The question came in a hoarse half-whisper. The black eye patch, it was over the left eye, glinted at Blade as Nob spoke without turning his head. Nor did his lips seem to move.

«Who might you be, sir? What do you do in Thyrne in a uniform three sizes too.small for your heft? I aided ye back yonder, but now I begin to have second thoughts. And I warn ye-if ye be Samostan I'll set about you and do your business the same as ye did the sergeant. So speak to old Nob. Who be ye?»

By his way of speaking he had served time in jail. This rather pleased Blade. The man might make a staunch subordinate if he could win him over. And remember not to trust him.

«I'll answer all your questions in time,» Blade said. «You answer me one now-why do you call me `sir'?»

«Because ye'll never be a common soldier. I've but one good eye and I saw that at first glance. It lies in your manner that you are no commoner, sir. And in your act when the sergeant struck you-aye, that was the real giveaway. A common soldier would have taken the blow and grumbled about it-might even have gotten his dagger into the sergeant some dark night. But you followed your nature, sir, and that nature was to strike back then and.there.»

The man was observant, Blade thought. And certainly shrewd. But sometimes shrewdness could be a mask for cunning. He must go carefully with this fellow. And above all he must establish their relationship, if there was to be one, from the outset.

So he smiled at Nob and said, «You are right in some matters. I am a stranger in this land. I am no 7byrnian and certainly no Samostan. I came into the midst of this battle by accident and, since beggars do not have. choices, I go along with this raggle-taggle army until my mind is clearer about matters. In that, Nob, you may be able to help me. If so, and all goes well, you will not be the loser by it. That is all I can promise now, for you know the chanciness of events as well as I do.»

They tramped along in silence while Nob considered Blade's words. They were winding through a maze of poor streets flanked by deserted hovels. The smoke pall here was lighter and there was a stink of feces and garbage in the smudged air. Blade wrinkled his nose; and was again reminded of Nob's sharpness, for that worthy laughed and said, «Another sign that ye are gentleman, sir. Your nose is too good for the smell hereabout. Not that I blames you, mind. Faugh! I could never bide it myself. And I born not a street from here. Look ye when we pass this next turn. Sharply now, sir, for 'tis only an alley and easy to miss. But for the stink. There-you see?»

It was a dark hole, shoulder-wide and leading back between the shabby houses. It was cobble-floored and in the middle was a runnel of filth of every description; the stench it emitted was distinctive even in the surrounding fetid atmosphere. Blade had time for a glance and they were past it. It occurred to him that he was no longer in much danger from the army of Samosta-they would be in no hurry to occupy these slums.

Nob laughed, not a pleasant sound. «Me birthplace, that. No secret about where 1 come from, sir.»

Blade, ignoring the probe, said, «Your home was back there? Your family?»

This time there was a trace of genuine mirth in Nob's laugh. He roared and slapped his hand against his thigh. Men just ahead of them turned to stare.

«Home, ye say? Home was it? Aye, a home I had. In the shit ditch ye just saw. I was dropped like any foal in the field, only my mother did not stay to lick me dry and give me the tit. She bore me and tossed me in the ditch to perish. Aye, I had a home if ye call it that!»

Blade believed the man. He said, «Yet you lived. How was this?»

The eye patch swiveled toward him. Nob scowled. «I know what I was told when I came of age to understand. Nothing more. The story goes that I was picked up by a drab, some poor poxy whore, and taken into a brothel to live.» The scowl vanished. Nob grinned and spat. «'Tis like to be true, for certainly I was raised in a brothel. I have no memory of the poor lass who found me and was my second mother. I was told she died of pox nearly afore I was weaned. You can see, my master, that I have had a chancy life and so death, when it comes, will be no great surprise. Yet I am in no hurry to search it out. Look yonder across Beggar's Square-the north gate! May be that old Gonger will get us out of this yet.»

The detail of wounded stragglers, of which Blade was a part, came last into the great square. There was a little drifting smoke, no fire, and the last of the moon limned the cobbles and an inner square of booths and stalls that must be, in normal times, a sort of thieves' market. Gongor and the Captain were aligning their men to one side of these stalls. Beyond, on the distant side of the square, Blade saw a high stone wall into which was set a wooden gate. The gate was closed but not barrer. Blade was instantly uneasy. His keen eyes sought the bars that should have been in the slots and could not find them. As he stared he thought he saw the gate move.

Blade did not like it. He had nothing to go on but his instinct, yet his sense of vague disquiet grew with each passing second. That gate should have been barred. Where were the bars?

Another sergeant, a long-nosed, narrow-eyed man, came back to sort out those able to fight and integrate them into the front ranks. Gongor knew there might be Samostan cavalry lurking outside the city-he had said as much-and they might sortie straight into a trap. The salt marshes, and freedom, were not yet won. Blade long accustomed to command, could understand Gongor's problems.

Blade let his glance roam around the huge square. He counted six streets, mostly narrow lanes, leading into it. They dodged abruptly away from the square, these lanes, as though in terror of open space. There was no way of knowing what lay back in those crooked ways. Blade looked at the gate again and once more could have sworn it moved-as though from some steady pressure beyond it. He wiped away sweat before it could trickle into his eyes. Something in his brain was screaming-trap!

The sergeant, having sorted out the rest of the detail, confronted Blade and the man Nob. Arms akimbo, a sneer on his narrow features, he looked first at Blade and then concentrated on Nob. He pointed to the arm which Nob carried in a sling. «How came you by such an honorable wound, Nob? Sword stroke? Lance? Arrow, mayhap? How does it do, your wound? Maybe it fbsters, eh? We shall have to see to it, man.»

Nob, with a sideways glance at Blade, said, «'Tis not so much, sergeant. An arrow scratch only. But it pained for a time and so I bound it up. I-«

The sergeant reached quickly for the sling and ripped it away. Nob had no time to draw back. There was a jangle of coins and jewelry as they spilled from the torn sling onto the cobbles and glinted around Nob's feet.

The sergeant's sneer was nasty. «Looting,» he snarled. «I thought so. Armus warned me to keep an eye on you. Come to that, where is Armus? I know he came — back to you malingerers, to whip you up, but I have not seen him this half hour. Where is he, Nob? And do not lie to me. Your life is already forfeit for looting. I have only to tell the captain and you are for the high hoist.»

Nob winked at Blade with his good eye. He stooped and began to gather up his treasure. He bore no wound that Blade could see.

«If you seek Axmus,» said Nob, «you will have to go back a way, sergeant.» The rogue frowned and looked puzzled and winked at Blade again. «I do not recollect that house number exactly. Do you recall it, friend?»

Blade concealed a smile and shook his head. «No. Now that I think of it I do not think it had a number, or a name.»

The sergeant put a hand on his sword. «What flummery is this, Nob? I have no time nor mood for stupid games. Where is Armus?»