Champions Of The Gods

J rose, went to the sideboard, and brought back the whiskey decanter, the soda water, and two glasses. He prepared two very large whiskies-and-soda and handed one to Leighton.

Leighton did not pick his up. But he did raise his fatigue-reddened eyes and look at J.

«Well, what do you think we ought to do?»

«In what sense?»

«Should we defer the next mission, or proceed on schedule?»

J couldn't help laughing. Leighton's mind had been working along the same lines as his.

«Well, what have you concluded?»

«We might as well push on.»

J laughed again. For this moment at least, they were two minds with a single thought.

«I quite agree,» he said. They raised their glasses and drank.

Richard Blade sat in a West End bar and contemplated ordering another in what was already a long series of whiskies. He finally decided against it. He did not feel particularly good, and from here on drinking would make things worse rather than better.

He'd left something out of his report on the mission, and he was wondering if he'd been wise to do so. Not what he felt about «being buggered about from Dimension to Dimension like a bloody table-te

What he'd left out was everything about what he and Katerina had felt for each other. For all that J and Lord Leighton knew, the two of them had been an effective partnership of two professionals, allies by necessity. They didn't and they wouldn't know about partnership of two lovers, or about what Blade had felt as he knelt beside the dying Katerina.

He'd loved Katerina, but he'd fought off saying it even to himself until it was too late. He was not proud of that. He couldn't be. So he would never mention that.

He wasn't bothered about having fallen in love with a KGB agent, at least not one who'd been in love with him too. He saw clearly that the very strengths and gifts that had let Katerina travel into Dimension X and survive made her the kind of woman he could love. It hadn't been inevitable that they would fall in love-but there had always been a good chance of it.

Yet could he expect even J to see things that way? J would bend over backwards not to pass any judgments. But, for the first time in his life, Richard Blade had let his professional behavior be affected by a woman. It probably would be the last time, too, but in his profession once could be too often.

No, J should not learn of it, and he would not. It would be a strain never to mention it, but it would not be as much of a strain as any of the alternatives.

Blade decided that he would order another drink after all, to celebrate the decision.

On the outer wall of Kano, Tyan sat and looked out over the land beyond. Smoke rose from the fires where the bodies of the Raufi were being burned, hazing the landscape, but Tyan would not have seen it clearly in any case. His vision, like his thoughts, was on things much farther away.

He had played a trick. True, it was a trick to save Kano. But he had played it with one who was indeed the Champion of the Gods, sent by them for the salvation of Kano. The gods had not punished Kano for his trick, and for this he thanked them.

As for himself-well, he was old, Kano was safe, and his son was dead. If the gods chose to exact a price from him for his blasphemy with their champion, then so be it. He would not even pray to avert it.

He would pray, however, that they would do what they wished to do soon. Even as a child, he had never liked waiting. Now he liked it even less.

Tyan sighed, lifted his eyes to the sky, and began to pray.