Sword Breaker-Sword Dancer 4 (31 page)

Power bent very low and looked into my eyes, as if to judge the truth. As if to judge me.

"I'm just--a sword-dancer...."

Power disagreed. It dangled me from its hand, as Umir had dangled the runes.

Blood ran down my chin. I lacked the strength to wipe it away; to do anything but breathe.

Hoolies, what have I done? What have I unleashed?

So much for the binding circle.

But it was meant to keep Chosa in, not keep Power out.

And who would even try?

"I just--need--to be better ... to go--and help Delilah--"

The little piece of Chosa played hop-rock with my heartbeat. It waxed and waned, like the moon.

The spasm wracked my body. Power shook me again. Then released my hair.

The sword spilled from lax hands and out of elbow crooks. I fell on top of it.

The edge snicked into one arm, shaving hair from flesh. All I could do was laugh, stirring dust and sand with my breath.

Then the laughter died.

Because Chosa was very angry.

Chosa would take his revenge, one way or another.

I lay in the sand, on the sword. Wondering what in hoolies I was.

Wondering what I could do.

And what Chosa Dei would try.

Oasis. Near dusk, with the sun painting everything orange. Palm trees in sharp silhouette sprouted haphazardly, dangling beards and dates. Below, around the water, ranged Umir and his men.

One body lay on the ground, with a fallen sword nearby. I wondered if Del had killed him; or Umir, for his noise.

She stood on foot, and braced, with naked blade in her hands. Blood ran down the steel, regulated by runes, carried off the hilt before it could stain her hands. Although some would argue the stain was on her soul.

Umir, I realized, was hampered by his greed, as well as his upbringing. He wanted her unscathed, unharmed, for addition to his collection. No matter how unique her vocation, she was a woman, and he a Southroner. He certainly hadn't reckoned on Del herself taking steps to refuse him so violently.

It was almost laughable. But nobody was laughing.

I reined up quietly before anyone noticed me, putting Umir and his men between Del and me. They outnumbered us, but we had the major advantage. Umir wanted her whole. Del and I were not so picky with regard to Umir's men.

She looked past them. Saw me. Didn't so much as flick an eyelash. Returned her attention to Umir before anyone even noticed.

I began to smile, anticipating the surprise, the overwhelming shock . . then the stud took a hand in the game by whinnying imperatively to the mare, who answered with shrill welcome.

"Hoolies," I muttered, disgusted, and yanked the sword free of sheath as Umir and company whirled, swordblades glinting in sunset.

Mouths dropped open, gaping. Widened eyes displayed whites. Someone muttered a prayer to the god of apparitions.

Umir the Ruthless just scowled.

A flutter of pleasure tautened my belly. I leaned forward with grave deliberation, perfectly at ease; perfectly prepared. "Someone," I said lightly, "has my belt and my money. Care to give them back?"

"Kill him," Umir ordered.

Nobody moved a muscle. Until one man did just barely, dropping belt and pouch.

I grinned. I knew very well what I looked like: me. Me me, which all on its own can be rather threatening, since I have practiced for many years. The legend in the flesh--firm, swift, dangerous flesh--not the puffy, mottled, discolored body Umir's men had discovered. "Dead, am I?" I asked. "Near dead, maybe? Or maybe neither one, merely the deviser of a trap--or of great and powerful magic."

And for once I wasn't lying.

Well, half, maybe. It had never been a trap, but why tell them that?

Umir's men stirred. But no one obeyed his repeated order to kill me. Who could kill a man who was already dead?

I waggled the naked blade. "Anyone else care to take my sword? I think he's still hungry."

"Fools," Umir snapped. "He's a man like any of you. Don't let him goad you--kill him!"

"Go home," I said softly, "before I lose my temper."

Umir's men went home. Or somewhere; nonetheless, they all departed, making ward-signs against great magic. Leaving Umir by himself.

I walked the stud up to him, slowly and purposefully. Flicked a glance at Del. Then pinned Umir with a stare. "You made three mistakes," I explained. "First, you bound me with magic, and challenged me to escape. Second, you left me for dead, which I consider an insult. You wouldn't do that to Abbu."

Umir, eloquently unruffled, folded his hands in wide, gem-weighted sleeves. "What is the third?"

