Ice Dragon

Chapter 19

Four days later, Blade lifted the flier from a concealed site in the woods around the lake and headed north. Behind him in the control room sat Stramod and Nilando; behind them in the cargo compartment rode a hundred twenty fighting men and women. Most of them were Treduki, to be sure, but there were some of Stramod's action-squad people from the Union among them.

He could have taken five times as many fighters if he had been willing to take everybody who wanted to go and strike the blow to the heart of the Ice Master's power. But there had been no time to give even the most basic training to more than the hundred twenty who rode with him. Besides, there were other jobs for fighters now.

While he had been a captive and a guest simultaneously in the Ice Master's stronghold, nearly five hundred other Treduki and Graduki had been trained in all the techniques of fighting the Dragons and their Masters that he had discussed with Nilando and Stramod during the weeks at the Union base. Now that the location of the Dragon base was known, these were on their way to surprise it and destroy it and its inhabitants. Blade expected that many of these fighting men would not come back, but they had now lost their fear of the Dragons, and that alone would make it likely they would deal a heavy blow at the Dragon base. Such a blow to the Ice Dragons would much reduce the Ice Master's capacity for evil, regardless of what happened in his stronghold. The Ice Dragons and their Masters would be lying dead in scores, and Blade had his doubts whether the Menel would ever again trust the Ice Master enough to help him create and train more.

But that was assuming total failure of the assault on the stronghold, and at the very least the hundred twenty should wipe out most of the Ice Master's guards and smash everything smashable in the stronghold. Blade's raiders were picked for their condition; they had body armor (leather cuirasses and helmets) which the Ice Master's guards seemed to lack; they had half a dozen crossbows; they had twenty of the little bombs that Blade had used on the fliers. The crossbows could outrange anything the guards carried (and that was perhaps why they had been absent from the Ice Master's stronghold; too dangerous to the Menel, able to strike from beyond the range of those long arms with their terrible pincers). And while Stramod suspected that the Pi-field would probably prevent the bombs from going off, a way might be found to turn off the Pi-field, and in any case the bombs didn't weigh very much.

If they took the stronghold, what about the Menel? The Menel, who were destroying this world as a home for humans-but to make it a home for their own race. They were intelligent beings; not to be wiped out as the guards would be. Blade wished he had an answer beyond that. As far as the fighting was concerned, he had given his orders: the green monsters (so he told the Treduki) or the Ice Master's new creations (he told the Graduki) were to be avoided if possible, fought only if necessary, and never killed.

But after the fighting, then what? He would have to try to improvise some sort of communication system, at least one that might convey to the Menel that their ally the Ice Master was dead and they would have to deal with a new group of humans now. Perhaps if the Menel realized that there were many intelligent human beings, instead of merely the Ice Master…? But speculation beforehand was pointless.

He turned back to watch the land roll away below, reversing the sequence it had followed on the way south-forest, mountain, tundra, then the endless glacier. He was glad the hold had no windows; the Treduki at least might be badly shaken by learning how far into the forbidden glacier lands they were going.

He came into the stronghold flying high, wide, and open, gambling that the more he looked like a regular run coming in from the Dragon lair, the less the Menel would be likely to pay attention to him and perhaps shoot him down. The gamble paid off. He settled the flier down on the ice within a few convenient yards of the main door, ordered the rest of the raiders to stay put for the time being, and climbed down on to the ice through the same emergency hatch that had landed him in a manure heap the first time he used it. He smiled at the memory, then quickly erased the smile from his face as the door opened and four guards stepped out.

He tensed as they approached, for here was another moment of test. If these were Menel-conditioned guards, his asking for the Ice Master might be fatal, depending on how far the Ice Master and the Menel had fallen out by now. He was carrying a sword, however, and two crossbows were covering him from the hatch. If the guards had orders to kill him, they would pay for those orders on the spot and the rest of the raiders would tumble out posthaste and go in shooting. And he could rely on Stramod and Nilando to be as careful about saving Leyndt and the slaves and Girls and not killing the Menel if possible as he would be himself. But-

«Welcome, Blade,» said the lead guard. «The Master has been waiting for you. You and your guards shall come to his quarters at once. It is the safest place.» Blade noticed that the guards' spears and swords were well-battered, which they had not been the first time he passed this way, and that one of them had a white bandage stuck to where his right ear should have been. Blade spent a few seconds assessing the guard's tone for possible deception, then nodded and gave the signal for disembarkation.

