Sword Sworn-Sword Dancer 6 (30 page)

"You need to get away from here," she countered. "And I've rested enough. Trust me."

Oziri had said that. Trust
me.
"There are still things I have to do," I explained. "Things I need to

learn. Oziri says—"

Del pronounced an expletive concerning Oziri that nearly made my ears roll up. With crisp efficiency

she began to gather up her belongings. "We're going. Tomorrow."

"I'm not done learning what I need to know. I realize it's difficult for you to understand, but there are

things about me that are—different. Things—"

"Yes! Different! Wrong. That's my whole point." Del stopped packing. She moved close, sat on her

heels, reached up to trap my head in her hands. The heels cradled my temples. "Listen to me, Tiger. To

me,
not to the things Oziri has put in your head. Or to what you believe happened." Her eyes caught my

own and held them. "You're right: I don't understand this dream-walking. But what I do know is that it's

changing you. You spend most of each day inside your own head. You don't hear anything I say. You

answer no questions. You don't even acknowledge I'm present. It's as though your body's here, but your

mind is somewhere else. And what you've just told me, this conviction we sparred earlier today—you're

confusing reality with what's in your mind. With the dreams. You have to stop."

"I have to learn how to control it, bascha."

Del leaned forward. Our foreheads met. Her skin was smooth, cool. "Let it go," she murmured. "Let

it go, Tiger. It's Vashni magic."

"It's just another tool—"

"Magic," she repeated, "and you know how you hate magic."

"If I don't learn to control it, it will control me."

She released my head, ran one supple, callused hand through my hair, almost as if I were a muddled

child in need of soothing. "It's controlling you now, Tiger. Every time you go inside yourself."

"It's just stillness," I told her. "It's like ioSkandic discipline. What happened to me atop the spire, in

the Stone Forest ..." I shrugged. "Well, you know."

Del's hands fell away. "I don't know what happened to you atop the spire," she said. "You've never

told me."

My brows lifted. "You were there with me."

"No."

"Del, you were. I saw you. I dreamed you, and you came." And put the
jivatma
scar back into my

abdomen, after Sahdri had lifted it.

The color ran out of her face. "No, Tiger. I was never in Meteiera. I never saw the Stone Forest. I

stayed in Skandi until Prima Rhannet's ship sailed." Something flinched in her eyes. "We all thought you

were dead."

"You were
there,
Del. I remember it clearly." So very clearly. I was naked. Alone. Bereft of

everything I'd known of myself, whelped again atop the rock. Until she came. "You were there."

Del shook her head.

"You're forgetting things," I told her, beginning to worry. "What happened in Meteiera a few weeks

ago, and the sparring match earlier today. Maybe if you talked with Oziri—"

"No." Her tone was certainty followed by puzzlement. "Tiger, we left Skandi months ago. Not

weeks. And we sparred
five days ago.
Not since. Certainly not this morning."

I opened my mouth to refute the claim, but she sealed it closed with cool fingers.

"Listen to me." Her eyes searched mine. "Trust me."

I had trusted this woman with my life more times than I could count. I was troubled that she could be

so terribly confused, but I nodded. I owed her that much.

"I need to go," she said. "I need to leave. Will you come with me:

"Why do you need to leave? You're safe here. You're the Oracle's sister. They'd never harm you."

"I need to leave," she repeated. "I promised Neesha we'd meet him."

It took me a moment to remember the kid. Then I frowned. "You don't owe him anything."

Her voice hardened. "I owe him my life, Tiger. And so do you."

"Maybe so, but—"

"It's time for me to leave," she said. "Will you come with me?"

"Del—"

"Please, Tiger. I need you."

The desire to refuse, to insist she stay with me, was strong. I felt its tug, its power. Leaned into it a

moment, tempted. I owed a debt to the Vashni for tending her, and Oziri had much to teach me. But I

owed a greater debt to the kid for keeping her alive so she
could
be tended.

She'd said she needed me. That was very unlike Del. Something serious was wrong with her.

