Sart had been struck over the heart with the hooked end of a spear bar. The cruel teeth had torn the flesh away, leaving a bloody gouge a foot long and two inches across. Blade knelt to see better. Only a thin flap of pink bloody tissue covered the heart. Blade watched the heart pulsing strongly like a caged thing against a slight barrier. He marveled at Sart's endurance.
Sybelline read his thoughts. «They are animals, the Gnomen. Beasts. Savages. Only a Gnoman could survive a wound like this.»
Her breath came to his nostrils and he understood that she was drunk. To humble her, he said, «You are half Gnomen, so you should know. What have you been drinking? Fetch me some.»
She came back with two of the symbol-marked cans. Blade sniffed the stuff. Not alcohol, as he knew it, but it was plainly an intoxicant and might do. He poured a can onto the wound and Sart bellowed at the sting. He moaned.
«Let me die, master. It is better. We have no chance. Jantor has a thousand men and he will be after us.»
Blade grinned evilly. His face was a mask of caked and blackening blood. «You will not die yet. I forbid it. I order you to live as long as I need you.»
He cracked an order at Sybelline and she, nearly sober now, cut a thick piece of plastic to fit, placing it over the wound as a shield. This she bound in place with strips cut from plastic sheets. When she was done, Sart was swathed in bandage from chin to waist.
Blade nudged the man with his foot. «Rest here a little time. Jantor will not come for a while and I must have words with Sybelline.»
For the first time Sart really appeared to recognize the white-haired woman, to see in her the Sybelline who was Queen Consort to Jantor, if only in name. He nodded and groaned.
«So you have chosen, master. I think it is the wrong choice. She has no warriors.»
As they went into another room Blade said, «He thinks we plotted this meeting, that I had it in mind all along.»
Sybelline gazed at him. She liked him, yet hated him. She despised him, yet needed him. She knew she must be cautious, yet she found herself on her knees before him, not really willing it, not conscious of volition. She opened his blood-spattered front and took his softness into her hand for a moment. It was not really a sexual act, for both she and Blade knew it had nothing to do with sex. It was submission. Sybelline was shocked at herself, but what other course was open to her?
She handled him for a moment, then stood up. Their eyes met. Blade said: «You are right. We must talk. But first one thing must be understood-you know the secret of the Morphi power and I must know it. With it, we may be able to defeat Jantor and live. So that comes first. Show me the power.»
Sybelline cradled her arms across her firm breasts. He did not understand. It was not so simple. There were the Selenes to be reckoned with. She remembered Onta's cold stares and knew that he, the Chief of Brain Secrets, had no concept of mercy.
But when she would have explained, Blade cut her short. He was curt, brutal. «All that can wait. Either show me or explain to me the source of the Morphi power-at once. Now! We have no time to waste.»
Sybelline nodded. She knew when she was beaten. «We will have to go over the roofs,» she told him. «A great distance. The Selenes will know. Their lights will pick up our images, code them and transmit them on the orbscreens. They will know and they will wonder.»
«Let them,» said Blade. «How likely are they to take action, and how soon?»
Sybelline smiled for the first time since their meeting. «Not soon, I think. They are patient and secure. They plan long ahead. We need not fear them immediately. But in the end they act. I spoke to Onta only a short time ago and-«
She had meant it to slip out but the look on his face filled her with sudden terror. She had only meant to let him know of her importance, something of her place in the scheme of things; now she wished she had not spoken.
Blade's eyes were agate hard on hers. He smiled a bit. But all he said was, «I might have known. You spy for the orb people. They have no doubt promised you vast rewards when the time comes. Good. I do not care. I hope you live to enjoy them. Now, let us go to the source of the power. My patience is short.»
Sart was on his feet in the kitchen. He had a can of intoxicant in his hand. Nearby was a pile of empties. He gave Blade a dubious grin and hiccoughed, then doubled over in pain. Sybelline stared in distaste. There was nothing worse than a drunken Gnoman.
Blade scattered the cans with a kick. «So you are not yet dead?» he asked Sart. «Good. It is possible that I will be the one to kill you after all, if you disobey me in any small matter. Come.»
Sybelline led them up winding stairs to the roof. For miles the rooftops stretched, an unbroken plain. There was no end to them or to the city. The silence shrouded them. The Moon swung its gigantic orb nearby and Blade studied it for a moment, watching the activity on it. He still feared it. If he were fortunate, he thought, he would get the secret of the power and be gone from Dimension X before the Selenes got into the act. Jantor was trouble enough, or would be when he caught up with them.
The three fled over the roofs. They passed high over squares, with the plastic parks and the thousands of sleepers.
When Sart complained and began to lag behind, Blade seized him in an iron grip, hustling him along. His own wounds were hurting and he was weary. He longed for food and a bath, for rest and treatment of his hurts, but all that would have to wait. They would have been spotted by now, by both the Selenes and the Gnomen. Every second counted. He had his orders straight from the old Lord himself-find the power.
They came to another park. In the center of it stood a circular building. A narrow catwalk connected the circular building with the apartment building on which they now stood.
Sybelline pointed to the catwalk. «We must cross that. There is a hatchway in the top of that building.» She pointed to the circular structure. «Then we go underground. Below the five mile level. It will not be easy to come back up, Blade. There is no power for the lift unless you wish me to turn it on. If I do that the Morphi will awaken.»
Blade was pondering, trying to claw some of the caked blood out of his beard. He itched all over. He watched a kiosk in the plastic park and saw movement. Gnomen. They were spotted, right enough, and the Gnomen scouts were keeping pace with them through the sewers. Jantor knew exactly where they were.
Sart moaned at the mention of going underground. Blade told him to be silent. He looked at Sybelline. The trip had told on her. Her white hair straggled, and she breathed hard.
Blade said: «We may have to activate the Morphi. I have not yet decided. But one thing I know. The Gnomen have found us and we had better hurry.» He pointed to the kiosk in the park. A dozen Gnomen soldiers had left it and one was pointing at them with his spear bar. The three of them were in clear silhouette against the curdled-buttermilk sky.
He gave the protesting Sart a push onto the catwalk. «Go first. Hurry.»
Sart was a sewer rat and was unfamiliar with high places. He was terrified. He inched along until Blade prodded him with the sharp end of his spear bar. «Get along faster or I will put this through your guts.» He meant it and Sart knew he meant it.
Blade held one of Sybelline's mists in a tight grip. He was taking no chances of losing her. But she came along docilely enough and, in fact, enjoyed his touch.