Blade started lengthening his stride, and gradually he closed the gap between him and the next man, and soon he was walking beside him. The Zungan shot Blade a bewildered look. Then Blade was out in front of the man and angling back into the line ahead of him. As Nayung looked back this time, Blade would have sworn he almost started in surprise-and then grinned faintly.
Nayung did not step up the pace, however. A few minutes later Blade moved up another place. This time Nayung's grin was unmistakable. When Blade moved up a third place, to move in just behind Chamba, Nayung showed all of his teeth and raised both clenched fists over his head in salute.
Chamba, however, was obviously unwilling to be overtaken as easily as the first two men. Blade saw the Zungan warrior's long, sinewy legs increase their stride, and pushed his own pace up a little. Neck and neck, he and Chamba swung out and moved up past the next man in the line. Then they swung in together just behind Nayung.
Nayung's face was now showing signs of strain. Was physical exhaustion beginning to set in, or was he again concerned about the rivalry between Blade and Chamba? Nayung still made no effort to increase the pace, and Chamba found from somewhere the breath to taunt him for this.
«What is it, Nayung? Can even this woman of an Englishman join me in catching up with you?» And he put on a spurt that drew him level with Nayung.
The D'bor wasted no breath in replying to the taunts. He merely looked back over his shoulder, then the pumping of his long arms increased. This seemed to pour new breath into his body and new life into his legs. In seconds the gap between Nayung and the two men behind him was opening rapidly.
That push by Nayung worried Blade. Did the D'bor have the reserves of strength to keep up this new pace all the way to Brona? Or would he soon fall back and perhaps be shamed before Chamba? If that happened, it was all the more important for Blade to keep going, and above all to reach Brona before Chamba.
Blade increased his own pace a little more, and found that he was pulling ahead of Chamba. Also the gap between him and Nayung had stopped widening. For a moment he risked looking back. The other three warriors were moving along together at a steady lope, but they were definitely falling behind. And why shouldn't they? They had no stake in this mad race across the plain, nothing worth breaking their hearts and bursting their lungs to accomplish.
Gradually the movement of Blade's legs and feet slipped out of the reach of his conscious mind. They settled down to a steady pattern of their own, endlessly repeated, carrying him forward across the plain. He was no longer aware of the movement of air in and out of his lungs, of the expansions and contractions of his chest. He might have been a robot, for all that his body made itself known to his mind.
Before too much longer he realized that Nayung was definitely weakening. The Mor's arms now moved more rapidly, almost flailing the air. He no longer lifted his long-toed feet as high at each stride. In fact, he seemed to be running almost flat-footed. Sometimes his feet came down so hard that puffs of dust spurted up from the ground under them.
Chamba was still running beside Blade, and the Zungan showed no signs of strain. Or did he? Blade noticed cracked lips opening and closing, a sweat-greased chest heaving more than before. Would he be feeling the strain himself if he let his body tell him about it? Perhaps. But for now he felt as though he could keep on running for hours. And he knew it would be up to him to beat Chamba.
Suddenly Nayung threw up his head and gave a long gasping cry that must have taken every spare ounce of breath in his body. For a moment Blade thought the man was going to stumble and fall. But he kept on his feet, only slowing until Blade and Chamba were level with him. Then they were past him, and he was falling back still farther, to take a place ahead of the other three warriors. One of them grinned at Nayung and reached out to slap him on the back. That man at least did not think the D'bor shamed and weak.
But Chamba would, and there would be many who would support Chamba. Blade would have to run that arrogant warrior into the ground, or endanger not only Nayung but himself. He looked sideways at Chamba. The man showed no signs of speeding up, but his face wore an exultant grin.
Then suddenly he did step up the pace, so quickly that he seemed to leap ahead into the lead in seconds. Blade clenched his teeth, feeling the gritty dust between them, and followed.
The two men moved out across the plain now a good fifty feet ahead of the others, and the gap kept widening foot by foot. For the time being Blade was willing to let Chamba set the pace, and only match him. The time for his own move into the lead would come, if he lasted long enough. He was not sure he was going to. The breath rasping in his throat, and the stabbing pains in his chest, the throbbing ache in his thighs and calves, all were coming through clearly now.
A minute later Blade realized that Chamba was no longer increasing his speed. His pounding feet had settled down to a constant pace. It was time for Blade to make his move. He tried to breathe even more deeply than before, found it impossible, and decided to gamble.
As fast as he had been running before, it seemed to him now that he was almost flying. He barely felt his feet touch the ground, barely heard the breath wheezing in and out as his lungs clawed at the air. He saw Chamba stare at him, then he had to turn his head to watch the Zungan warrior.
There was agony, agony of the body and agony of the mind, written all over the man's face. His arms began to flail and his mouth opened wide, trying to gulp down as much air as possible. His eyes were no longer focused on Blade, or on anything else. They stared blindly ahead, into the fading sky, toward the flat horizon of the endless plain.
Suddenly he stumbled. He did not go down, but the steady pattern of his steps was broken. In the moments it took Chamba to recover, Blade gained ten feet. He could no longer look back at the Zungan without risking stumbling and falling, himself. He put his opponent out of his mind and concentrated on ignoring the shooting pains in his legs. He knew they and his lungs were both very close to letting him down. It was going to be a matter of minutes or seconds.
Then there was a thudding sound behind him. He risked turning his head back to where Chamba should have been, and saw nothing. He turned farther-and he saw the Zungan warrior writhing on the ground, kicking his legs and clawing at his chest, rolling over and over. Nayung and the others had stopped and were standing over Chamba, looking down at him.
Blade had to force his legs to stop moving, they had been going so long and so steadily. He stood still for a moment, then turned and walked slowly back to the others. He could not entirely keep his feet from dragging, or his chest from heaving like a bellows. But neither could he keep a broad grin off his sweating face as he looked down at Chamba. He did not feel particularly angry with the man, only a bit irritated with him for having forced this whole running match so far beyond the point of reason.
Then Nayung started, and said in an unexpectedly loud voice, «Blade, look!» He pointed at something to the north, behind Blade.
Blade turned and saw three columns of dark gray smoke curling up into the sky from below the horizon. «What is that, Nayung? Brona?»
«Yes. But those are Death Fires.»
«Death Fires?»
«Yes. And for a royal death. I hope it is not Prince Makuluno. He was most worthy.» Nayung's face seemed to have gone pale under the sweat. Without another word, he waved his arm toward the smoke columns and started moving. One by one the others followed. This time, Chamba brought up the rear. Blade did not worry about that; the Zungan was too exhausted and ashamed to try anything for the moment. He was more worried about what lay beneath those three smoke columns. A royal death? The hour of a royal death was seldom a good time to arrive among a new people, and often a dangerous one.