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pelvic muscles her eyes rolled up in her head, and she fainted. It was as if
thirty years of virginity had built up a monstrous accumulation of energy, all
ready to be discharged in that one moment.
But if Ye-Jaza released all her energy then, she regained it soon enough. And
she found more than
Blade had imagined she or any woman could. It was three entire days
before she left Blade's chambers. By that time both she and Blade were a
little unsteady on their feet. It had not taken Ye-Jaza more than her first
experience of love for her to become an addict. Specifically, an addict to
Blade.
Now this was all well and good up to a point, for it gave Blade all the
influence over her that he had ever dreamed of having. But she insisted that
he promise to return to the Tower of the Leopard after the liberation of the
Tower of the Serpent. She wanted him always around her, beside her-and in her.
Again, this was all very well and good, for the moment. But Blade strongly
suspected that Mir-Kasa, if she survived the war, would make the same request.
He could perhaps look forward to being caught in a tug-of-war between two
strong-minded, able, and jealous women.
But that would be after the war. In the meantime that war had to be fought and
won. And Blade had accomplished the crucial part of his mission, whatever
difficulties he might have landed himself in during the process. Ye-Jaza
remained as stubborn and proud toward everybody else as she had ever been. But
she was putty in Blade's hands. And she gave her consent to the war against
the Tower of the Serpent.
Chapter EIGHTEEN
«^»
It was just after dawn, the same time of day that Blade had arrived in Melnon.
And the weather was almost the same also-a glowing blue sky overhead,
promising a clear day-but the towers themselves were still veiled in mist. The
towers-and the Waste Lands of the Tower of the Serpent, where five hundred
picked fighting men crouched, waiting.
They had not been picked as carefully as Blade would have liked. But he could
hardly argue that the refugees from the Tower of the Serpent should not be
allowed to help liberate their home. And three hundred or more of the best
fighting men of the Tower of the Leopard should balance any weaknesses among
the exiles. There were also the two hundred "underground" fighters already
inside the Tower of the Serpent. Blade and Bryg-Noz were hurling against
Nris-Pol the strongest fighting force seen in
Melnon in better than two hundred years. And it would get stronger still, the
moment the pikes that each man was carrying got into the hands of the Low
People. The attackers were carrying enough of those pikes to arm nearly every
able-bodied Low Person in the Tower of the Serpent.
So they had strength and courage and determination. But skill, and the subtle
battle sense that tells you when to strike and when to wait for a better
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time-did they have these also? Blade looked up at the sun. He would find out
in a few minutes.
Blade looked at the Waste Land around him. No one looking casually down from
the balcony at it would have dreamed that five hundred men lay hidden there,
ready to strike. In fact, even someone looking for the men would have had
trouble finding them. All their weapons and faces were smeared with brown-gray
paste, and everyone wore faded green. The exiles from the Tower of the
Serpent, of course, wore green by right. But it had been a struggle to get the
Leopard warriors to wear something other than their own proud-and highly
visible-yellow orange. Some of their commanders had even tried to invoke the
War Wisdom in protest, until the Council of Leaders squelched them.
Blade could hardly think of a more pointless objection than the War Wisdom.
After today's battle the
War Wisdom and the Peace Wisdom alike would be shattered into small pieces,
regardless of who won the battle. The old mold which had held Melnon in frozen
suspension for centuries was about to come apart. Neither queens nor councils
nor commanders would be able to put it back together again.
The mist was beginning to burn off under the heat of the fast-rising sun.
Blade risked a look upward, to see if any signs of the war party's moving out
showed on the balcony high above. He hoped they would hurry. He wanted the
hundred warriors well on their way toward the Plain of War before people
inside the tower launched their attack. The war party would certainly fight,
otherwise. And to start off the day with a pitched battle against a hundred of
Nris-Pol's opponents was not his choice.
The figures of men were beginning to appear along the railing of the balcony
now. Not very many of them, though, at least not yet. The sacred routine set
by the War Wisdom would prevail even today-at least for a few more minutes.
Blade was wearing the usual two swords in their scabbards and a stout club
hanging on his belt. He also carried a great wand, wrapped in cloth and slung
on his back. That was strictly for the worst sort of life-or-death emergency.
Bryg-Noz and Blade alike felt that it would be far better to get through the
entire day's fighting without revealing the great wands any more than
necessary. Their existence would be enough of a shock to the people of the
tower if it was announced peacefully, after the fighting was over.
Unleashing them in the middle of the battle could also unleash utter chaos.
More figures were appearing on the balcony. Still no sign of any change from
the usual routine, or of any awareness of danger. One man was visibly standing
a little apart from his fellows. Then Blade saw
the gleam of a lifter dropping down, to swing just in front of the man. The
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