Sword Maker-Sword Dancer 3 (33 page)

slapped him in the mouth. He tried twice more; I slapped him twice more. Then I

gave up on the leisurely mount and swung up all at once, coming down into the saddle with toes hooking stirrups.

"Now try," I suggested.

He might have. He has. This time he didn't. For which I was very grateful, since

I had the feeling he'd win.

"Are you done?" Del asked.

Before I could answer--though nothing was expected--the stableman stepped forward. "I couldn't help noticing your scars--are you the Sandtiger?"

I nodded, gathering rein.

The man showed me a gap-toothed grin. "I sold a horse to your son."

"My son--" I scowled down at him. "What kind of horse, where was he going, and

what does he look like?"

Del's tone was dry. "One at a time, Tiger. You'll confuse the poor man."

The stableman knew horses best. "Old gray mare," he said. "Splash of white down

her nose, and three white legs. Very gentle. A lady's mare, but he said that's

what he wanted."

"Where was he going?"

"Iskandar."

Where else? "What does he look like?"

The man shrugged. "Not tall, not short. Eighteen or nineteen. Brown-haired, blue-eyed. Spoke Southron with an accent."

"What kind of accent?"

He shrugged, shaking his head.

"But he told you he was my son."

"Son of the Santiger; yes." He grinned. "Hasn't got the scars, but he wears a necklet of claws."

"And a sword?" I asked grimly.

He frowned. Thought back. Shook his head. "A knife. No sword."

"A necklet, but no sword. And riding an old gray mare." I glanced at Del. "If he's really going to Iskandar, at least we know what to look for."

She was startled. "You'll look?"

"Shouldn't be hard to find him. He's obviously not shy of boasting about his parentage--even though it's a lie."

Her tone was a little odd. "How do you know it's a lie?"

"He's too old," I told her. "If I'm thirty-six, and he's eighteen--or even nineteen--it means I was all of--" I stopped.

"Eighteen," Del supplied. "Or maybe seventeen."

Not too old after all. "Let's go," I said curtly. "No sense in staying here."

* * *

By the time we were out of Harquhal, most of my bad temper was gone. It was too

hard staying out of sorts when the Southron sun was shining on my face, warming

the place where the beard had been. It felt odd to be clean-shaven. It felt odd

to wear gauze and silk. It felt odd to be so carefree.

But it felt good to feel so odd.

"You know," I remarked, "you might have warned me last night you wanted to leave. I could have said good-bye to Rhashad, told Nabir there'd be no more lessons--"

"Nabir knows. I told him."

"Oh? When?"

"Last night. You and Rhashad were full of aqivi and too busy trying to win one

another's money... Nabir came in, and I told him." She shrugged. "He said he would come, too, if he could convince Xenobia to quit her job and go with him."

"Xenobia," I murmured.

"And I told Abbu, who also came in last night."

I looked at her. "He did? I didn't see him. When did he come in? Last night?

In

our cantina?"

"I said you were full of aqivi." Del waved a fly away. "Not long before I left."

"Left?" I echoed. "You left? When? Why?" I frowned. "With him?"

"Aren't you full of questions today."

"I think I have a right."

"Oh? Why?"

"I just do." I scowled, disliking her tone. "Who knows what kind of trouble you

might have gotten yourself into, going off with Abbu like that. You don't know

what kind of man he is, bascha."

"One very much like you." She raised a hand to forestall my protest.

"No--like

you were. I'll admit, you've changed. You're not the arrogant fool you once were."

"So comforting," I said dryly. "And was he like me in bed,too?"

"You have no right to ask that."

"Hoolies, you mean you did?" I jerked the stud up short. "I was only joking, after all your natter about needing focus... do you mean to tell me you went off

with Abbu last night?"

Del's tone was deadly. "I did not lie to you about requiring a focus. And if I

have told you plainly I desire solitude, would I then go to bed with Abbu?"

It slowed me down only a moment. "Maybe. I'm not sure any more."

"No."

I felt a little better--I felt a lot better about Abbu's lack of success--but was still a trifle disgruntled about her accompanying him. "You've got to admit,

I've got a right to be concerned."

