Sword Singer-Sword Dancer 2 (27 page)

Blue eyes widened. "How?"

Del was never one to lie, or even to blunt the truth. Not for anyone's sake.

"With magic," she said evenly.

Cipriana urged her bay closer to Del's white-faced sorrel. "Magic," she said.

"Magic? How? What will you do?"

Adara shoved tangled hair out of a tired face. Something glinted in her eyes: an

odd, bright awareness. "She's going to use her jivatma."

Four pairs of eyes fixed themselves on the sword. I didn't bother, having seen

Boreal before; instead, I looked at them. At Garrod, clearly startled, who only

now realized Del was precisely what she claimed; and at Adara and her children,

staring avidly at the blade. As if they were dying of thirst and knew it would

succor them.

Lastly, at Del, who was sliding off her horse. "You would do well," she suggested, "to find places in which to hide. That way if I fail, perhaps you'll

still escape the beasts."

Places in which to hide. Were there any? The trap-canyon was little more than a

pen of rock, and we the gathered livestock.

Garrod tipped his head back, looking up. Beaded braids dangled, sweeping against

his mount's gray rump. "There are holes," he said. "Ledges and shelves and holes."

So there were. The walls, curving around to trap us within something akin to a

semicircle, were freely pocked with hollows and holes. It was possible the walls

that trapped us might also provide a means of escape from the hounds.

In the distance I heard the yapping of the beasts, threading down through the narrow canyon. I jumped off the stud and went over to the nearest lobe of cliff.

The morning light was very thin, but growing stronger by the moment. Shadows slid down mottled rock onto a stone floor stair-stepped by a now-banished river,

losing themselves in smudgy darkness. "Any holes large enough?"

"Any we can reach?" Methodically I checked for cubbies we could use.

"Massou--over here."

He came at once, peering up at the hole I'd found. "Too high," he said.

"The whole point," I agreed. "Here--I'll give you a boost. Come on."

Garrod dismounted and conducted his own search, motioning Cipriana and her mother to dismount and join him. It didn't take long for him to discover a ledge

just large enough for two. He boosted the girl up, then Adara, and told them both to stay put.

"What about you?" Cipriana asked. Her voice echoed in the canyon.

He was clearly pleased, though he answered calmly enough. "I will stay down with

the horses."

"But--if those things break through--"

"I will stay with the horses," he repeated, with a strange dignity. "They will

be frightened also. I can make them feel better."

I shot him a sardonic glance as I led the stud to the wall and looped his reins

over an outcrop. "By talking to them, Garrod?"

He was unoffended. "I've heard you talk to your stud."

"That's different," I pointed out. "That's just talking. He doesn't really understand me."

Garrod grunted. "Do you want me to find out?"

I thought about it. If he could talk to the stud--no, never mind. "Nah," I told

him. "He and I do fine."

Del stood by her "throat." She frowned a little, intently studying the interior

of the canyon, the narrow entranceway, the bulging lobes of stone on either side. And then abruptly made a decision; she turned and walked swiftly straight

to Garrod, who stood talking quietly to his horses.

"I need one," she said.

Interrupted, he looked at her with an oddly unfocused stare. "What?"

"I need one." Del repeated, gesturing to his horses. "Now."

Garrod frowned. "Why? Do you mean to ride back? I thought Tiger said this was the best place to turn them."

"It is," she agreed evenly, "but we need something to block the entrance, like a

stopper in a bottle."

I understood instantly, admiring her plan, as well as her courage in asking Garrod to make such a sacrifice. Watching the interplay, I scratched thoughtfully at my scars; Garrod wouldn't like it at all, once he understood exactly what she meant.

For now, he didn't. Braid beads rattled as he shook his head. "When the beasts

come, the horse will never stand. He'll try to run, and you'll lose your stopper."

"Not if he can't run." Del's hand was more imperative. "Give me a horse, Garrod.

I can ride double with Tiger,"

Abruptly, he understood. Pale eyes widened in astonished disbelief, then narrowed angrily. I don't know exactly what he said, since he said it in uplander dialect, but clearly it wasn't polite. It also wasn't agreement.

