She frowned at him for a moment, then pouted. She had never pouted before, either, and he thought the coyness did not well suit her barbaric beauty.

"You are always evasive, Blade. I note it much. And I do not like it. And another thing - when we are alone you will call me Sadda. Not my lady, or Princess, or anything but Sadda. That is understood?"

"Yes, my - Sadda."

"Then kiss me again. I like kissing with you, though I never did before. This kind of kissing."

Blade shrugged inwardly and was glad that her appet.i.tes had changed. But she was like a chameleon, changing from minute to minute. So, he thought with resignation, if it was to be a love affair then it would just have to be, or he would be the late Blade. If he must feign love, then he must feign it and not be caught at the feigning. Even in H-Dimension one did not spurn a lady with impunity. He did not like to think of the consequences here in X-Dimension, with a woman like Sadda.

When once again she had enough of kissing she lay back and closed her eyes. "My brother confided in me today - the first time since Obi came to him in the dream that he calls a vision."

Blade stroked her hair and kissed her ear. He whispered, "And what had the Khad to say?"

Sadda scowled, looking more like her old self. "He is very pious these days. He goes to consult Obi each morning before we march. Obi bids him march eastward. Always eastward until the wall ends. Then he is to turn behind the wall and march to the west again, so coming in behind the Cath. Obi has promised him victory if he does this."

Very likely, Blade thought. He had seen the Mong cavalry at work. In open fighting the Caths were no match for them. Without their wall they would be quickly defeated. It might be Lali, after all, who ended in the cage.

But he shrugged and said, "This idol only tells your brother what he should know for himself, and commands him to do what he should have done long ago. The Khad, when he is not mad, is no fool. Why has he not done this before?"

She laughed and pulled him down on her again. "You are the one who does not know, Blade! The march will be terrible. Thousands will die before we reach the end of the wall. If we ever do. I have heard that there is no end, that the wall goes on forever!"

She was ready for love again and would not talk. She whispered as he left the wagon before the sun could shoot up, "Keep a close mouth and watch Rahstum. Our chance will come again. The madness will return, as it always does, and he will grow careless and fall to drinking too much bross and l.u.s.ting after virgin children. Then leave it to me. I will arrange a celebration on some excuse and we will go through with the plan. Go, Blade."

Before many days Blade came to see that she was right about the trek. The days grew colder and the nights bitter. He was given a cape of thickly braided horsehair with a dogskin lining, and a pointed dogskin cap with thick earflaps. All the Mongs now dressed in this manner.

The wall was no longer in sight. The land began to slant upward, barren desert at first where the only moving thing, other than the trekkers, was black sand that blasted them constantly. The wind never stopped blowing. For three days a sandstorm buffeted them, three days of black h.e.l.l when Blade, in spite of the cloth worn over his mouth and nose, spat out black sand constantly. Still the Mongs marched, on and on. Children began to die, and women, and even some of the older warriors. They were left for the carrion apes that dogged the caravan relentlessly. The apes were growing bolder and sometimes at night would rush the herds and tear at the horses' throats before they could be driven off.

By the time the sandstorm blew itself out, they were into a narrow pa.s.s that climbed abruptly toward distant mountains where snow glimmered. It grew increasingly colder. The Khad no longer rode Thunderer, but retreated to his wagon. Sadda sent for Blade nearly every night and they managed to keep each other warm, making love under heaps of horsehair blankets.

They got into a belt of trees, just beneath the snowline, and halted for a week while the Mongs cut precious wood and stacked it in wagons. They never used wood for fuel, it being so rare, but not a bit of pony dung was wasted. The dung gatherers, lowest in the order of Mong society, followed along after the herds and collected each precious dropping. It was flattened and dried on racks in the moving wagons, and used for fuel.

They left the forest behind and climbed above the snowline. The pa.s.s narrowed and grew precipitous, only wide enough for one wagon to pa.s.s at a time. Glaciers hung over them like mammoth glistening swords and beyond the trail there was only empty s.p.a.ce layered with gray wet clouds. And always the wind blew, merciless and interminable. Cold became a way of life.

