Sword-Bound

by Jennifer Roberson

  He pulled himself together. “My master extends an invitation for you to take tea with him. I am not authorized to inform you of the employment he has to offer. Will you come?”

  Tea. Not one of my favorite drinks. Especially effang tea, gritty, thick, offensive, but customary in the South. Maybe I could talk the man into some aqivi, now that I was drinking it again. But it wasn’t entirely my decision.

  I glanced at Neesha, who shrugged. “The horse farm will be there when we’re done. And this might be an adventure.”

  I laughed, then looked back at the short man. “There are three of us,” I said. “Including the woman.”

  He was torn. Utterly torn. “Will you come without her?”

  “I will not.”

  He sighed deeply and began to turn away. Then he swung back. A hint of desperation showed in his face. “The woman comes.”

  “And me,” Neesha added.

  The servant barely looked at him. He gestured expansively, one smooth hand sweeping out of its silken sleeve. “This way, my lord Sandtiger.”

  I grinned at Neesha as I followed the man.

  Rather than Umir’s sprawling brick palace, this tanzeer currently occupied a series of elaborate tents. And we did not see him immediately. Well, we didn’t see him at all—only I was given the honor of stepping into the man’s presence. And what he desired of me might indeed qualify as one of Neesha’s adventures. But I didn’t think it was one we could accept.

  When I was guided back to the guest tent, I found Del and my son ensconced comfortably on low divans, nearly buried in colorful tribal pillows, picking black grapes off a cluster and eating pale green melon chunks.

  “You started without me?” Half of me was serious. I sat down on the edge of Del’s divan and began dining on various kinds of fruit. Wine was also offered in a ceramic carafe. I tasted it and nearly spat it out; too sweet for me.

  Neesha had no patience. “Well?”

  I ate a little more. Then sighed. “He’s the tanzeer of Hafiz, which is where we are. A small domain, yet wealthy; next door to Dumaan, also small, but not wealthy.” The South was full of domains large and small. Basically, it depended on who was strong enough to keep his patch of dirt and sand. “But there might be a slight problem with this. We might want to consider continuing our journey to your mother’s place.”

  Neesha frowned. “Why? Coin is coin. Does he want us to kill someone?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well then,” he said, “what’s the problem?”

  “He’s a khemi.”

  “Oh,” Neesha said after a moment. “Uh-oh.”

  Del frowned at us both. “What? What do I not know?”

  I sighed. “It’s a religious sect. An offshoot of the Hamidaa faith. Hamidaa hold majority here in Hafiz.”

  She nodded acknowledgment, but the frown didn’t fade.

  “Khemi are zealots,” I explained. “They take the word of the Hamidaa’n—the sacred scrolls of the Hamidaa—rather literally.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “And what does the Hamidaa’n say?”

  I cleared my throat. “That women are abominations, unclean vessels that should not be touched, spoken to, or allowed to enter a khemi’s thoughts.”

  Silence. Neesha stopped chewing, waiting for Del’s reaction.

  “Pretty conclusive,” she observed after a moment. “Can’t be too many khemi left, if they don’t have congress with women.”

  She was taking it better than I’d expected. “I imagine they’ve figured out a few loopholes, since the job involves a son. Ordinarily I’d have turned it down, of course, since I do have some sensibilities, after all, but, well, it’s not entirely up to me.”

  Neesha was puzzled. “Just what is this job?”

  “We are expected to negotiate the release of this son, who was kidnapped two months ago.”

  “Negotiate.” Del nodded. “That means steal back. Who, how, and when?”

  “Name’s Dario,” I said. “Soon as possible.”

  “Of course,” Del said dryly. “But that’s the who and the when. What about the how?”

  “Haven’t gotten that far. I wanted to leave something for you and Neesha to contribute.”

  “Hoolies,” Neesha said, reaching for the wine carafe. “I have no idea. Steal back a kid?”

  “We stole you,” I reminded him.

  “You traded for me,” Neesha clarified. “I’m worth a book.”

  “You’re worth a grimoire,” I said. “A book of magic. Better than just a book.”

  “Ah,” he said. “Certainly it’s better if my life is worth more than a book.”

