Sword Sworn-Sword Dancer 6 (39 page)

His jaw tightened. There was nothing puppy-doggish about his eyes now; he was angry, but he was

suppressing it with unexpected self-control. Some of the boyishness faded behind a harder veneer.

Suddenly he wasn't a kid at all, but a man. His voice was very quiet. "What would it take?" "Time." And

then I heard my shodo's words come out of my mouth. "There are seven levels. But there is no

prescribed length of time required to reach any of those levels. It may take two years to reach the first

level. You may leave after you reach it, if that is your choice—but to leave before you can walk means

you'll be killed before you can even dream of running." "And to achieve seven levels?"

I shrugged. "Few men last that long. They leave to make a living."

"You are a seventh-level sword-dancer." "I was. I'm not anything now, other than outcast."

"Elaii-ali-ma,"
he said. "Rafiq told me, when I asked." "Time and oaths," I told him. "It's a demanding service, the circle. Too many believe it's about glory. Rafiq does, and it's why he'll never survive. In truth,

it's mostly about honor, and oaths, and service. The elegance of the dance, the beauty of live steel. Glory

comes, if you win enough,
well
enough—but that's not the point. It only
seems
like it to young men who

don't want to stay in the village, get married, and father babies on the first village girl they bed."

He had controlled the anger. His voice was steady. "And if I choose to achieve the seventh level, as

you did?"

"Can you afford ten years?"

He blinked. "It took you ten years?"

I bent to apply oil to my calves and shins. "No, it took me seven. But I was the first to do it that fast."

Nayyib nodded once. "Seven levels. If it requires
twelve
years, then I will give you twelve."

Del led the gelding around in front of the stud. Waited, saying nothing.

"Don't swear any oaths just yet, Nayyib," I suggested. "Not until you know what they are. Because

at Alimat, the oaths you swear are for life."

He didn't shy from it, was not afraid of me. "You broke yours."

"And every sword-dancer in the South is trying to kill me."

His glance slid to Del. Quietly, he said, "There are times when certain oaths must be broken, if to

keep them breaks oaths you have made to others."

So. She'd told him. It seemed the Northern bascha had been doing quite a bit of talking to the

Southron boy.

Who wasn't really a boy. Just considerably younger than I.

Like Del.

He was still gazing at her. She didn't avoid it. I saw a look pass between them, though I couldn't

interpret it.

Something pinched deep in my gut. Jealousy? No, not really. But an awareness that things were

changing; that they would continue to change.

And Del knew nothing about my limited time.
Her
life would change, too.

I looked back at Nayyib. He said he'd give me twelve years. In twelve years, or possibly ten, I

would be dead.

Abruptly I tossed away the rest of the leaf. Turned and mounted the stud. I reined him in and looked

down at Nayyib waiting for my answer. "You can come with us as far as Julah. We'll spar there, and

then I'll decide."

The stud has a very comfortable long-walk, once he consents to settle into the gait. Too often he has

a burr under his blanket, or a bee up his butt—figuratively speaking, of course—and takes it out on me.

But for now he was content to just walk on, head bobbing lazily at the end of his neck. I very nearly fell

asleep, until Del's voice woke me up.

"Tiger!"

I let the stud go on, twisting in the saddle to look back. Del and Nayyib had stopped some distance

away and were staring at me. "What?"

"Where are you going?" Del called.

"Julah!"

"Julah's
this
way."

I reined in. "No, it's not." I pointed. "This way. South."

"That's east," she declared.

Was she sandsick? "No, it's not. This is south. Julah's this way."

Del stabbed a finger in front of her horse. "There's the road."

"That's
a
road," I told her. "Five of them meet at the oasis. This is the road to Julah."

Nayyib shook his head and said something to Del I couldn t hear.

"What?" I asked, irritated.

"It's east," he answered.

"How would
you
know? You're not from around here."

"No, but I do know my directions."

"That's not a road at all, Tiger," Del called. "Take a look."

This was ridiculous, having this pointless discussion in the middle of the desert. I looked. Blinked.

