Waterdance (3 page)

“Danber knew customs were different in Agrond,” Peri said truthfully. “We had an—understanding about it.” Although not the kind you’d think.

“Well, surely you’ve at least kissed him,” Kalendra protested. Then she smiled conspiratorially. “And perhaps just a little more?”

Peri grinned.

“Well—maybe a little more,” she said, chuckling.

****

Danber leaned back, smiling.

“That was—rather nice,” he said softly. “I’ve never kissed a woman before.”

“Well, we’re almost even, then.” Peri chuckled a little nervously, leaning back on the softness of the cloak. “I’ve never kissed anybody before. Not like that, anyway.” She’d liked it, too, although Danber’s mustache tickled. Danber’s chest had felt strong and hard against hers, his arms firm around her, the whole combination filling her with a shivery warmth that left her wanting more.

Gingerly Danber touched the laces of her tunic.

“May I—may I look at you?” he asked slowly.

Peri swallowed, but nodded, shrugging out of her tunic when Danber slowly unlaced it. She didn’t protest that Danber had seen her already dozens of times in the sweat tent or when the water holes were large enough to make bathing practical; this was different and they both knew it.

Thankfully Danber made no indication of parting either of them from their trousers, and some of Peri’s nervousness faded to curiosity as Danber laid his own tunic aside. In Agrondish terms, Danber was rather short—half a hands-breadth shorter than Peri herself—and strongly muscled, darkly golden-skinned and hairy. But Peri, who had spent much of her life here with the horse clans, looked at him with Bregondish eyes, the same eyes that saw Agrondish men as pale and sickly looking, and saw Danber as strong and full of life.

“You don’t look like an Agrond,” Danber said suddenly, startling Peri out of her reflections. “Except for the green in your eyes and that sort of red shine to your hair.”

“Is that good?” Peri asked, a little awkwardly. She’d always thought of herself as boyish and ungraceful, especially next to Kalendra and Erisa, her uncle Terralt’s daughters. Even Peri’s Bregondish mother, from whom Peri had inherited her black hair and dark gold skin and strong features, was softer and more graceful and seemed somehow more womanly.

“I think it’s good,” Danber said, grinning a little. “Agrondish ladies always looked—well—”

“Sickly ?” Peri guessed.

“Well, yes,” Danber admitted. “I never could imagine how any man could expect them to survive childbirth, much less bear healthy children, ride with the clan, help manage the herds and do their share of the hunting—” He paused, gazing at Peri seriously. “But you’re not like that. You look healthy and strong. I’m glad.” He touched Peri’s braids, and Peri smiled. Her mother had twisted her hair into the thirty-nine braids, symbolizing mastery of the thirty-nine skills of a marriageable Bregondish woman, only a few months earlier, on her fifteenth birthday.

“Peri—” Danber hesitated. “May I touch you?”

Peri bit her lip. Eight years old, Danber teaching her to ride bareback. Ten years old, their first real kill together—a fine buck lopa, fat and strong, its blood warm and salty in her mouth as they shared the heart. Fourteen years old, Danber handing her the sword he’d commissioned for her, perfectly balanced to her hand—he’d traded three of his best mares for it, a small fortune.

“All right,” Peri said shyly. She closed her eyes. Warm callused fingers traced gently over her collarbone, down her sternum, over her stomach, up her side to gently cup her breast. Peri shivered.

“You’re so soft,” Danber said, marveling. “Your skin is so smooth here.”

Peri opened her eyes again and slid her hands up Danber’s chest, running her fingers over hard muscle, through thick, coarse black hair.

“Danber—” She hesitated, swallowing hard. “Are—are we going to—”  Danber met her eyes squarely. “I don’t think I could,” he admitted. Peri sighed with relief. “Me either,” she confessed.

Danber gazed at her a moment longer, then abruptly laughed, and Peri joined him.

****

“Yes,” Peri said, smiling. “Maybe just a little more.”

“Ah, then he’s a virile man,” Kalendra said contentedly.

Peri chuckled.

“I suppose so,” she said.

Oh, Kalendra, are you ever going to be surprised. And I doubt it’s going to be a pleasant surprise. On the other hand, when Danber finds out he’s going to be wed to a frail, pale Agrondish lady with soft hands and perfumed hair, whose idea of riding is puking out the window of her carriage, who’s never hunted anything but a lost earring in her jewel box, I doubt he’s going to find it a pleasant surprise, either. I’d love to see their faces after the wedding night. The thought gave her a certain amount of spiteful satisfaction, then a flash of guilt. Kalendra had done nothing to earn Peri’s spite, and Danber, if anything, deserved her sympathy.

