By now Blade could feel the ground around the end of the bridge growing muddy with blood. The more he contemplated the prospect of continuing this fight the way he'd begun it, the less he liked it. Blade never minded fighting when there seemed to be some point in it. He couldn't help wondering what point there was in continuing this battle.

He didn't seem to be making any impression on his opponents by his fighting ability. Each pair came at him as furiously as the pair before them, fought as desperately, and died as silently. He'd hoped his first victories would win him a chance to negotiate. They'd done nothing of the kind. Blade wondered if these people had such concepts as «negotiation» or even «peace.»

Besides, the eerie and unnatural silence of the men as they fought, bled, and died was strengthening doubts in Blade's mind. Were these warriors drugged beyond the ability to do anything but fight, or were they possibly not quite sane?

No, this was a fight not worth continuing. He'd do well to seek his meeting with the people of this Dimension somewhere else. Here the time and the place and the people were all wrong. He would drop the bridge into the stream and retreat under cover of darkness.

By now three pairs of swordsmen were standing on the bridge, filling it halfway to Blade's side. Blade frowned. They would weigh the bridge down until it would be hard to lift, even for him. The lead pair could easily be on him before he'd done the job, and have him at too much of a disadvantage. He'd have to clear all six off the bridge, then run back to his own side and heave it into the stream. Risky, but less so than trying to retreat with these people free to cross the bridge and track him through the darkness.