Sword Maker-Sword Dancer 3 (54 page)

now would find us easy to touch.

Del had killed Ajani. To the rest, he was the jhihadi.

I heard the ululations, the shouts of angry tanzeers. The clash of Southron steel.

"Sorry, Esnat," I mumbled. "I think Hadjib will get his war."

Samiel, I knew, was the answer... before they got to Del.

Bellin got there first. "Don't touch it!" I shouted.

He dove, thrust out with his axes, scooped up the blade. As I took an unsteady

stride--Del and I were a pair--the sword came flying to me. I plucked it out of

the air.

Southroners stirred, shouted. They saw the headless jhihadi; the woman with the

sword; the Sandtiger with another. And a foreign boy with axes.

Bellin grinned at me. "Do something," he called. "You're supposed to be good with that thing."

Do something?

Fine.

How about a song?

The crowd surged forward en masse. But I cut the air with a reblackened sword and the crowd lurched back again. Across from me stood Alric, teasing the air with his swordtip. Promising violence.

Alric. Bellin. Me. And Del, but she was down. For now we had stopped the crowd,

but that wouldn't last long. We needed more help.

Samiel might give it. All I had to do was sing.

Sing. I hate singing. But how else do you call the magic?

Bellin juggled axes. It was an impressive feat; also a useful one. They'd all seen how he used them. Everyone hung back as Bellin moved easily around Del and

me, building a fence of flying axes.

"Just curious," he mentioned, "but why are you singing now? Especially when you

do it so badly?"

I just kept on singing. Or whatever you want to call it.

"Jivatma," Alric said briefly, as if it answered the question. For some, it might; for Bellin, it answered nothing.

"Get Del," I said, and went right back to my song. Samiel seemed to like it.

Behind us, far behind us, the ululation increased. The tribes were coming in.

We edged toward the city. Hoolies, if they got through they'd cut us down in a

minute. Samiel would take a few, but eventually we'd lose just because of sheer

numbers.

Bellin, being helpful, started to sing along. He had a better voice, but he didn't know my song.

Samiel didn't seem to mind.

"Alric--have you got Del?"

"I've got her, Tiger... come on, we've got to go."

"Tiger?" It was Del. "Tiger--that was Jamail."

The keening wail increased. Moving this slowly wouldn't gain us any time. We needed something special.

All right, I said to my sword, let's see what you can do.

I thrust it into the air over my head, balanced flat across both palms, as I'd

seen Del do. And I sang my heart out--loudly, and very badly--until the firestorm came.

It licked out from the blade, flowed down my body, spilled across the ground.

I

sent it in all directions, teasing at feet and robes. It drove everyone back: tanzeers, tribesmen, borjuni.

Magic, I thought, can be useful.

I called up a blast of wind, a hot, dry wind born of the Punja itself. It tasted

at sand and sucked it up, then spat it at the people.

The tribes, if no one else, would know what it was. Would call it samiel, and give way to its strength. You can't fight the desert when it rises up to rebel.

"Go home!" I shouted. "He was a false jhihadi! He was a Northerner--is that what

you want?"

In the sandblast, they staggered back. Tribesmen, borjuni, tanzeers; the samiel

knows no rank.

"Go home!" I shouted. "It's not the proper time!"

The wail of the storm increased.

"Now," I said to the others, as the crowd, shouting, scattered.

I peeled the storm apart, forming a narrow channel. With alacrity, we departed.

Garrod met us with horses: the stud, and Del's blue roan, "Go," he said succintly. "They're watered and provisioned; don't waste any time."

The thought of riding just now did not appeal to me. My head was not very happy.

"He'll dump me, or kick me again."

"No, I've spoken to him. He understands the need."

It was, I thought in passing, a supremely ridiculous statement. He was horse, not human.

Ah, hoolies, who cares? If Garrod said he would... I pushed away a damp muzzle

come questing for reassurance.

Del sheathed her sword. "Jamail," was all she said.

That decided me. "Don't be sandsick," I snapped. "Jamail's the Oracle; do you think anyone will hurt him?"

"I thought he was dead, and he's not."