"No," Del retorted. "It's not your place."

That got my back up. "Why is it not my place? We've spent the last--what, eighteen months?--together, in bed and out, and you say it's not my place?"

"It's not your place to ask whom I choose to sleep with," Del declared, "any more than it's my place to ask the same of you."

"But you can ask," I said. "You've been the only woman in my bed since--since--"

I frowned. "Hoolies, see what you've done? I can't even remember."

"Elamain," she said dryly.

Elamain. Elamain--oh, Elamain.

Del saw my expression. "Yes," she said, "Elamain. That Elamain."

How could I forget? How could any man forget? Her appetite was insatiable, her

skill beyond belief, her stamina unbelievable, her imagination unparalleled--

"Of course," Del remarked, "she did nearly get you killed."

The dream evaporated. "Worse," I said--with feeling.

"What could be worse than--oh. Oh. Yes, I remember. She almost got you gelded."

I shifted in the saddle. "Let's not talk about that."

"Besides, what did you expect? You weren't giving me anything. Why shouldn't I

sleep with Elamain--"

"--especially since she didn't give you much choice." Del smiled. "Tiger, you may think other women don't know, but we do. I know very well what kind of woman

Elamain is--or was; Hashi probably had her killed--and how she worked her magic

on you. Women like that have power. Men can never withstand it." She tossed loose hair behind her shoulders. "You can be sidetracked so easily... you can lose sight of what you intended just because a woman--"

"--tells me a story about how a Northern borjuni killed her family and sold her

brother into slavery." I smiled. "Sound familiar, bascha?"

"That's not what I meant, Tiger."

"No. You meant women like Elamain luring poor fools into their beds. I know.

I

won't even deny it hasn't worked on me other times, either." I shrugged. "You used a different method, but the end result was the same."

Del didn't say anything right away. She'd turned her blue roan to face me, and

now she had to rein him back to keep him from nosing the stud. Once she had him

settled, she met my gaze stare for stare. Then tilted her head a little.

"What would you have done?" she asked. "What would you have done with your life

if I hadn't found you in that cantina?"

"Done?"

"Done," she repeated. "You said I'd sidetracked you as much as Elamain might have--sidetracked you from what? Made you lose sight of--what?"

"Well, if you hadn't found me in that cantina, I wouldn't have been left as a Sun Sacrifice by the Hanjii. I wouldn't have been thrown into Aladar's mine.

I

wouldn't have lost Singlestroke and gotten stuck with this Northern sword, or sucked up Chosa Dei."

"That's not what I asked."

"Those things wouldn't have happened."

"Tiger, you're avoiding my question."

"No, I'm not." I shrugged. "Hoolies, I don't know. I'm a sword-dancer. I hire on

to do things. I'd probably be doing things; does that answer your question?"

"Yes," she said, "it does." She waved away another fly. Or maybe the same one.

"You asked me once what I'd do when Ajani was dead. Once I'd ended my song."

"Yes, I asked. As I recall, you didn't have an answer."

"Because I refuse to look past that. To look beyond Ajani's death is to lose focus. To dilute the vision. And I can't afford that." Del flicked a hand in the

air. "So, I don't look. But you don't have the same restrictions. You can look.

What I ask now is, have you?"

"No sword-dancer wastes much time thinking about next year, next month, next week. Hoolies, sometimes not even next day. Only the next dance. He looks to the

dance, bascha. Because that's what he lives for."

Del's eyes were steady. "When will your dance be ended?"

"I can't answer that," I said crossly. "I don't even know what it means."

"You do. Oh, you do. You're not a stupid man. You're not a foolish man. You only

pretend to be when you don't want to deal with truths."

I didn't say a word.

Del smiled a little. "It's all right, Tiger. I do the same thing."

"You don't pretend to be stupid. And you never pretend you're a fool."

"No." Her mouth was oddly warped. "Instead, I make myself cold and hard. I make

myself dead inside, so I don't have to face those truths."

There are times when I hate this woman.

This was not one of them.

