It was nearly two feet long, with a heavy hilt of silver and black lacquer. The blade was slightly curved, heavily weighted toward the point, and razor-sharp on both edges. Blade tried a few experimental slashes. The knife was beautifully balanced, for both forehand and backhand strokes. It looked and felt capable of lopping off hands, arms, and even heads with lethal efficiency.

Blade made a belt from a strip of fabric and a sling for the knife from another, then tied the sling to the belt. It now rode easily on his right thigh, ready for a quick draw. It was a far better weapon than he'd expected to find, and apparently in perfect condition, completely unrusted. Perhaps that shouldn't be so surprising. This seemed to be the kind of land where a child could grow to middle age without ever seeing rain.

As Blade started to sling the knife, he noticed a design worked in silver on the pommel and engraved near the point. It was an elaborate design, showing a five-petaled flower that reminded Blade vaguely of a poppy.

Presumably the original owner of the knife had been one of the ambushers, since his knife had been in the body of one of the victims. Presumably he had also not survived the victory, otherwise he'd have retrieved his weapon. The flower doubtless meant something to him. It meant nothing to Richard Blade, who'd come across an unimaginable distance to stumble on this forgotten battlefield and play scavenger among its bones. All that mattered to him was that the knife still held its edge and temper.

He bent to tighten his foot bindings, then straightened up and drew a patch of cloth over his head and shoulders for extra protection from the sun. Now he could leave the dead to the sleep he'd interrupted and go on about his search for the living people of this Dimension.