Sword-Sworn

by Jennifer Roberson

  The chieftain halted. He eyed me briefly, then made a rapid gesture. The four warriors surrounding me absented themselves. It left me atop the gelding in the center of the human circle, facing the chieftain on foot with his two bodyguards.

  Inspiration was abrupt. I eased myself out of the saddle, aware of the sudden tension in the Vashni. Without hesitation or affectation—and without offering any manner of physical threat—I moved out in front of the gelding, ran a hand down his muzzle, and knelt on one knee. I pressed two fingers into the packed soil and sand and drew a line. Shallow at one end, deeper at the other, with a slight depression made by the heel of my hand. Then I unhooked the bota from my shoulder, unstoppered it, poured water in the shallow end of the line, and watched it trickle its way to the other. I placed the blade of grass I’d pulled from the gelding’s bit into the filling depression. Smiling, I looked up and met the chieftain’s eyes.

  After a lengthy consideration, he inclined his head very slightly. Then he turned and walked back through the ring of villagers.

  For an odd suspended moment I thought I was going to be left to fend for myself in the middle of the village. But then a warrior appeared at my elbow as another took the gelding’s reins and led him away. I was escorted through the silent villagers to a hyort. There the warrior pulled the doorflap aside and gestured me to enter.

  I ducked in, aware the flap was dropped behind me. The light was permitted entry only through the smoke hole in the narrow, peaked top of the hyort, concentrated in the middle of the carpeted dirt floor, but it was enough. I saw the blanket-covered pallet and the woman upon it. That she slept was obvious even though her back was to me; I knew the skyward jut of shoulder, the curve of elevated hip, the doubling up of one knee intimately. Del had always stolen more than her share of the bed.

  Relief was so tangible it sent a spasm through my body. I took one step, stopped, and just looked at her, letting the tension of fear, the tautness of anxiety, bleed slowly out of my body. The knot that was my spine untied itself.

  I sat down then, next to the bed, close enough to touch her. I did not. I simply sat there, watching her breathe. Smiling. Happy—and whole—merely to be in her presence.

  I’m here, bascha.

  Del slept a long time, but I didn’t care. I stretched out on my back, contemplated the peaked roof where the smoke hole opened to sky, and waited in patient contentment until she turned over onto her back, releasing a breathy sigh. I rolled onto hip and elbow and leaned upon my hand. Her eyes were still closed, but her breathing had changed. I marked the pale lashes against fair skin, the threading of bluish veins in her eyelids. She wore a burnous that hid most of her body, so I didn’t know if she was still bandaged or not. She was too thin; that I could tell from the bones in her face.

  Del’s eyes opened. She blinked up at the smoke hole. Then, frowning, she turned her head and looked right at me.

  My smile broadened. “Hey.”

  She gazed at me a moment. “Where in the hoolies have you been?”

  I grinned. “Not a very good effort at sounding angry, bascha. Want to try again?”

  An answering if drowsy smile curved her lips. She reached out a hand. “You won the dance.”

  I met her hand with my own. “I won the dance.”

  “Was it Abbu?”

  “No, he wasn’t there. Somebody named Musa. I didn’t know him.” I arched both brows. “I take it Nayyib told you what Umir planned?”

  “He said Rafiq and the others were quite taken with the idea of facing you in a circle in order to execute you.”

  “I think everybody was quite taken with the idea of facing me in a circle in order to execute me. Fortunately, they forgot I wouldn’t be so enamored of it, myself.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Nope.”

  Her eyebrows indicated subtle doubt. “Nothing?”

  “One little cut along a rib.” I traced it against my burnous. “Honest, bascha. You can see for yourself the next time I’m naked.” I wiggled eyebrows at her suggestively, then let go of her hand to stroke a lock of hair out of her face, letting fingertips linger on the curve of her brow. “What about you?”

  “I,” she began, “may now rival the Sandtiger himself for the dramatic quality of my scars.”

  I winced. “I’m sorry, bascha.”

  “Why? Did you attack me?”