Nilando must have had the whole raiding force champing at the bit, because almost at once there was a solid bang of an opening hatch and many smaller bangings as many pairs of booted feet carried their owners out of the flier and onto the ice. Except for ten men left behind to guard the flier, everybody was going. As they came around the nose of the flier Blade saw some of them slipping and sliding on the ice as they tried to match Nilando's pace, but military dignity was the last thing to worry about now! In fact, the raiders' looking a bit sloppy might put the Ice Master just a little more off guard.

Blade formed the men up and the chief of the guard detail led the way into the stronghold. As they filed in, Blade heard behind him murmurs and awed gasps, and some pained yelps as the lights of the entrance chamber flared on, shattering the darkness. The guards led the way over to the patch of floor that Blade knew was the elevator platform, and stopped. So did Blade.

This was another danger point. The elevator would not take more than half his force at a time, and that only with crowding; his force would be divided and vulnerable if attacked. He would have liked to have stayed behind with the rear guard, but neither Stramod nor Nilando could handle the bargaining with the Ice Master that might be needed down below, and they could certainly handle the fighting that might flare suddenly up here. He nodded to the first company, and forty men peeled off and assembled in the square formed by the guards. The elevator field came on, and the platform dropped into the darkness.

They sank twice as fast as they had the first time Blade traveled this route, and as the elevator floated to a stop in the underground crossroads chamber the four guards at once sprang off the platform, landing in their fighting stances and glaring down all four corridors. The murmuring among the raiders took on a note of uneasiness, and Blade found himself swallowing, his mouth dry. The corridors stretched away under the light, untenanted now but he knew even better than the guards what might come striding-or lumbering squishily-along them.

The platform soared up again through the ceiling and vanished into the darkness to bring the second company down; Blade walked around his men, keeping a firm grip on his sword hilt and noticing that many of the men were doing the same. The crossbows were still in their canvas bags; he had given strict orders on that. The fewer surprises for the Ice Master the better-at least before they were ready to spring the big surprise!

Down came the platform; forty more men with Nilando at their head filed off it and joined the square around the platform. The sides of the square lengthened; Blade and Nilando stationed themselves inside it and kept watch down the corridors over the helmeted heads and through the spear points. A whisper of disturbed air, and the elevator shot up again. One more trip, and the raiders would be united again, and-

A sound of approaching footsteps brought Blade hard around, to stare down a corridor where a squat shadow now appeared on the ceiling, moving toward him at the same pace as the footsteps. A figure appeared, approached, took shape-Blade gave a small sigh of relief at recognizing the Ice Master-then swallowed again. The moment of action was nearing. As soon as the last load had arrived and taken its place in the square…

The Ice Master's face showed that the strain on him had not diminished during the last four days. Quite the reverse, in fact. The hand he extended to Blade shook as Blade grasped it, and he plucked at Blade's cuirass in order to lead him aside from the men.

«Blade,» he gasped, «thank all the spirits of space you are here. You brought-«

«A hundred ten fighting men, fully equipped.»

«Bless you. You will rule beside me when the day comes when I rule without the Menel. They want me to turn off the Pi-field, so they can enter here with modern weapons and kill all my guards. What's to stop them from killing us all if they do that? What, I ask you?»

Blade tried to calm the half-hysterical man with his level tone of voice. «Where are the Pi-field controls?»

«In the Main Control, beside the Main Core chamber. The Menel will send their guards there and then come up themselves and be able to kill us all, all, all!» There was almost a screech in the last «all.»

The elevator sailed down to the platform and Stramod led the last three squads off and into the square. Blade looked at the mutant, saw the loathing in his blue face as he stared at the Ice Master, looked back to the Ice Master, saw the man's eyes bugging hysterically out of his red face, made his decision. But there was one more question.

«Where is Leyndt?»

