Sword Sworn ss-6

by Jennifer Roberson

  I turned, took three steps, found Del waiting at the stud’s head. Maybe she’d heard my joints grinding as I walked across the sand.

  I saw the question in her eyes. Smiling faintly, I hooked an arm around her neck and stood next to her. "I’m fine."

  I heard the pent breath expelled. For a moment we just stood there side by side, staring across the Punja glowing faintly in moon- and starlight.

  She spoke very quietly. "I don’t want to lose you."

  I kept my voice as low, not wanting to wake Nayyib. "What? You mean Neesha hasn’t won you from me with a glance of those eloquent eyes?"

  "Neesha’s eyes may indeed work wonders on other women, but not on me."

  "Are you immune?"

  "Oh, no. He is a beautiful young man."

  "Beautiful?"

  "As a man may be," she clarified. "Not like a woman. He isn’t pretty. But the bones of his face are well suited to one another, and he moves very well. He understands his body."

  I hadn’t really asked for that much explanation. But I’d never thought about how women view men, other than appreciating that many of them seemed to view me with favor. "What do you look at in a man? Women, I mean. Not just you."

  Del’s breath of laughter was a quiet expulsion of air. "We don’t all necessarily see or want the same thing. There are pretty men, and handsome men, and men who lack the features that most would name attractive but claim a sense of presence that makes looks unimportant. There is no describing that. It simply is. Tall, short, heavy, thin… it doesn’t matter."

  I thought of brutal Ajani, long dead. Handsome, huge, filled with undeniable presence. Yet he had used the power to rape and kill, to alter forever the life of the woman next to me. "But there are handsome men who have it."

  "Yes. And those are the men that turn a woman’s knees to water and her brain to mush."

  "I, of course, exude it."

  "There are also men who are too confident, too certain of themselves and their appeal, and who believe they may blind women to their faults."

  "Thanks very much for that."

  "But I, however, am not so easily blinded."

  "I sort of figured that."

  "Some men may begin that way but are trainable when in the hands of the right woman. Other men are hopeless."

  I wasn’t certain either of those attributes was something I aspired to.

  "And age doesn’t matter," Del said. "Not when a woman meets the right man."

  "Even if she’s young enough to be his daughter?"

  "Lo, even then."

  I had been curious a long time. Now I asked her. "When did you know you wanted to sleep with me?"

  "Oh, within days. But you were such a pig-headed, insufferably male Southroner that I was appalled by my response."

  "Thank you very much!"

  "I argued with myself for weeks."

  "As I recall, it was months before we finally did the deed." Months and months, in fact; it had been very hard on me.

  "I intended it to be never. But one day I realized that ignorance could be changed, even in a Southroner. Besides, by then you knew I would never be the kind of women Southron men prefer: soft, quiet, deferential little mice who keep their houses and bear their children."

  "We don’t have a house to keep and you can’t, well…" I realized belatedly that blurting out her inability to have children was not perhaps the most tactful thing. Del loved children. Enough to give her daughter to good people who could care for her when Del, consumed with vengeance, couldn’t. "Sorry, bascha."

  She shied away from it, not even acknowledging my apology. "I am not like most Southron women," she went on, "but more of them could be like me if they let themselves be free."

  "Maybe they’re happy the way they are."

  "Or maybe they don’t know any better because they are trained from birth to be blind to their own ambitions."

  "Maybe their ambitions are to keep house and raise children. Lena seems to be happy."

  "Lena is happy. But then, Alric is a Northerner; he expects her to be free to express herself. I have no objection to women keeping house and bearing children, Tiger, if that is what they truly wish in their hearts, and not because their men demand it of them. I only object when men won’t allow the women who wish to be more to acheive it. To even imagine it."

  I thought of Del, Northern born and raised, allowed to learn the sword even before she went to Staal-Ysta to become a sword-singer. I thought of my grandmother, the matriarch of a powerful family, conducting business with ruthless brilliance. I thought of my mother, who willingly left behind that wealth and power to go with the man she loved to a distant land known for its harshness and died because of it.