With her. Not with me.

I nodded. "All right, bascha. We'll go."

Del averted her head abruptly and returned to packing. But not before I saw profound relief and the

sheen of tears in her eyes.

TWENTY-TWO

THE STUD, for some reason, didn't want me near him. I found it decidedly odd; he can be full of

himself and recalcitrant, but not generally difficult to catch and bridle. When I finally did manage both, I

noted the rolling eye and pinned ears. He quivered from tension, from something akin to fear, until Del

came out to saddle the gelding. Then he quieted.

"He knows, too," she said.

I tossed blankets up on the stud's back. "Knows what?"

"That things are not right."

I had no time for oblique comments and obscure conversations. I had agreed to go, but I regretted it.

"Things are what they are."

"For now," she murmured, and turned her full attention to the gelding.

Annoyed, I did the same with the stud. We finished preparations in stiff, icy silence.

It wasn't until Del and I had made our carefully courteous farewells to the chieftain and actually

mounted our horses that Oziri appeared. I heard Del's hissed inhalation and murmured curse as she saw

him walking toward us. I reined in the stud and waited. I could feel Del's tension. It was a tangible thing

even across the distance between the two horses.

I had seen and heard him laugh. He was a man like any other, given perhaps to more dignity because

of his rank but equally prone to expressing his opinion in dry commentary. But as he approached, I saw

he wore no smile. His eyes, lighter than most Vashni's, were fastened on Del.

Yet when he arrived at my stirrup, the sternness vanished. "So, you have learned all there is to know

about dream-walking. I am amazed; it takes most men tens of years to do so."

I tilted my head in Del's direction. "This is for her. There's an errand we must do. A matter of a

debt."

Irony. "Ah. Of course. All debts must be paid."

The stud shifted restlessly, bobbing his head. He watched Oziri sidelong, pinning his ears, then

flicking them at the sound of my voice.

"It's easier for me now," I told Oziri. "As you said, the herbs aren't necessary. It's just a matter of

discipline and stillness." I shrugged off-handedly. "There's much left to learn—but it's a beginning."

"Beginnings," Oziri said, "may be dangerous."

I laughed. "More so than endings?"

The Vashni didn't smile. He reached to his neck, lifted a bone necklet over his head, and offered it.

"This will guide you," he told me. "Wear it in honor."

On horseback I was too tall, even bending, for him to slip it over my head. So I took the necklet into

my hands, noticed the meticulously patterned windings of the wire holding the necklet together, and put it

over my head. Human bones rattled against sandtiger claws.

I opened my mouth to thank him but was distracted when Del's white gelding, painted and tasseled,

sidestepped into me. The toe of her sandal collided with my shin bone. When I glanced at her, annoyed,

she had the grace to apologize. But her eyes were not so abashed, and they were very watchful. Almost

as if she'd done it purposely.

I shot her a quelling glance, then turned back to the warrior. "We'll be back this way."

Oziri smiled, looked at Del on the far side of me. "Yes." Then he dipped his head in eloquent salute.

"May the sun shine on your head, Oracle's sister."

I glanced at Del, expecting her to reply. But something in her eyes said she would not return the

courtesy. I was appalled. She was the one who'd been warning me about rudeness and the possible

consequences.

Then something shifted in her posture. Tension departed. She inclined her head briefly, wished him

the same.

As she rode away, I muttered an aside to Oziri.
"Women."

But the Vashni didn't smile. Didn't laugh. Didn't agree. After a moment I knew he wouldn't.

Somewhat nonplussed, I turned the stud, saw Del ahead, waiting, and rode up to join her.

A strange thing: her eyes were anxious. But it faded as I reined the stud in and gestured her to go

ahead down the narrow thread of a trail Vashni hunters used. She murmured a Northern prayer of

thanksgiving I found utterly incongruous, and took the lead.

from the Vashni encampment it was a long day's ride to Julah, and Del wasn't up to it. She said

nothing, simply straightened her shoulders from time to time and kept riding, but I could tell she was

exhausted. When we came across an acceptable place to spend the night, I called a halt. We had water

enough in botas for ourselves and the horses, and though there was no grazing, we also packed grain.

