As more animals were brought in, the jostling began. The stud pinned back his ears and slewed an eye sideways to take the measure of the horse next to him.
“Hey.” I snapped a finger on his muzzle with intended sharpness. “Not here and not now.” He offered me the equine equivalent of a scowl. “Don’t give me that. Now, quit. Just settle.”
He did not. He jerked his head sideways to nip at his sorrel neighbor, though he never made contact because I gave his halter a jerk. When that didn’t have much effect, I grabbed the bridle by a bit shank to insist with added vigor that he mind his manners.
The sorrel’s rider ducked his head down beneath his horse’s neck to see me. He was grinning. “Opinionated, isn’t he?”
“More than is good for him,” I grumbled. “And for me, too.” More horses began to come upon us. “All right,” I told the stud, “we’re going. Just keep your teeth and heels to yourself until we get out of this mess.”
We couldn’t turn because of crowding, so we had to back out. Del’s gelding was perfectly willing to do so. The stud was less so. Finally, I bent down and set a shoulder into his chest even as I tightened my grip on the bit shanks. “Back up, you son of a Salset goat!” And I put all of my weight to the shoulder against his chest, leaning hard. I muttered all kinds of imprecations, and at last he backed up, and we were free of the throng.
The man with the sorrel had waited to see who won the battle. He was still grinning. Now that I was done arguing with the stud, physically as well as verbally, I got a better look at the man. Shorter than I, but not by much. Brown hair, pale eyes. Younger than I. And I got a good enough look to see the sword rising from behind his shoulder. Hoolies, there were sword-dancers everywhere I went! But my harness and sword were back at the tree. I shouldn’t look like a sword-dancer to anyone.
“Aren’t you the Sandtiger?”
I could lie. Lying might be good.
“I recognize you by the scars,” he said.
I glared at him. “You will note I am not wearing harness and sword. You’re supposed to leave me alone.”
He cupped a hand lightly over his mount’s nostrils as the sorrel breathed noisily. “Ordinarily, yes. But not in your case.”
I waited. He didn’t say anything.
“And—?” I asked eventually.
He shrugged. “Just looking.”
“Not challenging?”
“No.”
“Looking to kill?”
He frowned. “No.”
“Hunting a bounty?”
“What bounty?”
Hmmm. A sword-dancer who didn’t care about elaii-ali-ma, and knew nothing of Umir’s bounty. How refreshing!
“Never mind,” I said and led away the gelding and stud.
Now that darkness had fallen, Del built up the fire for light. Scattered throughout the large oasis were twenty or more cookfires, lending a smoky glow to the area. Pockets of darkness remained, but it was easy enough to see folk as they moved around. Buckets were carried to livestock, while some mounts were led to the spring. Children refused noisily to be put to bed. The usual music and singing began. It was a comfortable evening.
Well, it was comfortable until the sword-dancer from the spring—the second sword-dancer from the spring—showed up. He was on foot, barefoot, still in harness, and I began to get a bad feeling. Though certainly nothing could be done now, in the dark.
He carried a bota. “If I’m not intruding, may I join you?”
Del sat up even as I did. She looked at the stranger, then glanced at me, asking a silent question.
“We met, sort of, at the spring,” I explained. “The stud tried to take a hunk out of his horse. Other than that—” I looked at the man, “I haven’t the faintest idea who he is or why he wishes to join us.”
“To share a bota.” He lifted it. “Mostly I want to ask questions.” He paused. “Oh, and my name is Tariq.”
Del’s hand was on her naked blade, lying close on her blanket. I was in the same posture on my blanket, with my sword.
Tariq looked from one to the other. Some of his friendly smile faded. “I don’t care,” he said. “Truly, I don’t care about elaii-ali-ma or what other sword-dancers have sworn. I go my own way. Whatever bounty exists for someone to kill you…I don’t care.”
“Easy to say,” Del observed.
I did find it interesting, though, that he apparently believed the bounty was simply for killing me, not something put up by Umir.
