Del and I looked at one another. Now there was no need for us to go to the burned farm, to look for hoofprints. Merely to ride to Istamir.
I very much wanted to ask Neesha why he hadn’t told us that earlier. Del read it in my face. She eased the gelding around so his back was to the house, to Neesha. Very quietly, she said, “Let it go. Too many distractions for him.”
To my son, I said, “Go back in, get out of the rain. We’ll return as soon as we can.”
He nodded, lifted a hand, but was too distracted to offer anything else. He disappeared inside.
“The raiders might go elsewhere,” Del suggested. “The horses will be known here.”
“But we’ll have to look in Istamir first. Ask a few questions.”
We exchanged nods and set both horses to a hard gallop.
Chapter 26
THE BURNED FARMHOUSE WAS ON OUR WAY TO ISTAMIR, but well before reaching it the rain began to fall harder. Both of us wore our hoods up, but the rain didn’t particularly care about that; it slanted in different directions. The ground now was soggy, and the horses’ manes and tails hung in soaked strings. There was much shaking of heads by both Del’s gelding and the stud, and whipping tails meant to express irritation. Occasionally the stud swung his so hard that it slapped against my coat and soaked strands stuck there until I peeled them off. Hooves brought up mud, splattering sandaled feet and the hems of our coats.
Del and I rode abreast. I slid my hood back partway. “How long is this going to last?”
She didn’t look at me. “Until it stops.”
“Bascha—”
“I don’t know, Tiger. Truly.” The hood was aimed upward, as if she looked at the sky. “The clouds are still heavy.”
“I don’t like this,” I complained. “This is too much water.”
“Well, the South has too much heat and sand.”
“You could drown in this!”
Del pushed her hood back into place. We were practically shouting at one another because of the rainfall and the sounds of the horses. She said something.
“What?”
“I said, I don’t think so!”
“Well, it feels like it!”
“It’s more pleasant than a sandstorm.”
“I’m used to those. I know what to do.”
“You should know what to do in the rain, too: get out of it. And if you ask me, the South could stand a few rainstorms now and then. There would be streams and rivers, and everyone could eat fish.”
“I don’t need to eat fish.”
“You eat fish regularly, Tiger. You are being foolish.”
“Yeah, I know.” I pulled my hood up farther. “I wish Neesha were coming with us. It would be a help with Rashida and the horses.”
“He’s best staying there right now, to aid his mother. And if Harith dies, Neesha will be all Danika has. He knows horses. He could do the work Harith was doing.”
And so she said what I’d begun to fear in the back of my mind. Yes, Neesha wanted to rise through the seven levels of sword-dancer training, but he was a dutiful son. Danika and Rashida would both need his help.
“But Harith may not die,” Del said.
Sometimes she knew exactly what I was thinking. I was never certain how to take that. “No, he may not.”
“If he recovers, Neesha may come back home,” she said.
He might. He might not. But I didn’t want to talk about mights and maybes. “Is that the house?”
Del peered ahead. The rain was so heavy it was difficult to see much through it. “I think…yes. It is.”
“No more fire, no more hot areas,” I said. “We might be able to find shelter. This rain will stop the raiders, too. They’ll hole up under oilcloth, or, if they’re in Istamir, under a roof.”
The house was a massive pile of burned timbers and planks, most collapsed upon one another. Del and I rode to the corral we’d repaired for temporary use, untacked the horses, and turned them into it. Rain had already filled the water trough to the halfway point. We hauled saddles, bridles, supplies, bedding, to the remains of the house, where we set them in front of what had been the door. Then we made our way in, kicking wet wood aside, and hunted for some portion of the house that might keep off the rain.
“Ah,” I said. “Neesha’s sword. I forgot he’d dropped it when I threw him out of the house.” I bent, picked it up. Peered up through what remained of the framework, all wood charred. Rain hit me in the face.
Del was in another room. “Tiger—a little shelter here.”
