Sword Maker-Sword Dancer 3 (14 page)

The sun was gone, swallowed by the mountains. The dragon smoked sullenly in the

dusk, emitting a faint red glow from deep in its "throat." I scowled up at it,

noting that darkness did not entirely alter its shape into a more sanguine beast, as expected--if anything, it looked more dragonlike than ever--and realized the odd smell remained. Much of it was covered by other aromas--roast

pork, sour ale, unwashed bodies, babies who needed clean wrappings, animals too

closely confined--but it remained underneath it all, drifting down from the dragon-shaped mountain to shroud Ysaa-den in a musty, malodorous pall.

Not woodsmoke. Woodsmoke has a clean, sweet scent, depending on the wood. And not dung smoke, either, goat, cow or otherwise--I have reason to know, having gathered dung in my days as a slave--which has a pungency all its own. This was

different.

"Hounds," I said sharply.

Halvar broke off his introduction to the song. Del looked at me crossly.

"Hounds," I repeated, before she could say anything, or call me names again.

"That's what it smells like. Or, better yet, that's what they smell like." I lifted my chin in the mountain's direction. "The smoke."

Del frowned. "Eggs gone bad?" she suggested.

I considered it. "A little," I agreed. Then, upon further reflection, "but more

like rotting bodies."

I said it quietly, so only Del could hear. It made her curt with me anyway.

And

then she turned from me to Halvar again. Pointedly, and told him to begin the long-delayed song.

He was more than ready. Trouble was, he needed one more thing from each of us.

And asked it.

Del's face changed. I saw the color go out of it, very slowly; how her eyes, equally slowly, dilated. She shook it off quickly enough, but the damage had been done. When she spoke to the headman it was in her clipped, sword-dancer's

tone of voice, all business, with little personality in it. I have heard her use

it before. I had not expected her to use it with Halvar, whom she seemed to like.

I stirred within the folds of my cloak. "What?"

Del waved a hand at me, as if it would be enough.

"What?" I repeated, with a bit more emphasis. "There are two of us here, bascha--what did he ask?"

She shot me a deadly glance. "Names," she answered curtly. "The names of living

kin, so that should we fail tomorrow, and die, our kinfolk can be told. So funeral songs may be sung."

It was unexpected. Equally discomfiting. "Well," I said finally, "I guess that

means less work for Halvar, then, if anything does happen. Since there's no one

to tell for either of us."

Del didn't answer at once. And then when she did it was very quietly, with an odd lack of emotion. She spoke uplander to Halvar, explaining the truth of things. I didn't catch all of the words, but I did catch his expression.

He looked at Del. At me. Then drew in a breath and addressed the gathered villagers, adult and child alike.

I heard Del's hiss of shock. And then she was trying to override Halvar's little

speech, telling him no repeatedly. But he was adamant; I heard the word for honor.

Trust him to hit on the right word. It shut her up immediately.

"What?" I asked irritably.

Del was tight as wire. "I told him." Her teeth were gritted. "I told him.

That

there are no names. There are no kin. Only the Sandtiger and Delilah, with blooding-blades for kinfolk and the circle for our lodge."

I waited a moment. "And?"

Del sucked in a deep breath, held it, released it. Slowly. Silently. "So,"

she

said, "they will sing. They will make a song for all our lost ones, a song of farewell, because they had no kin to sing it to for them when they died, to guide them into the light." She swallowed visibly. "As you and I have no kinfolk

to sing the songs for us."

I heard the first voice. Halvar's: the headman's privilege. And then a woman's

voice: his wife's. And another and another, until all the village was singing.

Voices only; no pipes, no drums, no sticks, no tambors, no chiming finger-bells.

Only voices.

Voices were enough.

Wrapped tightly in my cloak, I sat beneath a star-blotched Northern sky and thought only of the South. Of the desert. Of the Punja.

Where a woman had borne a boy--a strong, healthy boy--and left him to die in burning sands beneath a blazing sun.