«Leyndt-oh, Leyndt. She-she is in my chambers. She-«and the sentence died as did the Ice Master, as Blade's sword whipped out of its scabbard and came down in the same motion. The Ice Master's eyes continued staring as he backed away from Blade, blood pouring down his tunic, the look in them changing from hysteria to amazement, then terror. Before they could change any further, the Ice Master sat down on the floor, then crumpled forward until his body was bent nearly double. All expression went out of his eyes and a trickle of blood flowed out of the corner of his mouth and dropped down into his beard.

As the Ice Master crumpled, the four guards seemed to snap from their rigid sentry positions and whirled, swords drawn, to run at Blade. None of them got within reach of their swords-or of his. A crossbow went spung and one guard staggered and went down with blood spouting around a quarrel rammed through his throat; Stramod's long arms flashed out and a throwing knife suddenly blossomed in the chest of a second; the other two were met by Treduki breaking ranks. One Treduk went down but so did both guards, and suddenly the chamber was empty except for the raiders and silent except for their heavy breathing.

The silence held for long seconds, while everybody listened for any sign that the brief scuffle had been overheard. Then it broke up in a volley of sharp commands and the pound of feet as the raiders broke up into their previously arranged elements. Five fell in behind Blade and followed him down the corridor toward the Ice Master's chambers at a pace that steadily increased to a dead run as Blade's eagerness to get in and get Leyndt safely out increased. Most of the others scattered in half a dozen different directions, some to hold the heads of both elevator shafts to the lower levels, others to descend the stairs set in the walls of the stronghold.

Those stairs were the key to Blade's plan. Down them would go nearly two-thirds of the raiders, to liberate the slaves and Girls and to demolish if at all possible the Main Control and the Main Core and the entrance to the Menel settlements. Up them would come the slaves and Girls, with the raiders urging them on and forming a rear guard, or if possible blocking the stairs with the bombs, With the lifts held by Blade's men, victory would go to him who held the stairs and could move up or down at will. Blade intended to see to it that his raiders held the stairs as well.

Now they were coming up to the entrance to the Ice Master's chambers. Blade brought his section to a halt; there were bound to be guards in the chambers. The door was closed, but Blade noticed with a faint chill that both it and the floor in front of it showed the marks of Menel claws. So they had been all the way up here. When would they come again?

He shut off that line of thinking as the door slid open, to reveal a guard's face peering suspiciously out over a spear point. Blade smiled disarmingly, then his arms rose and came down like sledgehammers, right fist smashing into the guard's jaw and left hand snaking past the spear point to grab the hand holding the spear. He jerked the guard forward, wedging him in the door, then snatched a spear from one of the men behind him and began to pry the door the rest of the way open. In a moment there was a crackling sound and a cloud of foul blue smoke as something burned out, and the door slid easily open.

Instantly Blade and his section dove to the scarred floor, as three guards hefted spears and hurled them. One of the men behind Blade was not quite fast enough; a spear caught him through the chest on the way down. But the others were up again in the same instant as Blade and barely a step behind him as he charged through the door at the three guards, his sword drawn.

He chopped down one guard and sent him reeling back against a second, who leaped aside but in so doing got off balance long enough for one of Blade's companions to engage him. Steel clanged, sparks sprayed in all directions as the two went at it in a blind frenzy. The third guard backed away from the struggle, then turned with a grim look in his eyes and dashed for the door into the inner chambers. Blade did not need to see the man draw the long knife from his belt to know that killing Leyndt was in his mind. He lunged past the two duelists and after the fleeing guard, but the man had a head start and a good pair of legs. By the time Blade entered the next chamber, it was empty, and he could not tell which of the three closed doors in its walls might take him to Leyndt.

A second later he knew. Behind the door to the right sounded a scream-not a scream of terror, but a scream intended to sow terror, to make an attacker draw back in fear at its raw frenzy, and to alert help if help was near. Blade dashed to the door, slapped the opening plate, saw nothing happen, looked frantically around the chamber for something heavy as the scream sounded again. There was a squat black table in a corner; Blade hefted it, feeling his muscles strain and creak under its nearly two hundred pounds, then lifted it over his head and sent it crashing against the door. The door split apart and Blade leaped over the smashed door panels and the pieces of the table into the room.