I made my way to her through burned planking and fallen timbers. I discovered a section of wall not burned through. Del was wrestling with planks that had not succumbed entirely to the fire.
“Here.” I set down Neesha’s sword and grabbed one of the planks. “What are you doing?”
“Leaning them up against the wall. I think we have four that will stand. We’ll make a lean-to.” She heaved at a plank. “Such as it is.”
We did manage to lean four planks against the partial wall still standing, though they were of different lengths. As shelter it wasn’t much, but would still shed some of the rain.
I stripped off my coat. “Give me yours. I’ll go wrap the tack and our things in them, best as I can. Not perfect, but better than more rain getting to them.”
I picked up Neesha’s sword and crunched back through charred wood to the front of the house, where I wrapped saddles, pouches, bedrolls, and Neesha’s sword in the oilcloth. He’d need to clean and hone it, but at least he’d have a blade again.
With the sun occluded by the clouds, I couldn’t sort out what time it might be, but I thought probably late morning, not yet midday. That left a fair amount of time to make our way to Istamir by evening, if the rain stopped. I peered up at the sky, shielding my eyes against the rain as best I could. I had no experience with rain clouds, but I saw no promise that the rain might halt anytime soon. I thought for a moment, weighing crude shelter against riding in rain. And I wondered if Rashida were wet, wherever she was.
Ah, hoolies. I made my way back to Del, sandaled feet blackened by wet, charred wood. I leaned down beneath the slanted planks. “I don’t like it.”
She was seated, leaning against the wall. “The rain? Yes. You already said that.”
“No. Staying here while the raiders are doing who knows what, where they are doing it, and to whom they may be doing it.”
Del squinted against the fractured rain that made its way through the leaning planks. “I thought you wanted to stop. You said the raiders would look for shelter, too.”
“Well, I could be wrong.” I raised a finger. “Mind you, I said ‘could be.’”
Del rose, bent, ducked out from under the lean to. “Or they could be in Istamir.”
“They could.”
“Nothing to stop them keeping the horses some distance away from Istamir, then bringing them in for Marketday a few at a time, per man.”
“No, nothing,” I agreed. When Del picked her way past me, I followed. It was true I’d wanted shelter, but all I’d do is sit there twitching, wanting to be on my way. Rashida’s welfare depended on it. I did not want to imagine what she might be going through while Del and I sat under planks set against what could be the last standing portion of a wall in the house where she grew up.
Outside, Del said she would get the horses while I unwrapped our belongings. Neesha’s sword might present a slight problem, since there wasn’t room for two blades in a sheath—in the rain, we wore our swords as usual with hilts poking through a seam, but with a flap of oilcloth fastened over them—but I improvised. I dug out a roll of muslin bandages and wrapped it around and around the blade. Once Del was back with the horses, I readied the stud, held Neesha’s sword in one hand, and mounted. The wrapped sword I slid through the top leather strap of my stirrups, then settled my thigh over it. The hilt poked free of my leg.
Del, as she mounted, looked a little bedraggled. Her soaked braid hung out of the ho
od, and droplets ran down her face. While the rain wasn’t terribly cold, we were nonetheless wet and it robbed us of body heat. I could imagine I didn’t look much better than Del. She climbed into the saddle, cast me a glance that asked a question.
I shrugged. “Sooner there, sooner done.”
Once again, we galloped east toward Istamir.
As we approached the town, I felt somewhat relieved that it was raining, despite my complaints. No one would be out of doors, going about their business. Those free to escape the rain inside a tavern, house, or rented room, would stay put. Which meant it was unlikely any sword-dancers were out where they could see and recognize me.
We were here for Rashida and the horses, not sword-dances. But I could be challenged at any moment. Rafa was dead, but Eddrith wasn’t—Darrion didn’t count—which meant the other two rumored sword-dancers could be hanging around, whoever they were. I suspected word was passed that I had departed, but as Danika had said, it was hard to miss me with the scars on my face. A fair number of people knew me by them: sword-dancers, tanzeers, tavern keepers, and possibly others I couldn’t count. For now the hood would hide me, but once the storm broke and the sun came out, there’d be no need for the coat, and a man who kept his hood pulled up in the sunlight would be even more noticeable.