I pointed with the blade. "You discounted her."

He didn't even look. "Perhaps I underestimated you. Perhaps you are better than Abbu Bensir, and perhaps I should reconsider."

I grinned. "That's better." A glance at Del. "Do you want to kill him?"

She hunched a shoulder. "I've killed one man today. Another would be surfeit."

I nodded as she bent to clean her blade on the dead man's burnous. "Then I will tend to it."

Umir paled, but only slightly. "I could have killed you twice. I left you the chance to escape... and both times you succeeded."

"And I'll leave you a chance." I sheathed the sword with a snap, jumped off the stud, approached Umir the Ruthless. "Your hands," I said gently.

Thin lips smiled. "You must take what you will have."

"All right." I caught his wrists, squeezed; hands spasmed rigidly as he gasped, and stabbed out of the heavy sleeves. Still squeezing, I made him sit. Then shut the wrists in one large hand, drew my knife with the other, nicked him to free the blood.

Umir grayed. "Do you mean me to bleed to death?"

"I don't mean you to do anything, except sit here." I shot the knife home again, then carefully smeared blood all over both wrists. "Nice bracelets," I commented. "Now, a little piece of advice ..."

Umir's lips were pale. "What do you--?" He winced.

Del came over. She stood next to me and watched, one hand gripping her sword. I heard her indrawn breath.

"There." I released his wrists. Both were bound tightly by thick, twined ropes of rune-wrought blood, red-black in the setting sun. "Now, for that advice..." I leaned down close to Umir. "Never annoy a man whose magic is greater than yours."

Thirty-three

"Come on," I said to Del. "No need to stay here."

She stared after me as I turned back to the stud. I swung up smoothly, gathered reins, saw the tension in her shoulders; the questions in her eyes. But she asked none of them, because she knew better: you do not put even a small weapon into the hands of the enemy. She simply sheathed her newly-cleaned blade and went to her own mount.

Umir's mouth opened. "You're leaving?"

I shrugged as the stud danced, wanting to go to the mare. "No reason to stay. I don't like the company."

"But--" He lifted his blood-bound hands. "What about this?"

"Good color on you." I angled the stud southerly, discussing matters through reins. "You ought to make it a habit."

"You can't leave me here!"

"Of course I can. You have water, don't you?--right there in the basin. Binding your hands doesn't mean you can't drink. As for food, well ..." I shrugged, bunching the stud under me. "Guess you'll just have to wait for Sabra."

"But--" He broke it off.

I took a deeper seat in the saddle and stilled the stud deftly, leaning forward toward Umir. "Unless you've lied. Unless she isn't coming at all."

Indecision warped his features. Then grimness settled. "She's coming," he said flatly.

"From Iskandar to Julah. She will have left Quumi by now."

"Good. She can feed you when she gets here." The stud danced again as I gave him rein and glanced at Del. "You ready?"

Mutely, she nodded.

"Good. Then let's ride. We're burning the last little bit of daylight." But even as Del rode off, I reined the stud back once more. He didn't like it a bit, snorting and tossing his head. "Umir," I said quietly, "I wouldn't struggle too much. Those runes won't strangle you, but they might cut off your hands."

Umir sat very still.

I turned the stud loose and went after Del, laughing into the stud-born wind.

The amusement was short-lived. Del, as expected, did not allow me to get very far before taxing me with questions. The trouble was, she had too many, even for her mouth; she started out fine, but ended up in a Northern tangle.

"Start over," I suggested.

Del stared at me hard, teeth clenched. "You start," she ordered.

"I didn't die." I arched eyebrows at her expression. "I did what you wanted me to, so why are you complaining?"

Teeth remained clenched. "Because you might have done it before."

"Before what? Umir's arrival? Hoolies, it worked out very well. Now his men are hightailing it back to Quumi telling tales of a Sandtiger fetch... should add something to the legend, and save us a bit of hide."

"How?"

"Some would-be captors may decide not to try their luck."

She thought about it. "But you felt it was necessary to drive me away--"

"No." The humor died. "I felt it necessary to give nothing to Chosa Dei. That is why I refused to summon the magic again."

She stared angrily, weighing the truth. Assessing my expression; the sincerity of my tone. Her expression eventually softened, but doubt remained paramount. "But you did summon it."