The yapping intensified. Del ignored Garrod's diatribe and reached out to catch

the reins to the nearest horse. It was the sorrel she had ridden.

He is fast, the Northerner. He had his knife out before I could reach him, but I

swept aside the angry attempt and carried him back against the wall.

"No," I said calmly, squeezing the knife from his hand.

He didn't even glance at me, though I held him pressed against the cliff.

Instead he stared past me at Del, who led the sorrel to the opening. His fair-skinned face was blotched with anger. "She can't kill him--she can't kill

him--"

"She can," I said quietly. "It's to save our lives, Garrod."

"How can she kill a horse?"

Del positioned the sorrel so that he stood sideways in the throat, blocking the

opening.

Garrod lunged off the wall, set me back two steps, tried to twist free. He nearly did it, too; I only just managed to swing him back around and smash him

against the wall. "We don't have time for this, Garrod--"

He swore viciously, cutting me off, and spat out something in uplander slang.

Something, I think, about an old man and a nanny goat.

I leaned on him a little, smiling. "If you like, we can use you to block the gate."

Garrod struggled fruitlessly. "You don't understand--"

"All I need to understand is that when it comes down to it, our survival is more

important than that of any horse. You'd agree, if you had any brains."

"I'm a horse-speaker, you fool! Don't you know what that means? Don't you understand?" He strained against me. "I feel what they feel--sense what they sense--"

In the canyon, coming closer, I heard the howling of the hounds. "Right now I don't care if it means you're ready to drop a foal yourself," I told him.

"Del's

trying to save our lives."

He spat out another angry oath in Northern. This time Del was the target.

I sighed and forcibly shut his mouth. "Any time, bascha."

Garrod mumbled urgently against my hand, then went perfectly rigid. I didn't watch Del dispatch the horse, since my attention was on Garrod, but I heard the

familiar wailing whistle of an unkeyed jivatma in use. The horse fell heavily;

Garrod's eyes squeezed shut. Then he sagged against the cliff.

Del swung stiffly from the dead horse. Her face was oddly tight. "When you have

seen Ajani kill your family, killing a horse is nothing."

Garrod's eyes snapped open.

Del's tone didn't waver. "When we are free of here, I have questions to ask of

you. Questions about Ajani."

Garrod said nothing at all, still struck dumb by the death of his horse. Del turned away.

After a moment, certain Garrod now would do nothing, I went over to her.

"I'll

be with you, bascha."

Her voice was slightly unsteady, "You might do well to get up high."

"I might," I agreed, "but I have no intention of hiding."

Lashes flickered minutely. "Because Garrod's staying down?"

I didn't feet like biting. "Because I want to stay here with you."

Her eyes searched my own. Wavered. Then lips tightened slightly. "I don't need

company to die."

"Neither do I, Del. But I have no intention of dying." I glanced through the throat and to the cut beyond.

Heard the yapping of the approaching flood. Took my place behind her. If they got past Boreal, they'd still have an enemy. "The hounds are coming, bascha.

You'd better sing your song."

Del turned. She positioned herself just behind the dead horse, warded by towering stone. Such a fragile, delicate gate, made of flesh and bone. But I thought it might be enough, because she also was Boreal.

Del lifted the sword and held her angled from shoulder to hip. I knew, underneath the soft-combed wool cross-wrapped from wrist to elbow, Del's arms were flexed and firm. Her legs were spread and set, knees only slightly bent.

She held her stance and waited.

She is tall. She is strong. She is completely unrelenting. Not a soft woman, as

Cipriana had needlessly pointed out; what Del was, I knew: a dedicated soldier

in the service of her oath.

My sword hissed as I unsheathed it. But the music of the steel was lost in the

song of Delilah's making.

The canyon disgorged six hounds. The vanguard had arrived.

Hoolies, bascha, do it--

Twenty-two

Something flickered at the corner of my eye. Something high, up in the cliff wall, and not where Garrod and I had cached any of the others. Which meant maybe

the hounds had found another way in, and the vanguard was only a decoy.