  Del smiled briefly, but she was more interested in the central topic. “I imagine this khemi had an explanation for why his son was kidnapped in the first place.”

  “Claims the neighboring tanzeer of Dumaan took the boy to force trade concessions. And Hafiz is more than willing to pay handsomely.” I pulled the leather purse out of a pocket in my russet burnous and rattled the contents. “Half up front, half after.”

  “Sounds easy enough,” Neesha observed. “When do we leave?”

  “About a half hour ago.”

  Chapter 8

  REZ WAS A SMALL ENOUGH TOWN, capping a domain not much larger. No wonder the tanzeer of Dumaan had deemed it necessary to go to such dramatic lengths as kidnapping to get concessions from Hafiz’s tanzeer. Hafiz was a rich domain. Hafiz had wealth to spare. Dumaan wasn’t and didn’t.

  Del, Neesha, and I did a careful reconnoitering of Rez, locating the puny palace and paying strict attention to the comings and goings of palace servants. It is the servant population that forms the heart of any tanzeer’s palace; subsequently, it is the servant population that forms the heart of any city, town, village. You don’t see a tanzeer without first seeing his loyal servants, any more than you break into a tanzeer’s palace without first figuring out how to get past his loyal servants.

  A day spent taking turns loitering outside the ramshackle walls of the dilapidated palace with the rest of the bored petitioners gained us a little information. We now knew one thing was certain: Rez’s tanzeer didn’t subscribe to the same religion Hafiz’s did. Or there wouldn’t be female servants on marketing expeditions. And there certainly wouldn’t be harem girls.

  It was Del who came up with the idea. Neesha and I mostly watched the silk-swathed women spill out of the palace gates, giggling among themselves like children. Hoolies, for all I knew they were children; the silk burnouses hid everything save hands and sandaled feet, and the hands clutched at bright draperies eagerly, unwilling to share with the petitioners what the tanzeer saw any time he wanted. They were accompanied by three men in correspondingly bright silks and turbans; eunuchs, I knew, judging by bulk and Southron custom.

  As we watched, Del considered. And then she guided us off into the labyrinthine market stalls and explained her plan.

  Since she wouldn’t let either of us talk, I did, in silence, what I could to dissuade her. I shook my head repeatedly, vehemently rejecting her suggestion. Neesha looked from one to the other of us.

  Finally, Del stopped and glared at me. “Have you a better idea? Or any idea at all?”

  I scowled. “That’s unfair. I haven’t had time to think of one.”

  “No. You’ve been too busy ogling harem girls. Both of you.” She motioned us to be quiet and stay put. “Wait here while I get the things we need.” And she was gone.

  Disgruntled, I waited in the shade of a saffron-dyed canvas awning, out of direct sunlight. The Southron sun can leach the sense from your head if you stay in it too long; I wondered if it had finally gotten to Del’s Northern brains.

  Neesha moved up beside me. “I don’t see how this will work.”

  “You should have said so,” I observed sourly.

  “She wouldn’t have listened to me.”

  I grunted. “Half the time she doesn’t listen to me.”

  “Oh, that’s not true.”

  I scowled
at him. “Whose side are you on?”

  “Oh, neither side,” Neesha said. “I learned it’s best for me to remain in the middle if you two argue.”

  Del came back a while later lugging an armload of silks and spent several minutes laboriously separating them until she had apparel sorted out. And then I began to understand.

  “Del—”

  “Put the clothes on. Both of you.” She plopped a creamy silken turban down on top of the pile in my arms, then thrust amber-hued clothing, and turban into Neesha’s chest. “We’re going into the palace as soon as we’re dressed.”

  I gritted my teeth. “You want us to masquerade as eunuchs.”

  Neesha was startled. “You do?”

  “Neither of you can masquerade as a harem girl, can you? You’re too tall. You have to be eunuchs.”

  “You’re not a whole lot shorter, you know.”

  “Ah, but I have breasts.”

  Neither Neesha nor I could come up with a good riposte to that.

