For a moment Blade felt his eyes watering with more than fatigue and dust. Then he nodded. «I accept that; I accept it gladly.» He sat up, realized that his bones would not fall apart if he moved, and stood up. For a moment he had to brace himself on his son's shoulder, then stood alone.

«Let us get back to our people.»

As King Rikard predicted, the last of the fighting died down before nightfall. There was not a live mercenary anywhere in sight, and cavalry patrols armed with captured guns were on the prowl to make sure that those who had run away kept on running until they dropped dead.

More than two hundred thoroughly confused and frightened Peace Lords were prisoners-or guests. They weren't quite sure which, even after Blade assured them that they would be welcome in Tharn and find good homes, freedom, and useful work there. No doubt he looked like one more dusty and blood-spattered barbarian to them. He could hardly tell them of his real origins, however.

But Blade knew the Peace Lords would come around in time, and be a valuable aid to Tharn in its groping back to civilization. There would be problems getting them settled in, but nothing that his son and the council could not solve. What Tharn needed Mazda for had been done this day, and would not have to be done again.

Blade spent some time in the tent where Anyara and Silora lay. They had washed Silora's face and then bound and covered her so that her wounds and mutilations did not show. The pale face with the long eyelashes might have been sunk in sleep. Yes, it was a good thought his son had, letting Silora lie in the same tomb with Zulekia. Whatever happened in Konis now, Silora would never go home. But at least she would not be forgotten here in Tharn, among the people she had fought for and died helping to save.

After a while Blade went out again into the camp. One of the rare plains thunderstorms was moving in from the west. The stars were vanishing overhead, and lightning flickered eerily along the horizon.

Some of the younger men and women who still had the strength were dancing among the tents. Why not? thought Blade. They are alive; the Looters are destroyed; Tharn is safe. Enough reason for anyone to celebrate. Then he saw who was leading the line of dancers as it snaked in and out among the tents.

It was Chara, wearing nothing but the technician's jeweled belt around her waist. The jewels sparkled and her bare oiled skin seemed to glow in the light from the campfires. She was magnificent, and suddenly completely irresistible.

Blade stepped forward and reached out to take her free hand. Her eyes met his, with a light in them showing that she shared his thoughts. Together they would seek out warmth and life, drive away the day's memories of death and all the ghosts that still seemed to be hanging over the battlefield. She drifted away from the dance, and hand in hand they started for his tent.

The first drops of rain spattered down on the camp as they ducked into the tent. As Blade took the belt in both hands, to draw it off from Chara's waist, thunder exploded outside, as loud as any of the battle noises that day.

In the same moment Blade felt pain and another sort of thunder explode inside his head. He staggered, partly with the pain, partly with surprise at the realization of what was happening. Lord Leighton's computer was calling him back across the unknown, back to England. His hands tightened on the belt. He saw Chara's eyes widen, heard her say, «Mazda, are you-?» Then the thunder in his ears and the thunder in his head drowned her out. She faded from view, the tent followed, then there was nothing around him but a vast dim grayness and a steep slope plunging endlessly down into the grayness.

He ran fast down the slope-he had to run, or fall down head over heels. He ran so fast that it was a while before he noticed that the surface under his feet was level. He slowed down. As he slowed, he saw two lights in the grayness ahead. They became brighter, took shape, became Lord Leighton and J. He slowed to a walk and strode toward them, holding the belt in one hand. He raised it high, as though saluting them, and spoke.

«I returned to Tharn. I saw my son, King of Tharn.»

His voice faded away. So did Lord Leighton and J. Then the grayness itself turned black.

Chapter 26

Richard Blade was walking along Westminster Embankment. A London fog swirled around him, but within his mind there was total clarity. He was running his mind back over what had happened since his return from Tharn.

Lord Leighton had managed to contain himself until he heard the full story of Blade's adventures in Tharn. Then he exploded. A return to a previously visited dimension! A people who could travel at will and regularly from one dimension to another, almost as easily as a London businessman going home to the suburbs! A people who also had antigravity, incredibly advanced power sources, at least half a dozen astounding weapons, and much else! But how much information had Blade brought back about any of these breakthroughs, other than the fact of their existence?

Nothing.

At least it was nothing from Lord Leighton's viewpoint, and as usual that was the only one the scientist would consider. Lord Leighton was a man who would maintain his views in the face of God Almighty, let alone Blade or even J. Nor would he be very tactful about how he set them out. He certainly hadn't been so this time. In fact he had set some sort of a record, for all the years Blade had watched the scientist in action.

About the return to Tharn itself there wasn't much Blade could have done, admittedly. He couldn't have expected it and it happened too fast. But the Looters, with all their marvelous scientific gifts-now that was another matter.

«What was I supposed to do?» was Blade's question.

And Lord Leighton had shrugged his shoulders and replied, «You could have always joined the Looters and found out as much about them as you could before returning home.»

A silence came down in J's apartment when Lord Leighton said that. It was the deadest, coldest silence that Blade had ever heard. He took advantage of the silence to excuse himself and leave, leave so fast that he forgot his hat and umbrella. But he knew he had to leave. If he stayed around, he would say things to Lord Leighton that might make it hard for them to work together in the future. That would be bad for the project and for England. But that didn't alter the fact that he had never been so angry in his life. In some less civilized dimensions, he would probably have snatched the scientist out of his chair and dashed out his brains against the nearest wall.

But J was no doubt calming Lord Leighton down, and the long walk in the bitter foggy air had done the same for Blade. He could now admit that Lord Leighton was perfectly within his rights in being half-wild with frustration and annoyance. Half a dozen of his cherished dreams had been handed to him practically on a silver platter, and nothing would come of them because Blade had been too damned busy saving the people!

Possibly Lord Leighton was even partly right. No, Lord Leighton was entirely right-for some other dimension. In any other dimension there would have been a point beyond which Blade owed the project more than he owed the local people. In no other dimension but Tharn would he have genuinely neglected his duties to the project-to England-by being so wholeheartedly on the side of the local people that he threw aside all the opportunities for scientific discoveries.

But Tharn was different. Tharn was the land of the people he had helped create, ruled by his son, his own son. He could not have left one stone unturned to aid them, or sacrificed one of them for any number of scientific discoveries. He knew this; J knew this, and no doubt in time Lord Leighton would calm down enough to realize it also. Meanwhile the best thing he could do was stay away from the scientist and remember what he had seen and done in Tharn this time.