Leyndt, naked except for a Girl's short trunks, was backed into a corner, holding a large thick cushion in front of her to block or absorb the thrusts and slashes of her attacker's knife. Some of them had still gone home, though-blood was oozing across cheek, shoulder above her right breast, and thigh just above the left knee. As Blade burst into the room the guard whirled around, kicking out suddenly with a foot that sailed in under the pillow and drove into Leyndt's stomach. The breath went out of her with an explosive gasp and she collapsed as the guard turned to face Blade.

Blade knew already this guard was a quicker thinker than usual; now he had a nasty surprise in the man's speed. The guard was at him and on him before he could bring up his sword for either a slash or a thrust, darted past the half-raised point, and struck with the knife at Blade's wide-open throat. Blade felt the knife whisper past the side of his neck as a lightning twisting of his whole body moved him clear just in time, then raised the sword with the point still aimed at the ceiling and brought the heavy metal guard down on his opponent's shoulder. The man gasped and his left arm-not his knife arm, unfortunately-sagged limply; Blade lowered the sword and thrust at his opponent's stomach, only to have the tip scrape along the man's metal-mesh belt and nick him only slightly. The guard sprang back out of Blade's immediate reach in a single bound, whirled, and took two steps toward Leyndt, knife raised. The knife was just coming down, and so was one raised foot, when Blade caught up with the man and rammed the sword through his back before he could turn. The point burst through his chest, and he toppled face down on top of Leyndt, his blood pouring over her.

Blade spent only enough time examining Leyndt to make sure that she was breathing and that none of her knife wounds were serious. When he had done this, he hoisted her limp body over his shoulder and rejoined his companions at the entrance. There were only three of them now; the two duelists had killed each other. Blade led the others back toward the elevator chamber.

As they approached it, the sound of a fight-shouts, screams, the clang of weapons-came battering down the corridor at them. Blade slowed his pace and motioned the others to a halt while he put Leyndt down and stalked forward, pressing as close as possible to the wall, until he could see clearly into the chamber.

The ten men left in the chamber were standing off a furious attack by at least three times that many guards. Two of the defenders were already down, others showed blood, but at least seven guards lay writhing or still on the floor, and as Blade watched he heard the crossbow among the squad twang, with the usual result of a guard clutching wildly at his chest and collapsing. But the crossbowmen could not fire quickly and the attackers were already pressing the defending raiders into a back-to-back formation for a last stand.

Blade looked behind him, nodded to the others. Three right arms hefted spears then snapped forward at the same instant, three spears flew down the corridor and into the massed ranks of the guards. The scream from one of them as he died paralyzed both sides for a moment, and in that moment Blade rushed out and charged the guards, sword in one hand, knife in the other, the three others with him running hard behind him and fanning out to come in on either side of him.

Blade's sword whistled out and down, slashing through a spear shaft and throwing the wielder enough off balance for Blade to thrust him through with the knife. Another man came at Blade with a sword in each hand; he gave back a step, sliced off the man's left arm with one slash, then sent the other sword flying in a savage metallic clash of weapons. The man reached out for Blade with his good arm, trying a desperate body-to-body grapple, but crumpled, thrust through by Blade's knife from in front and a raider's spear from behind.

Now two guards came at Blade together, so intent on him that they forgot the man protecting Blade's left, whose sword swished out and around in a flat arc like a scythe, passing through one man's neck as though it had been a cornstalk. Blade brought both sword and knife up to guard against the survivor's downswing, locked the other's plunging sword in the V formed by his own two weapons, twisted the sword out of the man's grasp, and as it flew through the air slashed the man in the body. A crossbow quarrel went into a nearby body with a meaty thunk, and the man facing Blade's right-hanker folded forward and went down on to a floor that was becoming slippery underfoot with the smeared pools of blood from the rapidly increasing number of bodies.

Then Blade stopped taking note of individual opponents, and was lost in a continuous frenzy of slash, thrust, parry, guard, give back, step forward, chop like a butcher, thrust like a matador, smell the sweat, smell the blood (none of it his own-yet)-until suddenly there were no more attackers staying to fight, and only a handful of them sprinting or staggering away down the corridor. Some left blood trails as they went. Blade saw the bowman pick off a final victim. Then again there was silence in the chamber, except for the heaving and rasping breath of Blade, his two companions, and the six Survivors of the defending squad.