  “No, but—”

  “‘No, but’ nothing,” she said firmly. “The last thing I remember is going down beneath the sandtiger. That I’m alive and uneaten likely indicates you killed him before he could kill me.”

  “Yes, but—”

  “No ‘yes, but,’ either,” Del declared. “Understood?”

  I knew when to appear to surrender even if I disagreed. “Fine. Now give me details.”

  She caught my hand in hers again. Neither of us was the clinging sort, but we did like physical contact. “I will do very well, Tiger. The wounds are almost healed, thanks to you, Nayyib, and the Vashni healer. The poison is out of my body. Mostly I’m a little tired still, and bone-sore, but that will pass.” She grimaced. “Except the healer keeps sending me to bed. I’m tired of naps.”

  Having years before been badly wounded and poisoned myself by a sandtiger, I knew very well why the healer kept sending her to bed.

  “But we can go in the morning,” Del said.

  It caught me off-guard. “Go where?”

  “After Nayyib.”

  “Where is he? And why do we have to go after him?”

  “He’s looking for you.”

  “He left you here?”

  “When it became obvious I was fine, and when I insisted, yes. He did.”

  “You’re not ‘fine.’”

  “Fine enough. Anyway, two days ago I sent him to look for you.”

  It astonished me. “You sent him to Umir’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” An idea occurred, preposterous as it was. “Did you expect him to rescue me?”

  Del contemplated my aggrieved expression in silence a moment. “Actually, I expected to rescue you. But I needed Neesha to scout for me first.”

  “Neesha?”

  “Nayyib. Neesha is his call-name.”

  “You sent Nayyib-Neesha to scout for you, so you could come rescue me?”

  “That was the plan,” she confirmed gravely.

  I was only half teasing. “You didn’t think I could handle it on my own? A sword-dance? When I’ve been dancing for almost twenty-five years—which is likely longer than the kid you sent has been alive?”

  “You’ve been dancing longer than I’ve been alive.”

  Which was a devastatingly effective way to remind me just how old I was, and how old she wasn’t.

  “Hoolies,” I muttered.

  Del was laughing. She carried my hand to her mouth, kissed the back of it, then rested it beneath hers against her chest.

  I noted again how thin her face was, and there were shadows beneath her eyes. “Did you really think I’d lose?”

  “‘Only an idiot believes he may never be defeated,’” Del quoted. “You said that, once.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t expect you to believe it. You’re supposed to believe I can do anything.”

  “And so you have.”

  Well, so far. Sort of.

  “Anyway,” Del continued, “I think we should go after Nayyib.”

  “Why? He should have reached Umir’s by now, and he’ll know what happened. I won. I left. I’m here.”

  Del gazed at me. “What if he needs rescuing?”

  This whole conversation was bizarre. “Why would he need rescuing? He’s not worth anything.”

  “That’s unfair!”

  “To Umir,” I elucidated. “He’s not worth collecting. He’s just a kid.”

  “He’s twenty-three.”

  “That’s a kid.”

  “I’m twenty-three, Tiger.”

  It shut me up, as she fully intended.

  Del
smiled, pleased to have won. “As for not being worth anything to Umir, of course he is. Neesha can tell Umir and any other interested parties where I am. Because they know wherever I am, you will eventually be.”

  “He could simply not tell them.”

  “Under torture?”

  I scowled. “Why doesn’t he just tell them you’re dead? You almost were.”

  “Well, perhaps he will. But that doesn’t mean he won’t be tortured before he says it.”

  “Then he should have stayed here.”

  “He went looking for you. Isn’t that worth something?”

  “I don’t know,” I growled. “Depends on if you think I’m worth something.”

  “Sometimes.”

  I closed my eyes, gritted my teeth, rubbed a hand over my face.

  “He saved my life, Tiger.”

  “I thought I saved your life.”

  “You, and Neesha, and the Vashni healer.”

  I squinted at her. “This isn’t another of your cockamamie female ideas, is it? I mean, he’s human, a man, not a cat or dog. He’s not a stray.”

  “You were.”

  “I was?”

  “Yes. All those years ago when the shodo accepted you for training. He took in a stray human and gave him a home.”

