a trap lying somewhere in Krog's words. But he had no idea where it might be found.
«While your fighters go right on training, getting better, stronger, more loyal to you. Certainly, certainly.» Krog nodded again, and this time there was no mistaking the glint of ironic amusement in the man's eyes. «Blade, I think what you want is to play a very old game. I learned to recognize it when I was only so high.» He held his hand about three feet off the ground. «If I play with you, soon your fighters will outnumber mine. Then you can pick up the leadership of the People of the Blue Eye as easily as a child picking up a stone lying in the street. No, Blade, I will not play. And I think you had better be very careful if you want to go on being my War Master. I cannot find anyone as able as you are. But I can find people who will not play games with me.»
And that was that. For a moment Blade was almost tempted to throw caution to the winds and rely on his own speed and strength to enable him to kill Krog, snatch Narlena from the slave quarters, and make a run for it. Then the moment of madness passed. He realized that Krog had told him no more than the truth: he was going to have to be very careful. If he lost his post as war master, he would lose his freedom of movement and almost all chance of escape. But if he kept his mouth shut and his eyes open, sooner or later a chance would appear and he could at least snatch at it. There could no longer be an escape carefully planned for weeks in advance. But one improvised on the spur of the moment might work just as well. And even if it didn't, he had no other choice.
So he apologized to Krog and agreed that if the leader thought it was proper, the new fighters could certainly be included in the next offensive. The ironic amusement disappeared from Krog's face, and he returned to a straightforward discussion of plans. Among those plans was the attack on the Dreamers. Krog mentioned no specific time for it-a small consolation. Then he dismissed Blade, who went back to his work.
The next morning when Blade began his rounds he found that Krog had assigned no less than four guards to «escort» him-two from Krog's faction and two from Halda's. Apparently father and daughter could at least cooperate in keeping an eye on Blade. Blade was not worried, though. He mentally noted the four guards as yet another obstacle in the path of making a fast getaway when the time came. Then he went about his business as if they had been invisible and inaudible, except when he chose to snap orders at them. He would be damned ten times over before he would give Krog or Halda the satisfaction of even thinking that they had cowed or intimidated him.
The days settled back down into a routine of training, inspecting fighters and weapons, discussions with Krog and Halda, and patrols of the area around the tower with mixed squads of new and old fighters. On those patrols Blade was particularly alert. He had seen Narlena go out on working parties even before all her cuts and bruises were healed. If he should meet her somewhere out there in the maze of streets surrounding the tower. . well, he still went armed.
Finally a summer afternoon came without a cloud in the sky. There was even a brisk wind blowing over the city and blowing away the normal mugginess of its summer climate. Up on top of a ten-story building the wind was even brisker than it had been down on the street level. Blade stepped cautiously up to the crumbling parapet and looked out over the city. The wind blew away the sweat he had worked up in the climb from the street below. Behind him stood the four guards, expressionless and silent. After many days of alternately ignoring and browbeating them, they had given up trying to do anything except stay with Blade or at least in sight of him. That was exactly the way Blade wanted it. The more apathetic the guards, the better for him when the time came to move.
His eyes drifted downward-and he started violently. His hand clenched the parapet so hard that a piece of the rotten stone jerked loose and toppled over the edge. He watched it plunge down a hundred feet and more to land in the street with a faint distant crash. It missed the working party of slaves winding past below by only a few feet. There were about twenty of the slaves, guarded by a half-dozen fighters. Among the slaves, hobbling along halfway down the line, was Narlena.
Trying to keep his excitement from showing either on his face or in his voice, Blade turned around and said to the guards, «Let's go back down. I want to talk to the guards of that working party.» He led the way to the stairs without another word, and the guards followed him in equal silence.
Going down the murky, dust-clogged stairs, it was hard enough to keep from breaking into a run. He reached the street and broke out into the sunlight again to see Narlena less than a hundred feet away. There was nothing between them now except the guards of the working party. He forced his feet to stay at a walk. A fast walk, though, one that soon brought him up with the rear of the working party. Now Narlena was only twenty feet away.
His own four watchdogs were behind him. Two guards were at the rear of the party, and two more were in the middle just ahead of Narlena. Ten of the twelve fighters on hand were in a position to move against him quickly. Long odds, but surprise would be on his side. The, problem would come once they had broken free-if enough guards were still on their feet, they might wolf-pack him and Narlena, making it extremely difficult for them to make a run for it. And they could not hide and wait for dark-not when Krog would turn out every man and woman to find them. Only one hope-get out, fast!