Blade knew perfectly well that this was the Supreme Brother of the cult in his ceremonial garb. But he would have gone into the attack knowing that he faced the god himself. His sword blurred in the air as it whistled toward the man's head, then clanged off an axe that rose to meet it. Blade struck with his own axe, and again there was a crash of weapons meeting harmlessly in midair.
And again, and again. Blade doubted that the Supreme Brother would have been able to match him so well under normal circumstances. But the priest was coming to the battle fresh. Blade had already poured out buckets of sweat and a fair amount of blood.
After a dozen exchanges Blade knew that he was not going to be able to get through his opponent's guard. The Supreme Brother's mind seem to leap ahead, to discover Blade's moves almost before Blade's own mind had formed them. This realization touched off a moment of doubt in Blade's mind. But that passed, and its place was taken by memory. In this dimension no one seemed to know anything about unarmed combat.
Blade still felt no emotion, other than a sense of frustration that this fight with the priest was keeping him from reaching Piralu. He had been doing his best to keep the Supreme Brother with his back to the railing. Now he abandoned that, letting the priest take the initiative. Gradually the two men swung about on the blood-smeared deck, until Blade was backed almost against the railing.
Almost. He was careful to leave a space behind him, a space he measured in a quick glance. In the next glance, he saw that the Supreme Brother was going to try to drive him back, wipe out that space, push him over the railing. The timing of his own next move would have to be nearly perfect.
The Supreme Brother rocked back on his heels, then drove in at Blade. Blade pretended to slip, dropping down flat on his back on the boards, his head just clearing the railing. The Supreme Brother gave a shrill yell of triumph, and raised both axes high, leaning forward to strike down at Blade's head and chest. The axes began their descent.
In that moment Blade's feet shot up like a piston. They shot into the priest's stomach, scooping him up into the air, up, up, over Blade's head as Blade rolled back on his shoulders-up, and clear over the railing. Blade's head crashed into something solid. For a moment the world swirled around him. But the sounds he heard-or did not hear-told him what he wanted to know.
The Supreme Priest had no time to change his scream of triumph into one of terror before he struck the water. He did scream as he splashed into the river, and once more after that. Blade heard nothing more, because the splashings of the little fish were not loud enough to rise above the sounds of battle. Blood was pouring from his throbbing head as he staggered to his feet. He was in time to see the last of the air burble out of the Supreme Brother's bat-mask, and see it sink out of sight-dragged down by the weight of the now fleshless skull inside it.
Blade leaned over the railing, conscious that his last reserves of strength were gone, and that his head was throbbing agonizingly. He managed to pull himself straight and turn forward, toward the remainder of the battle.
As he did so, the pain in his head suddenly flared and spread until from crown to chin his head was one raw, tearing agony. The world dissolved. But he could still feel the deck under his feet, know that he was lurching toward the railing, up against it-and over it.
His mouth opened in a scream that died in a gurgle as he struck the water and the river poured into his mouth. He was in the river, bleeding, down among the deadly fish. The computer had him, but it might let him go, and then the fish would eat him and there would be no brain of his left for the computer to-
The computer did not let go. Blade felt a stab of pain in his leg as one of the fish took a bite. Then the pain in his head swelled further, the world's redness pulsed and quivered, then it was no longer red but black. And after that it was no longer anything.
Chapter 21
There was a faint click in the silent library as Lord Leighton switched the tape recorder off. The silence returned, more thickly than ever. Outside J's flat a drizzling rain was falling, but the thick curtains over the windows kept both sound and the street lights out.
J let out his breath in a long whistling sigh. «No wonder Blade was in such a foul temper when he came back. Doesn't get to take a crack at the fellow responsible for all that rumpus on the river, doesn't get to bring back a sample of the healing drug, and nearly gets eaten alive by the river fish before we can bring him home. He must have ended up feeling that all fates were against him.»
Leighton nodded, but it was obvious to J that the scientist's mind was somewhere else. Finally he stood up and began pacing around the room, hands clasped behind his back and head bowed.
«J, we've absolutely got to push for a breakthrough on the Controlled Return Project. We've got to be able to send Blade-«
«Or somebody,» put in J.
«Or somebody,» said Leighton, testy at the interruption. «But we've got to be able to get back to this dimension and find those plants. Even a sample might be enough. If we could get even one of those pads, we could turn it over to the chemists and get it analyzed. And then turn the analysis over to one of the pharmaceutical firms, and we'd be able to give England a complete dominance of the pharmaceutical market.»
«Not to mention all the lives that would be saved,» said J quietly.
«To be sure, to be sure,» said Leighton. «But you do agree with me, don't you, J? We've simply got to get somebody back to this dimension. It's as important in a way as the dimension of the Menel.»
Considerably more important, thought J. The discovery of the nonhuman Menel in the Dimension of the Ice Dragons was earth-shaking enough, but rather remote from the average man's concerns. But the discovery of the healing drug that the cult of Ayocan extracted from the bush by the lake was something that would instantly justify the Project in the eyes of the most conservative and hardheaded M.P. or his constituents. And there were always the lives that could be saved. How many thousands or tens of thousands each year? J didn't know. He didn't even feel qualified to guess. But he had to admit he liked the idea of giving England something that would help heal, not kill, from the Project. He had dealt with death and secrets of death for most of his life. He would like a change.
And he would also like a change for Blade. The chap was certain to be willing to go back, but damn it, there was such a thing as flogging a willing horse! And if the Controlled Return technique was ever perfected, it would almost certainly mean that Blade would go on making trips into Dimension X. Even if they found a new man for trips into new dimensions, they would still need Blade to go back into the old ones, the ones that he had pioneered. Would perfecting Controlled Return amount in fact to a death sentence for Blade?
Perhaps. But J knew that he could not stand in the way of what England needed-what the world needed. And certainly not anything like this healing drug. He could not and would not, because Blade himself would not want him to.
«All right,» J said. «Shall I arrange an appointment with the Prime Minister?»
«Yes,» said Leighton. «Do that.»