Sword Singer-Sword Dancer 2 (24 page)

I laughed. Then stopped as Del swung back. Showed her an expression of innocence, then shot a grin at Garrod. He raised his bota in salute.

"Men," Del remarked, as if it said everything.

And I suppose, sometimes, it does.

Nineteen

Del and I threaded our way back through men, women, children, dogs, horses and

other assorted livestock, winding around wagons, cookfires and open camps, ducking and dodging various games as we went. The sun decidedly was going down;

it tipped the mountains with gilt and bronze and deepened the purples to black.

"Kind of rude to Garrod, weren't you?" Del is very tall; our steps were evenly

matched, particularly as I was leading the stud.

"I don't like him."

I grunted. "I sort of gathered that much. Why, is the question. Or maybe, why not?"

She shrugged. "I just don't."

I suppose I should have been glad. Scarred lip and all, Garrod was a good looking young buck, and considerably closer to Del's age than I am. But because

we'd shared a bota and swapped lots of stories, I felt I knew him well enough not to feel threatened by youth or good looks, which I'd lost some time ago (although some women might argue otherwise; I'm not completely hopeless.) So I

could afford to be offended by Del's somewhat illogical dismissal of Garrod.

"You don't even know him. How can you judge him so quickly?"

"The same way you judge an opponent when you step into the circle," she said dryly. "It doesn't take a lot of time."

The stud tried to walk over the top of me; I elbowed him back. "But you didn't

like me when we met."

Del looked thoughtful. "True," she admitted, nodding. "You were a lot like Garrod, then: smug, arrogant, dominating, convinced of a nonexistent superiority

..."

She shrugged. "But you settled down a lot once I beat you in the circle."

"You never beat me in the circle."

"Oh? What about the time we danced in front of the Hanjii and their painted women? I seem to remember you taking leave of your meal."

"And I seem to remember you jammed a knee into--"

"--your brains?" Del smiled blandly. "A man's eternal vulnerability."

I forbore to answer that, preferring to forget our initial sword-dance, which had been a travesty. "Nothing's ever really been settled between us," I reminded

her. "We've danced, yes, but mostly it's just been sparring. We've never done it

for real, to establish who's the best."

"I have a good idea."

"So do I, and it isn't you."

Del sighed and flopped an arm in an easterly direction. "Camp's over this way...

Tiger, I don't mean to make you angry, but you should know by now that--"

"--what? You're better? No, I don't know... because it isn't true." A rag ball

rolled out of play into our path. The stud stopped short; so did I. He breathed

noisily, ears touching at tips, and eyed the ball uneasily. I told him he was a

coward, bent and scooped up the ball, tossed it back to the waiting boy. "I'm bigger, stronger, more powerful--"

"And I'm considerably swifter, and much more subtle with my strokes." Del thrust

out a wrist and flexed it. "When it comes to using patterns--"

"But that's the Northern style. I'm a Southroner."

She swung to face me. "But we're North, now, Tiger. You've got to use my style."

"Why?" I asked flatly. "I'm very good at my own."

"Because--" Abruptly, the urgency spilled out of her tone. Briefly, she closed

her eyes, then looked at me once more. "Because a good ishtoya is always prepared to learn."

I kept my voice very steady. "I am a seventh-level sword-dancer," I said clearly. "Not first, not third, not fifth. Seventh, Del. There aren't very many

of those."

Del wet her lips, fingered hair out of her face, seemed oddly apprehensive.

"Southron," she said, "Southron. This is the North, Tiger... we must adhere to

Northern customs."

"You must adhere to Northern customs. I'm just me."

"Tiger--"

"This isn't doing us any good," I said curtly. "You can't make me something I'm

not, anymore than I can make you something you're not. Would you have me demand

you put down your sword for good and keep house for me all hidden behind Southron veils?"

Del's face was stiff. "There's a difference between sword-dancing and keeping house."

"Is there? One is a man's work, the other a woman's." I paused. "Usually."

"You don't understand."

