It jumped forward at a pace that nearly unseated Lorma, who let out an indignant squall. She held on, and in a minute all they could see of the camp was the fires. Before it vanished, however, they saw the first rolghas pushing their way out the open gate and galloping away from the fires. It would be morning before anyone in the camp could mount and ride in pursuit, even if he thought there was something to pursue.

Blade reined his rolgha back to a trot and settled down to guide it through the next few miles of the forest of Binaark.

Queen Tressana looked down from her saddle at Efroin of the Red Band. He looked back up at her, his black eyes as steady as her blue ones.

"So both Blade and Curim are dead?" Her voice was flat, hiding her anger. The disaster to the scouting party hadn't been Efroin's fault. He was showing real courage in bringing the bad news to her. Nothing would be mended by frightening him with a royal rage.

"If they are not, only the G.o.ds will be able to find them," said Efroin bluntly. "We found the amulets and armor of both men in the ashes of the hut. They must have killed each other."

"I hope Blade was dead before the fire reached him," said Tressana softly. For a moment she no longer saw Efroin, or anything else. Although Curim had been charming and virile for all his hot temper, after his attempt at murder he deserved exactly the fate that overtook him. Blade was something else. His death was a loss not just to her, but to Jaghd and everything she wanted to see done.

However, there was at least one thing she could do to make up part of the loss. "Efroin, you've served me long and well. The men will trust you, and I think you could even stay on good terms with Jollya. Would you like to be captain of the Men's Guard?"

"I will have to ask you a question before answering, Your Grace."

Tressana's eyebrows rose. "Are you bargaining with me?"

Efroin smiled. "No. Only scouting out the land, as any good captain should do in war." He lowered his voice so that only the queen could hear him. "What will my duties be?"

Now she understood. Efroin had a wife and four children, and was said to be unreasonably fond of all of them. He would not particularly care to be her bedmate as well as her champion. A pity, in a way. Efroin was the sort of honest man who often made the best lover, if you were lucky enough to find one. Had she used up her luck in that matter when the G.o.ds sent her Richard Blade? Probably. Certainly Efroin would not be good company in bed if his heart wasn't in pleasuring her.

"I need a man for war, Efroin. You can give all your attention to your men."

"Thank you, Your Grace. Then I will lead the Men's Guard. Jollya will lead the women still?"

"I have no one else."

He sighed. "The G.o.ds send burdens as they will, and men bear them as they must. I will do my best. Do I have your leave to go?"

"Yes."

He turned, and Tressana spurred her rolgha away. She would need men for her bed as well as for the war. But she did not need them so badly that she would turn a good fighting man into a poor lover. A new party of scouts would have to be sent out to the forest, and that would give her plenty of time to pick and test the men before the army had to march.

She pulled off her hat and let the wind blow her hair out behind her as she spurred the rolgha up to a gallop.

Chapter 15.

Blade dismounted as soon as he felt he'd gone too far to be tracked in the morning. He unpacked the supplies in the saddlebags, made a pack of them, then slapped the rolgha on the rump. As it trotted off into the night Blade used his sword to cut a branch for a walking stick. Then he found himself a convenient tree and sat down with his back to it and his sword across his knees to sleep until morning. He knew that the amulets worked, but he'd still rather not trust his life to them for the first time on a particularly dark night. There was also Lorma. Blade suspected Jollya would be able to forgive his joining the Elstani, but never his letting something happen to the cat.

The dawn of a clear day came early. Blade scratched his insect bites, woke up Lorma, picked up his stick, and marched off into the forest of Binaark. Before he'd covered a mile he'd pa.s.sed straight through the creepers of a small rogue without being attacked. After that happened a few times he found himself whistling as he walked along. It was exhilarating to come back into the forest and thumb his nose at the killer plants.

