Sword-Bound

by Jennifer Roberson

  She hesitated a moment. While I wanted to shout at her to get out of the tent, I knew better. The last thing she needed was yet another stranger shouting at her. “Will she kill him?”

  That caught me off-guard. “Probably.”

  “Good,” she said fiercely. “What about the others?”

  “Our plan is to kill all of them.”

  And again, “Good.”

  “Rasha. Your mother and father are with Sabir and Yahmina. They’re safe.”

  I saw immense relief. Then recognition filled her eyes. “You’re the Sandtiger!”

  “I am. Now, let’s go!”

  This time she came. I sheathed my sword quickly, guided her hastily outside as blades rang, cut the rope at her wrists with my knife, then swung her up into the stud’s saddle.

  “The reins,” she said, reaching. I grabbed the dangling reins and pushed them into her hands. I wanted her away from here as swiftly as possible. “Don’t forget to cut the lead-rope.”

  She’d grown up on a horse farm; I figured she could handle him just fine. But I asked. “He’s a stallion. Will you be all right?”

  She took offense. “I’ve ridden every stallion we’ve ever had at the farm!”

  I had to laugh as I cut the rope. I should have known she wasn’t likely to be a fading flower. Not someone who matched wooden blades with her older brother. Knife put away, I unsheathed my sword again. “Go,” I said. “Doesn’t matter where. Just get away from here as quickly as possible. Go to the wagons.” A thought struck me. “I take that back…find the man with the beautiful fabrics and spices. Mahmood. He’ll hide you.” I gave her directions, then slapped a hand on the stud’s rump and sent him away.

  I heard a blurt of shock even as I pulled aside the cut flaps of the tent wall. Del’s opponent was down, dying on the matting. Rasha would be pleased and I didn’t blame her.

  Sword raised and ready, Del spun to face me as I came through the slit. Recognized me and lowered her blade. “Rashida?”

  “I sent her to Mahmood’s.” Her face was tense, but she was unharmed. “Any others?” I asked.

  “This one,” she said. “One behind the tent, and the one you killed in front.”

  “And Zayid’s dead. That’s four.”

  “Where’s Eddrith?”

  “I don’t know. He cut the horses loose, and then I lost track of him.”

  She shook her sword, found and used a cloth to clean her blade. We have to go after them.”

  “On foot, then. Your white boy ran off—last I saw Darrion was chasing after him down the middle of the street—and Rashida has the stud.”

  “On foot, then,” she said grimly. “We must find them all.”

  “What we must do,” I said, “is get Rashida to safety, back with her parents.”

  I heard the sound of hooves approaching at a smart trot. “Go out the back,” I told her. “I’ll take the front.”

  Del nodded, ducked out. I went through.

  The man on horseback rode with his sword unsheathed. Blood ran off bright steel.

  “Oh,” I said.

  Tautly, Neesha asked, “Where’s my sister? Where’s Rasha?”

  “Safe,” I told him. “She’s on the stud, heading to Mahmood’s.”

  He looked immensely relieved; tension bled out of body and voice. “I killed one. I recognized him from the caravan attack. And I saw Eddrith drive his sword through another.”

  I added that to my mental tally. “Six. To my knowledge, that’s all.” Then, “What are you doing here?”

  Del had recognized Neesha’s voice. She came around the tent. “What are you doing here?”

  “Your father,” I said abruptly, envisioning death.

  “Awake again,” Neesha answered. “In pain, but better than he was. My mother told me to come here. Apparently I was underfoot.”

  “You must have ridden hard.”

  “The hardest I ever have.” And indeed, his bay showed white lines of sweat, foam along the sides of his neck. Neesha twisted in his saddle to look down the line of wagons. “Is Mahmood where he was?”

  I gave him directions, and he rode away. Del sheathed her sword. “We’ve accounted for all of them,” I said.

  Del wasn’t so certain. “All of them unless Zayid has a camp elsewhere.”

  “Zayid’s dead. If he doesn’t return, and the other five don’t return, either, whoever’s there will sort it out. Once they do, they’ll scatter.”

  Del wasn’t happy. “Yes, they’ll scatter—to raid again.”