Each day they lost horses and men, and sometimes wagons, that slipped into the chasm bounding the trail. They went down in a welter of threshing bodies and hooves, screaming away into the silence beneath the clouds. The Mong officers barked harsh orders and the caravan closed up and kept on going.

The bodies of those who died from the cold were tossed into the chasm as well, the carrion apes having turned back at the snowline. When night came each wagon stopped where it was and the occupants fended as best they could. Dung fire smoked in the snow.

Blade, even with his awesome physique and endurance, suffered from the cold. He gulped down warm bross and gnawed on half-frozen horsemeat and was thankful that Sadda, far ahead in the column, could not call on his services at the moment. He had not seen his guards for two days, which was sensible of them. No need to worry about Blade. To the right was the chasm, apparently bottomless. To the left the monstrous glaciers climbed away into infinity. Now and again, during the day, Blade would glance at the vast sheets of snow and ice poised overhead and shiver. If they ever broke away and started sliding!

Baber's wagon, since the old man was now Blade's slave, was just behind his on the trail. On this night, when the breath froze instantly on his beard, Blade did not fear spies. He was in Baber's wagon, both of them huddled in straw and wearing their heavy capes, when a tapping came on the rear of the wagon.

They looked at each other. Baber put a finger to his mouth and whispered. "Not even she would seek you out on a night like this. Who can it be?"

"I know a way," said Blade through his icy beard, "of finding out." He loosened his sword in the scabbard and opened the door. The wind howled like a wolf and tried to invade the little wagon. Blade laughed and reached out to pluck the little figure inside.

Baber said: "You pick a fine night for visiting, Morpho. It must be urgent. Good news? Has the Khad fallen into the chasm in a fit of madness?"

The dwarf, more gnomelike than ever in his heavy coat and peaked cap, brushed snow from himself and looked at Blade with his perpetual grin. He looked weary and there was entreaty in his dark eyes as he touched Blade's arm.

"I went to your wagon and had no answer, Blade, so I thought to try here. I must have your help. I am desperate, Blade. Help me."

Blade, still reserving judgment, had never mentioned his doubts to Baber. There would be time enough for that when he was sure. Now he placed a big hand on Morpho's shoulder. "I will help if I can. What is it? You are in danger?"

Baber, supporting himself on his arms, kept silent.

"I am not in danger," Morpho said. "But another is - someone very dear to me. You will come, Blade, and see what you can do?"

Blade glanced at Baber. The old man hunched his shoulders to indicate ignorance. Blade wondered if it could possibly be a trap of some kind.

Morpho tugged at his sleeve. "Please, Blade. Come with me. There is no time to waste. We have a long way to go."

Blare stared into the dwarf's eyes for a long time. He was a good judge of men and he did not think the little man was feigning his anxiety. Yet he hesitated. He walked in constant peril and could not afford a single slip.

"I will gladly help, Morpho. Anything I can do. But I have a right to know who needs help, and where we go?"

The dwarf retreated to the door, his wretched grin belied by the anguish in his eyes. He glanced from Blade to Baber, then shook his head.

"I cannot tell you that. Not here. I - I do not wish Baber to know this thing, for his own safety."

Baber nodded. "If it is like that, I do not want to know. My head is loose on my shoulders now, for reasons we all know. Go with him. Blade, if you will, and tell me nothing of it."

"We go," said Blade.

They forced their way out against the terrible wind and closed the door, leaving Baber sipping thoughtfully at a cup of bross.

They huddled for a moment in the shelter of the wagon. "Now," said Blade, "where do we go? Speak out, man, before we freeze to death."

Morpho leaned close to scream against the wind. "We must go far back, to the camp of the dung gatherers. I came from there."

Without another word or sign he turned and trotted back along the icy trail. Blade followed, marveling at the fool's endurance. All the way from the dung gatherers' camp in this cold and wind! It must be at least five miles.

Soon he had no breath for talking and very little time to think, except about survival. The footing was treacherous and the chasm yawned to their left. Once Blade was buffeted nearly to the edge and only saved himself by falling and wedging his body against a boulder. Morpho, who because of his size was not so much bothered by the wind, scurried back to tug at Blade and urge him forward again.