"So be happy about it. Let's go."

Garrod handed her reins. "Waste no time," he repeated. "I can hold the other horses, but not for very long. There are far too many of them... the sandstorm

will only delay them, not stop them--once they've recovered their courage they'll come after you again. If you want a head start, go."

Del swung up on the roan and gathered in her reins, staring down at me. "Are you

coming, then?"

I took the pointed hint. Sheathed my sword. Dragged myself up on the stud, who

stomped and pawed and snorted. I clung muzzily to the saddle. "Which way is out?"

"This way," Del said, pointing, as Alric slapped the stud's rump.

"What about me?" Bellin called. "Aren't I supposed to come? I found Ajani for you!"

I held the stud up a moment. "I can think of better ways of becoming famous than

riding with the woman who killed the new jhihadi. Certainly safer ones; it's no

good being a panjandrum if you're not alive to enjoy it."

"True," Bellin agreed. "So I guess I can still be your son. You look old enough."

I called him a foul name and sent the stud after Del.

We clattered through the ruined city with no respect for its inhabitants.

Garrod

was absolutely right: now that I'd banished the sandstorm and Del and I were gone, there was nothing to prevent the crowd from solidifying its deadly intention. No matter what I'd shouted about Ajani being a false jhihadi, he was

still the only one they knew, thanks to planted rumors and Jamail's misinterpreted gesture. The crowd, fired by bloodlust, wouldn't listen to the truth no matter who gave it to them. Not even the Oracle.

Through the city and out, then bursting through colored hyorts huddled together

on the plateau. And over the rim and off, swarming down the trail. Behind us, as

we fled, the shouting slowly died, shredded by canyons and distance. And Iskandar was gone.

We rode as long and hard as we could, knowing we needed the distance. Del eventually called halt as we traded border canyons for border foothills, and scrubby, tree-clad ridges carved out of Southron soil. I wasn't so certain it was a good idea to stop yet, but she said I looked like I'd fall off if the stud

so much as sneezed.

I held my head very still. "If he so much as blinks."

"Can you follow me?" she asked.

"As long as you don't go fast."

Del took us off the trail and over a snaky line of ridges and foothills closer

to Harquhal than Iskandar. Trees were low and twisted and scrubby, but plentiful, providing decent cover. Behind a sloping, tree-screened hillside well

off the new-beaten trail, Del dismounted her roan.

She reached out to catch the stud. "Do you need help?"

With great care, I dismounted, clinging to the stirrup. "Help doing what?"

She just shook her head. "Go sit down somewhere. I'll tend the horses."

I did. She did. And eventually came back, carrying saddle-pouches, bedrolls, botas.

In the hollow of the hill, we ate, drank, stretched out. Thought about what had

happened. Thought about what we'd done.

Del was close beside me. I could hear her breathing. "Well," I said, "it's done."

She didn't say anything.

"You sang the song for your kinfolk, the one you swore to sing, and collected the blood-debt he owed for murdering everyone."

She still didn't say anything.

"Your song is over, bascha. You sang it very well."

She drew in a lengthy, noisy breath.

"You said I should ask you after Ajani was dead." I waited a moment. "What will

you do now?"

Del's smile was sad. "Ask me in the morning."

"Bascha--"

"Ask," she said softly. "And then ask me the next morning, and the next ..."

She

rubbed at eyes undoubtedly as tired and gritty as mine. "If you ask me enough times, maybe one of these days I'll know. And by then it won't matter, because

years will have passed, and I'll have forgotten why I never knew what I would do

once Ajani was dead. I will have simply done it."

It was, I thought, convoluted reasoning. But at that particular moment it didn't

really matter.

I released a sigh. It felt so good just to stop. "Busy day," I observed.

Del only grunted.

The sun dipped low in the west. "Who won the dance?"

Next to me, Del shifted. "Nobody won the dance. The dance was never finished."

I attempted to summon outrage. "Do you mean to tell me you threw away my chance

at a domain? My chance to be a tanzeer?"

Unimpressed, Del shrugged. "You'd be a bad tanzeer."

