Shadowdance (16 page)

Taelyn's weight shifted on the cot. Innowen had to look to realize the former slave had laid a hand on his knee. He tried to feel something, the smallest sensation, the slightest pressure. But there was nothing, only the evidence of his eyes to tell him he had been touched. "What of the Witch?" Taelyn asked quietly. "Did you find her?"

Innowen shook his head as he closed his eyes. Her face floated in his memory, shining with a strange light as it did that night she came to him. Her voice whispered on the wind that rustled the thin fabric of the tent. He could hear it now on his small cot, teasing him, tormenting.
Dance, my Innocent, dance away the world!
Those words reverberated in the dimmest corners of his soul. They worried him, gnawed at the edges of his dreams when he slept. How many times had he tried to shut them out? Yet an echo always remained to haunt him. And from time to time, in the puff of a breeze or the unexpected rustle of a leaf, he would hear her voice afresh.
Dance,
she said.

"I followed every possible clue," Innowen whispered almost to himself. "To the borders of Ispor and beyond. I sailed the Tasmian Sea and wandered as far as the bright new city called Jeriko with all its wonders. I found no trace of her." He opened his eyes, but it was not the tent he saw, nor Taelyn, nor even Razkili. Rather, he saw gleaming walkways and high bastions of white stone that sparkled in the sun, slender columns of infinite grace and beauty, majestic pyramids, all the marvelous things he had seen in his travels. There were blue mountains hung with mist, and oceans, and proud ships with crackling white sails, and deserts that burned and shimmered. Smells rushed upon him as he remembered, and sounds of blustering crowds, of cattle herdsmen, of caravans and camel bells. Of ships' riggings creaking in the lonely night winds.
Dance!
they all urged him.
Dance!

He threw an arm over his face, wishing the memories away. "In time," he continued, "I gave up looking for her. I tried, instead, to find her god and to learn more about Him. I visited temples and questioned priests wherever I went. 'What,' I asked them, 'could they tell me of wooden idols and copper nails?'" He uncovered his eyes, looked at Taelyn, and forced a smile. "All I got for my troubles was a collection of dolls."

Taelyn lifted an eyebrow.

"Now, even those are gone. They were bundled on our pack horse when Chohlit captured us. Gods know where they are now." Innowen gave a little shrug as he lay on his back. "Well, it was a peculiar hobby for a man, anyway."

A soldier came to the tent entrance with a tray, and a rich odor wafted through the air. Behind him came another man with a small field table under one arm. With a nod to Taelyn, he positioned it in the center of the floor and backed out. The first man set his tray down and prepared to serve. "I'll see to it," Taelyn said, dismissing him. The soldier offered a short bow and left without a word.

Taelyn rose and leaned over the table. On the tray were three bowls. Beside each bowl was a steaming, hot cloth. He lifted one cloth, kneeled beside the cot, and carefully wiped Innowen's hands one at a time. The hot moisture felt very soothing. Taelyn used the cloth to massage Innowen's fingers and knuckles, the bones along the backs of his hands, the palms, and the padded areas below the thumbs, even his nails. Taelyn worked patiently, never lifting his gaze from his task. When he finished, he folded the cloth neatly, placed it on the tray, and stood.

"Thank you," Innowen said simply.

Taelyn took a second cloth from the tray and turned to Razkili, who sat up and started to reach for the cloth. But Innowen spoke up. "Let him do it," he instructed. "It's our custom. The host washes the hands of his honored guests before eating."

Razkili looked dubious but raised one hand. Taelyn wrapped it in the warm cloth and worked with the same careful ministrations he had shown Innowen. It was almost funny, Innowen thought, to watch the petulance melt from Rascal's features. "A very pleasant custom," the Osiri confessed as he held up the other hand for cleansing.

Taelyn finished, folding the cloth with the same ritual care and returning it to the tray. He barely passed the third cloth over his own hands, though, before he laid it aside. "There now," he said. "Let's eat." Handing a bowl to each of them, he took his own to the foot of Innowen's cot and began to eat with a wooden spoon. Innowen inhaled the vapors that rose from his bowl, then began to eat also. It was a posset of cooked grains with chunks of pork added, and very tasty.