  I sighed. "Maybe I was trainable because I’m actually Skandic, not a Southroner."

  "Or maybe you have more flexibility of mind."

  "Is that a good thing? If one’s mind is too flexible, one never has an opinion of one’s own."

  "Tiger, you would never let anyone change your opinion until you were certain they were right."

  "So, am I inflexibly flexible, or flexibly inflexible?"

  She elbowed me in the ribs. "What you are is incorrigible."

  "Is that a good thing?"

  "Only when I’m in the mood."

  I turned to her, wrapped her up in my arms. Lightly rested my chin on her head. "I’m a little too tired, bascha."

  "Not that kind of mood."

  I smiled into the darkness. "I know."

  "He is attractive, Tiger, and not without charm and that sense of presence I mentioned before. But he is not you."

  "Next best thing?"

  "Well, I suppose if you got yourself killed in a sword-dance tomorrow, I might consider it."

  "So as long as I’m alive, you’re satisfied?"

  "Unless you decided to revert to the Tiger I met in that dusty cantina four years ago. Then I’d have to kill you myself."

  Considering she’d nearly done it once, I knew she was capable. "Then I’ll be on my best behavior."

  "Oh, no, be on your worst. Because then I can train that out of you."

  I sighed deeply, rubbing my cheek against her hair. Stubble caught on it. "I want to live to be an old man, with you there beside me."

  "So you will, and so I will be."

  The truth was, either of us could die tomorrow. But we knew it. Accepted it. Were unafraid.

  For ourselves, that is. I know we feared for one another.

  THIRTY-ONE

  At dawn, as the others lay sleeping, I carried the vertebra and rib bone out to where Del had found them. Nayyib had dug up all the visible pieces of wood; hollows and indentations were left to show where he had worked, but the first whisper of wind would cover those up, leaving no trace of the wagon. A few paces away Del had found the bones. I knelt, set the two fragments aside, used the edge of my right hand to ease away more fine sand. After some time I gave up the search; the rest of the bones could be anywhere, carried away in countless simooms over forty years. That any had been left for our discovery was miraculous.

  I smiled wryly, remembering that supposedly I was the jhihadi. It was a ludicrous idea — and utterly untrue. I was just a man who seemed to fit pieces of the prophecy certain religious zealots had adopted, and I’d come up with a good idea in channeling water to the desert. But anyone could have come up with that idea. It just happened to be me.

  I sat there on the sand, vertebra in one hand, rib in the other. It was very difficult to believe they were from my mother; that with flesh over them, and muscle, tendon, ligament, not to men-tion the vessels carrying blood, they had been part of a living woman.

  A living woman who had somehow sent a message to me in my dreams.

  But I wished I could have seen her as she had been, before the borjuni raid killed her. When she had been woman, not a scattering of bones across the sand, or a speaking skull telling me to find her, to take up the sword.

  I leaned forward, dug a pocket in th
e sand, pressed the bones into it. Feathered sand over the top. The next storm would bury them more deeply, or strip away the covering so that the wind, in its exuberance, might carry them on a journey.

  It crossed my mind that perhaps I should have them sent back to the metri on Skandi, so she might have a little something of her daughter to bury or burn, according to Skandic rites, and to mourn. But my grandmother didn’t strike me as the type of woman who would do that. Or appreciate the thought.

  Love for my father had brought my mother here. Best they remained together.

  I pressed three sword-callused fingers over the slight upswell of sand, bid her goodbye, then left her.

  Some time later we rode out of the Punja, onto the road — this time I had no problem heading south — and into Julah. I suggested we put up the horses at a different livery, which we did, then went to Fouad’s by way of alleys and entered via the back door. It startled Fouad half to death as we snuck in, but when he saw who it was, he settled. His look at me was oddly assessing; I wondered what he saw. I was still tired from the magery I’d used first on the storm, then to read my mother’s bones, and was looking forward to a night’s sleep in a real bed. Especially since I’d missed it the last time we were here.