We entered the town, horse hooves clopping on paving stones and splashing through puddles. Water ran swiftly in a miniature stream down the center of the street. We passed two cantinas—taverns, here in the North—including the one with the red-and-yellow sign, and an inn.
“I can go into the taverns,” Del said. “I’m not so out of place here as I am in the South. I’m one of many Northerners. You could wait for me.” I began to object, but Del rode right over the top of my words with a raised voice. “We have no time to waste,” she reminded me. “You being challenged to a dance wastes it. I’ll go into taverns and inns, ask a few questions about a red-haired man.”
It sounded unlikely. “You believe borjuni will be staying at an inn? Really?”
“It’s not impossible. And who’s to stop them?”
I still found it unlikely. “You could be recognized by one of his men,” I reminded her. “They saw you at Mahmood’s caravan when they attacked. Once seen, no one forgets you.”
“They will if I’m not wearing harness and sword. In a burnous, I’ll be just another Northern woman.”
My hood slid back. I pulled it forward again. “Bascha, trust me—you could never be just another Northern woman.”
She turned her head and shot me an irritable glance. “You know very well what I mean. You go to Marketfield and talk to Mahmood—he may have seen the red-haired man if the raiders have brought the horses in. I’ll see what I can find out in taverns. It shouldn’t be difficult. Men are willing to talk to me.”
That resulted in me laughing aloud, and loudly. When most of the laughter died away into the occasional chuckle, I shook my head. “Gods, Del, you have a true gift for understatement!”
She scowled, worked her way out of her coat, took off the harness with its sheathed sword. She moved her horse closer to me and thrust the harness and sword into my hands. “Take this to Mahmood. He can keep it for me.” She pulled her coat back on and tugged it into place swiftly before she got too wet. “I’ll meet you at Mahmood’s camp.”
“I don’t like it,” I told her. “You without a sword.”
She hitched one shoulder in a slight shrug. “Without one, people are less likely to recognize me. And they certainly won’t challenge me.”
“Darrion did. I’ll bet Eddrith would.”
“Not if I have no sword.”
Well, she was right. By the codes, sword-dancers need not accept challenges if, by their own free choice, they were not wearing a sword. It didn’t matter for me, but it did for Del. I knew what she said was the truth.
“Well, I still don’t like it.”
Del’s smile was faint. “You don’t have to.” She turned her gelding and rode away from me.
I scowled after her. You just couldn’t change Delilah’s mind once she had it set on something. Sometimes that was a good thing. Other times, such as this one, it annoyed the hoolies out of me.
The clouds began to break just as I tracked down Mahmood’s caravan. His wagon was all closed up, silks and spices tucked away; himself as well, if he weren’t at a tavern. I rode up to the back end and used the pommel of Del’s sword to knock on the wagon. I heard a body moving around, some activity. After a moment, Mahmood stuck his head out.
“Oh,” he said in surprise. “You’re back.”
And before either of us could say another word, the stud let loose with a spine-rattling, lengthy shake, spraying water in every direction. Poor Mahmood received much of it in his face. He scowled at me, disappeared a moment, then stuck his head out, wiping his face with a cloth.
“Will he do that again?” he asked, aggrieved.
I sighed deeply, trying to settle my bones back into their accustomed places. “Who knows. He does as he will. He’s stubborn that way.”
“Teach him better manners!”
The rain had let up. I pushed my hood down on my shoulders. “Speaking of horses, I understand there’s a horse fair here on Marketday?”
“There is. Every Marketday.”
“Have you seen any of the horses to be offered?”
Mahmood pushed open the snugged-down canvas. “How should I know? Horses are horses.”
“These have shorn manes. And Mahmood, it’s important. They were stolen from Neesha’s parents. Along with his sister.”