  A smile curved the corners of her mouth. “Get dressed. We’ll be in and out in no time with Dario in tow. And don’t forget to use the veil to cover the bottom half of your faces. Eunuchs don’t have beard stubble.”

  “The khemi may have the right idea about you women,” I muttered in disgust, staring at the clothing in my arms.

  Neesha asked plaintively, “How does a eunuch act?”

  “Probably not much different from the Sandtiger or his son.” Her words were muffled behind the multitudinous robes she was bundling herself into. “Ready?”

  Neesha and I hadn’t even begun to put on the bright silks.

  “Hurry,” she urged. “We have to insinuate ourselves into that flock of Southron sillies. And they’re due to come by here about—now. Tiger, Neesha—come on—”

  Silks whipping, tassels flying, Del hastened after the women as they bobbed and weaved their way through the narrow stallways on their way back to the palace. Hastily we jerked on our eunuch’s robes, slapped turbans on our heads, hid swords in silk, exchanged glances of resignation, and went after her.

  We passed guard after guard on our way into the palace. Del fit in with the other girls well enough—though a head taller than most—but I felt about as innocuous as a sandtiger in a flock of day-old goats, and Neesha clearly didn’t believe we could pull this off. Nonetheless, no one paid much attention as we paraded down the corridors of the musty old palace.

  I wasn’t certain I liked being taken so easily for a eunuch.

  I watched as Del in her rose-colored robes allowed the other girls to move ahead of her. Now we brought up the rear. I saw Del’s quick hand gesture; we ducked out going around the next bend and huddled in a cavernous doorway.

  “All right,” she murmured. “We’ve passed four corridors. I overheard that Dario’s supposed to be in a room off the fifth. Come on.”

  Sighing, I followed as she darted out of the doorway and headed down the appropriate corridor at a run. Neesha was behind me. I didn’t run, but only because I decided it was not in keeping with a eunuch’s decorum.

  We caught up to her outside yet another doorway. This one bore a large iron lock attached to the handle. “Dario?” I asked.

  Del shrugged. “This is what I heard one of the women say.”

  I glanced around the corridor uneasily. “Fine. You trust them, then. Did they slip you a key as well?”

  “I already had one.” She displayed it. “I borrowed it from the same eunuch who donated his clothing to you.”

  “Can we hurry up?” Neesha asked nervously. “Our luck can’t hold forever.”

  The kid obviously needed more experience with adventuring, if this was going to bother him. I mean, the likely punishment, were we caught, was being turned into real eunuchs.

  Now I was nervous.

  She turned and inserted the key into the lock. Iron grated on iron; I wished for a little fat to oil the mechanism. But just about the time I was opening my mouth to urge a little more care, the lock surrendered and the door was ours.

  Del shoved, but nothing happened. Neesha and I leaned on it a little and felt it move. Rust sifted from all the hinges. But the door stood open at last.

  The room, as we’d hoped, was occupied. The occupant stood in the precise center of the little room—cell, really—and stared at us anxiously. He was, I judged, not much past ten or twelve. Dark-haired, dark-skinned, brown-eyed, clad in silken jade-green jodhpurs and soiled lime-colored tunic; two months had played havoc with all his finery. He was thin, a little gaunt, but still had both arms, both legs, his head. Rez’s tanzeer, it appeared, didn’t want to injure Hafiz’s heir, only to arrange a more equitable trade alliance.

  And now the leverage was gone.

  “Here, Dario.” Del, smiling encouragingly, reached under a couple of layers of silken harem robes and pulled out more clouds of the stuff. Orange. It dripped from her hands: a woman’s robes. “Put these on. Use the hood and modesty veil. Walk with your head down. Stay close to me and they’ll never know the difference.” Her warm smile flashed again. “We’re getting you out of this place.”

  The boy didn’t move. “Hamidaa’n tells us women are abominations, unclean vessels placed upon the earth by demons. They are the excrescence of all our former lives.” Dario spoke matter-of-factly in a thin, clear voice. “I will touch nothing of women, speak to no women, admit nothing of women into my thoughts. I am khemi.”

  After a moment of absolute silence in which all I could hear were the rats scraping in the wall and Neesha’s breathing close behind me, I looked at Del.

