But something in the back of his mind kept prodding him onward, telling him over and over again that he was on the right course. Such intuitions had come to him before in tight spots; he had learned the wisdom of following them.

It must have been approaching five in the afternoon when he stumbled into the clearing. The neatly sawed-off stumps of the trees on its fringes and the piles of logs in the center told him it was man-made, and what cheered him even more was the axe stuck into one of the stumps: Not only was it a better weapon than the club; more important, it was an unmistakable sign of recent human presence. He swung the axe around his head several times in a flourish of joy before moving on.

Gradually other signs of human presence began to accumulate. Horse droppings-cold and hardening fast. Beehives-overturned, smashed like bottles hurled against a concrete wall-deserted by their inhabitants. Ants were already climbing up the debris to get at the dripping honey. A tree-house perched some thirty feet up in the crotch of a moss-grown forest giant heavy with overripe blue-green fruit. A small plank bridge over an even smaller ravine. Then, on the other side of the bridge, another body.

A woman this time. Young-in fact hardly more than a girl-naked, the caked blood between her thighs showing what had happened to her before massive blows had caved in her skull and had broken arms, legs, and ribs. This finally confirmed a suspicion that had been growing in Blade for some time. Whatever human habitation had been near here, it had been involved in last night's catastrophe and it and its people swept away.

But the dead girl also added a new dimension to the disaster. The wreckage in the forest, the dead man, the footprints-these were the work of some monstrous beast. But the dead girl was an unmistakable sign of violence done by men to men. He might find himself with a human opponent to fight before long.

He took time to lower the body into the ravine and cover it with leaves and branches. Then he moved on, axe swinging with deceptive looseness in one huge hand, yet ready to strike at a second's warning. Another body-a shaggy pony, head caved in, flies buzzing around the staring eyes. A pig running loose, scuttling frantically into the woods at the sight of him. A site used for many campfires, banked with soot-caked stones set in clay and piled high with ashes and bits of charcoal.

Now he could see in the middle distance the sun striking through the trees over a broad arc across his front. A clearing lay ahead. He gripped the axe with both hands and slipped forward, pausing behind each tree to watch and listen for any movement his approach might have stirred up. He came to the last tree, gripped the axe still more tightly, and pushed his head cautiously out.

The ruined village sprawled across the clearing in the fading light.

Blade was not surprised; he had been expecting something like this. But the blind, malignant ferocity that had gone into wiping out the village and its people was more than he had expected. Both the beasts and whatever men worked with them or in their wake had been here. He saw toothmarks on roofbeams as thick as a man's body, footprints into which the bodies of villagers had been trampled and squeezed into red jam over which the insects buzzed, and far too many other bodies hacked and mangled by human-wielded weapons. Some of these were festooned by masses of foul-smelling sticky brown threads, like adhesive tape, wrapped around their limbs. Inside the ruined houses there were signs of hurried looting, by men who had smashed everything they couldn't or wouldn't carry away.

A child's doll on the planks of a walkway, roughly torn in half, sawdust trickling out. A pile of red-caked glass on the ground, where a dozen jars of some housewife's preserves had been hurled against a wall. A dog lying on the path, twitching feebly, its legs broken, whimpering until Blade ended its misery with his axe. Rounding every corner, peering into the half-shadows of each ruined hut, brought new horrors to view. When he came to where an elderly man had been pinned to the wall of his house by spikes through both hands and then used as a target for throwing knives, even Blade's hardened sensibilities and his empty stomach could not keep him from bending over and retching himself even emptier. After the heaving had passed, he remained kneeling in the damp shade for several minutes, until his peripheral vision told him of something moving toward him, stopping to watch him. He rose and turned to look.

A girl was standing at the edge of the forest, staring at him with wide, terror-filled eyes. He had just time to notice her dark blond hair, the fur tunic she was wearing, the long bare tanned legs, and the pouch at her belt, before her terror overcame her and she turned and ran.

If her panic had not made her too muddle-headed to plunge straight into the forest, Blade would never have caught her, because she was as quick off the mark as a bolting rabbit. For all his longer legs and superb physique, Blade was hard put to keep her in sight for a minute or two, then gradually began to gain on her. She kept on, even though the looks she kept throwing back over her shoulder must have told her he was gaining. As he closed the distance, he reached out to grab her by the tunic, felt his hands close on the fur-then with a frantic eel-like wriggling and a snapping of thongs she tore herself out of it and ran on naked. It took Blade a moment of standing there with the empty tunic in his hands and a stupid expression on his face to recover, then his legs churned and he was off in pursuit once more.

It did not take him as long to overtake the girl the second time, because her legs and wind were starting to fade. He could see the sweat glazing her bare back and heard the rasp of breath in her throat as he drew closer. As he reached for her, his hands going about her waist, she spun cat-quick and threw herself against him, her knee snapping up toward his groin and her clawed hands darting for his eyes.

Only his lightning reflexes and his unarmed combat training saved him from painful damage. He spun to the right, pivoting on his right leg while his left shot up, then stiffened, swept across, clubbing the girl in the right hip. She spun off her feet, and before she could move Blade had dropped on her, immobilizing her body with his own weight while his muscular arms pinned hers to the ground. As he did this, he began to speak to her in a low, slow, reassuring tone, not taking much care with his choice of words, only trying to convey a sense of friendliness and calm. It worked. Gradually the stark terror of a netted bird left her eyes and he felt her lithe body relax under him. He let go of her arms and stood up.

«Who are you?»

«I–I-my name is Rena.»

«Was this your village?»

«Oh-I-yes. I-«and she burst into tears. Blade put his arms around her and held her against him while she choked and sobbed and gasped out words like «the Ice Dragons» and «murdered, murdered everybody they didn't take away.» Gradually she calmed, but as she did so Blade was aware that the pressure of her slim, delicately curved body against his was beginning to arouse him, and looking into her eyes he saw the beginning of a strange arousal there, too.

Stepping back a pace, he put his arms on her shoulders and looked straight at her. There was a long pause while he watched her eyes, to see whether acceptance or revulsion would show there, then moved his hands gently down the rounded slope of her shoulders to cup her breasts. She gave a little gasp, but Blade felt the small brownish nipples rising to delicately firm points against his palms. She gave a louder gasp now, and her own hands rose seemingly of their own accord to press against his chest and wander from there up to his face and down again, feeling the massive muscles of his arms and torso, over his board-hard and board-flat stomach, down to wrap work-hardened but delicate fingers around his swollen manhood.