The big man looked up. He was covered with sweat and blood; wounded in half-a-dozen places. Even his coarse black beard was matted with blood. But it was his eyes-cold, fierce eyes peering from that dreadful visage-that both frightened and inspired Sybelline. They were bleak eyes and at the same time they flamed with the madness of battle. They stared up at her-alert, murderous and calculating-and Sybelline knew she had to go all the way. No retreat now.

«Up here,» she said. «Quickly.»

Blade nodded and gave Sart a little push. They began to climb the stairs, keeping the bloody spear bars at the ready.

Only when they entered the apartment did Blade's battle ecstasy begin to diminish. Wounds, the sight and scent of blood, the killing, had completed his transmogrification. His adaption to DX was not complete and his only aim was survival. The thin wafer of crystal in his brain was his only link to Home Dimension; for the time being he had forgotten it.

And this woman, this white-haired Sybelline who claimed to be Queen of the sewer people, what of her? He set out at once to put her in her place.

«See to Sart's wounds,» he commanded. «Mine are of no consequence. He is a murderer and a rogue, and has a slave's brain, but I need him. Patch him up as best you can.»

When Sybelline hesitated, Blade raised his blood-encrusted spear bar. «Do as you are told.»

She was stubborn. «We must talk, you and I. I have much to tell you and to ask of you.»

«Later,» he said gruffly. «Tend to Sart before he bleeds to death.»

Blade went to stand at the window, keeping in the shadow, watching the shattered kiosk and the mammoth sewer lid. It did not move. Jantor and his men would not come that way, he thought. In any case, it would take awhile for Jantor to figure matters out and to take countermeasures.

The fight had been short and bloody, but it had gone better than Blade expected. He used Sart as a decoy, luring the subchief to talk, then Blade broke his neck with one terrible blow of his fist. He caught the Gnoman's spear bar as it dropped. Sart, driven by fear, carried out his orders. He plunged into the crowd of guardsmen and seized a bar before they knew what he was about. Blade came roaring in, yelling battle sounds to stun and frighten them and swinging his bar like a broadsword. He killed four of the guards before they realized what was happening. Sart killed three. Blade drove the demoralized Gnomen up the tunnel while Sart erected the ladder.

The guardsmen sent for help and began to fight back. Blade piled bodies before him as a barricade and held them at bay while Sart put his sturdy back to the sewer lid. At first he groaned that he could not budge it. Blade threatened him with a terrible fate and the slave, blood spurting from his wound, tried again and again. It moved just as a hundred Gnomen came running down the tunnel toward Blade. Blade leaped up the ladder and joined his strength to Sart's, together they moved the lid out of its bedding. Blade climbed over Sart's back into the kiosk, found it too confining and kicked it to bits. He reached down to pluck Sart up just before his legs were crushed by the bars.

Time ran out, and several of the Gnomen made it up the ladder in spite of Blade's flailing bar. Sart was near dead, so he could not help much in the brief bloody fray on the street, but Blade drove him and cursed him and together they had gotten the lid back in place, slicing a guardsman in half in the doing.

Blade turned away from the window. The battle had only begun. Jantor was an enemy now. He would find the body of Alixe and he would come after Blade and Sart. Jantor would think that Blade had plotted against him, that he had thrown in with Sybelline because she knew the secret of the power.

Blade went to the door to watch. Sart was on the floor. Sybelline, revulsion on her smooth, unlined face, was examining his wound. She glanced up at Blade, her green eyes narrowed and calculating. He remembered that she was half Morphi. She would bear watching. Nevertheless he meant to use her as she, no doubt, would try to use him.

Sart had been struck over the heart with the hooked end of a spear bar. The cruel teeth had torn the flesh away, leaving a bloody gouge a foot long and two inches across. Blade knelt to see better. Only a thin flap of pink bloody tissue covered the heart. Blade watched the heart pulsing strongly like a caged thing against a slight barrier. He marveled at Sart's endurance.

Sybelline read his thoughts. «They are animals, the Gnomen. Beasts. Savages. Only a Gnoman could survive a wound like this.»

Her breath came to his nostrils and he understood that she was drunk. To humble her, he said, «You are half Gnomen, so you should know. What have you been drinking? Fetch me some.»

She came back with two of the symbol-marked cans. Blade sniffed the stuff. Not alcohol, as he knew it, but it was plainly an intoxicant and might do. He poured a can onto the wound and Sart bellowed at the sting. He moaned.

«Let me die, master. It is better. We have no chance. Jantor has a thousand men and he will be after us.»

Blade grinned evilly. His face was a mask of caked and blackening blood. «You will not die yet. I forbid it. I order you to live as long as I need you.»

He cracked an order at Sybelline and she, nearly sober now, cut a thick piece of plastic to fit, placing it over the wound as a shield. This she bound in place with strips cut from plastic sheets. When she was done, Sart was swathed in bandage from chin to waist.

Blade nudged the man with his foot. «Rest here a little time. Jantor will not come for a while and I must have words with Sybelline.»

For the first time Sart really appeared to recognize the white-haired woman, to see in her the Sybelline who was Queen Consort to Jantor, if only in name. He nodded and groaned.

«So you have chosen, master. I think it is the wrong choice. She has no warriors.»

As they went into another room Blade said, «He thinks we plotted this meeting, that I had it in mind all along.»

Sybelline gazed at him. She liked him, yet hated him. She despised him, yet needed him. She knew she must be cautious, yet she found herself on her knees before him, not really willing it, not conscious of volition. She opened his blood-spattered front and took his softness into her hand for a moment. It was not really a sexual act, for both she and Blade knew it had nothing to do with sex. It was submission. Sybelline was shocked at herself, but what other course was open to her?

She handled him for a moment, then stood up. Their eyes met. Blade said: «You are right. We must talk. But first one thing must be understood-you know the secret of the Morphi power and I must know it. With it, we may be able to defeat Jantor and live. So that comes first. Show me the power.»

Sybelline cradled her arms across her firm breasts. He did not understand. It was not so simple. There were the Selenes to be reckoned with. She remembered Onta's cold stares and knew that he, the Chief of Brain Secrets, had no concept of mercy.

But when she would have explained, Blade cut her short. He was curt, brutal. «All that can wait. Either show me or explain to me the source of the Morphi power-at once. Now! We have no time to waste.»

Sybelline nodded. She knew when she was beaten. «We will have to go over the roofs,» she told him. «A great distance. The Selenes will know. Their lights will pick up our images, code them and transmit them on the orbscreens. They will know and they will wonder.»

«Let them,» said Blade. «How likely are they to take action, and how soon?»

Sybelline smiled for the first time since their meeting. «Not soon, I think. They are patient and secure. They plan long ahead. We need not fear them immediately. But in the end they act. I spoke to Onta only a short time ago and-«