Sword Singer-Sword Dancer 2 (25 page)

She didn't look away, plainly waiting for an explanation.

"Maybe it would be better if you talked this over with your mother." A safe answer, I thought.

Cipriana shook her head. "She's too tired. She won't listen."

"Well--what about Del?"

Blue eyes widened. "Del wouldn't understand!"

I frowned. "Why not? She's a woman. She knows about these things."

Cipriana was momentarily at a loss for words, searching for the right ones.

"Because," she said finally, "because all she cares about is her sword, and the

sword-dance."

I am not entirely stupid when it comes to women, even young ones. I know jealousy when I hear it. I can smell it.

"Cipriana," I said firmly, "when you have survived the hardships Del has, and have learned how to live freely in a man's world no matter what the stakes, you

can say something like that. But you are too young and too innocent to understand what Del's life has been like, so I suggest you make no judgments."

The girl was undeterred. "They looked at me," she said. "One even gave me this."

I watched as she tugged something from beneath her woolen tunic. Some sort of necklet; beads strung on leather, or stones. They were dark and lumpy, lacking

symmetry. The thong tied at the back of her neck.

"And you took it?" I was more than a little amazed.

She shrugged, clearly confused. "He said I should have it. That I was pretty enough for it..." She smiled a little, eyes bright. "Am I pretty, Tiger?"

Hoolies, hoolies, hoolies.

"You will be," I told her, floundering, "but I think maybe you shouldn't accept

presents from strange men."

"I would from you." She stepped close. "Even you watch me, Tiger. I've seen you

do it. I've seen you follow me with your eyes, and then you look at Del. You look at her, as if comparing us; hard-edged woman and soft young girl." She smelled of musk and lavender, swaying closer yet, whispering, "I'm softer and younger than Del... and I've never killed a man."

The stud squealed. Hands reached up to lock in my hair. I took two steps back,

caught her wrists; discovered soft young Cipriana had the strength of a full-grown woman who most distinctly wants a man.

"Cipriana--no--" I jerked her hands away, set her aside more roughly than I intended, realized the tingle was back in my bones. "Something's wrong," I said

sharply. The hair stood up on my flesh. "Something is wrong."

All around us the music played. People laughed, shouted, sang.

"Tiger--"

I shivered. "Hoolies--what is it--?" Of its own accord, my hand went to my sword

hilt and jerked the blade out of its sheath. Cipriana fell back a step, gripping

her lumpy necklet.

The stud squealed again. I heard him stomping in the turf, digging deeper holes.

Whatever it was, he felt it as strongly as I.

Firelight glinted off my bared blade. Night-blackened runes knotted and broke as

I shifted my weight, turning from side to side.

Cipriana put out a hand and touched the naked blade.

"Don't," I said sharply. "You know better."

"Do I?" Fingers curled around the edges. "This is a sword of power."

"Once," I agreed, distracted. "Not anymore. The man who blooded it is dead."

"You killed him."

"Yes." I was curt, too curt, but my bones itched inside my flesh. "Hoolies, I can feel it--"

"So can I," she said. "It's here, in the sword. Wanting to break free--"

Carefully I moved the blade away from her hand. "Theron is dead and buried in Southron sand. The Punja has scoured the flesh from his bones. There's no life

left in this sword." I moved away from her, trying to locate the source of my unease. It was growing stronger, too strong; I felt vaguely sick. "It's everywhere," I said, moving in a circle around the campsite. "It's coming from

every direction. Can't you feel it?" I turned as she followed. "Go back to the

fire, Cipriana. Go back."

"I want to come with--"

"Go back." My palms were wet against the hilt. I let go long enough with one hand to shove Cipriana toward the fire. "Del!" I shouted.

She came. Her blade was bare in her hands.

"Something is wrong," I told her. "Something bad."

Her sword flashed in the fireglow. The feeling of wrong-ness intensified with that flash, making me queasy and a little disoriented. I felt hatred.

Hostility.

A burning dedication coming steadily forward to surround us in the darkness.

"Something--" I said again.

The fire was at her back. I could see nothing of her face. "What do you think--"

But she never got a chance to finish, because people began to scream.