Thin pickings for the gelding and the stud, but we'd make Julah easily the next day. I figured we'd stay

overnight, then head out toward Umir's.

Del is not one for asking or expecting help, so I offered her none as we unsaddled and hobbled the

horses. I kept an eye on her, though, and saw how stiffly she moved, how carefully she balanced the

weight of saddle, blankets, and pouches, gear she'd ordinarily swing off her horse easily. The spot I'd

selected was open ground save for a huddled fringe of scrubby brush, with more sand and soil than

rocks; Del dug in against an upswell like a coney, flipping her saddle upside down to form a horseman's

chair. Once she'd watered the gelding and made certain he was comfortable, she flopped down on her

blanket and leaned against the saddle. Her eyes drifted closed.

She wore a burnous, as I did. Save for the nick at her jawline, none of her scars were visible. But

she was still too thin, and weariness hollowed her face.

I walked over, dropped a bota down next to her, and announced, "I'm cooking."

Del's eyes opened. "Cooking?"

"Yep. Here." I tossed her a cloth-wrapped packet. "Jerked meat."

She grimaced, peering down at the packet that had landed in her lap. "What kind of meat?"

"Who knows? But it's not cumfa. That's enough for me." I dug more out of the pouches, slung a bota

over beside my own saddle and bedding, found the flint and steel and placed it on my blanket. "Not

much wood here. I'll go scout around."

"Tiger?"

I turned back, asking a question with raised eyebrows.

She studied me a moment, as if weighing me against some inner vision. Then she relaxed. "Thank

you."

Now I frowned.

"For coming."

I shrugged. "Sure. I figure we can track down the kid, make sure he's all right, then head back to the

Vashni."

Her hands froze on the packet of dried meat. Tension returned tenfold. "Go
back!
Why?"

For a moment I didn't know. I was completely blank. Then awareness returned, and the answer

came without volition. "Because I don't know enough yet about the dream-walking. There's much left to

learn." I gestured at the ground. "If you want to start digging a hollow for the fire, that would help. And

find rocks for the ring."

Del said nothing. Just stared at me. Fear was in her eyes; stiffened her body.

"What?"
I asked.

She opened her mouth the answer, then shut it. Shook her head.

After a moment, annoyed, I waved a dismissive hand in her direction and went off in search of

decent wood.

Later, after we had a bed of good coals for warmth and eaten our fill of seasoned jerked meat, Del

unsheathed her sword and began to hone and oil it. I knew I should do the same with my own, but I felt

just lazy enough to stay put, relaxed against my upturned saddle. I blinked sleepily as I stared into the fire

ring, transfixed by the red glow of chunky coals.

Del's face bore a pensive expression. "How many days has it been since the sandtiger attack?"

I thought about it. Realized I didn't know. "A week, I think. Maybe ten days. Why?"

Muscles leaped in her jaw. But she didn't reply. Her eyes assessed the blade as she ran the stone

against it. Her expression was odd.

"Being sick can make you lose track of time." I hoped to set her at ease, if she was worried she lost

a few days. I watched her hand move in an even, effortless rhythm: down the blade, running the stone

against steel, then carrying it back to the hilt where the motion began again. I smelled oil, tasted the

metallic tang in my mouth. The sleeve of her burnous fell back; I saw the knurled scar on her forearm.

"You were lucky that healed so fast."

"I haven't lost track of time," she said quietly. "But I think you have." She glanced up, then set sword

and whetstone aside. For a moment her hands were pressed against her thighs as if she sought

self-control. "Could I see that?"

Her eyes now were on my chest. I glanced down at the Vashni necklet. Thin wire gleamed faintly in

firelight. I pulled it from around my neck, tossed it across to her.

Del caught it, held it up, turned it in the glow of coals so she might examine details more closely. "The

wirework is exquisite."