There was nothing more for Blade to do here except leave his three companions to reinforce the elevator guard, then head for the stairway as fast as he could go. Leyndt would be safer here with nine men around her than anywhere else for the time being, and he would be unencumbered.

Two raiders lifted their swords in greeting as Blade ran up to the stairway door and plunged in and down. His pounding feet raised echoes that boomed up and down the metal-walled tube as he raced downward, weapons at the ready, ears listening for signs of activity behind or ahead. He passed doors with the locks thrown from the stair side; it would take the guards and a battering ram to get through those doors and into the stairway now. At two of those doors Blade saw blood trickling from under the door's edge, and at one of them two bodies-one a raider, one a guard-had been dragged to one side and piled on top of each other.

From the elevator chamber to the bottom of the stronghold was some five hundred vertical feet, but down the endlessly spiraling staircase it seemed far longer. Blade's legs began to feel rubbery as he approached the bottom, and the sweat was sluicing off him like water off a melting glacier. He estimated he was less than fifty feet from the bottom when he heard the sound of footsteps below him on the stairs-many sets of feet, climbing fast but irregularly. He tightened his grip on both sword and knife, wished briefly for a spear, then flattened himself against the wall, waiting for the climbers to heave into view around the bend.

The footsteps rose to a tumult, with little whimpering cries and sobbing gasps mixed in, then Lora and another of the Girls trotted around the bend, each one carrying a guard's spear in her right hand and a guard's truncheon in her left. Behind them came a long straggling line of slaves and Girls, singly or in twos and threes, panting and struggling upward, urged on by the two Girls leading them. As Lora caught sight of Blade, her face split apart in a broad grin, but she was in too much of a hurry or perhaps too short of breath to say anything. The procession flowed on up past Blade; he counted seventy or more of them before the last Girl (another of the ones to whom he had given Pleasure, also armed) was out of sight. He continued downward, feeling better in the knowledge that at least a few of those whom the Ice Master had condemned to a living death in the stronghold might win freedom.

Now sounds made their way up the staircase-people running, voices shouting, and occasionally short bursts of combat. Footsteps climbing upward sounded again below him, and again he plastered himself against the wall as another procession of slaves and Girls flowed upward and out of sight, this one escorted by three or four wounded raiders and moving faster than the first. Blade resumed his course downward, bounded down the last three steps at one leap, and stalked out onto the slave floor.

He had barely time to notice the four raiders standing guard in a broad arc around the stairway door and the dozen or more bodies-one of them a Girl with a spear in her hand and another through her body-when he became aware of the odor that was drifting down the corridor that led to the central chamber of the floor. The central chamber-where the shaft that led down to the Menel began. And the odor was the musky, sour-bitter reek of the Menel themselves. He pushed his legs on, faster and faster, racing down the corridor to meet what he knew was coming. More than the odor now came down the corridor-uneasy mutterings, half-stifled cries of fear, inarticulate growls that he guessed might be from the Menel's guards. He stepped up his pace again, saw the chamber's lights glowing ahead at the end of the corridor, and reached his goal just as the first of the Menel rose out of the shaft and spread its four limbs over the heads of the guards surrounding the shaft.

A wild cry burst from the throats of all the people in the huge chamber-triumph from the Menel-conditioned guards, amazement and some fear from the raiders hovering around the fringes of the cordon of guards, stark raw terror from the slaves and Girls lined up ready to be led off to the stairs. This time the Menel had come up without even triggering the conditioning; this time they were desperate, and would be twice as dangerous as before.

No, even worse than that, said Blade to himself as he noticed that each Menel was carrying in one arm a long blue tube with a red lens at one end and several smaller black tubes on a mesh belt around their «waists.» This was obviously a weapon, probably one that made even the Graduk beamers look like a child's rubber knife, and the only good thing about it was that it suggested where the Menel might be going. They would most likely be on their way up to the Main Control, to shut off the Pi-field and then turn their advanced weapons loose, to make a clean sweep of everything within the stronghold that opposed them.

The Menel guards paid no attention to him as he dashed across the chamber; neither did the Menel. Both no doubt were too confident that they had victory almost within their grasp to worry about fighting the raiders now, with the crude weapons necessary as long as the Pi-field was active. Blade ran up to Stramod, who was busily sending off another mass of slaves and Girls. He reached out for the sack of bombs on Stramod's back.