  Then Fouad looked at Nayyib, narrowed his eyes as he sought to figure out who he was; his face cleared, and he nodded. He recalled the kid from when he’d come looking for a healer. Del shut and latched the door behind us.

  "Food, no doubt, and drink," Fouad said. "Yes?"

  "Yes to both," I agreed. "Del and the kid will eat in the front room; how about you send something back to me? I’d rather keep my head down, after what happened the last time.

  Fouad’s eyes flicked to Nayyib again, clearly questioning his presence. The kid had been taught his manners: He bowed slightly, smiling. "Neesha," he said. "I am privileged to be the Sandtiger’s student."

  Fouad’s eyebrows ran up into his hair as he looked at me. "Student?"

  I shrugged, deciding now was as good a time as any to announce my intentions. "I plan to restore Alimat and take up my shodo’s role."

  "Alimat! But it was destroyed years ago!" Fouad shook his head. "And I doubt the other sword-dancers will let you. Particularly Abbu Bensir."

  "If they want to take it up with me, they’re welcome to. That in itself would provide a valuable lesson for the students."

  "Watching you die? I would say so!" He glanced at Del. "You’re amenable?"

  Del mimicked my shrug. "Why not? There will be two teachers: a Southron sword-dancer and a Northern sword-singer. What other school may claim that?"

  "And one student already," Neesha added.

  Fouad wagged his head back and forth thoughtfully. "Well, you will most certainly draw students — until someone kills you."

  I scowled. "I appreciate the confidence. Now, how about that food and drink?"

  "I’ll eat with you," Del offered, turning toward the back hallway.

  Neesha grinned wickedly. "While I eat out front and attempt to charm Fouad’s wine-girls."

  Fouad grunted. "I suspect you’ll have any number of offers be-fore the food’s on the table. But come along; I’ll introduce you as a friend of the new owners. That ought to be good enough for a discount." His tone went dry as dust. "That is, if they don’t decide to offer themselves for free, as has been known to happen with certain regular customers I won’t mention in present company."

  Neesha, still grinning, threw a conspiratorial look over his shoulder at Del and me as if to make sure we understood what he was doing.

  "Well, at least he’s not entirely oblivious." I turned Del and propelled her toward the back bedroom. "I guess if he’s got enough sense to know when we need some privacy, it won’t be so bad having him ride with us."

  Del, allowing herself to be propelled, merely laughed. "I don’t think he’s doing that so much for our privacy as he is for his own! Fouad’s right: The girls will be fighting over him the moment he sits down. I rather think our new student will be most busy tonight."

  I pulled back our door curtain. "I rather think we will be most busy tonight."

  "And tomorrow?"

  "Tomorrow we load the horses and head out again for the chimney at Beit al’Shahar. There’s a sword I need to have a discussion with."

  Del sat down on the bed and began to unlace her sandals. "If you can find it. The whole formation collapsed, Tiger. Your jivatma may be completely buried."

  "Worth a look anyhow." I stripped off the harness, unsheathed the sword, set it point down against one of the bedside tables. "If I can’t get to it, no one can; but my mother seemed fairly certain it could be found. I mean, who would have thought I could find her bones out there in the Punja? On the basis of dreams? It may be possible I can find Samiel, too."

  "And if —" She corrected herself, "when — you do?"

  "Dunno." I sat down, yawned, rolled my head against my shoulders, stretching tendons.

  "He’s still a jivatma, Tiger. You used Northern magic to make him — and now you have your own magic as well."

  "A magical sword, wielded by a mage who is also the long-lost grandson of one of the Eleven gods-descended Families of Skandi — and who also happens to be the jhihadi." I flopped down against the bed. "Something for people to write sagas and sing songs about, don’t you think?"

  Del, barefoot now, undid the buckles of her harness. " ’The Sword-Dancer’s Tale.’ Well, perhaps."

  "Maybe ’The Tale of Tiger.’ "

  " ’And Del.’ "

  My eyes drifted closed. "As long as my name goes first."

  "Not when it’s sung or told in the North, it doesn’t."