Peri grimaced.

Sorry, Danber. Sympathy’s a bit too much to ask of me just now.

“What?” she said, suddenly aware that Kalendra had said something to her.

“I said,” Kalendra said patiently, “what does he like to do? Does he like dancing, jousts—”

Peri glanced sideways at her lovely cousin.

“It’s not like that with the horse clans,” she said gently. “There’s a few simple festivals, mostly at trade gatherings, like at foaling time and when the herds are culled. There’s no castle, just a winter holding at the center of the grazing territory; the clan moves with the herd through the grazing grounds except in the dead of winter. Sometimes merchants pass through, and once or maybe twice a year Danber visits the capital and takes the clan’s tithes to court. Most of the rest of the time it’s riding and herding and—”

Peri stopped. Kalendra had gone almost white, her eyes wide and shocked.

“F-Father told me there’d be a grand court,” she whispered. “He told me I’d hardly know I wasn’t home.”

“Likely he didn’t know himself,” Peri said diplomatically, swallowing her shock. “I don’t think Uncle Terralt’s ever dealt much with the horse or ikada clans. He never goes to Bregond if he can help it, and when he does, it’s to Aunt Kairi’s castle and the court. You know how he hates the company of commoners.”

It was a lie and she knew it. She’d had many a good talk with her uncle over sparring, or resting between matches, and Terralt had always been interested in hearing her experiences in Danber’s clan. He’d deliberately lied to his daughter so she wouldn’t make a fuss over her betrothal. Unwillingly Peri felt a pang of sympathy. At least nobody had lied to her.

“Anyway, Danber’s very kind and understanding,” Peri said awkwardly. That was true enough. “He’ll do his best to make you comfortable and happy. Maybe you can stay at the winter holding most of the time, or maybe you can represent the clan at court instead of Danber.”

Kalendra did not look up; her hands were shaking. At last she forced a faint smile.

“Yes,” she said softly. “Lord Danber must be kind, to have such an—an understanding with you.”

Now Peri felt really awful. There was nothing she could say to comfort Kalendra without causing trouble, and nothing she could say about Danber without betraying his secret. Inwardly she groaned. Courtly conversation was supposedly one of the thirty-nine arts she’d mastered, but dancing around her frightened cousin with polite lies seemed an altogether different matter.

To her relief, she noticed that the sun was sinking, and it was not long before Terralt signaled a halt for the evening, apparently irritated at their lack of progress.

“I’d hoped we’d reach the garrison before sunset,” he said with a sigh, “and sleep in proper beds for at least one night. But there’s a storm coming, if this rising wind is any indication, and the road is so rutted I don’t dare continue after dark. Well, never mind.”

Peri jumped on the opportunity.

“Uncle, why don’t I ride ahead?” she said quickly. “If the garrison’s only a short distance, then you and I can get Kalendra there and spend the night indoors and the guards can meet us there in the morning.” Actually she had no desire whatsoever to spend the night in the garrison, but she knew how dearly her uncle preferred sleeping inside solid walls; if granted his preference, he’d be so pleased that possibly Peri could coax him into letting her stay in camp with the guards, unseemly or not. And even if it gained her nothing else, the simple opportunity to get back into Tajin’s saddle was worth the effort.

Terralt gave Peri a look that said more plainly than words that she wasn’t fooling him, but he nodded resignedly.

“All right, then, Perian,” he said. “We’re far enough inside the borders that you should be safe. But either take two guards with you, or turn around and be back here before sunset.” He gave her a warning glance. “I mean it, Perian.”

“All right, all right,” Peri said hurriedly. She saddled Tajin as fast as she could, before her uncle changed his mind, then turned back to him. “My sword?”

“You don’t need your sword,” Terralt said patiently, “to ride a short distance to the garrison.”

“Mother says there’s a word for folk who take even a step outside their front door unarmed,” Peri said, grinning. “‘Corpse.’”

Terralt grimaced.

“Of course,” he said sourly. “High Lady Kayli, font of all wisdom. Here, take your sword, then, and your bow, too, if you like. But don’t stop to hunt, Perian. There’s not time.”

