Del smiled. “She won’t bite, Tiger. Not anymore. You know her name.”
I retrieved the sword and gave her to Del outside of the circle. “That’s the key, then? Her name?”
“Part of it. Not all. The rest is—personal.” Pale brows knitted. “I can’t say. You’re Southron, not Northern—I don’t have the language. And it takes years to comprehend. An an-kaidin to teach you the rituals involved.”
“You’re an an-kaidin.”
“No.” She looked past me to Theron’s body. “No more than he was. An-kaidins never kill.”
I looked back at the body. “Do you bury your dead, up north?”
“Yes.”
So I buried him under a palm, beneath the Southron sun.
From atop her speckled horse, Del looked down on me. “It’s a sword,” she said, “that’s all. Theron’s dead. No one but Theron knew the blade’s true name, so it will never be to you what it was to him. But—it’s still a sword. A sword sword—nothing magical. Not a jivatma. But it’ll work.”
“I know it’ll work.” The hilt was a hilt in my hand. No eerie, discomfiting cold. Nothing but alien shapes. Runes unknown to me. And if Del knew, she wasn’t saying. “But—it’s not Singlestroke.”
“No,” she agreed. “I’m sorry, Tiger. I know what he was to you.”
I sighed, feeling the now-familiar pinch of sorrow in my gut. No more Singlestroke— “Yes, well, the aqivi’s spilled. Nothing I can do.”
“No.” She glanced northward a moment. “Now that I’ve decided, I guess I should get started. It’s a long ride across the Punja.”
“You remember all the markers, like I told you?”
“Yes.”
I nodded. Turned to the stud and swung up into the shallow, blanketed saddle after I sheathed my Northern sword. Waited for him to settle. “Go on, Del. You’re not getting any younger.”
“No.” She smiled a little. “But I’m not so very old.”
No. She certainly wasn’t. Too young for the South. Too young for a man like the Sandtiger.
On the other hand … “My offer stands,” I said. “You’ve got a whole year before they can send anyone else out after you. And it’s pretty obvious you’d beat any sword-dancer in the circle.” I grinned, knowing she expected me to add except for the Sandtiger. “It’s freedom, Del, for a while. Ride with me, and we’ll hire both swords out.”
“No.” The sun was bright on her white-blonde hair. “Better to have it settled for once and for all. If there’s a way the blood-debt can be pardoned …” She frowned a little. “I make no apologies. Even to those who grieve for the death I gave the an-kaidin. But—I’d sooner be free to face them all, to know the final decision—instead of forever running.”
I smiled. “Good. No sense in running when you can walk.” I suggested the stud turn his head in the direction of Rusali; for a change, he acquiesced. “I’ll tell Alric what you’re doing. I think he’d like to know.”
Del nodded. “Goodbye, Tiger. Sulhaya.”
“No thanks necessary.” I reached out and slapped her horse on his speckled rump. “Go home, Del. No sense wasting time.”
She clapped heels to the gelding and went away from me at a run.
I reined in the stud as he crowhopped, complaining about the gelding’s departure. He wanted to run as well; to catch up and forge ahead. To compete. To prove he was unquestionably the best.
I grinned. “A lot like me, old son.” I patted his heavy bay neck. “Glad to have me back?”
Horselike, he didn’t answer. And so I reined him in—ignoring his disgruntled protests—and turned him toward the east.
But I didn’t let him run. It’s hard to think when a horse like the stud is going on, because you never know when he’ll take a notion to drop a shoulder, duck his head and catapult you from the saddle. It’s not particularly enjoyable. And one day it might even prove fatal.
So I made him walk, to preserve my life and because I could ruminate a little, turning things over inside my head.
—can’t go to Julah. Not with Aladar dead. So I’ll bypass it entirely and head for Rusali another way—
Pulled up. Held the stud in check, even though he stomped and sidled, snorting his displeasure, indicating he wished I’d make up my mind.
I ignored him and stared fixedly after Del. Glared.
In the distance, I could see the veil of saffron-colored dust raised by the northbound horse. Could see the white blot of her silken burnous—
“Ah, hoolies, horse, we’ve got nothing better to do—”
—so I turned the stud loose and went north.
Sword-Dancer Page 27