  I shook my head. “We can’t rid the world of them all, bascha. Not even if we had a hundred men. We accomplished what we came for. Now let’s get Rashida home and settled. And then we can go home. I think Neesha, if he stays with them, will understand why we head back so quickly.” I sighed, grabbed the door flap, and ran an edge down my blade, rubbing it free of blood.

  “What do we do about Harith’s horses?” she asked.

  I looked around, searching. “They’ll be here somewhere. Neesha may have an idea. They should wander back at some point.”

  “Bodies,” she said.

  Two not far from us. Another behind the tent. Zayid in the middle of the street. And wherever Neesha and Eddrith had killed theirs. “I’m sure Istamir has a graveyard,” I said. And I was fairly certain Istamir also had a burial detail for inconvenient deaths.

  “So, are we spending the night?”

  I shrugged. “Guess that depends on Neesha. He may want to take Rashida home right away.”

  Neesha did not wish to go home right away. It was late in the day, and dusk would arrive just about the time we reached the burned farmhouse. I could think of better places for Rashida to spend the night, and agreed with Neesha’s decision. Besides, while I had the stud and Neesha his bay, Del’s gelding was still missing—probably running farther than he might otherwise have done because Darrion had chased him. Del was seriously annoyed and wanted to borrow the stud to go see if she could track Darrion down, but there was Rashida to look after, female to female.

  Tamar, to my surprise, said nothing at all to Del about washing any portion of her body before she entered the inn, nor anything to Rashida. However, Neesha and I did not enjoy the same reception. As Tamar directed Del to take Rashida to her own private room, she turned her customary testiness on us.

  “Wash your feet.”

  Neesha, who had not had the pleasure of meeting Tamar before now, blinked and stared. “What?”

  Tamar narrowed her eyes at him. “You have been in mud. I see it on your sandals. Wash your feet, young man!” She glanced at me. “He’ll tell you.”

  I sighed. “We wash our feet if we want to enter the inn.”

  “My feet aren’t that dirty! I was on horseback most of the time!”

  “But not all of the time,” Tamar insisted.

  He scowled at her. “I have never, in my life, had to wash my feet before entering an inn.”

  “That’s because no one cared,” Tamar said. “My inn is clean, unlike all the others.”

  “Might as well just do it,” I told him. “You can’t win this battle.”

  Tamar nodded approval of my comments. “I’ve got supper on the hearth. Clean up, and I’ll serve you.”

  Neesha frowned. “Where’s my sister?”

  “I’ve sent her to my room with Del.” She glanced at me, then looked at Neesha again. Her tone of voice changed to something approaching sympathy. “She needs time to talk to another woman.”

  I understood. Neesha did not. “I’m her brother. She can talk to me.”

  Tamar’s momentary kindness evaporated. “No, she may not. My rules, or you can take a room elsewhere.”

  Neesha was completely nonplussed, but also growing angry. “I’m not leaving my sister.”

  Tamar stared at me. Her message was clear.

  I touched Neesha’s arm. “Let’s wash our feet. Rashida’s in good hands with Del.”

  “I don’t understand—”

&nbs
p; I closed a hand on his upper arm, swung him around. “Trust me.”

  Tamar gave me a brusque nod and went back to her hearth.

  I pushed Neesha to the bench, then shoved him down hard with a hand on his shoulder. He set his feet preparatory to standing up. I tightened my hand and pushed him down again.

  “Think,” I said. “Just—think.”

  He didn’t. “I have every right to see my sister. Gods, Tiger, she’s spent the last three days with raiders!”

  “And that’s exactly why she needs to be with Del, now.”

  “But—”

  “Think, Neesha! Your sister with six raiders!”

  I saw the dawning of realization in his eyes, followed immediately by horror. “Oh, gods. Oh no. Not Rasha!” He looked as if he might vomit.

  “Del will talk with her. Tomorrow, she’ll be with her mother. I’m not saying you should ignore her, nor treat her as if she might break. Just let her come to you.”

  Tears stood in his eyes. He pressed his lips together, fighting not to let them fall. “Will she be all right?”

  “She’s your sister. That means she’s strong. Very strong.”

  Neesha, at a loss, sat in silence with a world in his eyes.

  He needed distracting. I picked up a clean washing cloth and dropped it in his lap. “Wash your feet.”

