Sword Sworn-Sword Dancer 6 (36 page)

since they were closer to the surface. "Is there anything any of you have to tell me? Like, how it is I'm

supposed to find this woman?" Or whatever she was, buried in the sand.

For all they supposedly knew the answer, my bones remained stubbornly silent. Muttering, I pulled

on my own sandals, cross-gartered them up my calves, then got up and limped off to make my own

morning donation even as Del returned from hers.

"Don't take long," she called. "I want to get started."

Not something a man wants to hear first thing in the morning when he's only barely awake. "It'll take

as long as it takes," I muttered, scowling at the sunrise.

Del had everything packed and the horses loaded by the time I returned, reins in her hands; and no, I

had not taken that long. She was clearly impatient to get going.

"Hold your horses," I said, wondering if she'd get the joke.

She didn't. "According to you, we could reach Umir's today if we leave early enough."

"And we will reach Umir's today, even if we leave after we eat."

"We can eat on the way." She had packed my things, leaving behind only my harness, sword, and

knife. Ready to go.

I wasn't. I picked up the knife, went over to a spike-fronded plant, cut off a flat, wide, thorn-tipped

leaf. "You weren't in this much of a hurry last night."

"Last night we couldn't do anything but sleep. This morning we can . . . Tiger, what are you doing?"

Methodically I trimmed the sharp tip from the leaf, then carefully slipped the knife blade into the

plump edge and slit the leaf from top to bottom, peeling them apart. I now had two halves, turgid with

pale green sap. I turned over one half of the leaf and began to smear the greasy sap over my shoulder.

Once worked into skin, it was colorless.

'Tiger-"

"If you want to save time," I interrupted, "you might cut off some leaves and give me a hand."

"What is it, and why are you doing that?"

"Alia oil," I explained. "The same stuff you put on your gelding's pink skin, remember? It protects it

from sunburn."

Del, who had only seen alia oil mixed with a paste in cork- or wax-stoppered pots, not in its pure

form, was surprised. "Oh. But why are
you
putting it on?"

"Because I'm fresh out of burnouses, and the last time I made this trek to Umir's, I arrived with at

least one layer of skin peeling off. I'd just as soon skip the experience this time." I dropped the depleted

half of leaf, began to work with the other. "Gee, bascha, I can think of a lot of women who'd just love to

spread oil all over me. Have you grown immune to my charms? I did bathe yesterday." I reconsidered.

"Well,
half
of me got bathed. I'll let you do the clean half. And you might want to put some on your face,

even with the hood."

Del shook herself out of her reverie and bent to cut off leaves. I watched her. Clearly the body was

present, but the thoughts were not.

"Have
you grown immune to my charms?"

With great concentration she slit the leaf open, frowning. "What?"

"You're not listening to a word I say, are you?"

She flicked a glance at me, then walked around behind me and slapped the leaf sap-down on my

back. "I want to get going. We can talk on the way." Strong fingers began to rub oil into my skin.

She wanted to eat on the way, talk on the way. I suppose I was lucky she hadn't insisted I piss on

the way. "Fine," I said tersely.

After that we worked in silence, which seemed to suit Del. Me, I just got grumpy. It's a sad thing

when a dead woman's bones are more talkative than a living woman's mouth.

I insisted we stop briefly at the big oasis at which Alric and I had spent the night. Del clearly wanted

to continue, but she'd learned that in the desert one never passes up the chance to refill botas and rest the

horses.

She did, however, protest as I pulled up at the outskirts of the oasis, taking time to mark the other

travelers present. "What are we waiting for?"

"Oh, I don't know—maybe checking to see if any sword-dancers are here," I remarked pointedly.

"We ride straight in without looking and I could end up dead in very short order, and
then
where would

your precious Neesha be?"

Del was annoyed, but she shut her mouth on further protest.

"There's a spring about halfway in. Follow the main path. Keep your eyes open. I'll take the

perimeter, then come in from the other side. All right?"