Saw that indeed the stud and I were striking out across the desert with no road, trail, or track in sight.

I scowled. It
felt
right, this direction. It felt south. Or else I really had fallen asleep, and the stud had

chosen his own route.

I turned him around and headed back. Felt an abrupt sense of wrongness so powerful I reined in

sharply. "No," I insisted, "it's this way."

Del pointed down the road. "South. Julah. I'm not from around here, either, but I know that much."

But it was wrong. Wrong. I knew it. Felt it in my bones.

And abruptly I swore, remembering the dream. My bones would know, she'd said.

Del's voice, "Tiger?"

I closed my eyes tightly. Tried to reorient myself. Tried to let my lifelong sense of direction tell me

which way was the correct one. Yet when I opened them again, I still felt that they were wrong and I

was right, despite the evidence of the road.

Or maybe we were both right. Julah lay south, but where I was
supposed
to go lay east.

"Find me,"
she had said.
"And take up tine, sword."

I looked at Del. "Which way is the chimney from here?"

"The chimney?"

"The rock formation we brought down when you broke your sword. When Chosa Dei fought Shaka

Obre." Oziri had called it Beit al'Shahar.

Del pointed. "That way."

"West."

She nodded. So did Nayyib.

The stud and I were facing west. Del's gelding and Nayyib's bay faced south, toward Julah, with the

oasis not terribly far behind them. East lay behind me, and that was the way I—or my bones—wanted to

go.

Well, we don't always get what we want. I clucked to the stud and headed him toward the road.

Once there, I stopped. Shuddered from head to toe.

Del's expression was concerned. "What is it?"

"I don't know. Something ..." I shook my head, knowing how it sounded. "Something keeps telling

me we need to go east. Or I do, at least."

"What's east?" she asked.

A dead woman, apparently. A scattering of bones: pearls of the desert.

"The Punja," I said.

A line appeared between her brows. "It makes no sense."

"And I agree with you wholeheartedly," I said. "All I know is, something in me wants to go east."

Nayyib, wisely keeping out of the conversation, looked past me and changed the subject.

"Someone's coming."

I turned in the saddle, looking in the direction of the oasis. A cloud of dust accompanied the ride,

obscuring the horizon. I noticed then that one arm was waving. A man's voice was raised over the

hoofbeats of his horse.

"Wait!"he cried. "Wait!"

"Someone from the oasis?" Nayyib wondered.

"Wait!" He sounded frantic; had something happened at the oasis that required help?

"Guess we'll find out," I said. At least the distraction kept me from heading east.

The stud snorted, pawed, shifted sideways restlessly, not happy to be standing in one spot. I reined

him in, had a brief discussion with him when he protested, and glanced up as the rider grew closer. I

could make out his features, but I recognized none of them.

"Wait!" he called.

Then I saw the flash of steel.

I twisted, gesturing at Del and Nayyib with a sweeping left arm. "Move! Out of the way!"

As I swung back, yanking blade free of sheath, everything around me slowed. Swearing, I reined the

stud back sharply, off the road, but by then it was too late. The rider neither reined in nor reined aside.

With sword raised above his head, he crashed his dun horse into the stud.

Perception fragmented into shards of images, impressions. I felt
the impact rock the stud, knocking

him sideways. Was aware of the dun's head smashing into my left elbow, of rolling eyes and hot breath.

The stud staggered, nearly went down. A flash of steel blinded me even as I tried to yank the stud's head

up into the air, trying to keep him on his feet, to pivot left so I would have a clean line for my own blade.

But we were too cursed close, my assailant and I, with our horses jammed together.

I dropped the reins and, cursing, hammered a fist into the dun's nose, trying to get him off me, off the

stud. I saw the flash of a blade, brought up my own. In the mass of tangled horseflesh it was impossible

to parry properly, but I did block the worst of the blow's impetus. Then the stud was trying to fight the

dun, mouth agape, neck snaking, head swinging sideways, teeth snapping.

