The house itself was a sprawling, one-story affair, with several wings apparently running off at odd angles to each other and a massive tile roof that seemed too heavy for the building under it. Blade saw no one moving outside, but he could see the glow of lights through the delicate lattice-work shutters over the windows. From the rear rose a column of smoke, coiling upward slowly until it disintegrated under the rain.

Blade darted across the bridge and began working his way around the house toward the rear. That smoke might mean the kitchen, and that was the place he intended to start. The chill weather and his exertions during the day had made Blade hungry enough to eat a colt, if not a full-grown horse.

As he reached the rear of the house, the appetizing sound and even more appetizing smell of frying food drifted out to greet him. He stood up and tied the sash more neatly around his waist. He couldn't be sure exactly what class or rank his robe indicated, but he suspected it was something well up the social scale-possibly even the local warrior caste. Blade's experience with warrior castes in several different dimensions had taught him that they always carried themselves with a swagger. So he drew himself up to his full six feet one as he approached the kitchen door and knocked as sharply as if he were a policeman. It never hurt to look and sound as though you had every right to be where you were and to be doing what you were doing.

The door opened after Blade's third knock. An old woman peered out, her wrinkled but sharp brown features screwed up into an angry frown. Then she took in Blade's commanding height, his air of calm arrogance, and his robe. Her expression changed in a split second to one of abashed servility. She dropped to her knees, beat her head three times on the ground with her hands over her eyes, and then straightened up.

«What is your wish, Honorable dabuno?»

«My wish is food.» Blade kept his voice cold and haughty.

«Food, yes. Do you wish anything else?»

«We will speak of that after the food.» And after he had taken a look around.

«It shall be so.» The woman's voice had an almost ritual quality as she spoke. Then she stood up, bowed low, and led Blade inside.

The kitchen was lit by several lanterns and the glowing bed of charcoal under the heavy iron grate on the stone hearth. On that grate stood several large iron pots and an iron pan at least a yard in diameter. What looked like enough meat and vegetables to feed a battalion sizzled cheerfully in the pan, and clouds of sweet-smelling steam rose from the pots. Blade kept his face straight, but he could not keep his stomach from giving off a rumble like a tank engine.

There was a mat in one corner of the kitchen. Blade sat down cross-legged on it. Strains, sprains, and bruises protested as he did so. He realized that he would have to get thoroughly thawed out, and fast. Otherwise he would be stiff enough tomorrow to be slowed down in a fight. That could be fatal.

The curtain across the door leading into the main area of the house was pushed open, and a young woman came in with a stack of dirty dishes. Blade's eyes flickered across her, recognizing her as one of the women by the stream, scanning her for any sign that she suspected anything. But she bowed as the old woman had done when she saw the blue robe, then she murmured, «The house of the Honorable Captain Jawai is honored by your presence, dabuno.»

Blade merely nodded graciously. Then the old woman came over with a lacquered tray holding a bowl of soup, a bowl of meat and vegetables, and a large plate of coarse, whitish porridge. The only eating utensils visible were six-sided lacquered sticks, enough like chopsticks so that Blade could use them easily. He dug into the food with no effort to conceal his hunger. Perhaps the dabuni were supposed to be ascetics who picked at their food, but at the moment he didn't care. He could argue that or any other point much better with a full meal in his stomach.

Neither of the women made any comment on the rate at which Blade emptied his tray, nor raised an eyebrow when he asked for more. The young woman only asked, «Do you also wish saya?»

Whatever that was, it sounded alcoholic. Blade shook his head. After a long and exceptionally exhausting day that might still end violently, he wanted to stay absolutely sober.

«Ah, I see you have taken the dem vow as well as becoming a Lonely Brother,» said the older woman. «Then you will not wish to meet the Honorable Captain Jawai?»

Blade had been wondering how to get out of going through any social formalities with the master of the house. But now the woman had just presented him with what seemed like a ready-made excuse.

«Yes, I have taken the dem vow.» The paint on his skin was beginning to itch. He pulled the robe half off his left shoulder and rubbed vigorously. He would have to ask for some turpentine or something to get this muck off before long.

The girl's eyes widened at the width and muscles of Blade's chest. The old woman noticed where the girl was looking and slapped her lightly on the shoulder. «Don't make eyes at a Lonely Brother who has taken the dem vow, Kika. He's not for you.» Blade decided he should nod again at those words. «Now go and tell the Honorable Captain about our guest.»

Kika vanished through the curtain, still looking back at Blade. Blade looked at his empty tray, considered whether he should eat any more, and decided against it. The food and the warmth would be making him feel sleepy before long.

Blade's tray had barely touched the mats on the floor when a sharp, shrill scream sounded from farther inside the house. Then the girl's voice-«No, Honorable Master, please. I did not know!»-the sound of two hard blows, another scream, and the thud of a falling body.

Blade was on his feet before the first scream died away, his eyes flickering around the room for a safe spot and a weapon of some sort. One leap carried him into the opposite corner, where he had both flanks protected by heavily timbered walls. As he moved he snatched up the poker leaning against the hearth. Then before the old woman could move or even open her mouth for a scream of her own, he scooped up her carving knife with the other hand.

He had barely regained his safe corner when more noises came from inside the house. First the clatter of falling trays, and bowls, then the fussing sound of a sword being drawn, finally the thud of fast-moving feet heading toward the kitchen. Blade crouched low, raised the poker to guard, and held the carving knife ready to thrust.

A moment later the curtain flew open, and another man in a blue robe burst into the kitchen. Both hands held a curved, yard-long sword above his head. The light shimmered on the flawlessly polished steel, and another kind of light gleamed in his eyes. It was the light of an almost maniacal determination to kill or die.

Blade had braced himself physically for an attack. Now he quickly braced himself mentally for a fight to the death.