“Here.” He dropped the bota, stripped off the top part of his belted burnous to reach his sword, and with great care slid it out of his sheath. Slowly he set it on the ground and gathered up the bota once more. It dangled from its thong. “I have questions,” he said, “because I wish to learn. No more than that. Who wouldn’t wish to do so, given the chance?”
Who wouldn’t wish the chance to challenge me, or to actually kill me?
Tariq waited expectantly. Del left the decision to me, since I was Tariq’s goal. After a moment, I nodded.
Very carefully, Tariq sat down out of his sword’s range. He could only recover it by making a mad lunge, but it wouldn’t be quickly enough to stop me or Del. Smiling, he unstoppered the bota, took several swallows, then offered it to me. So now Del and I knew the drink was safe, not a way of drugging us into insensibility. On the side of safety, I had to assume he did intend to take me for the bounty, or to challenge me to a dance. But likely he would not.
Once, I would have been happy to share my fire with another sword-dancer. Now, I couldn’t afford it without being on my guard, or assuming the worst.
Tariq slung the bota to me on one side of the fire. In courtesy, he waited till I drank before beginning his interrogation. As was customary, Del refused; if she drank spirits, it was rarely. I tossed the bota back.
Tariq caught it, set it aside. “May I ask questions?”
Del shrugged. I nodded.
And thus began a spate of questions that threatened to go on until dawn. He wanted to know about technique. He wanted to know about maneuvers. He wanted to know what I’d done to certain sword-dancers in order to defeat them.
Finally I stopped him. “The questions you have can’t all be answered in words.”
It was full dark now. His face was illuminated by the glow of the dying fire. He was perhaps Neesha’s age. “Then can you show me?”
“Here and now?”
“No, no. In the morning. Would you have time for a lesson?”
“You said you didn’t intend to challenge me.”
He was honestly taken aback. “No! I want no such thing. Only a lesson.”
I looked at his hopeful, eager expression. “We’re going home,” I said finally. “We’d just as soon get there without delay. I thank you for your interest, but we’ll head out at first light.”
Disappointment was obvious. It appeared as though he’d try a different tack, but he gave it up. He gestured to the bota. “Please. Keep it. You would do me a courtesy. Thank you for answering what you could.” Tariq smiled faintly, got to his feet, collected his sword. With an odd little bow, he backed up, turned, and walked away.
After a moment, Del said, “That was strange.”
I grunted. “He may be exactly what he says he is, and he may truly want a lesson. But…” I took up the bota, aimed for the foot of the tree. “I’ll stick with our own water or aqivi, I think.”
Del’s eyes had followed the bota as I tossed it aside. Now she looked back at me in some consternation. “Do you think it’s drugged?”
I shook my head. “Tariq definitely drank, and I tasted nothing odd in it. I feel fine.”
“You’re sure?”
I lay back down on my blanket, crossed one ankle over the other. “You didn’t drink anything. If necessary, you can protect me.” I smiled up at the stars. “Perhaps you should stay awake all night, be a guard.”
“Perhaps I should,” she replied with some asperity.
Grinning, I interlaced hands o
ver my chest and closed my eyes. “Then good night, bascha.”
When I woke with the dawn, Del was curled up against me, mostly hidden under a blanket. “Ah-hah!” I cried. “You slept! So much for protecting me!”
Del’s voice had its customary morning huskiness. “I only went to sleep a few minutes ago.”
“Uh-huh. Right.” I peeled back my blanket and looked around at the world. A faint film of moisture touched almost everything.
I yawned prodigiously, stretched from a sitting position, then stood up for an additional stretch. Across the oasis others were beginning to move. Livestock awoke and began their noisy morning pleas for food. Behind me, picketed on the other side of the tree, the stud snorted loudly and pawed at the ground, raising dust.
“Oh, stop,” I said through a yawn.
The stud dropped a certain equine apparatus and began peeing emphatically. Fortunately the river did not find a channel through our bedding. Steam rose, along with a pungent scent.