He was still careful not to let the amulet make him feel he was on a hike on the Yorkshire moors. There were snakes and insects, there was food to be rationed, and there was always Lorma to warn away from even the smaller plants. He also discovered that the amulet didn't let him go through one of the mile-wide groves. They were so thickly grown that even if the creepers didn't attack him it was impossible to get through without hacking his way foot by foot. It was better to walk around, rather than take the edge off his sword when he might need it as a weapon on the other side of the forest. It would take more than the synthetic beetle-gland scent to deal with the groves. They would last until someone in this Dimension invented dynamite or something equally potent.

The amulet also didn't completely suppress the attack reflex in the largest plants, if you waited too long or struggled too hard. The plant would somehow slowly sense that you weren't behaving like a beetle even if you smelled like one. You ought to be investigated, and the only way the plants had of investigating anything was to send out the creepers and the kill-pods.

Such an investigation took place so slowly that an active man with a sharp sword could easily defend himself for hours. It still wasn't pleasant, with the smell from the pods, the acid dripping, and those barbed six-inch fangs. After surviving one investigation only by laying about him with his sword, Blade concluded it was an experience to be avoided. He also knew that it proved that the plants were even farther outside the known limits of science than he'd suspected before. He would have given a lot to be able to take a seedling or even a few seeds back to Home Dimension with him.

In spite of the amulet's limitations, it did speed Blade's progress enormously. He covered in four days the distance it had taken him twelve days to cover the first time. He still didn't travel by night, to avoid blundering into groves or getting Lorma in trouble, but otherwise he was able to tramp along steadily, twelve and fourteen hours a day. The streams were low and the game animals were lean, but with a canteen and a bow he was able to keep both himself and Lorma from going without food.

There was no doubt about it: the Keepers of Jaghd had solved this Dimension's centuries-old problem of the killer plants. The Jaghdi army might have more problems and take longer getting through the forest than they'd expected, but they would get through. It was more important than ever for Blade to get through to Elstan and do whatever he could to defeat Tressana's plan to make herself empress of the world over a pile of Elstani corpses.

And afterward? When and if there was peace between the two countries, Blade suspected that the next step would be to build a road through the forest. A few hundred men with axes could keep the seedlings and the rogues under control. The road could go around the groves until someone came up with a way of destroying them. Then trade and travel between Elstan and Jaghd would go on all the year round, regardless of low water on the Adrim or snow in the mountain pa.s.ses. After a few generations the two countries would be united more thoroughly than they ever would be if Tressana won. Then there would be nothing to stop the return of civilization to this Dimension.

No, that wasn't quite true. The people in this Dimension had wrecked one civilization by war. It was always hard to tell if people would learn from their mistakes or simply repeat them. There would also be a price to pay for civilization. Blade could imagine the scene a few centuries from now, when a six-lane highway ran along the path he was following now. On either side of it neat suburban lawns would have replaced the ferns and fungi, and the killer plants would be kept in greenhouses for decoration. No doubt some of the people in those houses would be yearning for "the good old days" of primitive living and the wild forest of Binaark. They should just try walking through it!

Blade was never sure when he crossed out of the no-man's-land of the forest into Elstan. He did know when he first met the Elstani themselves.

Blade mopped the sweat off his forehead with a fern leaf and hoped that the thicket ahead didn't hide a rogue. He didn't really want to take the time to go around it, not after nearly a day without water. Lorma's tongue was already hanging out, and Blade felt as if his legs were turning to lead. The heavy scent of a stand of flowering trees nearby was cloying, almost nauseating.

The rustle of leaves alerted him too late. Suddenly a long rope with something on the end was flying toward him. Then it wrapped itself around his legs as tightly as a plant's creepers, and a sharp hook was digging into his pack. Somebody jerked hard on the rope, Lorma snarled, and Blade sprawled on the ground. His sword was caught under him, and he rolled to free it. Before he could draw, Lorma snarled again, and four men pushed their way out of the thicket.

Blade froze with his hand inches short of his sword. He recognized the men as EIstani. They were all short, none of them taller than about five feet six, and well muscled. Their round heads were shaved nearly bald, but all had mustaches on their broad dark faces. They wore heavy cloth trousers and shirts, with knee-high leather boots and elbow-length gloves in spite of the heat. Two of them were carrying crossbows, loaded, c.o.c.ked, and aimed roughly at Blade's stomach. The other two were holding the rope, but as they came into the open they dropped it and drew double-edged short swords.

