Sword Breaker-Sword Dancer 4 (5 page)

"Yes," I agreed patiently. "We had that part figured out."

He was unperturbed by my irony. "And that means now they all want to kill you."

Rhashad shrugged wide shoulders; the Borderer is bigger than I. "For now, at any rate."

Del, who still wore her harness beneath burnous, sheathed her sword easily, making most of it disappear under shelter of slick white silk. As always, it was impressive; I saw the appreciative flicker in Rhashad's eyes. "For now?" she echoed.

"Eventually they'll stop," he declared. "After all, they can't chase you all over the South.

Not forever. Even if they are nomads. One of these days this little mistake will get all straightened out, and you two will no longer be hunted."

" This little mistake,' " I muttered.

"Meanwhile," she said lightly, "they might yet catch us, and kill us."

"Well, yes, they could." Rhashad pulled his sorrel from the basin, dripping water. "If you're stupid enough to be caught."

I nodded. "We'd sort of hoped to avoid that."

"That's why I'm here." Rhashad looked past Del and me to the horses. "I rode out before dawn, hoping to catch you. The tribes were still in disarray. After all, they're none of them accustomed to cooperating, being solitary sorts." He shrugged. "But that won't last.

By now they'll have banded together for one purpose: to kill the jhihadi's murderer. So, I decided to do what I could to help." He jerked his chin to indicate our horses. "I've come to take one of your mounts."

I blinked. "You've what?"

"Come to take one of your mounts."

"Details," Del suggested, waggling fingers in invitation. "I'm rather fond of details."

"A pretty little thing like you?" Rhashad grinned at her. He was big, bold, uninhibited; not at all Del's type. (I think.) "This is men's business, bascha... Tiger and I will attend to details."

In the spirit of the moment, Del offered cool smile and arched brows. "Is that what you tell your mother?"

He laughed. "Hoolies, no--I know better. She'd have both my balls." The smile slid into crooked consideration. "Of course, then there'd be no one to carry on the line ... no, I think she'd settle for an ear instead, which would then destroy my good looks." Blue eyes twinkled beneath heavy brows. "Which do you want, bascha? Balls, or an ear?"

If he meant to shock, he failed. Again the cool smile. Only I saw the glint in her eye; no one else knew her as I. "And do you think I could take neither?"

Rhashad's grin wavered in the depths of red-blond mustaches. He frowned, thinking about the promise implicit in Del's tone, but only for a moment; the expression cleared quickly. His manner was bluff as he shifted in the sand, but I could tell her implication had gone home. Rhashad liked what he saw. It was easy to think only of that, and forget what she could do. "Well, I think that's a question that will have to be settled another time. Right now we'd best attend to those details." He looked at me. "They'll be tracking two horses. Why don't you switch to one?" He glanced again at our mounts. "I'd take the roan. He's bigger, more suited to carrying two, and neither of you is little--"

I shook my head, cutting him off. "He'd never last if we went into the Punja. He's Northerner-bred... the stud's smaller, but he's tough. He won't give up."

Rhashad shrugged. "Whatever you like. Give me one of them--I'll ride off in the other direction and lead them a pretty chase."

"If they catch you--" Del began.

"If they do, I'm just a Borderer. My hands--and face--are clean." He cast a glance at the scars in my cheek. "I'm not the Sandtiger. I'm not his woman, either. I think they'll let me go."

I spoke up hastily, before Del could light into Rhashad for daring to suggest she was my woman. Even if she was, in Southron parlance; Northerners are like that. (Or maybe just Del is like that.) "Meanwhile, it's given us time to put some miles between them and us." I nodded. "A good plan, Rhashad."

He lifted a single big shoulder offhandedly. "Even my mother would like it." He inspected our tiny camp, then glanced at the horizon as it swallowed the sun. "No moon tonight.

You can get a few hours' sleep, then ride out just before dawn. Meanwhile, I'll take the other horse now. They might as well think you're that far ahead of them; it'll make them all the more willing to overextend their own mounts."

"Why?" Del asked. "Why are you doing this?"

Rhashad smiled, chewing mustache. "Tiger and I are old friends. He's taught me a trick or two for the circle, tricks that saved my life. I just figure I owe him. As for you, well

..." The Borderer grinned. "My mother wouldn't mind if I brought home a bold bascha like you. But since I can't do that, I'll settle for helping you escape. It would be such a waste if they killed you." Rhashad shot me a glance. "Though not so much of one if they killed him."