"Well," Taelyn said when they had scraped their bowls clean, "time to break camp." He tapped Innowen's knee again with affection and prepared to get up. "I delayed this long to give you time to rest and to give us this chance to talk."

Innowen interrupted, not yet ready to let Taelyn go. "You've changed, old friend," he said gently. "You used to chat the days away. Now your speech is crisp and abrupt. And I remember you used to hate horses, but the first time in five years I see you, you're sitting astride one like you'd always been part of it."

Taelyn shrugged. "The slave has become the commander of his master's army." A distant look stole into his eyes, and the lines in his face briefly relaxed. "I go where Minarik sends me," he said, "do what he tells me. Changed? Maybe. But don't fool yourself, Innocent. I don't. I'm still his slave." He collected Innowen's empty bowl, reached for Razkili's and set them beside his on the table.

"You sound bitter," Innowen observed.

"Blame it on the times," Taelyn answered wearily. "You'll find lots of changes around here, boy. You won't like them all." Their gazes locked for a moment, and Innowen looked for some trace of the old Taelyn in those eyes. If there was any, then it was deeply buried. "Well." His host rubbed his hands over his plain black kilt. "Time to get moving. I'll escort you to Minarik. With the loss of the Third Army, I have to report for reassignment, anyway."

Razkili spoke up suddenly. "Do you think you can locate our horses? Particularly the pack beast with Innowen's things?"

"I'll have some men look," Taelyn offered. "We captured most of Chohlit's stock. He'd most likely have put your animals with his." He crossed to the doorway. "We'll march within an hour." He left them then.

Innowen looked over at Razkili. His friend had resumed his semi-reclining leg-up position and pretended to examine a bruise on his forearm. He poked and prodded its purpled edge and ran his fingertips over it as if to test its tenderness.

Despite the growing warmth of day, Innowen drew his coverlet up to his chest. "Rascal," he said, "what's bothering you?"

"Damn thing hurts like all the hells," Razkili answered without looking up, "and I've got a lot more like it just as sore."

Innowen let several moments go by. Still, Razkili didn't look at him or say anything. "What's wrong?" Innowen pressed again.

Razkili sat up suddenly and reached for his sandals. Quickly, he wound the straps around his calves and tied them. "Nothing," he said at last. He stood up. "I'll go find our horses. Your friend won't know which ones are ours. Maybe I can find the packs, too." He paused at the entrance, bit his lip, then turned around. "Innocent," he muttered. "That's a good nickname for you." Then he too was gone.

Innowen frowned as he stared at the waving tent flap. Rascal's footprints were plain to see in the dust at the entrance. Someone else might have thought they belonged to Taelyn or his two men. And some of the prints did. But he knew Razkili's. He knew the shape, the outline.

Wearily, he sagged back down on his cot. He hadn't slept enough. Usually, he and Rascal slept the day away and traveled by night. He drew his arm over his eyes again. Gods, how he hated the daylight.

A fly buzzed in his ear, lighted on his arm, flew off, and settled on his chin. He swatted it away. The heat grew inside the tent. The bedclothes, damp with his perspiration, clung to him. He turned onto his side, but that was uncomfortable. He returned to his back, but the fly was waiting for him.

Innowen gripped the sides of the cot and pulled himself to a sitting position. He followed the fly's progress as it circled in the air and finally landed safely away on the other cot. He cursed it and threw a pillow at it. The fly sprang into brief flight, then settled again on the same pillow, as if to taunt him.

He envied the tiny creature's mobility. So small and insignificant, yet it could not only walk, but fly, while he had to lean forward with his hands and lift each of his uncooperative legs and drop them over the side of his cot as he twisted the rest of his body around. It was almost enough to make him laugh. How clumsy he was, so clumsy he even managed to ensnare one unfeeling foot in the coverlet and nearly fall off the cot.

His loin cloth lay close by on the floor where he'd discarded it when he and Razkili had washed each others' cuts and bruises after their rescue from Chohlit. He bent forward, being careful not to overbalance, snatched it up, and wound it around his hips and through his thighs. His kilt, too, lay close. He wrapped the short strip of soft blue cloth about his waist and pinned it with a delicate Osiri brooch Razkili had given him. Taelyn had said they'd leave within the hour. The least he could do was get dressed and be ready.