Lorma snarled again and Blade heard her paws scrabbling as she broke into a run. One of the archers let fly with his crossbow, but to his relief Blade heard nothing but the whuk of the bolt hitting a tree. He knew Lorma wasn't running because she was afraid, but because she'd received no orders to either stop or attack. She'd trail Blade and the EIstani until she did get his orders or could figure out for herself what was going on. Meanwhile she'd be safe from those crossbows-and Blade realized that she'd forced one of the archers to disarm himself. If he moved fast enough...

Before he could finish the thought three more archers stepped out of another patch of forest. Blade would have sworn that nothing larger than Lorma could have been hiding there without his seeing it. He wondered if he'd had his mind too much somewhere else, and hoped it wouldn't be fatal. From the grim, implacable expressions on the seven faces around him, it was hard to be optimistic. Blade had seldom seen men who looked less willing to listen, in a situation when talking his way out was probably his only hope.

Slowly he sat up, keeping his hands not only in plain sight but well clear of his body. Instead of trying to unwind the rope from his legs, he looked from one face to another as he spoke.

"I am Richard Blade, a warrior of England. I have been in the service of the Jaghdi, as you-you can see from my clothing and weapons. Jaghd is planning a great war to conquer Elstan. I did not believe in that war, so I have left Jaghd and come to warn Elstan."

Several of the men laughed and one said, "Even if that is true, it will not save your life. We know about Tressana's war. Do you think it could be kept a secret, that an army gathers on the Adrim?"

"No. But the army on the Adrim is not the greatest danger. Another army is gathering, to march through the forest of Binaark and-"

Several of the men laughed again, but others cursed. Blade knew the idea must sound as incredible to them as it had to him the first time, and struggled to find words. He cautiously raised his hand to point at the amulet around his neck. "This makes it possible to march through the forest. The Keepers of Jaghd have learned how to fight the killer plants, so now an army-"

That was the end of Blade's speech, and nearly the end of Blade himself. One of the archers suddenly snapped his crossbow up and shot. He wasn't faster than one of the swordsmen, however. The man's sword flickered out like a striking snake, the point knocking the crossbow up and to one side. A bolt that would have drilled Blade's skull only tore a gash in his right ear. Then in a blur of motion the swordsman knocked the crossbow out of his comrade's hand, kicked the man's legs out from under him, and knelt on his chest with the sword point at his throat.

"I know your pride, Fador'n. I will not call this unlawful, if you lay down your bow for this Cutting."

"Yes, Daimarz."

The man called Daimarz let the other up and turned to Blade. Blade noticed that Daimarz had an ax-shaped badge worked in copper wire on both gloves, and the same ax shape tattooed on his forehead. "Richard Blade, as you call yourself, we can see that you are of Jaghd. As for the rest, you have won yourself a little more life, at least. We will finish this Cutting, then take you to the Masters. If you are telling the truth, it will at least win you the good Stone Death." He sheathed his sword. "Will you swear not to try to escape? Or else you may find yourself wishing for any death before the Cutting is over."

"I will swear that, if you will swear something in return."

"Why should we bargain with you, Jaghd?"

"Who spoke of bargaining? I only wish to know that I am dealing with men who know what an oath is. Otherwise, what do I have to gain by swearing one myself and making things easier for you?"

"There is sense in that," said Daimarz, rubbing the tattoo on his forehead. "Very well, what shall we swear?"

"That unless the cat Lorma attacks one of your men, you will do nothing against her."

Several of the men laughed at that, but Daimarz raised a hand. "No. The gray cats of Jaghd seem to have more than a beast's sense. You will order her not to strike at us?"

"If I see her, yes."

"Good enough. Then she shall not be harmed, as long as you do not try to escape."

The Elstani hurried forward to pull Blade to his feet and tie his hands to a stick behind his back. Daimarz himself tore away the amulet. "This we shall keep for the Masters." He handed it to Fador'n for safekeeping.