“So?” I asked. “I can do that, too. Even if I’m only human-sized.” And I walked off to a shrub to prove it.
When I returned, Del was in the midst of rolling up her bedding. Saddle pouches were over by her gelding. She grabbed saddle blanket and saddle and took both to her horse, where she set the blanket across his back one-handed, swung the saddle up into place and cinched it up. Then she went off to have her own communion with a bush.
When she returned, pretty much everything of mine was on board. I donned harness and sword followed by burnous, belted it, waited for Del to finish readying the gelding and herself. A normal start to the morning. We never cooked breakfast on the road, just ate what we had in saddle pouches.
“A few more days,” I said as we led the horses through the middle of the oasis, bound for water. “Then we’ll be home where we can once again look after a determined and opinionated two-year-old. And train young men to become sword-dancers.”
Del smiled. “So we can. Though I’d like to see a woman student come to us.”
I shrugged. “It’s the South.”
“Maybe some day.”
“Maybe.”
As we approached the big rock surround where the spring bubbled up, we heard the sound of swords, of spectators shouting approval for one blow or another—obviously wagering was in progress. Since this gathering was directly beside the track Del and I wished to follow, we mounted our horses once watering was done and rode over there, intending to pass on by. But then we saw the circle, the men inside it. Tariq, and the sword-dancer I’d seen at the spring on our arrival.
Del and I watched a moment—we couldn’t help it—then headed out. Or we were, until I heard a shout.
“Sandtiger!” I should have known: Tariq. Then I heard, apparently said to his opponent, “Yes, yes, it’s the Sandtiger. I met him last night. We shared a bota. Wait—where are you going?”
I had a very good idea where Tariq’s opponent was going. Swearing under my breath, I swung the stud around. The man strode steadily, sword gripped in his hand. Older than Tariq, now that I could see him in daylight, dark-haired, tanned. His eyes were blue. Probably a Borderer.
He stopped short of the stud. “When I acknowledged you last night, I didn’t know who you were. Trust me when I say I would never have done you the courtesy had I known. I didn’t see the scars in the dusk.” He stood even straighter. “I challenge you.”
I released a rather noisy sigh. “You know,” I said to Del, “I’m getting really tired of this. Maybe I should just kill everyone who challenges me.”
“I am Hamzah,” the man said. “Come down from there and step into the circle.”
Del was at my side, relaxed but watchful. “We have somewhere to be,” I told Hamzah, “and it isn’t here or in a circle. I won’t accept your challenge.”
He was outraged. “You must! It’s required!”
Well, it sort of was. “Death dance?” I asked.
“No. To defeat.”
Well, that was something.
Tariq looked thrilled. “Yes! I would pay to see this!”
If I defeated Hamzah, he’d never challenge me again. It was attractive. “Then let’s get this over with,” I told Hamzah. “We do have somewhere to be.”
He nodded once, walked to the circle and into it. He set down his sword in the middle, took up a position outside the line, and waited for me.
I swung off the stud, undid belt, took off burnous and sandals. All these I draped across my saddle. I handed the reins up to Del, who had a better vantage point from horseback than from the ground.
“Do hurry,” Del suggested.
I grinned crookedly. “I’ll do my best,”
I walked into the circle, set down my sword, and noticed how avidly the crowd watched. I suspected they’d prefer a death dance, but we weren’t offering that today. Probably a little blood, though, which should please them to some extent.
On my side of the circle, I looked across at Hamzah. Tariq stood at an edge, nearly quivering with excitement. “May I?” he asked of both of us. “May I have the honor?”
Hamzah shrugged. Resigned, I told Tariq he could say it.
“Dance!”
It took a little longer than the ‘immediately’ I’d planned. Hamzah was talented. Whether he considered me past my prime, or at its peak, he did not let it show. He just danced. So I let him have a taste of what I could really do. I laid on, he defended. We spun, ducked, blocked, clashed blades, scraped steel, leaped apart only to go back in again. I drove him to the edge, he drove me to the edge.