Quickly I glanced at Del, who began to sing her sword alive. She was, for the moment, untroubled by the hounds, who merely crouched against the canyon floor,

creeping forward to show her their teeth. I glanced up at the wall again, saw the blob of a face in one of the holes, knew it was man instead of beast.

I sheathed, crossed the trap-canyon in two leaps, caught the convenient handholes. Toeholes as well; I clambered up easily, chinned myself on the ledge

some forty feet above the floor, pulled myself up with caution. I wasn't much interested in having my eyes poked out.

No danger of that. The hole was empty, but it wasn't entirely a hole. It was a

tunnel in the rock, smoothed by wind, water and time. Feeble light blushed it pink and apricot, which meant the tunnel gave out beyond the trap-canyon, providing a means of escape.

"Garrod!" I shouted. "Garrod, get the others down. Bring them over here. I've found a way out." I swung myself down, around, clung a moment to the lip of the

ledge, caught toes in convenient holes, began the awkward descent.

I was down, jumping the last five feet, as Garrod helped the women down from their ledge. I retrieved Massou and steered him to the crude ladder in the wall.

I'd found the hand- and toeholes spaced ridiculously close together, carved more

for a boy of Massou's size than a man's. But there was no time to wonder about

it; it simply meant Massou would find the going easy. He was quick and agile, and more than willing.

Adara, however, was not. "Up there?" she asked, aghast.

"Straight up," I agreed. "There's a solid ledge, once you get up, and a tunnel."

"But you don't know where it goes!"

"Out of here," I said firmly, and caught her around the waist. "Hike up those skirts and climb."

"But--"

"Climb, woman! Or would you rather be eaten?"

Hastily she gathered skirts, kilted them up into her tunic belt to display blue

woolen leggings, turned to face the wall. I boosted. Awkwardly she thrust hands

and feet into holes.

Beyond Del's throat and the dead horse gate, more hounds gathered. Ugly hounds

they were, dappled silver against dull gray, with low-slung heads and prominent

jaws, displaying awesome teeth. They had raggedy, wolfish ears, except the ears

lacked hair, being leathery, grayish things that now stood firmly upright, fixed

upon the song. Hindquarters were slight in comparison to heavy shoulders made heavier by tangled manes. Brushy tails hugged genitals, curled tightly against

lean bellies.

In the faint glow of dawn, slanting eyes were colorless. By night, I knew, they

were white, throwing back the light.

Del sang, I felt the temperature drop. Down and down, until my breath plumed the

air. I knew it was only backlash; the winding conduit in front of Del would suffer the worst of the storm. But it still made me shiver, although I wasn't certain if the response was born of cold or superstition.

The hounds, too, felt it; felt something. As Del loosed the sword, each of them

tilted back an ugly head and howled to the skies.

I shook my head, staring. It resembled nothing so much as some uncanny form of

obeisance. To Del? Or to the sword? Or maybe to the magic?

Hoolies, I hate magic. There's nothing clean about it.

"Come on," I told Cipriana brusquely as her mother reached halfway. "Your turn."

Her skirts were already kilted. She turned to face the wall, then abruptly swung

back. She caught my neck, hugged hard, kissed me before I could say a word.

And

was climbing the ladder of holes, laughing to herself.

Oh, hoolies. What possesses some women?

Massou's expression was one of embarrassed disgust. Garrod's one of startled speculation. Then he frowned. "Do you have a harem, Southron?"

"She's young," I muttered, reaching to scoop up Massou. "She doesn't know what

she wants." I put the boy against the wall, steadied him, sent him up behind his

sister. As I'd expected, he took to the climb with ease.

Garrod's breath wreathed his face. "What about the horses? Do we take them back

through the canyon?"

I sighed. "You don't learn too quickly, do you? No, Garrod, we don't take them

back through the canyon. We leave them here,"

"Leave them--" He stopped short. "You hope the beasts will be satisfied with them instead of with us."

"I'm not counting on it." I jerked a thumb upward. "Your turn, horse-speaker."

"What of your stud?"

It took all I had to shrug unconcernedly. "He doesn't have wings, does he? So I