A woman's eternal defense, although I didn't tell her that. "Probably not," I agreed. "All I know is, you've been acting funny ever since we crossed the border."

Her face was grim, which was a shame; Del's features demand better treatment.

"I

have responsibilities."

"So do we all, Del."

"And as for acting funny, so have you. Especially lately."

I scratched my scars. "Yes, well...things haven't felt right, lately. I don't know what's wrong, but I'm getting the same prickles I got before."

Del's brows shot up. "Prickles?"

I sighed. "I don't know how to explain it. Things just don't feel right." I gestured. "Shall we go find the camp?"

She hesitated a moment longer, then turned abruptly and marched off. I followed

more sedately, slowed by a distracted horse.

Camp indeed, such as it was. There was the familiar rainbreak, though no wagon

to hook it to, as well as spread blankets and a fire. Adara squatted by the stone ring, stirring a pot of something that smelled a lot like stew.

Cipriana

helped her mother by pouring cups of tea. Massou, bowl in hand, sat on a blanket

and glowered at the stud.

The little campsite wasn't exactly private, being wedged in between the road and

numerous scattered wagons with adjacent open camps. But it would do, and certainly until the morning. I took the restive stud aside, not wanting to trouble the boy, and staked him out by a plot of turf as yet untrampled by wheels and boots and hooves.

Del followed me over. "Kymri are cause for celebration. Tonight there will be singing and dancing." It was, I thought, an apology of sorts.

I slapped the stud on the shoulder. "I'm all for celebration, but I can't do either one."

"You dance in the circle."

"That's different."

"And I've never heard you sing. You might be very good."

I grinned at her. "Bascha, have you heard a danjac bray?"

She looked blank. "A who?"

"A what: a danjac. Beast of burden, down south." I smiled. "Not much known for

their voice,"

"No, I've never heard one."

"And you don't want to hear me."

She frowned a little. "Don't you ever sing?"

"Never ever, bascha."

Del shook her head. "A sword-dancer should sing."

"Waste of breath, bascha."

"Not when you want to win."

"Yes, well, I seem to do fine without making any noise." I removed my boot from

the patch of turf the stud wanted to plunder and turned back toward the camp.

"Just because you sing--"

She caught my arm. "Tiger--look--"

I looked. Didn't see much of anything out of the ordinary, just three men riding

down the road, while a fourth walked out to meet them. A pale-haired man with braids.

"Garrod," I said, "so? He's here to sell his horses."

Del's fingers bit into my forearm. "Those men... Tiger, I know them. They are Ajani's men."

I hauled her back before she could take more than a single step. "Del--wait."

"I know them, Tiger."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"And what do you want to do, storm out there and challenge them to a sword-dance?"

She tried to break free by twisting her arm. I hung on. "Tiger--you don't understand--"

"Yes I do. I also understand that right now probably isn't a good time to challenge them."

She stopped struggling. Color stood high in her face. "And when is a good time?"

"Probably in the morning, if you insist. We've spent the last two weeks tromping

all over these hills, bascha--why not at least get a good night's sleep?

They'll

be here. And so will Garrod. If he knows them, he might just know Ajani. Or not;

they may simply want his horses."

"They have horses, Tiger."

"The least we can do is ask him before we spit him on your sword."

"Then let's ask him right now."

"Let's not." I hauled her back again. "Del, I'll even help you, but let's wait

till morning."

"We have to leave in the morning."

"And find a horse and wagon for these people." I tilted my head in the direction

of Adara and her children. "It's our last night together, bascha... don't you think they might want to spend it without witnessing bloodshed in the circle?"

She gritted teeth. "You are a sentimental fool."

I gripped her arm more firmly. "Better than just a fool, which is what you're being at the moment."

"Those men owe me blood-debt," she hissed angrily. "Each and every one of them

owes me blood-debt ten times over, for what was done to my family. And if you think I can let them ride through this kymri without calling them into the circle, you are the fool!"

"And if they refuse?" I released her and saw the reddening handprint on her arm.

