None of these women were part of regular patrols or hunting parties. They were mostly small parties of two to six, flitting across the country as swiftly and quietly as birds, intent on some private errand. Intrigue, assassination-who knew? None among the scouts did, and all were becoming increasingly curious, Blade most of all. Only Nugun was indifferent to the «higher» issues involved. His world was intensely physical and concrete-food, sex, war, marching, sleeping. The only abstract concept he could grasp was loyalty to Blade. The Englishman knew that the Senar would die slowly rather than betray him. He only hoped he could meet the same high standard if the matter came to a test.

For five days they crossed a land covered with patches of forest, small streams, pastures where single-horned blue-gray cattle grazed-and small farms. Blade crept close to one of those farms before the dew was off the grass one morning. The farm seemed to contain a dozen or so sturdy women, bare-legged in their short tunics and as brown as the rough cloth of those tunics. Much to Blade's surprise, the farm also held two men-captured Senar, judging from their hair and massive muscles. They seemed to be serving as domestic animals-hoisting water from the well, turning the grindstones, carrying huge loads of firewood.

Blade asked Truja about that when he returned to the scout camp. She shrugged. «Out here in the westlands the Laws of Mother Kina are not always followed strictly. There is much hard work in running a farm, and for much of it a man is stronger and cheaper than a draught animal. So not all of the Senar taken by the hunting parties end up on spits. Some end up on westland farms, and good coin or perhaps wine ends up in the hands of the huntresses.»

After the fifth day, the farms became larger and there was less unused land between them. That meant more care was necessary in traveling, even by night, and much more care in choosing and concealing campsites. Here, barely forty miles from the city, the patrols still roamed fairly often. At least once a day the guards watching the nearest road would see a cloud of dust approaching. Shortly there would materialize under that dust cloud a score or so of heavily armed women, tramping along with dust-caked faces set and grim.

«There still aren't nearly as many as there would be if things were normal,» said Truja. «The city is pulling in its horns. Rilgon will be able to take his men to within three days of the city with nothing but rumors running ahead of him.» She looked grim.

To take Truja's mind off her forebodings of disaster, Blade changed the subject. «Shall we start looking for a point where the women fleeing from the city can meet? We ought to pick somewhere large enough to hold all the women but small enough to defend against attack. We'll have to deal with the women of the city and perhaps some of Rilgon's Senar if we can't get clear before they arrive.»

Truja nodded wearily. «I know. But you're asking a lot. A plantation house would be the best. But even the abandoned ones are too close to the city to be very safe. And most of them are still in use. I doubt if we can find what you're looking for. We may have to find some forest and camp in the open.»

But Truja's pessimism proved a poor guide. Blade and Nugun went out on patrol, and three days later they returned with broad smiles and a report of their find.

«It's a big, tall, sprawling thing, with five wings, built out of shiny black stone. Or at least it must have been shiny once,» Blade added. «It's badly weathered and overgrown, but still sound inside.»

«You went-inside?» said Truja, her mouth falling open so wide that Blade could barely understand her last word.

«Yes. Why not?»

«Black stone-that is-a War House of the people before the disaster. It is full of violence, evil, disease.» She shuddered and sat down abruptly. «No. We will not use it.»

«We shall indeed use it,» said Blade. «I don't care what your city superstitions say. I know from my own land that the worst evil of such a war would have passed away many generations ago. That War House will be perfectly safe. It-«

«But the violence left a curse, the men's-«

«Damn the violence and damn the curses and damn you for a superstitious idiot if you believe in either one!» Blade snapped. Some of the other scouts turned and stared at him. He reached down, seized Truja by the wrist, dragged her to her feet, then dragged her stumbling and protesting out of earshot of the rest of the scouts. He sat her down in the ferns and stood over her. There was an edge in his voice as he continued.

«The disaster was at least a thousand years ago. There is no way that War House can possibly still be dangerous. No diseases, nothing can survive that long. I know. I have seen such lingering deaths fade away in a single generation.»

Truja nodded numbly, stunned into silence by his anger.

«And as for the rest-curses are something I didn't expect you to believe in. Not even curses from the disaster. I-«

«But the curse is from the violence of the men. They-«

«Balls! They weren't any more violent than the people today, men or women. Look at what's ripping the city apart. That silly quarrel that still has everybody so furious they won't cooperate in the face of an invasion. And the hunting parties' treatment of the Senar! Is that gentle, is that anything but violent? Curses!» Blade spat. «You women are just as bloody as the men from before the disaster. But if you believe in curses, you're a damned sight less civilized!» Blade turned angrily on his heel and strode away, to lean against a tree where he could quietly watch Truja.

She sat cross-legged on the grass for some time, her shoulders heaving with her indignant breathing. She was obviously deeply moved, and Blade could not help wondering if he had gone too far. But he knew that what he had said needed saying, whether gently or not.

Eventually Truja stopped holding her head stiffly erect, and let it sag down until her chin was on her chest. Blade noticed the sparkle of tears in the corner of dark eyes suddenly gone blank. He was tempted to go over to her and comfort her, but decided against it. She would have to work herself out of this mood and into whatever decision she would make without help from him.

It was hot even in the shade of the little grove, and Blade felt sweat starting out on his forehead and arms. Insects whined around his face, and he batted them away. The sound of cattle mooing reached him, carried on the breeze from far away.

Finally Truja sighed and stood up, turning toward Blade. She shook her head wearily. «Blade, I suppose you are right.» Silence. «No, you must be right. I wish you were wrong. We have believed so much about the men, their violence….» Her voice broke for a moment. «We were blind to our own. I almost wish I were still blind. It-it does not feel very good.»

Blade shrugged. «I did not say what I did because I wanted to hurt you.»

«I know. But-I think you had better lead us now. I–I do not really know what is right and what is wrong any more. And that is not a state of mind for a leader,» she ended, with a flash of her old spirit.

«All right,» said Blade slowly. «If you want me to-«

«I do. Very much.» For a moment her hand reached out and groped blindly, then found his. Her fingers closed on his with a firm, hard pressure. Then her hand dropped to her side.

«Come on, let's go back to the others. They will be thinking we're making love on the grass.»

Blade raised an eyebrow, and Truja shook her head hastily, laughing. «No, Blade. Not now, not for a time. Perhaps… But then there is Himgar.» She shook her head and turned away.

With Truja's doubts resolved, the scouting party broke camp that night when the light was barely out of the sky. Driving hard through the darkness, they reached the War House well before dawn. They saw it looming out of the forest, towering a hundred feet high and spreading five times that wide, vast, black, and sinister. Even the Purple River scouts, less aware of the legends of the disaster, hung back at first.