Twelve

The stench was worsening. Halvar, riding a little ahead of Del, who rode ahead

of me, seemed not to notice, which told me either he had no sense of smell, or

he'd grown so accustomed to the stink he no longer noticed it. To me, it seemed

impossible, in view of the magnitude of the odor. Hoolies, I could taste it.

It

made me want to spit.

I leaned over in my saddle, making sure I didn't threaten the stud, and spat.

Twice. He waggled an ear, shook his head, walked on.

We climbed relentlessly toward the dragon, which was making its presence known

through smell and smoke. Both filled up nose and mouth, lingering unpleasantly

in lungs, causing a tight, dull headache that made me irritable as well as impatient. There had been no sign of hounds since Del and I reached Ysaa-den, though we'd heard them. And no sign of any dragon; as we climbed, our closeness

to the rock formations and crumbling spires caused them to lose their eerie shapes and became nothing more than stone and earth, which is what I'd said the

thing was all along. I felt suitably vindicated; unfortunately, no one wanted to

share in my victory.

As we climbed, Halvar entertained us with stories about the dragon and Ysaa-den.

Trouble was, I was too far behind the headman and Del to hear everything over the noise of hoof on stone; moreover, his mountain dialect rendered his uplander

mostly unintelligible. Which didn't particularly bother me, if you want the truth; I was content to match the rhythm of the stud's steady climbing and spent

my time looking around watchfully. Part of me waited for hounds. Now that I no

longer wore the Canteada ward-whistle, the stakes were a bit different. But I still had a sword, and so did Del.

So did Halvar, but it was an old, ill-tended bronze sword, of no use to anyone,

let alone a headman untrained in fighting. I had the feeling Halvar would be more hindrance than help, if it came to making a stand. But you can't just pat

the village leader on the head when trouble arises and send him off to mother and father; the hounds had eaten Halvar's, and anyway he was too nice a person

to dismiss so easily. There would have to be some show of dignity and honor in

the name of the headman's pride.

From the heights came a mournful wailing howl that changed, midway, to a vicious

growling snarl. Halvar halted his mount.

"Far enough," he said, so emphatically even I understood it. "I am headman, not

hero; such things are for sword-dancers and sword-singers trained on Staal-Ysta."

Which meant Halvar was more than a nice person; he was also pretty smart.

We were two-thirds of the way up the mountain. The track had changed to trail some time back; now it began to resemble little more than a trough formed by melting snow. I asked Halvar why, if they so feared the dragon and its hounds,

the villagers even bothered to climb far enough to make a trail.

Halvar stared back at me blankly a moment. Then he looked at Del.

She sighed. "He explained all that, Tiger. As we climbed."

I didn't like being made to feel guilty. "I told you I don't understood his lingo very well. And besides, one of us had to keep an eye out for hounds."

Del didn't answer right away. She looked up the mountain toward the "mouth,"

which still spewed fitful drifts of smoke. "The hounds weren't always here,"

she

said finally. "Halvar says the first one appeared about six months ago, maybe seven. Apparently it killed one of the villagers; no one is certain, because the

man was never found. But after that, more and more of the beasts appeared...

and

more and more villagers disappeared. There is a track here because the village

holy man suggested the dragon might be appeased with gifts, and so the villagers

began to climb up to the dragon to make offerings. Unfortunately, the dragon was

not appeased; more people disappeared. So they sent to Staal-Ysta and begged for

help." She paused. "You are what they got."

I wanted to respond to her overly bland tone of voice, which is infuriating at

times, but Halvar pointed up the mountain and said something to Del I couldn't

understand. It sounded like a warning to me. Whatever it was, Del didn't much like it; she snapped out something to Halvar that made him redden. But he tapped

the hilt of his useless bronze sword and repeated what he'd said before. This time I caught part of it. Something about jivatmas.

"What?" I asked, as usual.

Del looked at Halvar. "He says we would be wise to leave our swords sheathed.

That the village holy man has decreed magic a danger to Ysaa-den because the dragon feeds on it."

