«They are no more dangerous than the branches of a tree when one has killed the roots,» said Blade. «Or at least they need not be. I suggest that you offer a pardon for all who surrender before a set date, then settle them someplace on the frontier where you need good fighters.»
«Not among the Fighters of Junah, I hope,» said the Baran, with a laugh.
«No. That would be sentencing the Hashomi to death, and I'm not sure they deserve it, not now. I have the feeling that many of the survivors wouldn't mind settling down to a more normal life, with wives, children, and land. Give them that chance, and see what happens.»
«I'll do that,» said the Baran. «I take it that you don't want any of them in the valley?»
Blade shook his head. «I'll have enough trouble getting things settled as it is. All I've got by way of people I can trust is the refugees and Mirna's women.»
«How is Mirna?»
«A few bruises are still healing, but otherwise she's doing well. She's already asked for a horse so she can ride out and get her women properly organized.»
«Maybe you ought to marry her, Blade, so that you'll have some influence over those women of hers.»
Blade considered the Baran's suggestion. Under the laws of the Baranate, a man could have up to three legal wives and seven recognized concubines. Few men in their right minds would take on that many, of course, even if they could afford them. But he could marry Mirna, if he wanted to.
«I don't think so,» he said at last. «She doesn't need any man's protection, not with the Hashomi gone and her women behind her. She might not even be willing. Also, I don't know what the rest of the valley people think of her. If I married her, I could find myself making all her enemies mine before I'd been ruling a week.»
«As usual, you think ahead,» said the Baran.
I wish I could think farther ahead than I can, thought Blade. I almost wish you hadn't decided to make me your Hand for this valley. My time here must be nearly at an end. I'll be on my way back to Home Dimension long before I can give these people what they need. Who will be my successor?
Of course! I'll recommend Giraz as my successor. He's old enough so that he'll be retiring from the Eyes before long. He's a eunuch, so he won't be producing a family to watch out for. And he's completely trustworthy.
Blade heaved a mental sigh of relief. That was the last loose end tied up.
It was early morning, and the Baran was waiting on the terrace of the hospital as Blade came out. Behind the Baran stood a dozen picked soldiers and Giraz. Beside him stood two scribes, one holding a scroll and the other a long pole with a flag wrapped around one end.
The sunlight flashed on the jewels and precious metals Blade wore. He was in the full court costume of a general of the Baran's army, with tunic and trousers of silk, boots of white calfskin set with pearls, sword with a ruby-studded hilt, and gold helmet with a crest of emeralds. The costume weighed as much as a coat of mail, it was nearly as uncomfortable, and it was far less battle-worthy. Junah help any man who had to fight in this outfit!
Then the Baran and the two scribes were stepping forward. One scribe was unrolling the scroll and reading from it in a high-pitched nasal voice. It was the Baran's proclamation that henceforth Richard Blade was the Hand of the Baran in the Valley formerly of the Hashomi, and that he was in all matters supreme authority second only to the Baran.
Then the other scribe came forward and handed Blade the furled banner. He undid the silk cords, shook the pole, and the banner lifted and streamed out on the morning breeze. It was green, and on it in white was a knife, slashing through a Hashomi sword and a Hashomi staff.
«This is not only your banner as my Hand in this valley,» said the Baran. «This is the banner of your house, the House of Blade, as long as there are men of that name in Dahaura. May that be a long time!»
The Baran motioned to one of the soldiers, and he stepped forward carrying what Blade recognized as the Master's staff, wrapped in silk except for the silver ball at the end. «I thought of making this my own trophy, but by all that is just, it is really yours. Take good care of it, Blade. That was a victory you won for yourself, and let no one say otherwise.»
«Lord Baran, I-«began Blade formally, then stopped. It was as if a white light had flared briefly behind his eyeballs, momentarily blotting out the world around him. «My lord-«he began again, and the light came again. This time there was also pain with it pain that stabbed at Blade's eyes until he felt tears starting from them, pain that thundered in his head.
Blade turned, dropping the banner and barely keeping his grip on the Master's staff. He took two blind, staggering steps forward. He was vaguely aware of shouts and cries from the Baran, Giraz, and the soldiers. He was also aware that the railing was pressing against his stomach. If he stayed here he might go over the edge. The computer was reaching out to him, ready to snatch him back to Home Dimension, but it might not finish the job before he struck the ground four hundred feet below.
The pain grew more savage. Blade bit back a groan and threw himself away from the railing and the cliff beyond it. His head struck the terrace, and the blow seemed to clear his vision. He saw the blue sky and the White Mountain rearing against it. The peak reared higher and higher, as though he were moving toward it, then higher still, until it seemed ready to topple over on him.
Before it could do that, the pain swelled further and the White Mountain danced away into the sky. Blackness fell like rain, and as it fell the world around Blade faded out and did not return.
Chapter 27
The supersonic Concorde was leveling off at its cruising altitude of sixty thousand feet. Richard Blade loosened his seat belt, slid his chair back into a more comfortable position, and relaxed while waiting for the stewardess to take his drink order.
Behind him lay Britain, a safe return from Dimension X, and all the debriefing and interrogation that always followed such a trip. Ahead lay a month's working vacation in the United States-soaking up the sun and sea air in Florida, but also training in underwater sabotage work and looking over a few possible candidates for Project Dimension X.
Blade had ceased to be optimistic about finding another person who could make the trip, but he hadn't given up hope yet. He also hoped that the new man's first trip would be as successful as the one he himself had just finished.
He'd defeated a vicious, gifted madman and helped a good and wise ruler keep his throne and save the lives of his subjects. He'd killed a good many people, but all of them had been trying to kill him. The people he cared about-Esseta, Mirna, Kubin Ben Sarif, Giraz, the Baran himself-had all survived. He did not have the lives or sanity of a single one of them on his conscience. Blade's conscience was a tough one-it had to be. But he was always happier when people who'd trusted him, who'd been his friends, who'd become involved in his adventures without wishing to, did not end up gruesomely dead.
Finally, there was the grand joke that Dimension X itself had played on all of them. The Master's staff had made the return trip with Blade, in fine condition-except for the vials of drugs in the silver bell.
The drugs were gone-not physically removed, but chemically changed. Blade didn't understand precisely what was involved, since the description for each drug involved several pages of totally incomprehensible chemical formulas. What he did understand was this: Somewhere, somehow, during the transition from Dimension X to Home Dimension, the drugs had ceased to be drugs. Not one of them now had, or ever could have, any effects whatever on the human system.