  I drew myself up. “And I repaid him by becoming not only his best student but the South’s greatest sword-dancer…” I thrust an illustrative finger in the air. “… which is, I might add, a title very recently reaffirmed.”

  Del’s tone was elaborately innocent. “I thought you said Abbu wasn’t there.”

  I glowered. “We’re not talking about Abbu. We’re talking about the kid. And now you’re telling me you want me to ride back into Umir’s domain, even though there will be men looking to kill me?”

  “But you just reaffirmed you’re the South’s greatest sword-dancer. Will anyone challenge that?”

  “Yes!” I cried. “Likely all of them!”

  “Well,” she said thoughtfully, “it shouldn’t be so bad.”

  “No?”

  “Not when I’m with you.”

  I looked for laughter in her eyes. But Del does blandly expressionless better than I do.

  Of course, I knew she was overlooking one very salient detail that would give me the victory: she was still recovering from a sandtiger attack. Del could no more get up and ride out of the Vashni camp tomorrow than the kid—Nayyib, Neesha, whatever—could beat me in a circle. By the time she could, the point would be moot. Because the kid likely wouldn’t even be at Umir’s anymore.

  “All right,” I said.

  The abrupt capitulation startled her. “All right?”

  “Yes. We’ll go tomorrow.”

  Del nodded. “Good.”

  Or he might still be at Umir’s, under duress, because Umir might possibly believe he was worth something to Del and me. In fact, Umir might even expect to trade the kid to us for the book I’d liberated.

  A book of magic.

  “Gahhhh,” I muttered. “You and your strays.”

  Del shifted over on her pallet. “Lie down.” She tugged at one arm. “Lie down and tell me all about the sword-dance.”

  “I won.”

  “Details, Tiger.”

  I lay down beside her on the edge of the pallet. Hips touched. I rearranged my left arm so my shoulder cradled her head. “What do you want to know?”

  “How it was you reaffirmed that you are the South’s greatest sword-dancer.”

  So I told her. It was nice that at least two of us believed it.

  NINETEEN

  DEL AND I were dinner guests of the Vashni chieftain. Apparently he’d decided I was indeed the jhihadi and wanted to pay honor. We were escorted to his big hyort, given platters full of chunks of various kinds of meat—including sandtiger, I didn’t doubt—wild onions and herbs for seasoning, tubers, and bread baked from nut flour. Not to mention plenty of the fiery Vashni liquor. I drank sparingly, still felt the effects, and did my best not to make a fool of myself. Del was permitted to drink water as a nod to her recovery, and I caught her watching me out of the corner of her eye. Apparently she expected me to fall face-first into the modest fire in the center of the chieftain’s hyort. I was tempted to remind her I hadn’t gotten sick from it the last time, but decided the jhihadi wouldn’t do such a thing before a Vashni chieftain.

  Later, maybe.

  Afterward we were allowed to wander away from the encampment without interference or company. Clearly we were not prisoners. Or else they simply knew we wouldn’t get far without mounts, and the horses were closely guarded. But since I wasn’t trying to escape, it didn’t matter. I simply walked with Del a short distance, and sat down upon a boulder even as she did the same.

  I stretched braced legs out, crossing them at ankles. Studied her face sidelong. “Tired, bascha?”

  She hitched a shoulder inconclusively.

  I gazed out at the deepening dusk. Vashni fires set a subdued glow over the village that would become more obvious as darkness fell. A faint breeze teased at Del’s hair. I rubbed at my own, feeling added length. Maybe the tattoos along my hairline were finally hidden.

  I glanced at her, noting the gauntness of her features. “You know we can’t go anywhere tomorrow.”

  She sighed, kicking a stone away with a sandaled foot. “I know. Not together. But you could.”

  I didn’t even have to think about it. “I just spent two hard days tracking you down. I’m not going anywhere without you.”

  Del looked at me, clearly wanting to say something. Debated it. But held her silence.

  “A few more days,” I told her. “We’re safe here. It’s probably the best place we could be, without worrying about who might come looking for us.” I wanted to say she needed more time. Knew better than to do it.