Blade swore. "If you'll just test it on one of the plants, you'll see-"

"I see and hear a Jaghdi prisoner who talks too much," said Daimarz. A hand signal made two of the archers raise their crossbows. "I did not swear to listen to your lies, Blade."

As the men lined up on either side of Blade, he swore again, but silently. The Elstani weren't mindlessly bloodthirsty. They wouldn't kill him outright before he could tell his story to the Masters. But if they refused to test the amulet before it lost its power, he'd have no way of proving that his story was true! The results for Elstan could be just as disastrous as if these men had killed him outright.

Blade felt better about walking into the ambush after watching the Elstani at work for a few days. They were clearly as much at home in the forest as Lorma herself, able to hide so well that neither man nor cat could be sure of detecting them until it was too late.

There were fifteen men in the Elstani party led by Daimarz. All of them were of the Woodcutters' Guild, and they were as tough and well disciplined as soldiers. With their job, they had to be.

The killer plants spread themselves by firing seeds from seed pods hidden high in their upper branches. When the pods were ripe, they were triggered by the rising sun. So the plants tended to spread toward the east, creeping up on Elstan's already inadequate farm and grazing lands like a slow tide. The woodcutters' job was to beat back this tide.

Fortunately they didn't have to deal with the groves, at least not now. There'd been groves established in Elstani territory a century ago, but somehow they'd been successfully attacked since then. Blade had the distinct feeling that whatever they'd used on the groves was something they didn't want to talk about in the presence of someone from Jaghd, even if he was a prisoner.

The seedlings, half-grown plants, and full-grown rogues were enough work for any reasonable man. Dealing with the younger plants was more tedious than dangerous. A single team of woodcutters might find more than a thousand of them in the course of a week's Cutting. It took sharp eyes to pick them out of the surrounding jungle, hoes for the smaller ones, axes for the larger ones, and a lot of muscle and sweat no matter what size they were. The plants were tough as well as prolific.

The rogues were a far more dangerous proposition, even for strong, well-trained men working together in teams. The woodcutters were careful to leave Blade out of sight whenever they tackled a rogue, afraid to let a Jaghd in on their secrets. Blade could still guess most of what happened from listening to the sounds of the fight and what the woodcutters said afterward.

The woodcutters met the rogues head-on. They took their axes and hacked their way into the network of creepers. When the kill-pods came down they stood their ground and turned the axes against them. When the killpods were all gone, they advanced still farther, to the base of the trunk. A last few minutes' work with the axes, and the rogue was dead.

Blade didn't need to hear the woodcutters talking to know how many things could go wrong. Under attack, the killer plants could move their pods much faster than the one he'd fought. A man who got even one arm trapped by the creepers could have a pod closing on him before any one could chop a path to him. A man who was unlucky enough to be pulled down was as good as dead. He might have comrades only a spear's length from him, but if they were fighting for their lives against creepers and pods they couldn't help him.

That was why so many of the woodcutters carried powerful crossbows. Half a dozen archers always stayed out of reach of the creepers, bows ready. A brisk shower of bolts could sometimes discourage a kill-pod. If not, a bolt through the head or the heart was a more merciful death than the killer plants gave a man.

Daimarz's band didn't have any dead to mourn while Blade was with them. But one man was blinded by acid from a kill-pod as they attacked a stand of three rogues growing toward each other. That time Blade smelled smoke and something like burning tar near the end of the battle. The men came back with their already dark skins nearly black with soot, and they talked less than usual about what they'd done.

Apart from not allowing Blade to prove he was telling the truth about the amulets, the woodcutters treated him well enough. They gave him enough food and water, and left his hands untied whenever there were enough men around to guard him. He also discovered that even when he was tied the bar and cords were light enough so that he could break loose if he had to. That would look like a violation of his oath, so he didn't plan to do it except in an emergency where he needed both hands free. After he volunteered to help carry the blinded man's stretcher, they left him untied at least half the day.