Mahmood stared in shock at me a moment, then shook his head. “I’ve seen none as you describe. Is Neesha here?”
“No, he’s staying with his mother. His father—well, stepfather—has a serious head injury and may not live. If you see any horses that suit, let me know.” I displayed harness and sword. “And can you put this in safekeeping? It’s Del’s. She’s checking taverns for that red-haired raider; I’m looking for horses with shorn manes.”
Mahmood took the harness and sword. “The red-haired man who attacked my caravan?”
“The same. He won’t be doing it much longer.” I gathered reins. “Del’s meeting me back here, if that’s all right.”
“Of course! Of course!” Mahmood made a shooing gesture. “Go! Find this man!”
The stud and I set out to do just that.
Chapter 27
MARKETFIELD WAS FULL OF WHEELED CONVEYANCES. Now that the rain had stopped, merchants began to open up their wagons again. Clouds broke apart and allowed the midday sun to strengthen, warming the air. But the earth was saturated, and puddles and rivulets didn’t dry up immediately. The stud splashed through, mud sucking at his hooves.
I wore sandals; I was not going to dismount unless I had to. I did, however, shrug out of the oilcloth coat and drape it across the saddle in front of me. My burnous was quite wet at the neck and hem; the latter was freighted with mud as well. I considered taking it off altogether, but that would make it obvious I was a sword-dancer. I’d just as soon not advertise it, though I knew there was a good chance I would be recognized. My facial scars did indeed identify me.
I rode slowly through the wagons, making no sign that I was looking for anyone specific. And in a way I wasn’t; what I sought now were horses with shorn manes. Even if I came across any, I wouldn’t confront anyone. Del and I would do that together. Six-to-two weren’t superlative odds, but we’d handled six before.
Hmm. We had fought six at Mahmood’s caravan, and killed four. Whoever was leader—and I tended to think it was the red-haired man, since he’d done all the shouting—must have replaced them, unless Danika had miscounted. But perhaps they were more than six, while each raiding party was kept to a smaller number. It didn’t really make any sense to me, but then I wasn’t a raider to think of such things.
Though perhaps I’d better think of such things if Del and I were to overcome the borjuni—especially if they had more me
n to draw on as needed. That suggested a tougher enemy than originally expected. An endless supply of men, all dedicated to killing whoever so they could take whatever they wished.
I rode onward, wandering idly through narrow alleyways, between wagons, in front of or behind various lines of conveyances. Horse teams were picketed here and there, close by their respective owners. The stud got snuffy and whipped his tail, stuck his head up in the air, developed a slight hump in his back as he pulled himself into a compact bundle. I swore. This was his there’s-a-mare-in-season-nearby-I-want-her behavior. It certainly wasn’t surprising in view of the fact horses were picketed all over, but neither was it appreciated.
As I rode I had conversations with the stud. I told him it really wasn’t necessary to show off, that certainly all the other males were geldings and offered no threat to his magnificence. He was unconvinced. The scent of mare—or mares, plural—turned his brain to goo. Only one thought remained in his head, and it had nothing to do with riding slowly through Marketfield.
“I don’t need this,” I told him, sitting loosely in the saddle so my body could adjust to whatever move he might make. “Really, a calm walk would do. The goal here is to not make ourselves obvious. We don’t want people noticing us, particularly if they happen to be attached to horses with shorn manes. This is reconnaissance, not a hunt.”
He was unimpressed.
“Honestly, every human knows you are the finest horse here. They have only to look at you to see your handsomeness. Even all the horses are impressed. Geldings, remember? No threat.”
Still unimpressed. He knew very well there were also mares present—which made perfect sense for a horse fair—and he wasn’t about to listen to me.
If I dismounted and attempted to lead him, he would be less my sandaled toes as I dismountedcontrollable, and I stood a good chance of being stomped on, intended or no. Best for me to stay in the saddle and guide him. Well, try to guide him.
Sword-Bound Page 22