He passed two more skeletons. Both were completely fleshless, but again their garments and footgear showed no signs of decay. In addition to the sandals and kilt, one of them wore a sleeveless tunic with a V neck and a large embroidered patch on the right side of the chest. Blade bent down to try to make out the patch, and as he did so, he caught sight of a fourth body, lying half-hidden in a particularly rank growth of thistles a few yards farther on.

This was a body, not a skeleton. In the darkness Blade could not tell for sure how long it had been there, but a quick sniff indicated no decay. He doubted it could be more than twenty-four hours old. This body was also clad in sandals, tunic, and kilt, but the tunic was encrusted with soot, sweat, and grease, as well as blood from the gaping wound in the man's side.

Blade sprang to his feet, hand gripping the mace and eyes probing along the bridge in both directions. Somebody did indeed live in the city-or at least prowled it and killed in it. He bent again to examine the body more closely.

It was the body of a man in his thirties, at a rough guess, but Blade knew that in the darkness all his guesses would be very rough indeed. The dead man wore a full beard, and his hair reached his shoulders. Both beard and hair were ragged and greasy. The man's skin was so coated with soot and grease that it was impossible to tell its color. He looked lean, like a track runner, but not emaciated. There was no sign of weapons or gear on or near him.

Now Blade realized that he would have no need to fear advanced weapons. Whoever the people living in the city or at least roaming about in it might be, they had sunk far into barbarism.