The dun reared, screaming. My stirrups were gone anyway; I pushed off, diving sideways, and lost

my sword on the way down. I landed hard, tasted sand and blood, saw stars; I tried to scramble up, to

get out of the way, but my momentum was off, and I tripped over my sword and fell. Escape was now

impossible in the midst of the equine battle; I couldn't tell which way was up or down, in or out. I just

rolled myself up in a tight ball, arms hooked over my head, and prayed no hoof would land on any part

of my anatomy.

Dimly I was aware of shouting. Del's voice. Nayyib's. And a stranger's. The screaming was terrible,

the frenzied trumpeting of an enraged stallion. I focused on it, sorted out which direction it came from,

and decided to take the chance. I lunched upward from the ground, ran two steps, fell again, rolled,

came up into a crouch. In the midst of the battle I saw Nayyib dart in on foot and bend, sword bared.

He sliced at something, and nearly got his head smashed for his trouble. But I saw the dun go down as

Nayyib leaped back out of the way, and realized what he'd done.

The rider flung himself off as his mount, hamstrung and pressured by the stud, crashed to the ground.

He rolled away, scrambling even as I had, and lunged upward—only to come face to face with Del. He

had lost his sword in the melee, but grabbed for his knife. Del, who still claimed her blade, used it with

fierce efficiency, driving it through his belly.

The stud reared, trumpeted again, came down with both front hooves striking. I heard the sickening

crunch as he smashed the dun's skull. He spun then, took two leaps away, whirled back and stood

trembling, front legs twitching, tail slashing. Ribbons of sweat rolled down his flanks.

And blood.

Nayyib was there immediately. Not everyone will approach a horse in the stud's condition; probably

no one should. He could easily strike again, or bite. But Nayyib caught the cheekstrap of his bridle,

quickly looped the rein around his nose, then through bit shanks, and pulled it taut. He was done so

quickly the stud had no chance to react. Nayyib held him there, soothing him with his voice, using the

looped rein as a makeshift stud-chain.

Del was with me. "Are you all right?"

I spat blood and sand, felt grit in my teeth. Wiped a hand across my mouth and managed only to

smear things around. "Fine." I tried to get up. My left leg protested vociferously. I sat back down. "Well,

maybe not so fine." I inspected the sore leg. The side of my knee was scraped and sore. But what—?

Oh. Yes. I recalled the dun's shoulder slamming into the stud, with my leg trapped between.

Del knelt, putting one hand on the reddened, abraded area. "Is it broken?"

"I don't think so. But I'm betting it'll color up nicely by morning." I tried again, arrived on my feet.

The leg was very sore but whole. I was lucky it hadn't been crushed. "I've got to see the stud."

"Nayyib has him. He'll be fine."

I limped over anyway, talking to the stud as I approached so I wouldn't startle him. "He's cut," I said

sharply.

Nayyib, still holding the stud's head, nodded. "Sword blade. Just a slash, I think, but painful."

It was in the fleshy part of the stud's left haunch, about six inches long. It wasn't deep enough to

sever muscle, but it had laid the flesh back. Blood bathed his left hind.

"Oh, son," I murmured, "the bastard got you."

"It'll need stitches." Nayyib stroked the stud's nose gently even as he worked the rein. "I have silk

thread in my pouches, and a needle."

The stud, bothered by dripping blood and sweat, kicked out sideways with his left hind. I shook my

head. "He's not about to put up with that right now."

Nayyib nodded. "We'll need to get him down, have someone sit on his head. And tie his legs—and

probably his tail—so he can't kick or blind me."

I looked at him sharply. "You?"

"I've done it before." He smiled crookedly. "When I was no longer a child playing with sticks, I

dreamed of being a sword-dancer in my head. What I did outside of it was work with stock; my father

has a small horse farm near Iskandar."

"Then why aren't you there?" I asked. "Or do you have so many brothers he doesn't need you?"

"Oh, no, there is only me and my sister. But we had a disagreement, he and I."

"Don't tell me. You told him you wanted to be a sword-dancer."