A drizzling rain was falling as the party set out on the morning of Blade's tenth day with the woodcutters. Everybody was walking a little faster than before, in spite of their fatigue. They were on the way home, with no more work between them and the hot meals they'd be eating tomorrow night. Their packs were light and even the tools they still had to carry didn't seem a burden any more. They would have been moving even faster if they hadn't been trying a new route through some hills rather than around them. It was Daimarz's idea to try out this new route, the sort of thing he did quite often. Since he was the son of the Master of the Woodcutters, he'd come by his curiosity honestly.

Blade didn't quarrel with scientific curiosity, but thought Daimarz hadn't chosen the best time or place to indulge it. His men were tired, their tools made an awkward load, and the best route through the hills seemed to lie halfway up a steep slope. Above was a nearly vertical hillside, below a sharp drop into a mist-shrouded valley, and underfoot slick gra.s.s and gluey mud.

The effort of carrying the stretcher on the uncertain footing made even Blade sweat. After an hour Daimarz had him relieved. "I'd rather have my hands free," Blade said as they approached to tie him again. "Where would I go on this slope?"

Daimarz shook his head. "On the slope, nowhere. But down there-" he pointed into the mist "-who knows? You'd be impossible to catch the moment you were out of sight. That might be too much temptation even for an honest man. And no, I won't give you the amulet either."

As soon as Blade was tied up, the march started again. Blade was muttering under his breath, and felt closer to breaking his oath than ever before. He still had to get to Elstan and give the warning, but he'd begun to feel that he might do the job better striking out on his own. Daimarz was brave, honest, and a fine leader, but right now he was also being much too stubborn for his people's good!

One careful plodding step followed another. The rain grew heavier, and it seemed to Blade that the mist in the valley below was getting thicker. Having his hands tied behind him made keeping his balance a good deal more difficult than it should have been. At least the ache in his shoulders from carrying the stretcher was fading.

Blade felt the ground move under him before he heard the cries of the men or the dreadful sucking sound. He threw himself uphill with all his strength, nearly wrenching a shoulder as he landed. The men in front of him and behind him followed his example and came down beside him. Blade was the first to raise his head, hear the cries get louder, and see Daimarz and the first six men in the line slowly vanish into the mist as the rain-soaked hillside slid into the valley.

The rest of the party seemed to be on firmer ground. Blade was relieved to hear the cries of the men caught in the landslip continuing. Apparently they'd gone down so slowly that they'd been able to keep from being buried alive under the mud. The blind man, the only really helpless one in the party, was still safe. The rest should be able to climb back up.

"Help!" came a terrified shout from down below. "Help us! There's a rogue down here! We've landed in a rogue! Help!" Blade had never heard any of the woodcutters sounding so close to panic.

Chapter 16.

Blade heard the hiss and clatter of weapons being drawn by the woodcutters still on the path. He saw them step as cautiously as cats to the edge of the landslip and look down into the mist. Fador'n was the closest, but even he was staying carefully on firm ground.

Was Fador'n deliberately refusing to go to his leader's aid, taking a horrible vengeance for the disgrace of losing his bow? Then Blade looked down into the valley and reconsidered. Fador'n might be suffering from nothing worse than a loss of nerve. The mist-filled valley was weird and terrifying, an unreal sight which might easily be suspected of hiding even worse things than the killer plants.

Unfortunately it did hide the plants, and the cries of the men caught among the creepers of the rogue were entirely too real. Even if Fador'n got his nerve back in a minute or two, he might be too late. Without Daimarz, Blade's chances of having his story believed in Elstan or even getting to Elstan alive would shrink. So would Elstan's chances of surviving Queen Tressana's campaign. Apart from this, Blade knew he owed Daimarz something for his justice toward Lorma, and for saving him from Fador'n.

Blade rolled over until he was lying on his face, both arms clear of the ground. Then he put shoulder, back, and arm muscles into one tremendous jerk. The ropes dug into his flesh, then the stick cracked like a pistol shot. A second jerk split it in two. Blade flexed life into his wrists and got to his feet.