His sandals proved a bigger problem. He couldn't spot them. He leaned far enough to see over the head of the cot, then beyond the foot. They weren't there. Nor were they on Razkili's side of the tent. Irritably, he levered his hips off the edge and lowered himself to the dirt floor. He might have waited until Razkili returned, but there was a certain pride involved. He let himself fall sideways, twisting as he did, and catching himself on his palms. As he'd suspected, they were under the cot. He drew them out, pushed himself back into a sitting posture, and took a long breath. Then with one elbow hooked over the cot's edge, he began to crawl back up onto his bed.

When Razkili appeared in the entrance, Innowen was sitting with hands folded in his lap, sandals laced, ready to depart. Only the dirt on one side of his kilt gave any indication of his travails. Razkili's gaze flickered to it, then back to meet Innowen's. "I found our horses," he said quietly. "Even the packs with your collection. And our money, too, where we hid it in the bottom of our sleeping rolls. I guess Chohlit hadn't had time to search our things thoroughly." His gaze strayed again to the stain on Innowen's garment, and his shoulders sagged. "I would have dressed you."

"I didn't need your help." Innowen looked down at his hands.

Razkili took a waterskin from a small peg set in one of the tent's cornerpoles. With his back to Innowen, he unstoppered it, but he didn't drink. For what seemed like a long time he stood with his head hung between his shoulders, the untouched container halfway to his lips. At last, he sat slowly down on the edge of his own cot.

"It's the first time you've ever hurt anyone deliberately." Razkili's voice was a bare whisper. "You danced and made them watch."

"I did it to save you," Innowen answered, matching his friend's soft tone. He wanted to reach out and touch Razkili, but the distance between them was too far. "I didn't know what would happen."

Razkili leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, the waterskin dangling from one hand. "You unleashed their darkest desires."

"But I didn't know what those desires were," Innowen insisted. "They might still have killed us. I did what I had to do."

Razkili stared at the waterskin and took a drink. "I know," he said finally. He passed it to Innowen, and their fingers brushed. "But they saw you dance." He hesitated, watching as Innowen lifted the skin and swallowed. Then, hanging his head, he murmured, "I want to see you, too."

Innowen slammed the stopper back in place. "You can't," he snapped. "I've told you before."

"I know," Razkili said again.

"Why do you keep asking me?" Innowen leaned forward, gripping the edge of his cot. His eyes burned; his heart hammered wildly in his chest. It frightened him the way Rascal kept reviving this argument. "Why?" he demanded. "You know the danger. You know what happens to people. I won't risk it, Rascal!"

Razkili looked at his hands. "I'm sorry," he said thickly.

Two soldiers appeared at the entrance. "Taelyn sent us to break your camp," one of them said as Innowen beckoned both of them inside. Razkili rose, and they quickly collapsed his cot.

"We'd better get out of their way," Razkili said. "Taelyn promised to bring the horses around." He bent, gathered Innowen in his arms, and carried him outside.

Innowen clapped a hand over his eyes to shut out the blinding sun. Even the red glare that squeezed between his fingers was painful. He clenched his lids tightly and pressed his face into Razkili's shoulder. Little by little, he dared to peek out until his vision adjusted and he could bear the light of day. "I hate the sun," he said to his friend. He glanced around. The camp bustled with activity. Most of the tents were already struck. A line of pack animals and supply wagons had begun to form. "I don't see Taelyn," he said. "Let's go find him."

"Over there," Razkili managed to point with the same hand that supported Innowen's legs. "He's coming our way."

Innowen shielded his eyes from the sun and spied Taelyn leading three horses. "I'm sorry," he quickly muttered in Rascal's ear.

The Osiri pursed his lips and gave a small nod. He started walking, bearing Innowen's weight easily. Innowen drew a breath, let it out slowly, and sucked in his lower lip. It was not a dignified way to get around, being carried like a child, but he called up as much dignity as he could, as he always did. It was better than crawling in the dirt. He locked his arms about Razkili's neck and studied him in profile. The sun glinted off his short black curls. Light bent around his brow and nose and chin, lending him a beatific radiance. He was handsome, was Rascal, and tall and strong. Innowen thanked the gods for the day he found him.