"Oh?" It sounded suspicious to me. "And how does he know that?"

"He set wards when the hounds first appeared," she explained. "Or so Halvar says. And the wards, instead of protecting the village, drew the hounds. Who stole them."

"Stole what, the wards? Is he sandsick? What would hounds want with wards?"

Del didn't smile. "Maybe the same thing they wanted with the whistle."

And my sword? My newly-quenched jivatmal They hadn't been even remotely interested in the thing until I'd blooded it; only in Boreal, who reeked of blood and power.

I looked at Halvar with a bit more respect. "Tell him we appreciate the warning."

Del stared. "Tiger--"

"And ask him if he will send someone each day to feed and water the horses; we're leaving them here and going the rest of the way on foot. I'd send them back down with him, but I don't like the idea of being completely horseless; at

least this way they're in range, if we need them." I looked again at the smoking

"mouth," easily an hour's hike from where we were. "Sort of."

"Each day?" Del echoed. "How many do you plan to spend tromping around the mountains?"

"Two," I answered succinctly. "If I can't beat a mountain by then, hounds or no

hounds, I'm not worth the coin they're paying me."

"They're not."

I frowned. "Not what?"

"Paying you."

I frowned harder. "What do you mean, not paying me? This is what I do for a living, bascha. Remember?"

"But you took on this task as a duty to your rank as a kaidin." Her expression

also was bland, but I know that look in her eye. "They didn't hire the Sandtiger, nor did Staal-Ysta send him. A new-made kaidin answered the plea of a

village in need, and swore to help in any way he could." She raised pale brows.

"Isn't that what you told me?"

"Hoolies, Del, you know I'm a sword-dancer. I don't do anything for free." I paused. "At least, not anything dangerous."

"Then perhaps you should explain that to Halvar, who is headman of a village which probably has no coin at all--oh, perhaps one or two coppers, if you insist

on counting--but survives against all odds because people make a living out of

the ground and from the livestock, in coin of wool and milk and pork...

except

you would not consider that a living, would you? If it isn't gold or silver or

copper, it's not worth the effort."

I sat the stud and stared at her, taken aback by the vehemence of her contempt.

This wasn't the Del I knew... well, yes, I guess it was. It was the old Del, the

one who'd used words as well as a weapon as we'd crossed the Punja on the way to

Julah.

Was this the Del I'd wanted back, just so we could reestablish some of the old

relationship?

Was I sandsick?

Del reined back the blue roan, who showed signs of wanting to nose the stud.

"So, do we turn back now? Do you explain to Halvar that this was all a big misunderstanding, so that he will be forced into offering what little coin Ysaa-den has? Will you hold a village for ransom, Tiger, in the name of your avarice?"

The dragon snorted smoke. One of the beasts bayed.

"Nice little speech," I remarked finally. "You really know how to manipulate a

person, don't you? Too bad you're not willing to consider that I had no intention of asking for money in the first place--you just jumped to the conclusion that I'm a no-good, low-down sword-for-hire with no sense at all of

humanity, only a well-developed sense of greed." I smiled at her with eloquent

insincerity. "Well, I won't give you the satisfaction of thinking you convinced

me... I'm going to do what I please, regardless of what you think, and let you

try to figure out the truth of my intentions. I'm also going to suggest you take

your own advice: never assume anything. It can get you into trouble."

I climbed down from the stud and led him off the remains of the track to a stout

young tree, where I tied him and explained I'd be back in two days, if not before.

He nosed me, then banged his head against my ribs, which hurt, and which left me

less regretful about leaving him. As a matter of fact, it left me downright displeased; I thumped him on the nose and told him he'd just lost his ration of

grain for the day.

Of course, I didn't tell Halvar that, which meant the stud would get his share

from whoever came to tend him, but he didn't have to know that. It would do him

good to suffer until nightfall.

I glanced at Del, who still sat her roan. "Well? You coming?"

She tipped back her head and stared up at the crown of the mountain, frowning faintly. Her hair, still laced and braided, dangled against her spine. The line