«Quick! I need those.»

Stramod nodded and handed the bag to Blade. As Blade had expected, the mutant's cool head had not deserted him even in the uproar of battle and the shock of encountering the Menel. Blade quickly ran through his plan; Stramod nodded and grinned wolfishly.

«I'll throw in some men as a diversion while you make your move. Will you need anybody with you?»

Blade shook his head. «I can move faster alone.»

«Good.» The mutant's huge hand came out and clasped Blade's, then Blade turned around and began edging in toward the guards, the bulging bomb sack over his shoulder. Behind him Stramod was talking to Nilando, and Nilando was massing twenty men, to draw their swords and level their spears at the Menel guards. Then Nilando shouted, the twenty charged forward, and a second later so did Blade.

There were better than a dozen Menel visible now, the lead ones already approaching the foot of the stairs, the cordon of guards altering shape now to make a protected passage from the shaft to the stairs. Blade ran in toward the end of the stairway, keeping outside the range of the Menel's terrible crane-like arms, saw the end of the cordon near the stairway thinning out as the guards ran toward the shaft to meet Nilando's charge, and lunged straight at the widening gap between the last two men.

These at least did not ignore the huge and terrifyingly blood-spattered figure bearing down on them as harmless; their swords flashed up into a guard position-and then one fell from limp fingers as Blade kicked one man in the stomach and the other flew through the air and clanged off the wall as Blade smashed it out of the other man's hand. He didn't bother finishing off either man; he had to get up those stairs. He thrust the knife in his belt and drew the truncheon, for use against the Menel.

The first of these was just within reach of the foot of the stairs as Blade leaped past the two fallen guards. Two arms darted out, the pincers snapping with a sound like chains clanking together. Blade struck savagely at the nearest pincer with his truncheon, hitting it so hard the blow jarred his arm half to numbness, then plunged up the stairs two at a time. As he reached the top, he heard the sound of footsteps pounding up the stairs as the guards came after him, and the slopping sucking sound of climbing Menel.

The Main Control was an awesome array of consoles studded with switches and dials and readouts, a computerized technological paradise that would have made Lord Leighton turn pea-soup-green with envy. But Blade had no time to appreciate or analyze what he had come to destroy.

First, turn off the Pi-field. The panel with the master switches was squarely in the center of the complex, with a hard plastic chair in front of it for those rare occasions when the Ice Master had actually needed to sit down and look at the key to his stronghold. Blade strode over to it, stared for a moment at the winking fights. Then he reached out and systematically began flipping every switch and pressing every button. The lights began to die, and then from one second to the next there was a subtle change in the air, a change that seemed to trickle down on to Blade's skin like a thin liquid and make every hair on his body cling more closely. He knew that something important had gone-he would have to gamble that it was the Pi-field. And the second after that, half a dozen things happened at once.

A clutch of Menel guards burst into the room and dashed at him. He avoided their rush by a four-foot vertical leap to the top of one of the consoles, and batted the first two swords to reach for him away with his truncheon. With his right hand he reached behind him and began pulling bombs out of the pouch and setting the fuses with thumb and forefinger, then pitching them in long arcs through the open door with the sign Main Core above it. Exactly what was in there Blade had no real idea, but he found it hard to believe that anything would survive completely unscathed ten of those little bombs exploding in a confined space.

Now the bag was empty and he threw it in a guard's face and leaped down after it, smashing the man to the ground with his truncheon. The guards drew back to form another cordon around the head of the stairs as the first of the Menel appeared, with others beyond it, but Blade saw the Menel stop, turn, and retreat a few feet, almost to the edge of the top step. It had no time to go farther before the first of the bombs went off.

In the confined space the explosion was terrific and the noise beyond belief. Blade was never sure afterward how he or anybody else in the chamber escaped being pulped into jam by the concussion. That the bombs went off separately rather than all together perhaps was their only salvation. Flying fragments screamed into the room like demented banshees and chopped down guards right and left. Blade dove behind a console at the first blast, huddled there while the debris from the remaining nine slammed into the metal with harsh clangs, then vaulted over the console and beaded for the stairs. From within the Main Core room he could hear satisfactory sizzling and hissing noises like a gigantic fireworks display.