"Ha-ha," I said dutifully, and turned back to lean my sword against the wind and sandbreak. "Can you stay for food? Del's just about to cook it."

"Del is just about to do nothing of the sort," she retorted. "Don't try to trick me into it simply because Rhashad is here. I have no skills, remember? No devotion to womanly duty." Del smiled sweetly. "I have no manners at all--I'm a sword-dancer, am I not?"

I ignored the implication. "He's a guest," I explained.

"No, he's not," she countered. "He's just one of us."

Rhashad, laughing, waved a hand. "No, no, I can't stay. I'm going to ride out now.

But--there is one more thing."

The humor was gone from his eyes. Del and I waited.

The Borderer turned to his horse and mounted. "You remember what I told you about how things are in Julah? About how Aladar's daughter succeeded to the tanzeership? "

"Yes," I answered. "And at the time we also discussed the fact she probably won't be tanzeer for long. This is the South. She's a woman. Someone will take it away."

"Maybe," Rhashad said. "And maybe not. She's got the gold mines, remember? She may be a woman, but she's a very rich woman. Money buys men. Money also buys loyalty. If she pays them enough, they might not care if she's a woman."

I knew very well she had gold mines. Her father had held them before her; it's where he'd made me a slave.

I suppressed an involuntary shudder. Even now, I dreamed about it. "Anyway, what's this got to do with us? Del and I aren't necessarily heading to Julah."

"Doesn't matter," Rhashad declared. "She's coming after you."

Del glanced at me, inspecting my expression. "Does she know, then? Or is it merely convenient to blame the so-called jhihadi's murderers for every drop of blood spilled from this day forward?"

Rhashad shrugged slightly. "Probably. Except Sabra has a very good idea exactly who killed her father. I told you that before: there were rumors about a big Southron sword-dancer with clawmarks on his face, and a magnificent Northern bascha who was living in Aladar's harem."

"Not my choice," Del snapped. "As for his death, he deserved it."

"Undoubtedly," Rhashad nodded, "but his daughter doesn't agree. She's put a price on your head."

"Oh?" I brightened. "How much are we worth?"

Rhashad's expression was solemn. "Enough to buy sword-dancers."

I sighed. "Anything else?"

Rhashad nodded. "Late last night, after you and Del rode out, I had a few drinks with Abbu Bensir."

I shrugged. "So?"

"So, he said Sabra had sent for him."

Del frowned. "But--he would not ..." She glanced at me. "Would he? He is your friend.

Like Rhashad."

"Not like Rhashad," I countered. "And not properly a friend; Abbu and I were--and are--rivals." I shook it off with a twitch of shoulders. "It makes no difference. If he hires on, it becomes a matter of money. And a contract."

"Did he not take oaths to honor the code of the dance?" she asked sharply.

"Southron circle oaths have nothing whatsoever to do with not killing specific people," I told her. "We're free to hire on however we will... even if it means dancing to the death against someone we know rather well." I exchanged a glance with Rhashad. "Are you sure about all of this?"

He nodded. "Iskandar was full of it, and Harquhal, when I stopped for water... you were named, and Del, although mostly they just call her the Northern bascha." He grimaced briefly. "And other less flattering things."

"It doesn't matter." Del's brows were puckered. "If she has hired Abbu Bensir--and other sword-dancers--the situation changes."

"A little," I agreed. "We've got tribes after us for murdering the jhihadi, and assorted sword-dancers--maybe even Abbu Bensir--hunting us to complete a tanzeer's contract. If Abbu hired on; we don't know that."

"If he has, he is dangerous." Del's tone was deadly. "He is very, very good. I danced against him, remember?"

"So did I," I sighed, "a very long time ago."

Rhashad, smiling, touched his throat. "He makes no secret of it. Other men might be ashamed, but not Abbu Bensir. The ruined throat is a battle scar gained while in the circle against an honorable opponent."

I hissed another oath. "I was seventeen," I muttered. "Does he say that, too?"

Rhashad laughed. "No, not that. Your name is more than enough. Let the others think what they will."

Del removed a few things from her saddle-pouches, transferred them to mine, then saddled the roan. Slowly, she led him over to Rhashad. "What will you do with him?"