“Yes, Uncle,” Peri said obediently, scrambling into the saddle and firmly securing her scabbard in its slot.

She rode swiftly away from camp, letting Tajin have his head, laughing into the wind despite the hard ache in her ribs at every jolt. Storm indeed! It was only Mahdha, stirred up from her nest in a bad mood, hot and angry and dry as dust. But Mahdha was Peri’s friend tonight, buying her a short delay, one more ride on Tajin’s back, one more night out on the plains before walls closed around her.

Tajin was as grateful as Peri for the wind in his face, the wide plains before him; his hooves thundered along the hard-packed earth to the side of the wagon ruts and Peri could feel his heart beating fierce and strong inside his chest.

The road topped a gentle rise and Peri reluctantly pulled Tajin to a halt, both of them breathing hard. There was the garrison, the evening fires already lit—it looked so close, but Peri was not fooled. Distances on the plains confused the ignorant. No, the garrison was at least an hour’s ride farther even for her, and slowed to a pace Kalendra could manage—no, there’d be no soft bed for her uncle and cousin tonight.

Peri grinned and turned Tajin back toward camp, then frowned, squinting through the dimming light. There were carrion birds circling to the north—not scavenger birds but the great plains vultures that came only to a large kill. What in the world could have died? Hunters from the garrison would have taken their kill back, and no predator large enough to bring down a sizable animal should be hunting so near a human settlement.

Then Peri frowned. The birds were circling near a wash containing a small water hole. Could someone have poisoned the water hole? If so, that was a serious matter indeed. And even if some animal had come there to drink and simply dropped dead, fouling the spring, that was no matter to dismiss lightly. The soldiers at the garrison would definitely have to
be told.

Peri shook her head, grinning to herself. She was only looking for an excuse to justify delaying her return to camp a little longer. Well, so be it—no Bregond in her right mind, much less one gifted with a water sensitivity, would fail to investigate the possibility of a fouled spring.

There, Mother! NOW lecture me on my duty.

Tajin turned, obedient to Peri’s signal, and left the road, his head slightly lowered so the plains grasses did not flip across his face, his thick, coarse coat fending off the sharp-edged swordgrass and barbed hookthorns as easily as the sturdy leather jaffs protecting Peri’s legs. Peri let him set his own pace, an easy canter that allowed him to avoid any treacherous footing, thorny thickets, or more active hazards, while she, from her higher vantage point, nudged him occasionally with her knees to correct his course. She slowed him further before they reached their destination. Whatever had made the kill that attracted the carrion birds, better she surprise it than it surprise her.

When Peri pulled Tajin to a halt, however, it was only to scowl down in puzzlement at the corpse of the shaggy-coated mare crumpled on the ground. The spring was still a good distance ahead; it was not fouled water that had brought this good beast down.

The rest, however, remained a mystery. The mare couldn’t have been there long; the carrion birds had hardly done more than taken the eyes and tongue, but there were other punctures in the hide that could have been inflicted by birds or possibly arrows. The mare’s tack had been stripped off, but Peri’s learned eye found plenty of clues nonetheless. The mare was a sound beast but no prize of the herd, only a few steps above a cull, but she was well shod for hard riding over bad ground. Who would buy such a poor beast and then shoe her so well? Who would have been riding out here, away from the road? She was certainly no soldier’s mount. And what manner of fool left riderless on Bregond’s plains would have stripped no meat from the carcass, not even the prized heart and liver, yet bothered to carry the heavy tack away?

Then again, perhaps the rider had walked to the garrison. It would be sensible for a stranded rider to carry his weapons and supplies with him for that journey. But again, why carry the heavy tack? Thievery couldn’t possibly be a concern, not when the nearest human beings were the soldiers at the garrison.

Then Peri’s eyes swept over the scene again. Scattered droplets of blood and crushed grass bespoke a struggle, and the tracks of at least four more horses led into the grass, toward the spring rather than the garrison. Peri’s heart pounded as fiercely as Tajin’s had.

Someone fought hard and lost. Someone was carried away.

Without thought, Peri bent low in Tajin’s saddle and urged her mount slowly forward along the trail, her ears straining, her nose sifting through the scents Mahdha brought her. When her instincts told her to dismount, she did, sliding from the saddle and giving Tajin the three pats to signal him to stand. Her sword, well oiled, slid silently from its scabbard and she almost absently tested the draw of her knives.