“I’ll get some later,” she said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Right now I think I’ll have a look at Pechata’s hooves. I thought she was favoring her near hind.”
Pechata’s hooves were fine and nobody was fooled, but Captain Dorran gave her a sheepish smile and a hasty, “Thanks, Lady,” as Peri retreated to her tent and her pallet and, eventually, to sleep.
Peri was up well before dawn, enjoying one of her few quiet practice moments in a small cleared area behind the camp. She’d already inspected her sword carefully, slid the practice guard over the blade, and meticulously performed the lunges and stretches to limber her muscles and the meditation exercises to focus her concentration. Now she worked her way slowly through the defensive qivashim. The Deep Roots qiva and the Bending Willow qiva, those were the ones she’d have the most trouble with, but if—
“I see you got an early start on me,” Terralt said. He was squatting at the edge of the area Peri had cleared, his guarded sword across his knees. To Peri’s relief, he looked more amiable this morning. “What is that you’re doing?”
Peri scuffed her boot in the dirt self-consciously.
“I’m trying to invent a new qiva, an offensive qiva,” she said, flushing slightly. It was presumptuous and she knew it. Only two new qivashim had been invented in Peri’s lifetime, and those by seasoned adepts. “But there are a couple of the defensive qivas which might counter too easily. I don’t know, maybe if I lead in with something else, Leaping Flame or Summer Lightning ...” she shook her head. “I don’t know. Maybe it just won’t work.”
“Mmmm.” Terralt stayed where he was, his eyes narrowed. “Unfortunately what I know of Bregondish-style swordplay I observed at the wrong end of my sword, Peri. But you have the steel in your blood, and if you think you’ve found something new, I’d like to see it. Show me what you’ve got.”
Peri flushed again, this time with pride at her uncle’s praise. Taking a deep breath, she began the initial steps of the Waterdance qiva, her confidence growing as the movements became more natural; then abruptly she disgraced herself by stumbling and nearly falling in the dirt, barely avoiding the utter humiliation of dropping her sword.
To her utter relief, Terralt only nodded thoughtfully, standing and walking over to join her.
“I can see what you’re working at,” he said slowly. “You want to break your opponent’s rhythm and throw him off balance at the same time. Problem is, I think you’re too daring in your footwork, and you’re throwing your own balance off at the same time. Come on, let’s see what we can do with it.”
Nodding, Peri settled herself in readiness, taking a deep breath, then danced forward to meet Terralt’s attack. They were practicing, not fighting, making no effort at a quick kill, only testing each other’s strengths and worrying at each other’s weaknesses. When they were both adequately loosened up, Terralt gave Peri a nod and fell into a defensive pattern, letting her take the offensive. Although Terralt had never studied the Ithuara and knew only Agrondish-style swordplay, he settled into a well-balanced stance surprisingly similar to Deep Roots—exactly what Peri needed. She fell almost effortlessly into the smooth rhythm of Waterdance, flowing easily around his pattern of defensive strokes, and—
—found herself abruptly on her back, the guarded point of Terralt’s sword at her throat.
Terralt withdrew the sword and held out his hand.
“Not bad,” he conceded. “Your blade work’s almost faultless, although I saw an opening or two you’ll probably close with practice. But your feet are still getting you in trouble.”
Peri took the proffered hand and pulled herself to her feet, brushing dust out of her face.
“All right,” she panted. “Again.”
Waterdance failed twice more, and when Peri grew too frustrated, they switched postures, Terralt taking the offensive. Defensive qivashim were Peri’s weakness, even against the Agrondish propensity to favor an unsubtle attack very like the Charging Boar qiva, but she held forth grimly, varying her defenses so Terralt could not find a pattern to break. Tall Grass against Charging Boar was too easy, he’d see right through that, but maybe Thorny Thicket—
“Uhhhh!” Peri grunted, all the breath driven out of her on a wave of pain as Terralt’s sword slammed into her side just at the bottom of her rib cage. She went down to one knee, still grimly holding on to her sword, and Terralt broke off the attack immediately.
“You think too much,” Terralt panted. “A first-year guardsman could’ve got through that. Too much theory and not enough drive, that’s your problem. Are you all right?”