  She was pale but otherwise unshaken. At least, I thought she was. Sometimes you can’t tell, with her. She can be cold, she can be hard, she can be ruthless—out of the circle as well as in. But she can also laugh and cry and shout aloud in an almost childish display of spirits too exuberant to be contained.

  She did none of those things now, but I thought, as I watched her looking at the boy, she had never met an opponent such as this son of the Hamidaa’n. And I thought, She is at a loss for what to do and how to answer for the first time in her life.

  Slowly I squatted down in the cell. I was eye to eye with the boy. I pulled down the veil so he could see the beard stubble and know I was not a eunuch. “Choices,” I said casually, “are sometimes difficult to make. A man may believe a choice between life and death is no choice at all, given his preference for staying alive, but it isn’t always that simple. Now, something tells me you’d like very much to get out of here. Am I right?”

  His chin trembled a little. He firmed it. “My father will send men to rescue me.”

  “Your father sent us to rescue you.” I didn’t bother to tell him his khemi father had no idea one of my partners was a woman.

  Neesha spoke quietly. “A choice, Dario. Come with us now and we’ll take you to your father, or stay here in this stinking rat-hole.”

  Something squeaked and scrabbled in the wall behind the boy. I couldn’t have said it—or timed it—better.

  Dario looked down at his bare feet sharply. Like the rest of him, they were dirty. But they also bore torn, triangular rat bites.

  I closed a hand over one thin shoulder, picking up Neesha’s theme. “Choices, Dario, are sometimes easy to make. But, once made, you have to live with them.”

  He was shaking. Tears gathered in his eyes. Teeth bit into his lower lip as he stared resolutely at me, ignoring Del altogether. “Hamidaa’n tells us women are abominations, unclean vessels—”

  He stopped talking because I closed his mouth with my hand. I am large. So is my hand. Most of Dario’s face disappeared beneath my palm and fingers. “Enough,” I told him pleasantly. “I have no doubts you can quote scripture with the best of them, khemi, but now is not the time. Now is the time for you to make your choice.” I released him and rose, gesturing toward Del and the silks.

  Dario scrubbed the heel of a grimy hand across an equally dirty face. He stretched the flesh all out of shape, especially arou
nd the eyes—an attempt to persuade imminent tears to go elsewhere immediately. He caught a handful of lank hair behind an ear and tugged, hard, as if hoping that pain would make the decision itself less painful. I watched the boy struggle with his convictions and thought him very strong, if totally misguided.

  Finally he looked up at me from fierce brown eyes. “I will walk out like this. In these clothes.”

  “And be caught in an instant,” I pointed out. “The idea here, Dario, is to pass you off as a woman—or at least a girl—because otherwise we don’t stand a chance of getting you out.” I glanced sidelong at Del; her silence is always very eloquent. Neesha also offered nothing. “Decide, Dario. We can’t waste any more time on you.”

  He flinched. But he made his decision more quickly than I’d expected. “You hand me the clothes.”

  That annoyed the hoolies out of me. “Oh, I see—from my hands they’re cleaner?” I jerked the silks from Del’s hand and threw them at Dario. “Put them on. Now.”

  He allowed them to slither off his body to the ground. I thought he might grind them into the soiled flooring, but he didn’t. He picked them up and dragged them over his head, sliding stiff arms through the sleeves. The silks were much too large for him, but I thought as long as we stuffed him among us, it might work.

  “Now,” I said, and Neesha and I each grabbed an arm and hustled Dario out of the cell right behind Del. We reached the nearest exit. I leaned on the door and it grated open, spilling sunlight into the corridor—and came face to face with six large eunuchs. Armed eunuchs.

  “Hoolies,” Neesha muttered, freeing his sword even as I did.

  Chapter 9

  FOR A MOMENT I THOUGHT MAYBE, just maybe, we might fool the eunuchs. But I’d dropped my face veil for Dario. No doubt I was not a eunuch. They each drew a sword and advanced through the door as we gave way into the corridor.

  I said, “I think our luck just ran out.”

  “Something like,” Del agreed, and parted the folds of her silken robes to yank her own sword free.