Part III

One

Del's voice was distant. "Tiger--what's wrong?"

It didn't make any sense. Just a jumble of words. No, not words; sounds.

"Tiger? Are you all right?"

I felt--odd.

"Tiger!"

Oh, hoolies, bascha... something's wrong--something's wrong with me--something's

wrong with--

I stopped the stud. Got off. Dragged the sword from its sheath. Then walked across the trail to a tumbled pile of rocks. Found a fissure. Wedged the sword

into it.

Wedged the hilt into it, leaving the blade stuck up into air.

"Tiger--?" And then she sent her roan plunging between the blade and my body.

It knocked me backward. It knocked me flat on my rump. I sat there on the ground

trying to figure out what had happened.

Del reined the roan around. Her expression was profoundly frightened. "Have you

gone loki?" she cried.

I didn't think so. What I was, somehow, was sitting on the ground instead of in

the saddle.

Silence: Del said nothing. Her gelding pawed, digging pebbles and dust. I heard

the clack of rock on rock, the scraping of hoof in hard ground, the clink of bit

and bridle.

Saw the sword sticking up from the fissure.

"Hoolies," I muttered hoarsely.

Del said nothing. She watched me get up, watched me slap dust from my burnous,

watched me take a step toward the sword. Then put the gelding between.

Brought up short, I stuck out a hand to ward off the roan. "What are you trying

to--"

"Keep you from killing yourself," she said flatly, "do you think I couldn't tell?"

"I'd never--"

"You just did. Or would have."

I stared up at her in astonishment. Then across the roan's bluish rump to the waiting sword jutting patiently into the air.

I couldn't have. I couldn't have. It's not something I would do. I've survived

too much travail in my life to end it willingly, let alone by my own hand.

"Let me go," I said.

Del didn't move the gelding.

"Let me go," I repeated. "I'm all right now, bascha."

Her expression was unreadable. Then she moved the gelding out of my way. I heard

the hiss of a blade unsheathed. I was visited by an odd thought: would Del try

to kill me to keep me from killing myself?

Somehow, I didn't laugh. Not looking at my sword.

I approached it carefully. Felt nothing. No fear, no apprehension, no desire to

do myself injury. Just a mild curiosity as to what the thing had wanted.

It didn't say a word.

I bent. Closed one hand around the exposed portion of the hilt, avoiding the blade itself. Worked the sword from the fissure and turned it right side up.

Black crept up the blade. This time it touched the runes.

"It doesn't want to go," I blurted.

Del's voice: "What?"

"It--he--doesn't want to go." I frowned down at the sword, then wrenched my gaze

away to meet hers. "Chosa Dei wants to go south."

Del's mouth flattened. "Tell him we're going north."

"Northeast," I corrected. "And he knows exactly which way we're going--it's why

he pulled this stunt." I paused. "One of the reasons, anyway; he also wants out

of the sword. Killing me is a way of succeeding."

Del sheathed Boreal and edged the gelding closer. "It's black again."

"Some of it." I turned the blade from edge to edge to show both sides. "What do

you suppose would happen if the whole thing went black?"

Del's tone was odd. "Do you really want to find out?"

I glanced at her sharply. "Do you know?"

"No. But I wouldn't run the risk."

"Neither will I," I muttered. "Time to show him who's boss again."

As before, I shut both hands around the grip, locking fingers in place. It had

taken a song last time, a snatch of a little song sung to put Chosa Dei in his

place. I summoned it again and let it fill my head. Thought briefly of nothing

else other than proving my dominance. Like the stud with Del's blue roan.

I was sweating when I opened my eyes. The song in my head died away. The runes

were free of charring, but not the entire blade. "Only a little," I rasped.

"Each time, more of the black remains."

"You must be vigilant," Del declared.

"Vigilant," I muttered. "You be vigilant."

Her face wavered before me. "Are you all right?" she asked.

I staggered toward the stud, who, bored, lipped idly at dirt. His muzzle was crusted with it. "Am I all right, she asks. I don't know; should I be all right?

Every time I have this little argument with my sword, I feel like I've aged ten