Peri nodded, momentarily unable to speak. Carefully not clutching her injured side, she forced herself back up to her feet, raising her sword.
“Again,” she gasped.
Terralt sighed and sheathed his sword, stepping in front of Peri and pushing her own sword aside. He pressed gently against Peri’s ribs, muttering an oath when Peri could not suppress a hiss of pain.
“We should’ve been wearing practice armor,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn’t expect you to let me hit you that hard. You’re bruised right down to the bone. You’re lucky if I didn’t crack a rib.”
“They’re not cracked,” Peri muttered embarrassedly. “A wrapping and a poultice and I’ll be fine.”
Terralt firmly pried the sword hilt out of Peri’s hand.
“Well, you won’t be sitting in a saddle today,” he said. “Just as well. Kalendra can use the company.”
“Oh, no,” Peri said hastily. “I don’t need—”
“You will ride in the carriage,” Terralt said implacably, hefting her sword, “if you want this back.” Then he relented slightly. “If you’re doing well this evening, you can still go hunting.”
Peri ground her teeth, but there was nothing she could do but join Kalendra and her tiresome, fussy maids in the stuffy—“Oh, shutter the windows, Peri! All that wind and dust!”—carriage. Kalendra, however, was overjoyed at the company.
“You’ve had so little time to talk to me since we left Tarkesh,” Kalendra said, her eyes sparkling. “And our conversation will make the hours pass quickly.”
Peri thought miserably that, on the contrary, the journey by carriage and the maids’ prattle would make the hours drag on interminably, and she was right. Within less than two hours Kalendra had gone from pink-cheeked to pale to ashen to greenish, and Peri knew she would soon be hanging out the window again.
“Tell me about Lord Danber,” Kalendra said determinedly, burying her nose in a scented handkerchief. “Is he handsome?”
Peri scowled. The last thing in the world she wanted was to talk about Danber. No, correction—the last thing in the world she wanted was to have to keep riding in this carriage, to become Aunt Kairi’s wretched Heir, and to have to talk about Danber. She sighed.
“All right,” Peri said. “I’ll tell you about him. If we ride outside.”
Kalendra protested, but Peri held out firmly, and at last the transfer was accomplished. The ride seemed less bumpy up on top of the carriage, although the swaying was worse, and Peri could at least enjoy the sun and wind she loved so much; some of the color returned to Kalendra’s cheeks, too, and under considerable pressure from Peri, Kalendra admitted that the nausea was less.
“So tell me,” Kalendra persisted. “Is Lord Danber handsome?”
Her mood somewhat mellowed by the change in seats, Peri leaned back against the trunks and bags tied to the top of the carriage.
“Handsome?” Peri shrugged. “I never really thought about it. I suppose so.”
“You never thought about it?” Kalendra said disbelievingly. “You suppose so? Peri, you’ve fostered with the man most of your life. By the Bright Ones, you were betrothed to him!”
Peri grimaced.
“Kala, you’re right, I fostered with him. He’s more like—like a brother.” More of a brother than Estann’s been.
“Well, surely you’ve—” Kalendra raised her eyebrows. “You know.”
Peri shook her head, fighting down a giggle.
“Never,” she said.
Kalendra scowled.
“You mean to tell me,” she said slowly, “that you tumbled a common-born apprentice mage, but not your own betrothed?”
“It’s different in Bregond,” Peri said vaguely. “Nobles—even if they’re betrothed—don’t lie together before they’re wed.”
Kalendra shook her head.
“And on your wedding night,” she said impatiently, “how were you going to explain your misplaced virginity to your husband?”
“Danber knew customs were different in Agrond,” Peri said truthfully. “We had an—understanding about it.” Although not the kind you’d think.
“Well, surely you’ve at least kissed him,” Kalendra protested. Then she smiled conspiratorially. “And perhaps just a little more?”
Peri grinned.
“Well—maybe a little more,” she said, chuckling.
****
Danber leaned back, smiling.
“That was—rather nice,” he said softly. “I’ve never kissed a woman before.”
