When Blade finished, he had no idea whether he had won or lost his case. The men of the War Council had listened to his entire presentation with totally expressionless faces, except for Afuno. And the faces had not changed when Blade went out to await their decision.

There was beer and bread waiting for him in the corridor, and he fell to. He had just polished off the last of both when he saw a slave woman come down the hall and stop before the commander of the council's guards. They whispered together for a moment, then the commander turned to Blade and said, «This woman is Princess Aumara's. The princess wants you. You must go.»

«Now?» asked Blade.

«Yes.»

«But the council-«

«Richard Blade of the English,» said the guard commander with a grin. «Do not fear the War Council. Fear the princess if she becomes angry. I know. Soon you will too.» There was no trace of a leer in the man's grin. If he knew anything, he was keeping it to himself. Blade nodded and followed the woman.

He did not have to follow her very far. Aumara was standing in the corner of a small room off the next corridor to the left. As the door of the room closed behind him, Aumara slipped into his arms. She seemed to want to be held, and as he held her, he felt her trembling.

«What is it, Princess? Do you…?» He was trying to think of a tactful way to ask a warrior princess what had frightened her when she saved him the trouble.

«The On'ror has asked for my hand.»

It took Blade a moment to realize what she had said. It took him another moment to realize what it meant. When he did, he swore softly, invoking both the Sky Father and a variety of other deities picked up on his adventures. Then he shook his head in impotent fury.

«I see you understand,» said Aumara.

«Yes. The man who can determine whether I become a great hero of the Zungans is now my rival for you. If he gives me the chance to train the Zungans, I may end up with fame above his, second only to King Afuno. If he does not give me the chance, he himself will be the strongest candidate for your hand, no matter what your father thinks of him.»

«Yes,» said Aumara bitterly. «And the On'ror and I will rule for a few short years over the Zungans while the slave raiders continue to bleed them. Then we will die with our people when the Rulami and the Kandans march together.»

Blade felt like swearing again, but realized it would be a waste of breath. All the optimism he had built up over the past couple of hours had drained out of him. He sat down and stared off into the darkness of the room, his mind working furiously.

«Can you delay accepting any consort for a while?»

«How long, Blade?»

Blade frowned. «It depends on how much of a chance to train the warriors I get. Whatever you do, hold off choosing until I have some sort of a victory to show off. That will give me the status I need to make an offer for you.

«Whatever you and I think, your father won't dare accept me until I have enough status among the warriors so that he won't face a rebellion by choosing me.»

Aumara nodded sadly. «There are very many times when I was growing up that I wished I was not a princess. This is the first time I have wished that since I became a woman.» She sighed and seemed to put the thought away, then returned to the issue. «How long will it take you to win that victory?»

«That I won't even be able to guess at until the War Council decides what I am to do.»

After that there was nothing more to say, and they sat in the dark stifling little room holding each other. Blade did not know how long they sat before the woman knocked gently on the door and whispered, «The council is calling for Blade.»

Unwinding himself from Aumara's arms, he rose and followed the woman back to the council chamber. The guard led him inside and then vanished. Standing before the fifteen seated figures, he scanned the dark faces for some sign of what their decision had been.

Fourteen of the faces were as unreadable as ever. The fifteenth was the On'ror's. Blade looked the man over more closely than before, noticing the thickening jowls, the high forehead, the missing finger and the half-missing ear, the scars on his chest and arms. This man was an enemy. One he could take almost easily in a straight fight, he suspected. But would it ever come to, that? Blade doubted it.

«Richard Blade of the English,» said the On'ror in a voice now as gross and ugly as his body. «The council has heard you. It has talked of you. It has decided.» The man paused. He stretched the pause until it was obvious to Blade that this was a deliberate effort to make him sweat and fidget. He stared back at the On'ror with a level, expressionless gaze. He was damned if the man was going to win their very first confrontation.

Finally the On'ror got the message that Blade wasn't going to yield. He lifted his head until he appeared to be staring off into space-or perhaps up into the heavens? Once again he prolonged the display of reverence in an effort to make Blade nervous.

Blade remained unmoved, but the strain was too much for King Afuno. «Well, get on with it, damn you!» the King snapped. «The Sky Father isn't going to appear on the ceiling and give you a scroll with the words you want written on it in gold.»

The king's voice jolted the On'ror into action. He rose to his feet and the rest of the council followed. «Richard Blade of the English, your methods of fighting may not be pleasing to the Sky Father. But we shall not utterly cast out them or you: You shall train ten men in your arts for three moons. Then you shall wait three full moons more, and each of those men shall train ten more. After that all shall wait one full year, that the Sky Father may show us whether or not your arts are pleasing to him. Neither you nor any of the men you have trained shall instruct any other warriors during that year. Further we shall not say until all the time has passed.» He sat down again, his massive rump hitting the chair with a solid thump. The grin on his face was almost a smirk.

Forty objections and as many curses died on Blade's lips at a sharp look from Afuno. With an effort he controlled himself, took a deep breath, and without waiting for the guards, turned around and left the chamber. Outside he headed for the stairs to the second floor. He had to get out of this stifling gloom, onto a balcony and into the sun and the fresh air.

Aumara met him halfway up the stairs. «I thought you would be coming up here, Blade. What was the decision? No, I can see it in your face. Bad?»

Blade was calm now and his ability to plan was back. He nodded, but slowly. «It could have been worse.» He told her. She shook her head.

«I cannot hold out for six months, and never for a whole year after that. Even my father would cast me down as First Princess if I tried it. You must do something sooner.»

Blade had to laugh at this, but it was a bitter laugh.

«Very well, Princess. I will see if I can defeat the slave raiders with ten men.»