Blade saved himself by another tremendous leap. It opened a gap six feet wide between him and the last Death-Vowed. For a moment the two men-the one that was still human and the one whose humanity had been sucked out of him by the cult of Ayocan-stood staring at each other.

In that moment another scream, more ghastly than anything that had come before, echoed down the hall. Unmistakably it was a woman's voice. And it was coming from Queen Jaskina's chambers. The two Death-Vowed Blade had maimed but not killed had indeed found her. Now all her plans and schemes were dying under their bronze swords and stone axes.

Blade would not have regretted that too much even if he had been able to spare the time and thought for the dying queen. The scream was still hanging in the air when several things happened almost at once. The third Death-Vowed charged at Blade, waving both sword and axe, screaming in a voice that drowned out Jaskina's death rattle. Blade leaped aside from the man's rush and set his back against the wall, raising his axe.

As he did so, screams and pounding footsteps sounded from his right. Two more Death-Vowed burst out of the stairway there. But they reeled and lurched as they ran, and the chest of one and the back of the other were pumping blood. They charged blindly past Blade and straight into their advancing comrade. They struck just as blindly at him as they would have at Blade. And their comrade was too surprised to defend himself. He died with his eyes widening in amazement and his mouth widening in a scream of terror.

Somehow the realization that they had slain one of their own penetrated the minds of the two surviving Death-Vowed. They stood motionless, eyes wide and staring down at the body slumping to the rug at their feet. Before they could move to meet the new threat, Blade struck. His axe chopped deeply into one man's thighbone, then rose in a whistling arc to slice cleanly through a neck. The severed head soared into the air, then dropped to the rug with a thump and rolled over and over toward the head of the stairs.

It stopped rolling almost at the feet of two gigantic men in the pantaloons and sashes of Gonsaran soldiers. They popped out of the stairway like genies from bottles. Then they stopped with blood-smeared swords in their hands, and stared down the corridor. Their eyes took in the blood on the rugs and walls, the sprawled bodies, and Blade leaning against the wall. Their swords came up as their eyes fell on him. And he straightened and raised his axe as he felt their gaze on him.

«Who in the name of the eighty-one spirits of death are you?» snapped the smaller of the two soldiers.

Blade took a deep breath. «A warrior of the English.»

«Who in the name of-?» began the same warrior, but his comrade stopped him.

«Have you been fighting the Death-Vowed of Ayocan?» said the second warrior.

Blade was too weary to be polite. «What does it look like?»

The warrior grinned briefly. «I see. Well, the fighting is over for the moment. I think-«

It was Blade's turn to interrupt. «I think you had best see to Queen Jaskina. I saw two of the Death-Vowed enter her chambers, and heard screams. And I also think you would do well to take me to King Thambral. I have much to say to him that concerns the safety of Gonsara, and I would prefer to save it for his ears alone.»

How Blade managed to scrape up enough strength to speak in that commanding tone, he never knew. But it did the job. Accustomed from long training to obey any order snapped out in the appropriate tone of voice, the two soldiers bowed their heads. Then the first one turned and shouted down the stairs.

«Come up, come up, comrades. The Death-Vowed are slain, and a man here seeks audience with King Thambral.»

Chapter 19

It took the Gonsarans several days to sort out all the pieces and count the bodies. And they had more important things to do than keep Blade informed about the proceedings. So Blade spent those several days in «protective custody» in the basement of the Summer Palace. He wasn't sure if the Gonsarans were more interested in the «protection» or the «custody.» But his cell was dry, warm, and well furnished, and the food and drink were both good and abundant. So he assumed he was in reasonably good standing with the Gonsaran authorities. At least he was not suspected of sympathy with the cult of Ayocan. Whether he was suspected of having had something to do with Queen Jaskina's death, he wasn't sure. Apparently nobody gave much thought to the late queen. Considering what she had been planning or at least hoping for, neither did Blade.

But bits and pieces of information did trickle into Blade's gilded cage. Out of those bits and pieces Blade put together a fairly good picture of what had happened the night of Jaskina's death and for a day and a night afterward.

When the uproar in the temple mound caused by Pterin's death was over, Isgon had indeed regained command. And Blade's guess had been right. The priest saw that throwing Gonsara into chaos was his best chance of survival. So the Death-Vowed had gone out, more than three hundred of them in one massive and desperate attack.

But they had not fallen upon unwarned or unprepared victims. The man in the gatehouse who had watched Blade and his pursuers rush past had sent the word to his master. His master, one of Thambral's principal generals, had alerted his own troops and also sent word to the High Palace.

The defense could not be perfect, nor was it. Jaskina's guards and servants had been overpowered and some forty of them besides the queen herself slaughtered. One of the royal princes had also died, with his wife and two of their children and various guards and servants. But Thambral had four other sons and five daughters. There had also been casualties among the high military and civilian functionaries.

King Thambral himself spent that night in the Refuge Chamber of the High Palace. It had been built for just such disorderly occasions, and it served the House of the Red Ox well. To get to Thambral, the Death-Vowed would have had to slay every fighting man in the palace and then break through twenty feet of solid stone. They did not even do the first, although every one of them died trying.

Much the same happened to the Death-Vowed elsewhere. When dawn rose over Dafar, almost the entire three hundred lay dead in their blood in palaces and streets and gardens. And then King Thambral emerged from the Refuge Chamber, addressed his soldiers from the balcony of the High Palace, and sent them out to destroy the cult of Ayocan in his kingdom.

This they did. The priests died to the last man, from Isgon down to the newest Brother with the ink barely dry on his vows. So did the Holy Warriors, who fought back with a courage and skill that was a credit to Blade's training, if not to their own judgment. Strict orders spared the slaves and eunuchs and temple prostitutes. The soldiers merely rounded these up and confined them while the killing of the priests and Holy Warriors went on to its end. By the evening of the second day there was not a known Brother or Holy Warrior of Ayocan alive in Dafar. And troops of cavalry were pounding out of the capital in all directions, to purge and cleanse the other cities of Gonsara in the same way.

On the morning of the fourth day, Blade was called before King Thambral. By then, the only thing he did not know that preyed on his mind was the fate of Natrila. It would be a hard fate for the poor girl, to be swept away with her father in the general slaughter of all who were thought to serve Ayocan.

King Thambral met Blade in his private Hall of Audience, hung with trophies of arms and wild beasts taken or slain in the king's younger days. Those were far behind now. The years had thinned him down to almost skeletal leanness, and whitened his hair. He looked as though a strong wind might carry him away into the sky. But his eyes were clear and intense, and his voice low but clear as he interrogated Blade.