Those guards not too badly wounded seemed too stunned to resist as Blade brushed past them: Then he reached the first of the Menel. The creature's companions had escaped the worst of the blast. In fact, as Blade looked down the stairs he could see them and their guards retreating downward as fast as their respective gaits could take them. But this Menel had been fully exposed to the blast. It lay on its side, motionless, one limb half-severed and oozing a sticky sap-like green fluid. Blade was about to leap over it as he would have leaped over a fallen tree, then remembered.

This was an intelligent being. It might be dead. But it might not be, and if it wasn't, it needed help. He turned back to the chamber and began ripping the shorts off the bodies of the guards and tearing the tough plastic-like material into strips. These he bound around the half-severed limb until the flow of fluid stopped, then used a broken spear as a splint tied on with several more strips to hold the limb rigid. Then with exquisite care he picked the creature up. It weighed too much for him to carry alone-nearly three hundred pounds-so he snapped an order at one of the guards. The man's conditioning to serve the Menel was holding; he dutifully came over and picked up the «foot» end of the creature. Holding it between them like a misshapen log of wood, they descended the stairs.

Reaching the bottom, Blade saw that Menel and Menel guards alike had vanished; the chamber was empty except for dead bodies and a rearguard of raiders under Stramod's command, His eyes widened as he saw Blade appear with his burden, but he said nothing. Blade and the guard carried the Menel over to the shaft and slid it over the edge. It plunged out of sight like a rock; Blade hoped it would be detected and slowed before it hit bottom. But he could only hope. He had done all he could do for it; now it was time to get himself and his own people out of here.

Stramod came up to him as he fell in with the rearguard and said in a half-grunt:

«Why?»

«You know.»

«I suppose I do. I hope it affects the way they see us. Even if it does not-thank you. Our consciences will»

«Never mind your consciences for now,» said Blade briskly. «I think we'd better move fast and save our necks. I started something in that-«and from above in the Main Core an enormous sizzling explosion, like fifty thousand pieces of bacon dropped at once into a giant frying pan, saved him the need for further explanation. Stramod nodded and the rearguard moved out at a brisk trot to the stairway, then turned in and began the long climb.

They were halfway to the lift chamber when the first real explosion came-a tremendous thudding jar that rumbled through the very fabric of the stronghold and seemed to make Blade's bones bounce and vibrate within his body. The forces let loose in the Main Core were on the march now; it was anyone's guess whether they would devour the stronghold before the flier and its load could get clear. Though his breath was coming searing hot, as though he were breathing in hot pepper, Blade quickened his pace and urged the others on faster still.

They came up to the elevator level almost at a dead run, sprinted across the chamber to where the guarding party there was herding the last handful of slaves on to the platform, and Blade ordered them off. So far whatever force powered the elevator was still working, but Blade would not want to risk its dying while they were halfway up the shaft, leaving them to fall hundreds of feet to certain death. Instead he led both parties back toward the stairs, setting a pace that made his breath burn hotter still, his leg muscles feel like rotted rubber bands stretched tight, and some of the weaker slaves falling out entirely. He would have liked to bring them all out, but now things were at the point where they couldn't delay even seconds for stragglers.

They reached the stairs and started up, Blade's legs now pumping like machines, the slaves holding their own as the prospect of freedom seemed to give them a second wind. Up, up, up-halfway up there was another explosion, the lights dying, but Stramod switched on a handlamp that gave enough light to keep people from missing their footing. On and on upward, the rasping breath of fifty men and women now sounding loud enough to raise echoes above and beyond their pounding footsteps.

The surface at last-light searing through the door, reflected off ice and off the great silver bulk of the flier visible beyond, with its hatches standing open and the last few people of the previous load disappearing into the black interior. The searing light and searing cold brought the slaves and Girls to a stop for a moment, but Stramod was urging them on, waving his arms and his truncheon and blistering the air with curses. The cold struck at Blade's toiling lungs, bringing him to a stop for a moment as he leaned against the wall for support. By the time he recovered only Stramod was left inside the-stronghold; together they ran out across the ice and up the folding stairway into the flier.

