«That was not well done,» said a voice beside Blade. He looked around, to see Lord Chenosh standing quietly with his crippled hand tucked into his belt.

«I suppose not. But I was going to do the same thing.»

«Ah. I did not mean Miera's boldness, although it will have everyone talking for a week. I meant Lord Barjom's killing his Feathered One. The Feathered Ones have ways of learning which Lords treat them as animals and which are wiser. It will not be long before Barjom can no longer get a Feathered One, even if the Master of the Feathers-«He broke off as he realized Blade might not care to discuss Orric.

«Never mind,» said Blade. «Go on. You're saying things about the Feathered People I haven't heard before. I'd like to know about these things.» He laughed at the expression on the boy's face and answered the implied question. «Yes, I'm going to live long enough to use what you tell me.»

The boy started talking, sometimes gesturing with his good hand. He was well informed on the history and breeding of the Feathered Ones, or at least Blade thought he was. It was hard to be sure with everyone now talking as loudly as if they were calling hogs. Between the noise, the hot air, and the wine and beer, Blade wasn't sure he caught more than one word out of three.

He knew he'd been at the feast too long when someone handed him a silver wire basket of engraved golden balls and he thought they were ripe fruit. He was trying to bite into one when the laughter of the people around him made him realize his mistake. He held up the ball, saw the number «Seven» in fancy script on it, then put it back in the basket.

By then the crowd was beginning to thin out, as people drifted away or collapsed in corners to sleep off their food and drink. Blade got back to the room he was sharing with Lord Gennar to find his roommate gone. An empty leather wine bottle and a discarded woman's dress told how Gennar had spent the evening in spite of his wounds. Blade started discarding his own clothes, and was already naked when he heard a knock. He picked up his knife and crossed to the door.

«Lord Blade?» came a female voice from outside.

«Yes?»

«You drew the Golden Seven, didn't you?»

«The Golden-?» he began, then remembered the golden balls he'd thought were fruit. «Yes, I did.»

«I am Seven.»

«Then come in, Seven.» He opened the door and admired the girl as she stood silhouetted against the torchlight from the hall outside. It was easy to admire her, since she was in one of the semitransparent gowns. She was a little on the thin side, but her breasts were full and firm, and both the hair on her head and the hair between her thighs was a rich curly brown. The only thing spoiling the picture was her eyes, which refused to meet his. In the end he had to practically drag her inside and close the door behind her.

In the process her gown was ripped at the shoulder, so it slid down and lay around her feet. Although the night was warm, the girl started shivering. Blade wished she'd stop. The last thing he felt like doing was making love to a girl who was obviously scared half out of her wits. He sat down on the bed. «Well, Seven. Why are you here?»

The question startled her so, that for the first time she actually looked at him, dark eyes widening. «You-you are one for boys? Oh, my Lord, I beg your pardon. Please, don't beat me for saying that. I have spoken-«She could not go on, and Blade had to grip her hard to keep her from throwing herself on the floor and kissing his feet.

«You have not spoken words against the honor of a Lord. I am not a lover of boys, but it was a question you had every right to ask. I say you had the right, and no one else can say anything to either of us while we are here tonight!»

«Then-I may stay?»

«You certainly may.»

«Thank you. Thank you.» She fell on her knees and started kissing him-not his feet, but other and more sensitive parts of his body. She worked with a desperation which almost repelled him, but also with a skill which aroused him in spite of himself. At last there was nothing for him to do but bury his fingers in her hair and let her finish what she'd begun. Then his release came, and when he had control of himself he bent down, picked her up, and carried her to the bed. She looked nervously up at him as he laid her down.

«Lord Blade?»

«It's your turn now.»

«My-turn?» She sounded both interested and frightened at the same time.

He didn't bother trying to explain. He suspected that she'd never met a man who had any thought for her pleasure as well as his own. He bent over her, kissing her lips until they opened, warm and wet under his. At the same time one hand was stroking the side of her throat and the other the inside of one thigh. Then he moved his lips down her neck, along her shoulder, and down on to a breast, where he spent a long time on the nipple….

By then he knew she was enjoying the new experience. Her breath was coming fast, and every so often she gave a little moan. Since he doubted he'd ever be seeing «Seven» again, Blade now set out to give her at least one experience she'd never forget. He put more care and effort into his lovemaking than he'd done at times when his life or manhood depended on pleasing his partner. He still enjoyed every minute of it, and so did «Seven.»

At last he let her take him into herself. By then she was hot and wet, utterly willing, utterly ready. Her thighs locked around him, holding him, drawing him on into her, while her hands clawed at his back until her nails broke the skin. Her breath in his ear was almost a roar, and she was fighting not to scream.

Then she did scream, and he felt her spasms spread from deep inside her all through her body. With his manhood buried in the heart of that spasm, there was nothing he could do but follow her. The girl hardly noticed his weight falling on her; she was still shaking and whimpering and sobbing quietly. After what seemed like a long time, Blade found the strength to roll off her. He wrapped her up in his blanket and held her down gently but firmly when she tried to get up and go. After a little while longer, she fell asleep.

Blade knew that tomorrow might really be the last day of his life, in spite of all the confidence he'd shown. If it was, he could at least be sure that he'd spent his last night well.

The girl woke Blade well before dawn, and they made love again. By the time he'd seen her safely out, there was no point in going back to bed. Although his duel with Orric wasn't planned until late afternoon, in order to let all the Lords in the neighborhood reach the castle, he couldn't spend the day twiddling his thumbs.

Blade wanted to pick his weapons carefully. He had his commando knife, of course, but perhaps he could arrange a surprise or two for his opponent, and that would take time. Even though Duke Cyron had opened the castle's arsenal to him some of the men in the arsenal were likely to be part of Orric's faction, ready to carry tales to their master. He had a breakfast of stale cheese and weak beer, and was at the door of the arsenal before the sunlight touched the Duke's banner on the castle's keep.

Inside was a treasure house of weapons, enough to make any Home Dimension museum curator drop dead of sheer joy. Blade quickly ruled out the lances, spears, morningstars, and maces as possible weapons for the duel. The lances were for fighting on horseback, and the duel would be on foot. The spears were for hunting or for the Duke's picked guardsmen. The morningstars were no good for defense, and Blade didn't want to use that sort of weapon against a man with Orric's speed and strength. None of the maces would be long enough against Orric's greater reach.

That left him with his choice of about two hundred swords. One thing Blade could tell at a glance: this was a Dimension where swords were for slashing. For thrusting from horseback they had the lances, for close-in work they had daggers. For everything in between, a Lord slashed or swung rather than thrust. So if he could find a sword which could be given a point before this afternoon, he'd have a real advantage over Orric.