"Hurry - hurry!"

They bowed into the shrieking wind and pushed on. Blade reckoned that in H-Dimension temperatures, it was at least twenty below zero. His feet and hands were lumps of ice. But the cold and the wind were allies, for they were not challenged. Not even the hardy Mongs, when there was no danger of attack, bothered to post guards in this weather.

The wagons were pulled over as close against the glacier-studded cliffs as possible. Most of the wagons were dark, though soft light glowed in a few. The horses had been taken back along the trail to where it widened enough to herd them. The main herds were far behind and would not come over the pa.s.s until the wagons had cleared it. They would then be driven over it in single file, a long and tedious task.

It was not snowing now, but the wind, whooping like a demon straight down the glaciers, hurled fine particles of snow and ice at them. Presently they got into high drifts, caught by boulders at the chasm edge and piled back: across the track. Here Morpho fell for the first time.

Blade hauled him up and set him on his feet. The little man was gasping painfully. Blade, mindful that the dwarf had made this trip once tonight, said, "Are you all right, little man? Shall I carry you?"

Morpho shook his head, unable to speak. He plunged on, and fell again in the very next drift.

This time Blade did not ask. He picked him up and swung him on his broad shoulders and kept going.

Morpho, when he could speak, shouted into Blade's ear. "A little farther. A mile, not more. There will be a string of dung gatherers' wagons. They came up to bring fuel against the night. The track is too narrow, so they could not turn and go back."

Now came a stretch of track that was deserted. The Mongs, even.the camp followers and the commonest of the soldiery, were careful to keep a distance between themselves and the gatherers of dung.

Then more wagons, and higher drifts. Blade was panting now, and staggering from time to time. They pa.s.sed half a dozen wagons, all dark, then approached one in which a light glowed. Morpho tapped Blade on the shoulder.

"That one. And, Blade, I would have an oath from you."

Blade, frozen and gasping, encompa.s.sed by an icy h.e.l.l, thought it a poor time indeed for oaths. He growled like a wounded bear.

"What oath, man? This is no time for such matters! We will freeze to death while you yammer about oaths. I..."

Morpho was insistent. The carven grin, colder than the Khad's heart, pressed against Blade's ear.

"A simple oath, Blade! I must have it - that you will not speak of what you see in the wagon!"

Blade nodded. Anything to get on with it. "All right, Morpho. I give my word. Now do we go or does the wind murder us?"

"Let me down."

Morpho slipped from Blade's shoulders and fought his way through the drifts to the wagon. Blade followed, wondering about this new complication and what perils it might hold for him.

The wagon stairs were down. Morpho opened the door and Blade went in, hunching down to avoid striking his head. Morpho followed and slammed the door against the wind.

Blade's first sensation was of enormous relief. His face felt as if it had been flayed. He stared around the dimly lit wagon, trying to adjust his eyes to the shadow-haunted light.

There was a bad smell in the little wagon. By a pallet laid on the floor there crouched an ancient crone, well robed and cowled. She did not turn when they entered, but kept staring down at the face of the girl on the pallet.

Morpho tugged Blade toward the pallet. "My daughter," he said. "Her name is Nantee. She is dying, Blade. I think she will die unless you can help her. I cannot help her. Nor she." He indicated the crone. "And I dare not ask anyone else for help. Only you, Blade. Only you!"

The dwarf was clutching Blade's sleeve and staring up at him. He grinned his terrible grin. Tears trickled down that broad, ridiculous face.

Pity and anger, frustration, all commingled in Blade. Here was part of a mystery explained, but he was not thinking of that. How was he to save the girl? He was no doctor.

He patted Morpho's shoulder. "I will do what I can," he said gruffly. "But do not expect miracles. How long has she been sick?"

"Since five days now. Before we came into the pa.s.s,. It is a fever. She burns, Blade, like a fire."