One of the four men Blade had trained as emergency pilots must have already been at the controls, because even before the hatch was completely shut the big flier lurched off the ice and zoomed upward, wobbling and lurching still, throwing people about in the hold with screams and yells and crashes. Blade lurched to his feet, every muscle in his body from his innermost viscera out to the tips of his fingers and toes clamoring for rest, denied their clamor, and made his way forward. The emergency pilot handed him the master key; Blade stuck it in his pocket and collapsed into the pilot's seat.

Under his relatively more experienced hand, the flier's gyrations straightened out, the panicky uproar behind him faded, and the flier arrowed out on a course south. Blade stayed high and fast, figuring the Menel now had far too much to worry about to bother pursuing him. And perhaps they wouldn't want to. He had won almost all the victory he had planned and dreamed of, but he would not mind staying in this dimension long enough to know what the future relations might be between human and Menel.

Stramod came forward into the control room, his long face haggard and his longer arms sagging at his side in a way even more ape-like than usual. But there was contentment in his voice as he said, «I have done a count of the people we evacuated. Nearly four hundred slaves and Girls. And we lost only thirty-one men doing it. We have quite a few wounded, of course, but-«

«No doubt,» said Blade. He hoped weariness didn't make him sound too callous. «How is Doctor Leyndt?»

«Leyndt? She will be all right with a little care and much rest. I hope you and she will-.»

Whatever Stramod might have hoped for Blade and Leyndt was lost, as the sun rose behind the flier. A searing light gushed across the landscape, turning the glaciers even whiter than nature could make them, then faded through purples, reds, and oranges. As the glow died, Blade turned the flier around in a wide circle so that he could look to the north, to see what he had known he must see.

A creamy cloud was beginning to bulge above the horizon, like a blob of whipped marshmallow, with thin writhing tendrils creeping out in all directions, vivid against the blue sky. It took on no mushroom shape, but rather swelled continuously into a broad dome. Here and there in it flecks of gold, green, and silver sparkled as the sun was reflected off debris thrown up into what must already be well into the stratosphere if the cloud was visible from so far away.

Blade turned the flier away and increased the speed. There was no point in not outrunning the shock wave, not when they could move at twice its speed. And there was little point in watching for anything more in the north-at least not now. The Ice Master's stronghold was gone as if it had never existed; nothing could be back there now except a steaming hole chewed down through the glacier deep into bedrock, miles in diameter and buzzing with lethal radioactive particles.

Stramod turned to him now and muttered, «I wonder what happened to the Menel in that blast? If their settlements were sufficiently far from the stronghold and sufficiently well-built, they may have survived. In which case-«

Blade was not listening to him, however, because it suddenly seemed that a smaller version of the explosion in the north had flared in his own skull. Again the world turned white, then faded through purple, red, and orange. And his mind screamed out as though its voice could be hurled across the dimensions to where the computer was reaching for him:

«No! Not now! It's not finished yet! I can't leave until-«

— but the pains continued to tear at his head. He lurched up out of the chair, thumb of his right hand stabbing for the button that would engage the automatic pilot while the other hand reached up to cradle a head that seemed on the verge of splitting apart. If the automatic pilot was on, the flier would hold its course south to Tengran and one of the emergency pilots could land it safely.

He felt the button click in, then the computer's grasp on his mind tightened and the button turned to mush and his hand sank into the control panel. His arm followed it, and as a fading Stramod gaped at him he slowly seeped through the control consoles and out through the skin of the flier on to its nose.

He rode the nose like the figurehead of a sailing ship, oddly aware that no cold or wind seared at him. Then he became aware that, preposterously, the sky ahead seemed to be getting closer. It was getting closer. There was a pattern on it becoming visible, a pattern of lines etched as if on glass. They were going to hit!

They did hit it. The sky fell apart along the etched lines and one huge fragment swept down and sliced him clear of the flier. He clung to it, finding it cold but in spite of its total smoothness easy to cling to, as it spiraled downward, twisting and sliding like a falling leaf, down, down, down, until he suddenly fell off and kept on going down by himself into a blackness that yawned below, down into a blackness that now rose up about him like a fog. Sensation faded. Sensation vanished.