Fador'n saw him. He yelled, "The Jaghd's escaping!" and dashed at Blade, drawing his sword as he ran. Behind him came a man with a raised ax. Fortunately n.o.body had a crossbow ready for action. All the bowstrings were carefully packed away to keep them safe from the damp weather.

"d.a.m.n it, I want to help them down there!" roared Blade. "Give me the amulet and-" Then he had to leap aside from Fador'n's rush. His effort to be reasonable cost him a gashed forearm. He found himself directly in the path of the axman, with the ax starting down.

All right, if these idiots are more concerned with keeping me from escaping than with saving their friends...

Blade ducked under the downswing of the ax and gave the man a one-two punch in the stomach. He doubled up, vomited, and dropped the ax. Blade caught it in midair and swung it in a wide arc to drive Fador'n back. The woodcutter came in again, too intent on dealing with Blade even to shout for help. The flat of the ax came down on his sword hand. He yelped and dropped his weapon. Blade shifted the ax to his left hand, closed with Fador'n, and punched the man in the jaw. The woodcutter not only fell, he also started rolling down the slope. Blade plunged after him, nearly losing his own footing, and caught up with him just above the mist. He s.n.a.t.c.hed the amulet out of the belt pouch, carefully tied it around his own neck, then pulled Fador'n around so that he wouldn't roll any farther. The man was an idiot, but even an idiot didn't deserve the fate awaiting him at the bottom of the hill.

Blade hefted the ax again, testing its weight and balance. For a five-foot, six-inch Elstani, the ax was a two-handed weapon. Blade found he could easily use it with one hand, thought for a moment of trying to get steel for his other hand, then decided time was more important than an extra weapon. He cupped his free hand to his mouth and shouted down into the mist.

"Halloooo! This is Richard Blade, the Englishman. I'm coming down with the ax and the amulet. Hold on! I'll try to get you out!"

Blade wished he could promise to do more than try, but he didn't believe in miracles. It would take just about that to get all the men out of the rogue's grip. The amulet might still be effective. The stopper was still in and the scent was supposed to be more powerful in damp weather. Would it work against a rogue already triggered into action by seven struggling men? Also, Blade didn't know where the men were, who was in the most danger, or the best route to the base of the rogue's trunk. The mist would make it hard to find out.

Blade started down the slope, cutting back and forth to slow his rate of descent. The last thing he wanted was to lose his footing on the slick gra.s.s and reach the bottom sprawling and weaponless. Then he'd be no more than another victim for the robe.

The panicky cries from the mist had died away at Blade's shout. As he entered the mist they started again. Then Daimarz's voice roared out above all the others. "Shut up, the whole d.a.m.ned pack of you! Are you woodcutters of Elstan or women of Jaghd?" A sudden silence, except for a few shouts from above. Blade ignored those. n.o.body up there could do anything to him until they'd strung a bow. Even then they might have the sense not to shoot wildly into a mist which hid their comrades as well as the "escaping" prisoner.

As he dropped into the mist, Blade headed to his left, toward the landslip and the fallen men. He heard Daimarz's voice again, shouting, "If there's a pod close to you, shout! If not, stay quiet!" Two men shouted. Blade swore. The mist not only blocked vision, it distorted hearing as well. It was almost impossible to tell where a man was from just hearing him.

Daimarz must have realized the same thing. He shouted again. "Everybody stop moving! I'll keep fighting. That should pull the pods toward me. Blade, can you cut the rest loose while I draw the pods?"

As Daimarz fell silent, Blade reached the outer edge of the rogue's creepers. They were all writhing and twisting like an endless nest of immense snakes, terrifying enough in broad daylight and quite indescribable seen through the mist. Blade could now understand better why the tough woodcutters gave way to panic when they slid downhill into this.

Blade stepped forward into the creepers. Time to find out if the amulet was still any good. He wished it was on a chain rather than a cord. A creeper that wasn't attacking him might break the cord.

Two anaconda-sized creepers wriggled toward him. They rose into the air, wavered, then one pulled back abruptly. The second came on, slapped his thigh almost playfully, then swung wide of him. Blade didn't bother striking at them. He felt like cheering. The amulet still worked!