"Take him southeasterly for a few days, just to throw them off, then head back toward the border. My mother can use a good horse."

She nodded. "He is that." She slapped a blue-speckled rump. "May the sun shine on your head."

Rhashad displayed big teeth. "Not much chance it won't." He swung his sorrel aside and pulled the roan up close as he looked at me. "It may work for a while. The tribes are too worked up right now to think things through, which means they'll make mistakes, and I doubt many of the established sword-dancers will hire on, since you're one of their own--and she's a woman, after all. I'd say it'd mostly be the younger ones trying to make a name. Capturing the Sandtiger would really mean something, in which case they might get careless in the rush to track you down." He chewed one of his mustaches. "But if Abbu has hired on ..." The Borderer shrugged. "You know Abbu. He's not a stupid man."

"It does change things," I agreed. Then, seriously, "I owe you, Rhashad."

He shrugged. "One day." And headed out at a lope with the Northern roan at the end of taut reins.

I turned abruptly. "Let's pack."

She was startled. "Now?"

"We'll do as he's doing: ride out now and get a few hours' head start. Hopefully, it'll give us an edge in addition to leaving tracks for only one horse." I bent down to pick up my sword. "It was a good idea. I should have thought of it my--hoolies--"

"What now?" Del asked.

I stared down at the fallen sword. I had put out my hand, closed fingers around the grip, lifted--and the thing had pulled free of my grasp. Once free, it had fallen. It now lay across my right foot.

I'm a Southroner: I wear sandals. There's not a whole lot of protection against a falling sword when you wear sandals--but then you don't ordinarily figure you'll drop one, either. Not if you're a sword-dancer, and you know how to handle a sword.

I was. I did. I hadn't dropped the sword. The thing had pulled free.

"Hoolies," I murmured, very softly.

Blood began to flow.

"Tiger!" Del stood next to me, staring down at the mess. "Tiger--" She reached for the sword, then drew back. "I can't touch it; you know that. I may know the name, but there is still Chosa Dei."

"I don't expect you to touch it," I muttered, pulling my foot from beneath the blade. I let the weapon lie there.

"You're bleeding... here--" She knelt down and began to unlace my sandal. "I'm beginning to think you are getting careless... first you cut your hand, now this--"

I pulled my foot away. "Leave it alone. You don't have to do that." I rested the ball of my still-sandaled foot against the sandbreak wall and took up where Del had left off, untying leather knots. "Pack up whatever we need and saddle the stud... I'll be with you in a moment."

She turned away, gathering gear and saddle-pouches, and said nothing more about carelessness, teasing or otherwise. As for me, I slipped off a sandal no longer worth very much; the blade had cut through leather straps before slicing into flesh.

I used the hem of my burnous to sop up the blood. The cut was not very deep and the blood stopped quickly enough. It wouldn't bother me much, although the sandal required repairing. We didn't have the time; for now I'd simply ride barefoot.

I stripped off the good sandal and toed through pockets of sand and webby grass patches to the stud.

I tucked the sandals into one of the pouches, then turned back to stare at the sword. It lay naked in the dirt: four feet of deadly jivatma.

Del, making a last inspection sweep of the tiny oasis, glanced at me sidelong. "Do you intend to leave it there?"

"In a minute," I declared. "If I could. But you've convinced me it would not be a wise thing to do. Look what it's doing to me--if someone else got a hold of it ..." I shook my head. "I remember all too clearly what Chosa Dei, in that sword, did to Nabir. How it unmade Nabir's feet--" I shook off a sudden chill. "Imagine what it--he--might do if he got control of a weaker man."

"You're saying Chosa--?" Del let it trail off, staring at the sword. "The tip is still black."

"And will be, I'm beginning to think, until it's fully discharged. And you know what that means."

"Shaka Obre," she breathed.

"Shaka Obre," I echoed, "and the strength to destroy Chosa Dei before he destroys me."

Five

We rode for maybe an hour, heading due south. A straight line would take us into the heart of the Punja. I had no plans at that particular moment to actually enter the Punja, but then the beast is often perverse; thanks to frequent sandstorms, called simooms, the Punja is rarely where you expect it to be. Wind-powered, scouring, it moves. Anything in its way, including something so trivial as a boundary--or a city, or a tanzeer's entire domain--is swallowed by acres of sand. Which means sometimes no matter how hard you try to avoid it, the Punja gets in your way.