Then I heard Del shout. She never did that. Never. She knew what focus was all about. I put a hand in the air in Hamzah’s direction. “Wait!” This was allowed. The opponent was to halt. And halt Hamzah did, smiling.
Smiling.
I turned toward Del. I saw that she had been yanked down from her saddle. She was sprawled on the ground with a man sitting atop her, holding a knife to her throat.
I wheeled around, expecting Hamzah to be coming up on me with his sword. But he stood there, blade hanging from his hand, and shook his head. Then I felt a hand lock into my harness from behind, and a knife point delicately pricking a few layers of skin over a kidney. Not a good place for the recipient.
“Drop it. Now.”
Tariq. His voice was no longer young or eager. And he made no threats about what would happen to Del if I didn’t drop my sword. There was no need. He knew, I knew. I dropped the sword.
“Wise.” He jerked me out of range. Pressed the knife deeper. I gritted my teeth against it. “Stand very still.”
“Del,” I said tightly.
“Oh, she’s coming, too. Umir wants you both,”
I let out a long string of vicious epithets. Umir. Umir. And we’d walked right into it, thanks to Tariq’s assurances that he didn’t know about any bounty.
Hamzah came close. “There are six of us,” he said. “Look around.”
I looked. Four men stood forward from the crowd, dressed in the kind of clothing that made them inconspicuous. They wore no harnesses, no swords. They looked like every other man standing with the spectators. Two stood by Del, still pinned down.
Hamzah stepped closer yet. “We have great respect for you,” he said. “Be glad of it.”
Something very hard came down on the back of my head. I nearly went to my knees, but managed a staggering turn toward Tariq even though my head was full of flashing light. A second hard blow collided with the side of my head, and the world winked out.
Chapter 37
IREJOINED THE LIVING IN SHEER MISERY. My head hurt so badly I thought I might throw up, which would have made things worse, of course. But my abdomen was hurting, too. And wrists and ankles. The world was wavering back and forth.
I opened my eyes a slit. I discovered myself in my saddle, atop the stud. My abdomen hurt because I was lying forward across the pommel, upper body stretched out along the stud’s neck. When I tried to sit up, I discovered my wrists were shackled toge
ther under the stud’s neck. It was impossible to sit up. And my legs, when I tested them, were locked into shackles as well. The connecting chain ran under the stud’s abdomen. If I made a significant attempt to loose my legs, the chain would shorten and very likely send the stud into a temper tantrum with me stuck aboard. That, I did not wish to experience.
Hoolies, they were using my own horse against me!
Tariq had the stud’s lead-rope, ponying him off his saddle. I turned my head very carefully and discovered Del was attached to her gelding the same way I was locked onto the stud. Her face was turned to the other side. Hamzah was leading her horse. “Bascha?”
Del shifted, managed to look at me. Relief flooded her voice. “Thank the gods, you’re all right!”
“Well. Kind of. I wish they’d just chopped off my head.”
She grimaced, resting the side of her face against her gelding’s mane. “I didn’t see what they did to you. Someone was sitting on me. But you should be gratified to know it took four men to get your dead weight into the saddle and chained.”
“Then gratified I am. We’ll celebrate later. How are you?”
“Uncomfortable.”
Understatement. I closed my eyes. The rocking motion of the stud coupled with an abdomen on top of a pommel and a head throbbing from two blows, not to mention the chiming of the chains, rendered me nauseated. With small shifts of my weight, I attempted to lift myself off the pommel just a bit to relieve my abdomen. I was unsuccessful. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so sick or hurt this much.
Well, the latter might be an exaggeration. I’d been the victim of too many captivities, maimings, and wounds to know for certain. They kind of ran together. But it was nearly impossible to breathe with so much weight pressed over the pommel. At the rate we were going, that pommel might well rub itself through my belly and out the other side.
I heard Del muttering to herself. Her face was turned away from me again. “You all right?” I asked.
“No.” She repositioned her head to look at me. “No more than you are.”
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