Two steps more-one step-there! The Senar were still fighting among themselves, and two more were down on the ground now. The first one lay still, unconscious or already dead from loss of blood. Blade began to allow himself a faint glimmer of hope. If he could kill his opponent before the Senar sorted themselves out, perhaps he might find a road to the Purple River….

But as he bent to clutch the sword, there was more crashing in the bushes. Six more Senar and one of the Blenar burst out of the greenery, and these Senar were under control. Blade's opponent sprang aside from their path as they charged in. At a barked order from their own leader, all six reversed their spears, to come at Blade thrusting and swinging with the butts. Blade tried to back away, but he could not go far without running into the other group of Senar.

He fended off thrusts and swings with his shield and slashed away at the flailing spear butts with his sword. But his opponents still had the reach on him. His sword chopped through one spear shaft, then stuck in a second. The Senar's massive arm muscles twitched, the spear jerked up, and the sword snapped out of Blade's hands and flew into the air. Sickened, Blade watched it arc over the heads of the Senar and splash into the river. Then all six of his opponents came forward in a single rush, a solid wall of massive muscles and rank hair and foul breath.

Blade felt one spear swing low and scythe into the side of his knee. He could not move to avoid the next spear, which thrust butt-first under his shield into his stomach. Agony tore through him and he tried to keep from doubling up, tried to keep his shield up. But one of the Senar got around to his left, and a spear came down on his shield arm with a crash. More agony. The shield sagged down, and as it did, two more spear-butts crashed onto Blade's exposed head. There was pain, there was flame and sparks before his eyes, and finally there was blackness.

Blade awoke slowly, conscious of pains everywhere he remembered being hit and a good many more in other places. He stretched his battered arms and legs one by one, wincing at the pain that shot through them. Life and circulation slowly returned to them. Then he opened his eyes and looked around him.

He was lying naked on a pile of straw on the dirt floor of a log hut. Chinks in the walls and roof let in enough light to indicate that it was daylight outside. Apart from the pile of straw, the hut contained only a small clay pot of water and a somewhat larger clay pot for wastes. Blade rose uncertainly to his feet, drank some water from the smaller pot, used the larger one, and tottered back to the straw. A number of large, black-shelled insects ran out of the straw as Blade sat down on it.

Gradually the fogginess left his head and the aches and pains left his body. He noticed that the door to the hut consisted of two large logs fastened crosswise with smaller ones. It was not slung on any sort of hinges, but wedged from outside against the edges of the opening. Blade went over to it and gave it a few tentative pushes and kicks. It did not move at all. Getting out of here was not going to be a simple matter of breaking down the door. He went back to the straw pile and sat down again.

He felt in reasonably good physical shape now, except for being rather hungry. It had been a while since his last solid meal. But he could not help feeling rather depressed over the fates of Wyala and Nugun.

No doubt Wyala herself would rather have died than fall into the hands of the Senar. But she needn't have died at all if Blade hadn't been so determined to head west into the mountains in search of the Hairless Ones. The Hairless Ones! If the ones he had fought by the river were typical of the breed, they weren't much of an improvement over the Senar.

And Nugun was also dead, his body no doubt drifting away down the river. He needn't have died either, if Blade hadn't wanted him to follow and guide. The Senar had been faithful-and his reward had been a pointless death in the river. Blade was not feeling very proud of himself.

But there was even less point than usual to feeling sorry for himself. He had, after all, found the Blenar, which was why he had come into the Mountains of Brega in the first place. Admittedly, as a prisoner, his chances of learning about their ways, skills, and plans would not be good. But he had many years' experience of keeping his eyes and ears open under rough conditions and learning much from seeing and hearing little. And perhaps he need not stay a prisoner long.

Several more hours passed before anybody paid any attention to Blade. Then the thud of hammers sounded outside, followed by a number of voices. With a clatter and a bang the door fell outward. Two of the Senar spearmen came in and stood on either side of the opening, their spears pointed at Blade. Two Senar women then came in, the first that Blade had seen. They were only a little less massive than their mates, and almost as hairy. Blade could see that clearly, for the women wore only short skirts of filthy, stained cloth. Their odor in the badly ventilated but made Blade wrinkle his nose.

The two women brought in a fresh pot of water and a large wooden bowl filled with broiled fish and raw vegetables. Then they backed out, the spearmen followed, and the door was hammered back into place.

Except for being practically unsalted, there was nothing wrong with the food. And Blade was hungry enough to have eaten things far less appetizing than the fish and vegetables. He emptied the bowl in a few minutes, drank some water, and settled back to wait for his captors to make their next move. The meal resolved one point-someone was determined to keep him alive, at least for the time being. For what?

Blade got no answer that day, nor the next, nor the day after that. He was fed twice a day, morning and evening, always the same broiled fish and raw vegetables. They began to get a little monotonous by the third day. The Senar women also gave him plenty of water and a fresh waste pot every morning. On the third day they even gave him a pile of clean straw. But neither the spearmen nor the women nor the ones who opened and closed the door ever spoke to him. They looked at him with open curiosity, but said not a word.

By the fourth day, Blade was beginning to wonder what the plans were for him-assuming that anybody here had any. If nobody did, he might not die of thirst, hunger, or mistreatment-but he might come close to dying of boredom.

The morning of the fifth day came, and with it the usual gaggle of Senar bringing the morning fish and vegetables. This time, however, four Blenar were with them, armed with shields, swords, and shorthandled axes, and wearing heavy leather helmets with cheek-pieces.

Their leader stepped forward, drew his sword, and said in a loud, hectoring voice, «Come with us. Rilgon would see you.»

«Oh.» Blade crossed his arms on his chest. «Indeed.» His tone was very cool. He wanted to start off his relations with the local Blenar by refusing to be pushed around. «Who is Rilgon and why would he see me?»

The Blenar leader took a backward step, his face working in surprise. Apparently he was used to having prisoners cringe submissively before his drawn sword and loud, arrogant manner. There was a long silence, during which Blade continued to stare at the Blenar. He stared so effectively that the other three began to fidget nervously. Finally the leader, lowering his voice, said, «Rilgon is the War Leader of the Blenar. He has come from a great distance to see you, because he has heard that you are a warrior beyond anything dreamed of before in Brega. He would ask you to march with us against the city.»

«Very well,» said Blade. «Now that you have answered my questions, I will come with you. But I must have some clothes first. A warrior of my people does not appear before his future leader naked.»