“Well, we’re almost even, then.” Peri chuckled a little nervously, leaning back on the softness of the cloak. “I’ve never kissed anybody before. Not like that, anyway.” She’d liked it, too, although Danber’s mustache tickled. Danber’s chest had felt strong and hard against hers, his arms firm around her, the whole combination filling her with a shivery warmth that left her wanting more.
Gingerly Danber touched the laces of her tunic.
“May I—may I look at you?” he asked slowly.
Peri swallowed, but nodded, shrugging out of her tunic when Danber slowly unlaced it. She didn’t protest that Danber had seen her already dozens of times in the sweat tent or when the water holes were large enough to make bathing practical; this was different and they both knew it.
Thankfully Danber made no indication of parting either of them from their trousers, and some of Peri’s nervousness faded to curiosity as Danber laid his own tunic aside. In Agrondish terms, Danber was rather short—half a hands-breadth shorter than Peri herself—and strongly muscled, darkly golden-skinned and hairy. But Peri, who had spent much of her life here with the horse clans, looked at him with Bregondish eyes, the same eyes that saw Agrondish men as pale and sickly looking, and saw Danber as strong and full of life.
“You don’t look like an Agrond,” Danber said suddenly, startling Peri out of her reflections. “Except for the green in your eyes and that sort of red shine to your hair.”
“Is that good?” Peri asked, a little awkwardly. She’d always thought of herself as boyish and ungraceful, especially next to Kalendra and Erisa, her uncle Terralt’s daughters. Even Peri’s Bregondish mother, from whom Peri had inherited her black hair and dark gold skin and strong features, was softer and more graceful and seemed somehow more womanly.
“I think it’s good,” Danber said, grinning a little. “Agrondish ladies always looked—well—”
“Sickly ?” Peri guessed.
“Well, yes,” Danber admitted. “I never could imagine how any man could expect them to survive childbirth, much less bear healthy children, ride with the clan, help manage the herds and do their share of the hunting—” He paused, gazing at Peri seriously. “But you’re not like that. You look healthy and strong. I’m glad.” He touched Peri’s braids, and Peri smiled. Her mother had twisted her hair into the thirty-nine braids, symbolizing mastery of the thirty-nine skills of a marriageable Bregondish woman, only a few months earlier, on her fifteenth birthday.
“Peri—” Danber hesitated. “May I touch you?”
Peri bit her lip. Eight years old, Danber teaching her to ride bareback. Ten years old, their first real kill together—a fine buck lopa, fat and strong, its blood warm and salty in her mouth as they shared the heart. Fourteen years old, Danber handing her the sword he’d commissioned for her, perfectly balanced to her hand—he’d traded three of his best mares for it, a small fortune.
“All right,” Peri said shyly. She closed her eyes. Warm callused fingers traced gently over her collarbone, down her sternum, over her stomach, up her side to gently cup her breast. Peri shivered.
“You’re so soft,” Danber said, marveling. “Your skin is so smooth here.”
Peri opened her eyes again and slid her hands up Danber’s chest, running her fingers over hard muscle, through thick, coarse black hair.
“Danber—” She hesitated, swallowing hard. “Are—are we going to—” Danber met her eyes squarely. “I don’t think I could,” he admitted. Peri sighed with relief. “Me either,” she confessed.
Danber gazed at her a moment longer, then abruptly laughed, and Peri joined him.
****
“Yes,” Peri said, smiling. “Maybe just a little more.”
“Ah, then he’s a virile man,” Kalendra said contentedly.
Peri chuckled.
“I suppose so,” she said.
Oh, Kalendra, are you ever going to be surprised. And I doubt it’s going to be a pleasant surprise. On the other hand, when Danber finds out he’s going to be wed to a frail, pale Agrondish lady with soft hands and perfumed hair, whose idea of riding is puking out the window of her carriage, who’s never hunted anything but a lost earring in her jewel box, I doubt he’s going to find it a pleasant surprise, either. I’d love to see their faces after the wedding night. The thought gave her a certain amount of spiteful satisfaction, then a flash of guilt. Kalendra had done nothing to earn Peri’s spite, and Danber, if anything, deserved her sympathy.
