difference.'
'It will not. If the Caths attack us first, I will fight with the Mongs. I have promised the Captain that. I promise you now. But there must be no fighting - and if I have a chance to parley first with the Caths there will be none. Tell me in truth, old man. Are you not sick of war?'
Baber squinted and tugged at a hair in his nose. Then he nodded vigorously. 'That I am, Sir Blade. For a long time now. I am old and I would like to enjoy my last years. But you dream if you think there is an end to war! There has always been war and there will always be war.' He shrugged. 'How else can a young man earn a living? And yet I wish as you, that there was another way.'
Pain lanced at Blade then and he closed his eyes and held tight. For a few seconds the pain was almost unendurable and he trembled and sweated. Then it passed. Lord L was getting closer to him. Blade shook his head and wiped his face with a cloth. He was ready, but not before he had finished his task.
Baber said: 'You do not feel well, Sir Blade?'
'It is nothing. I am tired, as we all are, and worried, Baber. I admit it. I wish the Caths would come to meet us and talk of peace. I do not like this running game of theirs any more than you.'
Early next morning, after having marched but two hours, they climbed a long rise that overlooked a deep bowl- shaped valley. In the center of the valley was a neat Cath town. The moon flag of Cath fluttered from a pole in a center square and, even at the distance, Blade saw the iridescent glitter of his statue. The town was busily going about its business, the people hurrying here and there and paying no attention to the Mong host on its doorstep.
Rahstum, scowling, signaled a halt. He eased his stub in its sling and turned to Blade, indicating the easy pass that led down into the valley.
'I do not like this, Sir Blade. It is too easy.' He gestured to a ring of low hills surrounding the valley on every side.
'There could be a million Caths in those hills. And we, as who knows better than you, are not strong. The march over the mountains, the fight at the sea, and now this long march, has left us weak. You took census, Sir Blade. How many able warriors?'
It was true that Blade had just made a head count.
'Some forty thousand who can fight,' he said now. 'But I see no Cath armies. No one threatens us, Captain.'
Rahstum, still staring around at the hills, frowned. Then he spat decisively. 'No! We halt here. Your Caths must come to us, if they come at all. I will not lead my people into that.' He motioned to the valley lying placid and fertile below them and for a moment his face lightened.
'It is a fine valley, for all that. It would make a fine home for the Mongs, did we but own it. We could live well here, and find other ways than war, and grow strong again.'
Blade had been watching his face. 'You are no Mong,' he said. 'Yet I think you are, Captain, in a way no Mong would understand.'
Rahstum nodded. 'I am no Mong, as you say. I am a Cauca and proud of it. But they are my people now. I killed their leader and I am responsible for them. I would do my best.'
Blade, who had been watching the hills, tapped the Captain's arm and said, 'Then control your temper now. Do nothing in haste. And send me to parley. Me alone.' He pointed to the hills. 'You were right.' On three sides of the valley the Cath host was moving into position. They left concealment and rode to the crest of the first line of hills and began to take formation. Pennons waved and the thin call of trumpets game across the distance.
Rahstum fingered his beard and muttered. 'I told you, Sir Blade. See how many! If we fight now we are finished.'
From the left, around to the center and back to the right, the Cath hordes were wheeling into line. Cavalry by the thousands. Foot soldiers by the hundreds of thousands. Blade, counting rapidly by rank and depth of files, estimating, put them at over half a million. There was planning here. That he knew instantly. This place and time had been deliberately chosen by the Caths. Had he, after all, led the Mongs into a trap?
All about them the Mongs, Rahstum's chosen men and guard of honor, were muttering in consternation. One of them, a grizzled veteran with a dozen scars, began to hum the Death Song.
Rahstum glared and rebuked the man sharply. 'Time enough for that. We are not dead yet!'
But when he turned back to Blade his smile was arid. 'I wish now that I had proclaimed myself Khad before this - for it looks as though I have left it too late.'
A rider left the Cath town and came toward them, riding hard, a single rider, spurring, the dust rising behind him in a saffron cloud. They watched his approach in silence. As the horseman grew gradually closer, Blade thought he detected something familiar about him.
Blade leaned close to Rahstum, a hand on his arm, and whispered, 'Do nothing yet, Captain. Pass the word back that every Mong remain calm and in his place. I think I know this Cath and I alone will talk with him. It is possible that we will not fight after all.'
Rahstum agreed moodily and passed back his signal.
The Cath rider reined in at the mouth of the pass, below them, and waved a pennon. He removed his helmet.
It was Queko.
'I do know the man,' said Blade quickly. 'Queko, the Empress Mei's chief captain. He is to her as I am to you.'
'He is signaling parley,' said Rahstum. 'Go and talk to him. And come back, Blade. You have given me your word of honor and I hold you to it.'
Blade smiled. 'I will come back.'
He spurred down the pass to meet Queko. As he approached, Queko raised a hand in greeting and friendship. He was fine in resplendent wooden armor, the moon symbol brave on his breastplate. For the first time in months Blade heard the sweet singsong of Cath speech, so like to music.