  Amazingly, Tamar sent us to a different room instead of making us eat while standing up. There, Neesha and I perched on stools, holding plates, bowls, spoons, mugs, and the same kind of stew I’d eaten before. I wondered if she ever cooked anything else for her lodgers.

  Del and Rashida did not join us. Neesha was clearly concerned by this, ready to protest, but I shook my head at him. He settled, but not before he aimed a ferocious glare at Tamar. If she saw it, she gave no sign.

  After we finished eating, she took plates, bowls, mugs back and set them on a workbench beside the hearth. Then she turned to us, smoothing her hands down the front of her apron. “I have never, ever suggested this to anyone before.” She looked at us both. “Go get drunk.”

  It startled Neesha, but not enough. “I want to see—”

  “Not yet.” I caught his arm. “Let’s do as she says.”

  Neesha yanked his arm out of my grip. “Will you stop pushing me around?”

  I met his angry glare benignly. “Probably not.”

  Neesha clamped his mouth closed. He brushed by me and went out the door.

  Before I could follow, Tamar asked, “Your son?”

  “Yes.”

  She nodded. “Thought so. But the girl isn’t yours, is she?”

  That startled me. “How can you tell?”

  “Because if you were her father, you’d tear my door down to get to her.”

  I digested that a moment, decided she was right. And it would not have been for the best.

  “There’s a decent tavern at the end of the street,” Tamar said. “The owner is a friend of mine. Tell him I sent you.”

  A friend. Tamar? “I take it he’s not an odious man? Or a reprobate?”

  She fixed me with a sharp glare. I promptly went out the door to find Neesha.

  Chapter 33

  THE TAVERN WHERE TAMAR SENT US was so different from our cantina in Julah that I very nearly gaped. The tabletops were buffed to a gloss—albeit scars in some of them, which is to be expected in a place where drink is served. The bartop was made of many different kinds of wood, dark and light, filled knots, age rings, stripes wide and narrow, striations and whorls cut into small sections then pieced together into an intriguing pattern. Yet there appeared to be no unevenness in wood that didn’t match. All had been planed smooth, then buffed. The room had a warm, comfortable glow about it. Most of the illumination did not come from candle cups and lanterns on each table, but from twisted iron sconces hung up on the walls. As far as I could tell, each one was capped with pierced tin. Long, fat wicks rose from them. These were oil lamps, not candles with short wicks and meager flame that too often went out, or were knocked over.

  We, of course, were strangers. Everyone stopped talking and watched as Neesha and I walked in. No one missed our swords. I saw looks exchanged and heard quiet comments, but none so loud as to be decipherable.

  The wine-girls were not dressed in skimpy clothing. Tunics and long skirts, mostly, though waists were cinched tightly in bright scarves to show off admirable curves. But no tassels. Unlike the South, where Del was so different, here all three of the girls were fair-skinned, blue-eyed, and very blonde.

  One of the open tables was tucked into a corner beneath a sconce. I wended my way to it through other tables. I was surprised to see that the bench I intended to claim was actually covered with leather. And, as I sat down, I discovered it held padding under the leather. I began to see why Tamar had recommended this tavern over others. I began to see why the owner was a friend. Obsessively tidy woman and what appeared to be an obsessively tidy man.

  I sat. Neesha followed more slowly. He sat down with his back to the door. I shook my head in resignation; he wasn’t paying attention. But then, Neesha didn’t need a clear line of sight the way I did. I couldn’t truly relax as long as we were in Istamir, because the gods knew how many sword-dancers were still around. Didn’t have to worry about Darrion, certainly, and Eddrith now simply wanted to spar, but there might be others.

  A wine-girl arrived, unbound hair falling in a glorious pale shower nearly to her waist. She bestowed faint smiles on both of us, but did not plant an arm on the table and lean down to show off cleavage. Whatever cleavage she claimed was hidden behind a rich purple tunic. Her skirt was striped purple-tan-yellow beneath a ruby-hued belt. Amber beads ringed her wrists, dangled from her ears.

