The man with the sword pointed at his stomach wore the same kind of elaborate armor as the man Blade had wounded. He seemed to consider the warning worth taking seriously. Slowly he backed out of Blade's sight, but the conversation went on.
«What's he to you, anyway?»
«Only my share of what we'll get for sending him to the Games, that's all. So keep away from him. That's an order.»
«You can't-«
«I can. I just did, and I'll do it again. You may be one of the Protector's-people-but I've served much longer than you. Kra-Shad isn't going to be commanding again before we get home, so that leaves me over you. And if I get any more of your waving tongue about it, I'll have you tied up along with the prisoners.»
The other voice-Cha-Chern's-came sneeringly. «So holy, and yet you had her along with all the rest of us.»
«A woman is one thing,» said the man with the sword, sheathing it briskly. «Getting us all home alive and unspeared is another. That's what I'm thinking about now. You'd do better to do the same.»
«Oh, I will-for now.» Blade heard receding footsteps, then the man who'd been defending him squatted down beside him. Blade saw a lean brown face with extraordinary gray eyes on either side of a beak-like nose. The face was heavily lined, and the hair falling over the scarred forehead was mostly gray.
«Do you need anything?» the man asked. He spoke the language of the Forest People, but with such a heavy accent that Blade would have understood him much better if he'd been speaking his native language. The computer's work on the language centers of his brain didn't always make allowances for accents and dialects!
«Water,» said Blade. The gray-haired man nodded, reached out of Blade's sight, and brought up a bulging leather sack. He uncorked it, tilted it up, and let Blade drink until the thistles were washed out of his mouth.
«Thank you.»
The man nodded, corked the sack, and stood up. «You go to the Games, I know. But even there-remember that you can choose to live or die. I think you are a man who will choose to live.» Then he was gone.
If his head hadn't been aching too much, Blade would have laughed at the man's words. Not in derision, but because the man's words so closely matched his own thoughts on what came next. He was going to be a slave in Gerhaa, a gladiator in the Games of Hapanu. Gladiators were usually privileged slaves, with weapons in their hands. That wasn't a bad starting point for a man who could keep his wits about him. It would probably be enough to save Blade, and perhaps it would be enough to save Meera.
Meanwhile there was the gray-haired soldier, who was apparently willing to see that Blade reached the city and the Games alive. Now if the man could just be brought to do the same for Meera-
Blade didn't see Meera until the next morning, when they were both being loaded into the slave raiders' canoes. He was awakened by two men, who shaved his head and washed the cuts in his scalp with something which stung painfully, then slapped on a rough bandage. After that his hands were unchained and he was fed a breakfast of coarse bean porridge with bits of salt meat and all the weak beer he could drink.
Then they chained his hands again, unchained his feet, and led him down to the canoes. As he sat down, he saw four soldiers coming down the bank, carrying Meera on a crude litter. He was shocked at her appearance. She was naked, and apart from the wound in her leg, her face, breasts, and thighs were swollen with bruising. At first Blade thought she was unconscious, then saw that she was simply half-numb with shock or fear. Her eyes stared blankly upward, and she didn't blink even when the bearers dropped one end of the litter. It was hard to believe from looking at her that she was still completely sane.
Blade didn't blame Meera. There could be no doubt what she'd been through yesterday-mass rape and probably a beating as well. It would be hard to save her, though, if she couldn't lift a finger to help herself. She might even be killed outright, if the slave raiders decided she wouldn't bring them enough money in the slave markets to be worth carrying to Gerhaa.
Blade could think of only one thing to do. He was going to have to speak to the gray-haired soldier, and ask to be allowed to care for Meera during the trip downriver. No doubt the man would then realize Blade cared for Meera, and that any threat to her would bring him under control. Blade refused to worry about that. He certainly wasn't going to abandon Meera without doing everything he could to save her. Any danger to himself was small, compared with the danger to her.
The gray-haired soldier didn't appear until the canoes were nearly loaded. Four soldiers appeared, carrying the officer with the smashed shoulder on another litter. The man was only half conscious. Behind him came a slim young man wearing an elegant and intricate outfit of dyed leather instead of armor. When he spoke to the bearers, Blade recognized the voice of Cha-Chern, the man who'd kicked him and quarreled with the gray-haired soldier.
The man Blade wanted brought up the rear. As he stopped to take a final look around, Blade raised his hands and rattled his chains loudly. «Captain! I have something to ask you.»
The gray-haired man turned, hand on his sword hilt but apparently not angry. «Yes, slave?»
«The woman-the woman who was with me-«Blade pointed as well as he could.
«Your woman?»
«Yes.»
«Not any more,» interrupted Cha-Chern. «She goes to the-«
«Cha-Chern, you will be silent,» said the gray-haired man, drawing his sword. «Your woman goes to the Happy Houses. Surely you know this?»
«Yes, but-can you not allow us these last few days…?»
Cha-Chern opened his mouth, then shut it as a gesture from the other allowed Blade to continue. «Captains-consider that if she does not heal, you get only a poor price for her. You may get none at all. If she and I have these last few days together… «
Blade spoke in the language of the Forest People, although it required a conscious effort to avoid slipping into the language of the Sons of Hapanu. However, neither officer seemed to suspect he was anything unusual, in spite of his pale skin. Speaking to them fluently in their own language would be sure to arouse those suspicions and make his situation and Meera's more difficult, perhaps more dangerous.
He was also letting a whine creep into his voice, the whine of a slave willing to beg. Blade hoped it was convincing, and that the officers would agree before the disgust rising inside him spoiled the act. He wouldn't have done this beggar's act for himself, not in a hundred years. But if it would help save Meera, he'd try it.
Both officers were silent for so long that Blade almost gave up hope. Then the gray-haired one nodded. «Yes, Cha-Chern, I think the slave has wisdom. If the woman is sold as she is, the Happy Houses won't pay us nearly what she's worth. I can tell when a woman has promise, and she has much. So I say let him have her as he wishes, until we reach Gerhaa.»
«But, Ho-Marn-«began Cha-Chern, then stopped as the other's sword twitched.
«It shall be done,» said Ho-Marn, sheathing his sword and turning his back on Cha-Chern. He scrambled down the bank toward the canoe, leaving the younger officer to run after him. Blade fought not to laugh. He also fought to keep an expression of humble gratitude on his face. That wasn't easy, when what he really wanted to do was pick up Cha-Chern and throw him into the river, fancy leather outfit and all.
The trip downriver was always high on Blade's private list of Experiences I Wouldn't Repeat for a Million Pounds. Fortunately it gave Meera time to slowly return to something like health and sanity.
Blade never knew whether it was his care, Meera's natural toughness, or simply the passage of time that healed her. It was probably some of each. By the time they'd been on the river five days, Meera began to recover her health and spirits. The bruises were fading, the leg wound was healing without any complications, the aches in her joints no longer kept her awake at night, and even the nightmares no longer woke her screaming.