She nodded, giving the gelding a touch of her heels. Sighing, I reined the stud aside and began to

reconnointer as I rode the perimeter of the big oasis.

I did not see anyone lying in wait for me, but that didn't mean no one who might challenge me was

absent. I aimed the stud down the center path leading toward the spring and remained mounted. Being

ahorse gives a man an advantage, usually. Being atop the stud gives me a huge advantage always, as he

doesn't take kindly to assailants rushing up at him, even if his rider is the target.

Of course, I didn't know any sword-dancers stupid enough to do such a thing. We—they—aren't

assassins, though we will take on death-dances depending on circumstances; the goal is the rit-ual and

the challenge, not out and out murder.

Then again, there were no guarantees all sword-dancers would adhere to that unspoken custom. Me

killing Musa in a dance had proven to all witnesses that out and out murder might in fact be easier. Of

course, supposedly Umir wanted me alive, but I suspected there'd be a few sword-dancers willing to

forgo the reward simply for the pleasure of killing me.

I rode down the path, poised for attack. There was a scattering of wagons here and there, with

unhitched dray animals resting quietly in such shade as palm trees offer; half-dressed children running

around, heedless of the heat—why is it we notice it more when we're adults?—and burnous-clad men

and women visiting in small groups, exchanging tales of their travels, describing plans for when they

arrived at their destinations. Someone was playing a reed pipe; the thin, wailing melody cut the air. No

fires, as there had been the evening Alric and I stayed, merely fire rings with quiet coals hoarded against

the evening meal.

As I rode up, Del was at the spring watering the gelding. He had lost his brilliant red tassels at the

Vashni encampment, where someone had presented Del with a browband of dangling leather thongs,

ornamented with blue beads. He still looked rather silly, especially with the black paint around his eyes,

but not as ridiculous as he had wearing Silk's crimson tassels.

She had watered herself as well as her horse and had braided her hair into a single thick plait. To tie

it off she'd robbed the gelding of one thong; blue beads clacked quietly against each other when she

moved her head. They matched her eyes.

"All right," I said in answer to her expression, "so we didn't run into any trouble. But we might have."

I dropped off the stud and let him nose his way in past the gelding, urging him aside with an absent

nipping motion of his mouth.

Del handed me a dripping gourd ladle. "I didn't say anything."

I drank, swallowing heavily, not caring when water splashed down my bare torso to dampen my

dhoti. I now wore a gritty layer of fine dust sticking to the alia oil from head to toe. So much for the half a

bath in Julah.

"You didn't have to." I handed the gourd back. "I can read your expression: Hurry up; let's go; stop

wasting time. And
don't
try to tell me none of those comments passed through your mind. I know

better."

Del did not attempt it, though clearly she was irritated. "You said Umir's place wasn't far from here."

"We'll make it well before sundown."

"Then hand me your empty botas," she said, "and I can fill them." Because, I knew, it would speed

things up.

Shaking my head, I unhooked and handed her two flaccid botas. The others I unloaded and dipped

down via tie-ropes into the water, soaking the rough sacking that formed an outer casing for the leather.

While wet it helped cool the water, but it wouldn't stay that way for long beneath the sun. And since I

doubted Umir would be much interested in replenishing our supplies, and Nayyib might have none as we

departed, we needed to conserve.

"You're filthy," Del commented, sounding somewhat conciliatory—if you want to call being told

you're dirty a peace offering. "You could wash off here, cool down a little."

"It'll strip off too much of the oil." I stood, botas dripping, and began to tie them back onto the stud's

saddle. "And I doubt you'd allow me the time to go bargain for a burnous."

"If the oil is working . . ." Wisely, she let it trail off.

I took the refilled botas from her, tied them on. "Let's go, basha. We're burning daylight."

I suspect she knew I was not pleased. But she didn't ask why or suggest I shouldn't be; she simply

mounted the gelding and allowed me to take the lead as we rode out of the oasis.