Peri grimaced.
Sorry, Danber. Sympathy’s a bit too much to ask of me just now.
“What?” she said, suddenly aware that Kalendra had said something to her.
“I said,” Kalendra said patiently, “what does he like to do? Does he like dancing, jousts—”
Peri glanced sideways at her lovely cousin.
“It’s not like that with the horse clans,” she said gently. “There’s a few simple festivals, mostly at trade gatherings, like at foaling time and when the herds are culled. There’s no castle, just a winter holding at the center of the grazing territory; the clan moves with the herd through the grazing grounds except in the dead of winter. Sometimes merchants pass through, and once or maybe twice a year Danber visits the capital and takes the clan’s tithes to court. Most of the rest of the time it’s riding and herding and—”
Peri stopped. Kalendra had gone almost white, her eyes wide and shocked.
“F-Father told me there’d be a grand court,” she whispered. “He told me I’d hardly know I wasn’t home.”
“Likely he didn’t know himself,” Peri said diplomatically, swallowing her shock. “I don’t think Uncle Terralt’s ever dealt much with the horse or ikada clans. He never goes to Bregond if he can help it, and when he does, it’s to Aunt Kairi’s castle and the court. You know how he hates the company of commoners.”
It was a lie and she knew it. She’d had many a good talk with her uncle over sparring, or resting between matches, and Terralt had always been interested in hearing her experiences in Danber’s clan. He’d deliberately lied to his daughter so she wouldn’t make a fuss over her betrothal. Unwillingly Peri felt a pang of sympathy. At least nobody had lied to her.
“Anyway, Danber’s very kind and understanding,” Peri said awkwardly. That was true enough. “He’ll do his best to make you comfortable and happy. Maybe you can stay at the winter holding most of the time, or maybe you can represent the clan at court instead of Danber.”
Kalendra did not look up; her hands were shaking. At last she forced a faint smile.
“Yes,” she said softly. “Lord Danber must be kind, to have such an—an understanding with you.”
Now Peri felt really awful. There was nothing she could say to comfort Kalendra without causing trouble, and nothing she could say about Danber without betraying his secret. Inwardly she groaned. Courtly conversation was supposedly o
ne of the thirty-nine arts she’d mastered, but dancing around her frightened cousin with polite lies seemed an altogether different matter.
To her relief, she noticed that the sun was sinking, and it was not long before Terralt signaled a halt for the evening, apparently irritated at their lack of progress.
“I’d hoped we’d reach the garrison before sunset,” he said with a sigh, “and sleep in proper beds for at least one night. But there’s a storm coming, if this rising wind is any indication, and the road is so rutted I don’t dare continue after dark. Well, never mind.”
Peri jumped on the opportunity.
“Uncle, why don’t I ride ahead?” she said quickly. “If the garrison’s only a short distance, then you and I can get Kalendra there and spend the night indoors and the guards can meet us there in the morning.” Actually she had no desire whatsoever to spend the night in the garrison, but she knew how dearly her uncle preferred sleeping inside solid walls; if granted his preference, he’d be so pleased that possibly Peri could coax him into letting her stay in camp with the guards, unseemly or not. And even if it gained her nothing else, the simple opportunity to get back into Tajin’s saddle was worth the effort.
Terralt gave Peri a look that said more plainly than words that she wasn’t fooling him, but he nodded resignedly.
“All right, then, Perian,” he said. “We’re far enough inside the borders that you should be safe. But either take two guards with you, or turn around and be back here before sunset.” He gave her a warning glance. “I mean it, Perian.”
“All right, all right,” Peri said hurriedly. She saddled Tajin as fast as she could, before her uncle changed his mind, then turned back to him. “My sword?”
“You don’t need your sword,” Terralt said patiently, “to ride a short distance to the garrison.”
“Mother says there’s a word for folk who take even a step outside their front door unarmed,” Peri said, grinning. “‘Corpse.’”
Terralt grimaced.
“Of course,” he said sourly. “High Lady Kayli, font of all wisdom. Here, take your sword, then, and your bow, too, if you like. But don’t stop to hunt, Perian. There’s not time.”
Waterdance Page 2
