He changed the image again, this time showing Cheeky sitting quietly at the foot of the bed. Blade was able to form this image on the first try and hold it on the second. Was telepathy something which became easier once you'd made the initial breakthrough? He hoped so.

«Yip?» Cheeky's call had an unmistakable questioning note.

Blade repeated the image of Cheeky sitting. This time Cheeky sat, too. Blade took out parchment and pen and wrote a short note to Miera, telling her to stay out of their room until after dinner. He could only say that he was «on important business for the Duke»-a servant who could read might easily get a glimpse of the message on its way to Miera.

When the messenger was gone, he turned back to the Feathered One who was still sitting quietly. For the first time Blade began to feel almost triumphant. He'd reached Cheeky with telepathy, proving both its existence and his ability to use it!

He sobered quickly, however. He'd made a good beginning, but nothing more. He still had to find ways of sending and receiving telepathic messages without taking so much time and attention. If he tried to concentrate like this in the middle of a battle, he'd be making himself an easy victim.

Could Cheeky understand messages sent in words, or would he need images? And once they'd worked out a common language of some sort, would Cheeky be interested in his master's plan? That was the biggest question of all. If he said «No,» Blade's whole victory in establishing telepathic contact would be only theoretically interesting. No doubt Lord Leighton would still be fascinated when he heard the story, but Duke Cyron needed practical results. Would he get any?

Blade knew it was much too soon to answer that question. Cheeky, he suspected, was going to be stubborn about putting his life on the line, no matter what the reward. He remembered the time he'd been assigned to persuade a certain industrial espionage expert to work for MI6A. That was one of the most frustrating jobs J had ever dumped on him!

Blade poured himself some more beer, then filled Cheeky's bowl, and handed it to him. They both drank, then settled down to their «talk.»

Talking Cheeky into cooperation was literally a headache for Blade. By the time he and the Feathered One shook hands on their bargain, the man felt as if he had the worst hangover of his life. He lurched to his feet and went over to the window.

No wonder he was tired and hungry! It was well after dark, and he'd sat down with Cheeky just after noon! He summoned more servants, and sent them both for dinner and Miera.

Blade yawned and signaled to Cheeky, who jumped up on his shoulder. As he scratched the Feathered One's back, he could almost feel the waves of pleasure he radiated. Cheeky was definitely going to be a «him» from now on. The Feathered One had too much intelligence to be called «it.»

How did the Feathered Ones get that intelligence? The old question repeated itself. This time he felt more confident of getting close to the answer. Romiss the Breeder knew more about the Feathered Ones than he'd told any Lord. Blade was sure of that.

Romiss would talk to him, though. Blade would start by demonstrating telepathic links with Cheeky. Even if Romiss wasn't impressed, his men would be. He'd have to talk with Blade, to keep them quiet. Besides, the Breeder might be curious himself.

If this wasn't enough, there was always gold. Right now he didn't have much more than his clothes, weapons, and furniture, but if his plans worked out, that would soon change. After Cheeky finished with whatever opponent Duke Padro sent him, Blade would have enough gold to buy any man's secrets.

They invited Duke Padro of Gualdar to match his best Feathered One against the chosen champion of Nainan. He accepted, and appeared before Castle Ranit only a few days later. So did Duke Garon of Ney and Duke Raskod of Issos. Instead of one hostile Duke, Cyron found himself playing host to three at once.

«It's a breach of custom and manners for them to be here at all without warning or invitation,» fumed Alsin. He looked angry enough to call up Nainan's fighting Lards and chase the uninvited guests home.

«So it is,» said Duke Cyron calmly. «I won't forget it, either. But I won't have a word said to either Garon or Raskod now. They hardly have enough men to put us in any danger, as long as we are alert and they are outside the castle. Nor will they enter it. Show a little respect for my judgment in war, Alsin.»

«Yes, Your Grace.» The tough Marshal swallowed. «We may even get some good from this,» the Duke added. «Knowing the other Dukes are watching could make Padro even bolder than usual. If Garon says the wrong word, Padro may throw all caution to the winds!»

Blade found that the prospect of trying his plan under the eyes of three hostile Dukes didn't make him feel bolder. Failure would now be twice as public, twice as embarrassing, and twice as likely to ruin Cyron's hopes. There was no turning back, either, when the duel was going to be tomorrow!

He mentally gritted his teeth, determined to let no doubts show on his face. He'd laid his plans as carefully as he could and worked out all the details with Cheeky. It wasn't his fault or the Feathered One's that the stakes were suddenly so much higher. Blade still wondered if he really might be losing the proper balance between caution and-boldness? Even worse, was he losing it where other people besides himself might be the victims? He'd have to talk to J about this when he returned to Home Dimension.

Blade might have slept better that night if his window hadn't given him a view of the camps of all three visiting Dukes. He could see the torches of the sentries, the cooking fires, the lanterns hanging from the tent doors. He could also see more torches lighting the work of the men smoothing down the game field for the monkey duel tomorrow.

Miera knew that something was bothering her husband, and did her best to make him forget it. Unfortunately she wasn't yet quite experienced enough in bed to succeed. Blade was able to give her all she wanted, but he himself lay awake for quite a while afterward.

He was still out of bed before dawn, walking through the camps of the three Dukes to get a firsthand picture of the enemy. He didn't quite trust Duke Cyron and Marshal Alsin enough to take their word on anything he could check for himself. Even if he'd trusted them more, he'd have made the tour of the camps. The most accurate information from someone else still wasn't quite the same as what you saw and heard yourself.

Duke Padro of Gualdar was in his early twenties, slim, dark, mustached, and good-looking in a rather effeminate fashion. Blade wasn't surprised to see a number of painted and perfumed young men drifting around his camp. Most of them wore swords, but they also wore such extravagant outfits of lace and ruffles, embroidery and gilded buttons, that Blade doubted that they'd be much good in a fight. They'd be too worried about getting spots on their clothing.

Padro's fops shared their luxurious tent with a dozen gigantic men in steel and leather. They roamed the Duke's camp, hard eyes searching every passing face, and scarred brown hands never far from the hilts of swords or throwing spears. Duke Padro's Master of the Feathers had a similarly efficient staff, and the tent which housed his Feathered Ones was the largest in his camp. It was also the best guarded.

Duke Garon of Ney was supposed to be the best jouster of any Duke for the last three generations. He certainly looked it-chunky, hard-muscled, bowlegged, and obviously hard as iron in spite of the gray in his hair. His men were nothing remarkable, but his horses were the finest Blade had seen in this Dimension. Finest of all was his chestnut war charger, Kanglo. Unlike Cyron or Padro, Duke Garon had plenty of heirs-four sons, as a matter of fact. None of the four was on good terms with any of the others, and much of Garon's time was spent keeping the peace among them. Wisely enough, he hadn't brought any of them with him.