"Yes. But not for me."

"If it was such a risk, as you say, then why--?" She let it die. Realization blanched her pale as her hair, plaited off her face. "But not for you," she said numbly.

I did not pursue that topic. "As for why I wanted us to leave Umir where he was, and in such haste, it's because I don't know how long in hoolies those rune-ropes will last. For all I know, he's already loose."

Brows lanced down. "How did you do that? How did you make them? What did you do to him?"

"Borrowed a little trick from Chosa Dei."

Del jerked the mare to a halt. She is not ordinarily heavy-handed, and the mare has a soft mouth. Gape-mouthed, the mare stopped, dark eyes rolling. I also reined in the stud. "What have you done?" Del asked. Her eyes searched my face. "What have you done to yourself?"

I shrugged.

Pupils spread in blue eyes, altering them to black. She studied everything in my face with avid intensity.

Then some of the tension faded. Now she looked for something else; for a different kind of truth. "Umir's men didn't kill you because they thought you were dead already. That's why you scared them off."

I shrugged again. "Close enough."

It clearly unsettled her. "Did you fail to come after me because of pride? Or because you couldn't?"

I grinned. "Close enough." But I wasn't as good as I'd hoped. Blood drained from her face. The look in her eye scared me. "I wouldn't have--died," I told her hastily. "Not from Chosa's devising. Umir's men might have killed me, but Chosa wouldn't have. He wants the body too much."

Her voice was oddly toneless. "If he had won, you wouldn't be Tiger anymore."

I twisted shoulders. "Probably not."

Del swallowed tightly. "I left you to force your hand."

"I know that."

"I thought you would come."

"I know that, too."

"But you might have died, anyway... because you couldn't come." Del's expression was despairing. "What have I done to you?"

"Nothing." I tapped heels to the stud. "It's done, Del. None of this matters because I'm all healed and I'm still me."

"Are you?"

I arched a single brow. "I'll prove it to you later."

She didn't smile at the suggestive tone. "Tiger--"

I sighed. "I just learned a couple of tricks."

"Did he?" she demanded as I rode by the mare. "Did Chosa learn tricks, too?"

I shook my head, jerking the stud's back around as he looked for the mare. "He already knows them all."

* * *

It was a cool, soft night, and we treated it as such. I lay on my back, contemplating the stars and moon, slack-limbed in satiation. I was bare except for the dhoti, the dampness of exertion drying slowly on my body. I felt wondrously relaxed, gazing sleepily at the sky, but Del was wide awake. I never have understood how a woman, thoroughly satisfied, wants to discuss the state of the world, while I'd just as soon let the world drift right on by, taking me with it.

Her thigh was stuck to mine, as was a shoulder blade angled slightly against my chest.

Del unstuck us both by rolling onto a hip, dragging her burnous to drape across exquisitely long, bare legs, as well as the hips and taut rump above them. Pale hair was loose and tousled: silver beacon in the darkness.

"What are you thinking about?"

Hoolies. They always ask.

I contemplated lying. But Del was not overly romantic--not like most other women--and the truth would not disturb her. "About Abbu."

She stiffened. "Abbu Bensir? Now?"

Maybe she wanted less truth after all. "Just--never mind."

But she went slack again. One hand touched my chest and began counting scars. It was a habit of hers, to which I never objected, because her touch felt good. "You want to beat him so badly."

"Didn't used to." I pillowed my head on one bent arm. "Well, that's not entirely true--I've always wanted to beat him--but it never mattered so much before."

"And now it does, because of what Umir said?"

"Umir says whatever he thinks will get him what he wants." I scowled faintly, considering. "I think it has more to do with Sabra."

"Why? You know nothing about her."

"I know something. I know she's a woman tanzeer, and she's managed to hold her place."

"It won't last. You've said so."

"It won't. But if Abbu is riding with her, after telling us he wasn't ..." I freed a pale ribbon of hair as it tangled in my necklet. "He is not the kind to lie."

Del shrugged, still counting scars. "Perhaps he changed his mind later. Perhaps Sabra convinced him."

"Nor is he the kind to be won by a woman's blandishments."

"You don't know that. Have you ever slept with him?"