  Her eyes were calm. “My father runs a clean house,” she said in a slightly husky tone. “The food is excellent, the ale superb, and the spirits strong. We will be most pleased to serve you enough food and drink to fill you for a week. What we will not serve you is me or my sisters. We don’t mean to deny men their needs, but there are many taverns that suit that purpose. If you want women, please go elsewhere.”

  I looked at the other two blondes. They stood at the bar, calmly watching their sister as if waiting for our decision. I began to smile. “I don’t think Tamar would send us here if it were that kind of cantina—er, tavern. I’m here for some superb ale and have absolutely no designs on any of you.”

  Her own smile blossomed from slight into wide. “Tamar only sends safe men here. Be welcome.”

  Safe. I’d never heard that word applied to me before.

  Neesha, on the other hand…but then I changed my mind about teasing him. He was barely paying attention to a beautiful young woman. “Ale will do for us both.”

  She turned briefly and nodded to her sisters, who visibly relaxed. One of them, having drawn two tall mugs with foam spilling down the sides, delivered them with a smooth efficiency before moving away to tend another table.

  Del would approve of this tavern. Fouad would not.

  Across the table from me, Neesha brooded. I watched the play of expressions across his features. “What?” I asked, when I thought he might actually answer.

  He looked up from the table, came back from a far place. “What?”

  “I asked first.”

  He sighed, ran spread fingers through his hair, then scrubbed it into a landscape of tufts. “I want to help her. But what can I do? What can anyone do?”

  He sounded lost. I tried to steer him away from it. “I think we’ve done quite a lot, actually. We killed all six raiders.”

  “Well…yes.” He contemplated his ale. “But that doesn’t undo anything that happened.”

  I raised my own mug, drank, lowered it and wiped foam away. “No.”

  Neesha shook his head. “I don’t know what to do.”

  I smiled. “Just be her big brother. The one she’s always looked up to.”

  That nearly brought him to tears. He grabbed his mug, spilled some ale, drank down nearly half, I judg
ed, before he took a breath. When he did, he set the mug down with an audible thump. “All dead. Yes. But Rasha—gods. And my mother.” And then he ran out of words to express what he was feeling and just stared at the mug.

  For some reason, I thought of Eddrith. I hadn’t seen him since he sliced all the lead-ropes and chased after the five horses the raiders had put up for sale. “You saw Eddrith kill one of the raiders, you said.”

  Neesha blinked hard and looked up. “Yes. Or, I think he killed him. I didn’t check to be sure if he was dead. But Eddrith spitted him through the belly.”

  Dead, then. “And Eddrith was all right?”

  Neesha frowned at me. “Why do you care? What has he to do with anything?” He sat up straighter, finally giving me his full attention. “You said he chased off the horses?”

  “Five of your horses, yes. Shorn manes. He cut them free and chased them off, so they could get away from the raiders. We wanted them on foot.” Well, come to think of it, Eddrith had chased off three horses; two had been recaptured by raiders, but then they got loose again as the raiders died.

  Neesha was totally baffled. “Eddrith helped you?”

  “I didn’t believe he meant it at first, but he did indeed help us.”

  “Why?” he asked bluntly. “Why would he want to?”

  “To spar with me.” I shrugged. “We came to an agreement. If he helped, I’d spar with him.”

  Neesha was shaking his head vehemently from side to side. “You can’t.”

  I raised a brow. “Why can’t I?”

  “He defeated me. Shouldn’t you support me? Your son?”

  “That has nothing to do with this. Or this has nothing to do with that. Whichever way you like it.”

  Neesha scowled at me. “It matters.”

  I drank more ale. Neesha waited for an answer. Wiping at foam again, I said, “I agreed. I won’t go back on my word.”

  Tight as drawn wire, he stared hard at me. He did not drink again. He was very, very angry, and I knew it had nothing to do with my agreeing to spar with Eddrith. Well, almost nothing. He did care about that. What he wanted was to put things back the way they had been. No attack on the farm, no father seriously injured, no mother raped, no sister abducted and violated. He’d killed one of the raiders, but it wasn’t enough. There wasn’t enough in the world. It was grief, for the loss of what he’d known. Grief for his family. Grief, though he didn’t know it yet, for the young man who would never be the same. The light-hearted, cheerful young man whose life had been so undemanding, had finally come up against a painful hardship.