* * *

Umir's place wasn't far, and we did arrive well before sundown. There were no gates, merely an

arched opening in the white-painted walls, and I pulled up in front. "Whatever happens," I said, "you've

got my back."

"What are you planning to do?"

"Ride up to his front door and ask for Nayyib." I set the stud into a walk.

"Tiger, be serious."

"I am being serious. Sometimes the only way to get what you want is to ride up to the front door and

ask."

"Umir may set some sword-dancers on you!"

"Or not." I rode under the archway and into the paved courtyard with its tiled fountain. "Do you want

the kid or not?"

Del kept her mouth shut. She held the gelding a few steps behind the stud, undoubtedly examining

every visible nook and cranny in Umir's walled gardens. I suspected she had unsheathed and now held

the sword across her saddlebow. That belief was confirmed when I caught a metallic flash of light thrown

against the white-painted walls.

I halted the stud beside the fountain, marking how much room there was for him to pivot and take off

if given the order. Del knew better than to crowd him, so there was no chance of a collision. I reached

down to the pouch behind my right leg and undid the thong, flipping back the flap.

"Umir!" I shouted, as the stud rang a shod hoof off courtyard pavers. "Umir the Ruthless!"

As expected, it was a servant who came out to see what the ruckus was all about.

I greeted him politely. "Now, go fetch your master. Tell him we have business to transact, he and I."

The servant opened his mouth to refuse—I looked about as disreputable now as I did when Rafiq

and friends had brought me in—then thought better of it. He departed.

After making us wait just long enough to notice, Umir put in an appearance. He wore a costly

gold-striped robe, gem-weighted belt, soft kidskin house slippers. His expression was austere. "I do not

conduct business out here in the heat and dust." His eyes assessed my condition, found it lacking. "I am a

man of refinement."

Cheerfully, I told him what he could do with his refinement. "You have someone here, Umir. A young

man, name of Nayyib. In fact, you're very likely guesting him in the same room I occupied. Have you

replaced the bedframe, yet, or is it still missing a leg?"

"I have no guests at present," Umir retorted. "All of the sword-dancers have left to look for you."

"Well, too bad for you I decided to come here on my own. Makes them all look kind of bad, doesn't

it? Especially after I outdanced Musa." I flicked a glance past him, toward the depths of the house.

"We've come for Nayyib. Have someone saddle his horse while someone else escorts him out here."

"Why should I do any such thing, Sandtiger?"

"Because you want your book back."

His eyes sharpened. "You have it? With you?"

I reached into the pouch, closed my hand on the cover, and dragged it out.

The tanzeer took a hungry step forward. "Give it to me!"

I smiled. "Nayyib first."

Umir turned and snapped out an order to an invisible servant. Then he swung back. "Let me have it."

I rested the fat book atop the saddle pommel. "Not until the kid is brought out here and is mounted

on his horse."

"You don't have any idea what that book is!" Umir said. "Don't be a fool—let me have it!"

"No wonder you don't conduct business out here," I observed. "The sun boils yours brains."

"The boy is being brought!"

"Fine. Once he's mounted and on his way, you'll get your book back."

A white indentation circling Umir's mouth appeared on his face. Pale eyes were icy with anger. "Do

you expect this to lift the reward I've placed on you?"

"As I understand it, the reward was for my return—alive. Well, here I am. How about you pay up?"

"Pay
you
the reward?"

"Call it a delicious irony," I suggested. I traced with two fingers the scuffs in the leather binding. "The

Book
of Udre-Natha."
I turned back the cover, began to riffle pages. "Interesting."

"Don't touch it!" Umir cried. "You'll soil the pages!"

I pinned down a page with a forefinger. "What do you suppose this says?"

"Don't read it!" He glared up at me. "Not that you could. I doubt you can read your own language."

"Just a big, dumb sword-dancer, am I?" I shrugged. "Ah, well. We can't all be born tanzeers."

"Chula," he spat.