Blade knelt by the bed. The crone, who had been wiping the girl's face with a cloth, moved away. Blade, feeling helpless, put a hand on the girl's forehead. It was dry and hot, yet she breathed easily enough. He moved the heavy robe covering her and put his ear to her chest. Her skin was light, nearly as light as the Caths, and her b.r.e.a.s.t.s had budded and were well on the way to development, with tiny rose-tinted nipples.

She breathed easily and deeply, yet her flesh was like a stove. There was no rasp of congestion. Blade covered her again and looked at Morpho.

The dwarf spoke first. "It is not the coughing sickness. I thought that at first, but no. It is only fever - but such a fever as I have never seen before. Can you help her, Blade?"

Blade smoothed back glossy dark hair from a high brow that gleamed lemony in the taper. There was Cath in her, no doubt of that. It showed in her face as well as her Mong heritage. Her nose was delicate and straight, her mouth a rosebud still, though the lips were badly fever cracked, and her eyes were oval, neither round nor narrow, and without the deep Mong fold at the outer corners.

At that moment the girl opened her eyes. Blade felt a shiver trace along his spine. Her eyes were green! A darker jade than those of Lali, but as pure, with all the depth and none of the translucence. The girl stared up at Blade, sensing the presence of a stranger, and raised a hand. By then Blade had guessed.

This girl was blind.

The fragile little hand touched his beard. The girl said, "Are you here, my father? Who is it that I touch?"

The dwarf knelt by the pallet and leaned to kiss the girl's cheek. "A friend of mine, Nantee. He is going to make you well."

The fingers, delicate as flowers, traced Blade's face. They touched his lips beneath the beard, his nose, lingered on his eyes and stroked lightly across his forehead. Suddenly the girl smiled.

"I like your friend, my father. He is good."

There was a tightness in Blade's chest and his eyes were hot. Compa.s.sion banished his remaining anger and irritation. But what could he do?

She left off touching Blade and searched with her hands for her father. The dwarf, weeping unashamedly now, caught her hands and pressed them to his malformed face.

"Yes, Nantee. Yes, he is good. He will make you well." He stared at Blade across the girl, desperate and pleading through the tears.

Blade nodded curtly and looked away, unable to face such misery. "I said I would do what I can. How old is she?"

The girl had lapsed into coma again. Morpho arranged her hands and said, "Twelve. Old enough for marriage, Blade. And old enough for..."

He did not finish the sentence, nor did he need to. Blade already understood that.

Blade stood up abruptly, nearly braining himself on a low beam. He rubbed his head and said, "We must get the fever down. Otherwise she will die soon."

"How, Blade? How?"

He stood frowning for .a moment. How indeed? Then he knew what he must do. Must do because there was nothing else to do!

He glanced around the gloomy wagon. The crone, squatting in a corner, watched him with beady dark eyes and no expression on her million-wrinkled face. How much of death she must have seen!

"You have something in which we can gather ice and snow?"

"We have earthen bowls. And the dung baskets beneath the wagon. They will do?"

"They will do. Come on, little man. There is no time to lose."

They collected bowls and went out again into the blizzard. The wind leaped at them with a howl of triumph.

Morpho got the dung baskets, hanging beneath the wagon, and they set about collecting ice and snow, scooping it into the receptacles with their bare hands.

"I had not thought of such a thing," Morpho said against the scream of the wind. "Your brain is better than mine, Blade."

Blade kept scooping and the dwarf added, "But then I am a fool and that is as it should be." The wind could not obliterate the bitterness in the gnome's voice.

They lugged their burdens into the wagon and Blade sent Morpho back for more snow and ice. He stripped the covering from the unconscious girl until she lay naked.

She was well developed for twelve. That was the Mong in her. The slim legs were Cath. Her feet were small, with high arches and fine bones.

Blade glanced at the crone and jerked his head in command. She came to the bed and began to a.s.sist Blade in packing ice and snow around the slim body. Blade began at the shoulders, the crone at the feet, and they mounded the ice and snow against the burning flesh.

The dwarf came back with a dung basket full of snow and Blade dumped it on the girl's flat belly. He tossed the basket back to Morpho. "More!"

In a few minutes she was completely covered but for her face. Morpho sent the crone back to her corner while he and Blade squatted on the floor.