  I smiled. "Depends on the audience, I guess. Hmm — what about ’The Tiger’s Tale’?" "Or The Tiger’s Tail’?" I stuck my tongue out at her. "If you’re asleep when the food and drink arrives, do you want me to wake you up?"

  "I’m not going to sleep. I’m resting my eyes."

  "Do you want me to wake you up from resting your eyes?"

  "Sure," I mumbled, "a man’s got to keep up his strength to satisfy his woman." And slid into the abyss before she could respond.

  Del did indeed wake me up when the food and drink arrived. She slapped a cupped hand across my abdomen, making odd, hollowed, clapping sounds against my skin. Not entirely the most subtle way to awaken a sleeper.

  "Up," she said. "Food’s here."

  I scrunched up against the wall at the head of the bed, inspecting the skin of my abdomen. Then I helped myself to the platter bearing bread-bowls of mutton stew, cheese, grapes, and a small jug of what turned out to be ale.

  "Tiger, we need a door on this room."

  I slugged down about half the ale, then licked the foam from my upper lip. "We have a door."

  "That’s a door way . I mean a door. I’d like some privacy, if we’re to stay here now and again."

  "There’s a curtain."

  "I would like a wooden door. With a latch."

  I plucked grapes from their stems with my teeth and spoke around them. "Why so formal?"

  "Because unless you don’t mind everyone else knowing our business, with all manner of false conclusions drawn about the fair-haired Northern bascha — for example, how much does Fouad charge for me? — I think we need a door. A wooden door. With a latch."

  "You have a point." I dropped the denuded grape stems back on the platter. "I’ll have a word with Fouad. Anything else you’d like, while we’re at it?"

  "Well, I’d recommend he dismiss all the wine-girls who double as whores, but I’m quite sure he would not agree to that."

  "I think that’s a safe conclusion. We’d probably lose all kinds of business and thus all kinds of profit. We’d have to close down."

  "The gods forfend," Del said dryly, reaching for the other jug; water, no doubt.

  I paused before putting a chunk of cheese in my mouth. "You don’t sound particularly enamored of being a partner in a thriving cantina. Just think of the benefits!"


  "What benefits? Other than free drinks for you?"

  "We’ll be the first to hear all rumors and reports of whatever may be going on in the world. At least, our little corner of it."

  "That’s a benefit?"

  "It is when you know anywhere from ten to twenty men are bent on executing you."

  "And you’ll run back here to hide any time one of them comes into the cantina?"

  "Oh, no. We’ll clear all the furniture out of the common room, cut a circle into the hardpack, then charge admission for the dance. Plus take a percentage of the side bets." I grinned wickedly. "Rather like we used to do, when we needed money."

  Del used her knife to carve curling strips of cheese from the hunk Fouad had sent along. "Those were not actual dances."

  "Which means we can charge even more money for a real one."

  Her eyes were on the cheese, but her idle tone was nonetheless underscored by solemnity. "What will it take to make them stop?"

  "Once I kill enough of them, the rest will find other things to do."

  "I’m serious, Tiger."

  "So am I. It’s true. I killed Khashi quickly and brutally in front of many witnesses. Then I won a difficult sword-dance against a very, very good young man, in front of a whole slug of sword-dancers. Once I kill a few more, most of them will stop coming."

  "And will it be like Fouad suggested, that they’ll want to stop you from resurrecting Alimat?"

  "Very likely." I took up horn spoon and bread-bowl of stew and began scooping the contents into my mouth. Seeing Del’s concern, I paused between bites. "I have to see it settled, bascha. We can’t go North, and I have no desire to return to Skandi, where I’d likely be hauled off to ioSkandi again and stuck back atop the spires in Meteiera. I also have no desire to go haring off to foreign lands. The South, despite all its problems, is my home. Coming back made me realize that. I won’t run away again."

  She nodded, clearly troubled. "I know."

  I sighed, set down the bowl and spoon. "Del, something happened to me. I became aware of it when I was Umir’s ’guest.’ I don’t know how it happened, and I can’t even be sure it will happen again, but when I danced, when I took up my sword — I felt as if I had all four fingers on each hand."