  Her mouth was set in a grim, unhappy line. “I have been here too long already.”

  I shrugged, maintaining an excessively casual tone of voice. “You’ll stay here as long as you need to.”

  “But Nayyib…” She let it trail off. A frown set lines between her eyes. “I wish you would go.”

  I was beginning to get exasperated with all this focus on Nayyib. “We don’t know that Umir has him. I mean, how can you be sure the kid actually went looking for me?”

  “He said he would.”

  “We don’t know anything about him, bascha.”

  Del looked at me again, comprehending the implication. “He isn’t a liar.”

  “Maybe not, but it doesn’t change anything. You can’t go anywhere until you’re completely recovered, and I’m not going anywhere until then.”

  Del’s left hand touched her right forearm, raising the hem of her burnous sleeve. Gently she fingered the scars I knew were there.

  I tried again. “If Umir has him, he’ll hold onto him until we’re found. He won’t harm him. Not as long as he thinks the kid is worth something.”

  “And if he doesn’t?”

  “Well, that was the chance Nayyib took. It’s the chance we all take, riding into a situation we don’t fully understand. I’ve done it. You’ve done it. If he’s done it, he’ll learn from it.”

  “Or die.”

  “Maybe.” I shrugged. “Like I said, that’s always a chance.”

  Del nodded. Her head was bowed, expression pensive.

  She is a woman who pays her debts, and obviously she felt she owed Nayyib one. I didn’t dispute it; he’d cared for her until she could travel and then brought her to safety. I owed him, too, for that. But I wasn’t about to immediately go chasing off after a kid I didn’t really know now that I’d found Del again; nor was I thrilled by the idea of taking myself back to Umir’s domain quite so fast. It was possible some of the sword-dancers who’d witnessed my victory over Musa would decline to track me further, but I was certain some would. Not only for the honor of killing me, but Umir undoubtedly would pay generously to get his book back.

  A book that apparently knew all about
me.

  I slid off the boulder and stood up, reaching for her. “Let’s go back to the hyort. You need to rest.”

  Her head snapped up. “I’m tired of resting!”

  “Come on, Del.” I closed a hand on her wrist, tugged gently. “A few more days, that’s all.”

  She stood. “Will you spar with me tomorrow?”

  “Tomorrow? Well, maybe the day after.”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “You’re not ready for that.”

  “Neither were you. I did it anyway.”

  Nothing would be gained by arguing with her. I didn’t say yes, didn’t say no. Just pulled her to me, slid an arm around her shoulders, and guided her back toward the hyorts.

  “Most men,” Del said abruptly, “detest weakness, sickness in a woman. They ignore it, trying to convince themselves she’s fine. Or tell the woman there is nothing wrong, so they don’t need to trouble themselves with thinking about it. With the responsibility.”

  I glanced at her, wondering where the complaint came from.

  “Most men want nothing at all to do with a sick woman. Some of them even leave. Forever.”

  I grunted. “As I said, I just spent two days looking for you. Even knowing you were sick. Hoolies, the last time I saw you there was a chance you might not even live. Did I leave then?”

  Inwardly I winced. Well, yes, I had left; but that hadn’t been my fault.

  “You are not what you were,” Del said after a moment. “Not as you were when we first met in that cantina.”

  I had a vivid memory of that cantina, and that meeting. “Well, no.”

  “You were a Southron pig.”

  “So you’ve told me. Many times.”

  “Tiger—” She stopped walking. Stared up into my face as I turned to her. “You are not what you were.”

  I had the feeling that wasn’t what she meant to say. But nothing more crowded her lips, even as I waited. Finally I cradled her head in my hands, bent close, said, “Neither are you,” and kissed her gently on the forehead.

  For a moment she leaned into me, clearly exhausted. I considered scooping her up and carrying her to the hyort, but that would play havoc with Del’s dignity. She already felt uncomfortable enough about being tired and sick, judging by her comments; I knew better than to abet that belief. I prodded her onward with a hand placed in the center of her spine, and walked with her to the hyort.