"They probably will, Del. They're Southroners, after all. They won't take the invitation seriously. What they will do, however, is cut you to pieces when you're not looking, because that is how they live. They have no honor, Del.

And

you'll die because of it."

"Not till I find Ajani."

Something inside of me squeezed. "I don't want you to die at all."

The sun was nearly gone. Fading light softened the lines of Del's face and altered her expression into something more sanguine than former anger. She looked back at me blankly a moment, then drew in a deep breath. "No. Neither do

I."

"Then let's make sure you don't." The men were gone, Garrod with them. "And let's have something to eat."

In an oddly private silence, Del went to the fire.

The stew was very good, although I might have preferred better company. Adara remained locked in depression, only rarely breaking her silence, and Massou continued his sulk. Del tried to draw him out and he responded a little, but sullenly, as if he blamed me for the stud's hostility.

Well, maybe whatever I felt also affected the stud.

Cipriana, on the other hand, had a strange bright glint in her eyes, smiling to

herself, occasionally touching the neckline of her tunic. She served me in place

of her mother, tending my cup until I told her to stop, and filled my bowl to brimming three times running.

Del, of course, saw it, smiled wryly, said nothing. On one hand, it was nice not

to suffer the sulks of a jealous woman; on the other, it might have been nice to

know she cared. Del did not appear to--or else she dismissed Cipriana as not worthy of consideration as real competition.

It became patently clear, however, that Cipriana did.

After dinner I went back to the stud, who was making a lot of noise. He stomped,

pawed, dug holes, snorted, peeled back lips to show yellowed teeth. I thought maybe there was a mare in heat close by; it doesn't take much to set him off.

I soothed him as best I could, but he wasn't particularly interested in anything

I had to say, nor did a pat or two still his restiveness. I tried scratching the

firm layers of muscle lying between the long bones of his underjaw, which usually resulted in a silly half-lidded expression of contentment. This time all

it resulted in was a wet, messy snort of abject contempt.

"Fine," I told him, "stay out here and sulk. I'm not taking you to any mare no

matter how much you beg."

Cipriana came up to me, melting out of the fireglow. It was dark now, and the entire kymri was shrouded in smoke and glare, smelling of food and liquor.

"Tiger?"

The stud bared teeth; I slapped his nose away from the girl. "Yes?"

"Could you--" She broke off, gathered her courage, asked it. "Would you walk with me?"

Hoolies. Oh, hoolies.

"Not far," she said. "Just--out there." A wave of her hand indicated somewhere

beyond the stud.

She is a girl, I told myself. What are you afraid of?

Well, nothing, Nothing, really. Other than being wary of what she wanted, while

having a feeling I knew. Part of me suggested I say no and go back to the fire,

avoiding the situation; another part jeered for being such a coward.

But I had no experience with fifteen-year-old girls, I like my women older.

Still, there was no dignified way of refusing. So I didn't even try.

We left the stud behind, viciously digging holes in the turf. Side by side we walked out of the light from our fire into the glow cast from other campsites.

In the distance I could hear the ringing of tambors, the clatter of rattle-bones, the trilling hoot of wooden pipes. I thought Cipriana deserved to

go dancing instead of walking with me, and said so.

She shrugged. "I wanted to be with you."

Hoolies. "You've been with all of us the past two weeks."

She walked with arms folded across her chest, head bowed. Pale hair fell forward

to obscure her face. "Because I wanted to be with you."

I sighed. "Cipriana--"

She stopped and raised her head, snapping hair out of her face with a deft twist

of her head. "I'm confused," she said. "Things happened today that I don't understand, and I need to ask someone." She shrugged again, hugging herself.

"My

father is dead and Massou is too young. There is no one else but you."

Oh, hoolies,

I drew in a deep breath, trying to buy time. Trying to come up with an answer.

"I think--"

"Men looked at me today," she said, "Men looked at me, and followed me with their eyes... some men even followed me. And they said things, some of them..."