"How do you know?"

"I just do."

My turn to grunt. "You're probably right."

"I'd make a better tanzeer."

"You're a woman, bascha."

"So?"

"So we're South, remember?"

"Aladar's daughter is a tanzeer."

"That will never last."

She sighed. "You're probably right. The South is still too backward."

The sun dipped lower still. "I think instead of a sword, I'm going to get a new

horse."

Del grinned briefly. "The old one might protest."

"The old one can protest himself right into the stewpot, for all I care. I'm not

about to put up with him taking pieces out of my head just because he hates magic."

"You hated magic, once."

"I still hate magic. It doesn't mean I'm going to kick somebody's head off if they use it."

"You used to bite mine off."

I grunted. "Long time ago, bascha."

"Hours ago, maybe."

I sighed. "Why are we arguing?"

"We're not arguing. We're delaying."

"What are we delaying?"

"Discussing what we're going to do."

"What are we going to do?"

"Go north?"

"No."

"Go south?"

"We have to. There's Shaka Obre to find."

Del didn't answer at once. When she did, her tone was odd. "You're certain you

want to do that?"

"I have to. How else am I going to discharge this sword?"

"You've already learned to control it better."

I frowned. Rolled my head to look at her. "You sound like you don't think it's

such a good idea to go hunting Shaka Obre."

She chose her words carefully. "I just think it will be very difficult to find

him. His name is shrouded in myth--he's part of children's stories."

"So was Chosa Dei, but that didn't make him any less real. I can attest to that."

Del sighed, picking at the thin blanket she'd thrown over her long, bare legs.

"It isn't easy, Tiger."

"Nothing much is, but what do you mean?"

"Looking for a man very difficult to find. I had reason, I had need... but the

task was no easier."

"You're saying you don't think I'll stick with it."

"I'm saying it will be a very difficult quest."

"I don't have a lot of choice. Chosa Dei's presence will provide a good enough

reason, I think."

Del sighed. "It will be complicated. We are wanted now, more so than anyone in

the South--we killed the jhihadi. They will track us without respite. We killed

the jhihadi, the man who intended to change the sand to grass."

"The man they think was the jhihadi."

Del considered it, then laughed a little. "Jamail was very clever, doing what he

did. I wouldn't have thought of it."

"What did Jamail do?"

"Pointed at Ajani. He must have known someone would try to kill him... if not me, then the tanzeers. He got his revenge after all."

I grunted. "He wasn't pointing at Ajani. And it wasn't Alric, either; I know: I

was there."

"Who else was he pointing at? I saw him do it, Tiger."

"So did I, bascha."

"Well, if it wasn't at Ajani--" Then, lurching up out of blankets: "You're sandsick!"

"Oh, I don't think so."

Loud silence.

"He wouldn't," she said at last. "He didn't--you know he didn't. Why would he do

such a thing?"

I didn't offer an answer, thinking it obvious.

Del stared at me. "That horse kicked you harder than I thought."

I yawned. "I might make a bad tanzeer, but I think I can handle messiah."

Louder silence.

Then, in pointed challenge, "Can you change the sand to grass?"

Another yawn. "Tomorrow."

Del's tone was peculiar. "He didn't really point at you. You were right there,

yes, but it was Ajani he pointed at. I saw him. I saw him point. It was Ajani,

Tiger."

I just lay there and smiled, blinking drowsily.

"Swear by your sword," she ordered.

I grinned. "Which one?"

"The steel sword, Tiger; don't be so vulgar."

I put out a hand and caught the twisted-silk hilt. "I swear by Samiel: Jamail pointed at me."

I knew she wanted to admonish me not to speak the name aloud. But she understood

what it meant. She understood the oath.

Del thought about it deeply. Then made a careful observation. "You know better

than to swear false oath on your jivatma." As if she wasn't certain; maybe, with

me, she wasn't.

Through yet another yawn, "Yes, bascha. You've made it very clear that's a bad

thing to do." I paused. "Would you like me to swear on your sword?"

Very firmly, "No."

I drifted off toward sleep. The edge was so very close. All I needed to do was