Twenty

"It stinks," I said.

Del cast me a glance combining disbelief with impatience. "Now is not the time

to worry about what offends your nose."

"It stinks." I repeated. "Can't you smell it? It's magic, Del... and not meant

to be kind to us."

The kymri was in a shambles. No more piping, no more singing, no more dancing.

Everyone was in flight.

The enemy was as yet unseen. But that one existed was plain. I felt it, I smelled it, and knew it was powerful enough to destroy any number of people.

The

hundreds gathered here would never stop it. Never even slow it.

Del and I are canny fighters. We know very well when the odds make victory impossible, and we're prepared to retreat without concern for how others may view the flight. We were prepared to fight or run now, but not knowing who, what

or where the enemy was made it impossible to do either. All we could do was remain with Adara and her children at the campfire, while all around us landlopers panicked and fled into the darkness beyond the smudgy fireglow.

Fled, and died.

By the screams we were able to tell from which direction the enemy approached.

The knowledge didn't please us; the kymri was surrounded. From the hills and mountains flowed a river of hostility, slipping like wraiths through the darkness, devouring anything in its path.

"Eyes," Del said tersely. "Look at all the eyes... human? Or animal?"

"Too low to the ground for human, unless they're crawling on hands and knees."

Which was a possibility. "I think they're animals."

Del was frowning. "Too many for wolves. They're everywhere."

We stood on either side of the fire, our backs to one another with the Borderers

in between, huddled around the ring. Campfires still burned by other wagons, but

all were unattended. People fled or climbed into and under wagons, calling on various Northern gods.

"Dogs?" I said. "Dogs go mad sometimes."

"I don't think so. The kymri dogs are silent."

They were, which disturbed me. The stud stomped and pawed and generally made his

uneasiness known, as did other horses tied at neighboring camps, but the dogs were oddly silent, all of them, as if they understood the enemy far better than

any of us, and accepted the role of submission without a single show of reluctance.

The river flowed closer, The eyes were all around us, fixed and eerily feral.

Slanted, slitted eyes, with the shine of ice in the darkness.

There was no doubt in my mind that we stood a better chance mounted. But we had

only one horse for five.

That is, until Garrod arrived. He rode the gray, leading the bays and sorrels.

All were bridled, but he'd had no time at all for saddles.

"Waste no time," he said tersely, "the beasts are all around us. There are enough to pull down the horses, but if we run we stand a better chance of breaking through the ranks."

Del and I sheathed our swords and took the reins he tossed us. "Adara, up," I said.

"Massou and Cipriana--"

"--will be fine. Come here." She came; I tried to give her a boost up, but the

sorrel shied away. I pulled Adara aside, scowling up at Garrod.

He was frowning. "They shouldn't--" But he broke it off, saying something about

beasts, and began speaking to the horses.

It was in a Northern dialect I didn't know, but I heard nuances of peacemaking

and placation, a song of soothing promises and endless empathy. All of the horses settled almost at once.

"Adara," I said, lifted her up, made certain she was settled firmly on the sorrel's back. Then I turned to take another horse from Garrod, one of the bays.

"Cipriana."

She was there instantly, saying nothing as I made a step with locked hands and

tossed her up. She landed awkwardly in a tangle of woolen skirts, belly-down across the horse's shoulders, but twisted around and yanked skirts out of the way as she pulled herself into position.

"They are good horses," Garrod said, watching. "The best. But none of them is gentle."

Cipriana gathered reins, grim-faced. "I can ride," she said firmly. "I will stay

aboard."

I saw a brief glint of appreciation in Garrod's pale eyes, and then he was twisting his neck to look back at Del, making certain Massou was safely settled

on the other bay. It left the remaining sorrel for Del. She swung up lightly, making an easier job of it than Cipriana because she was, as always, skirtless,

wearing gartered trews, gaiters and high-wrapped boots very like my own.

It left only me. I went to the stud and pulled the stake. I'd left him bridled,

which is not uncommon, tied to the earth by means of a halter, rope and picket

stake. Now I looped one rope and reins and brought him closer to the fire.

"Did you know?" I asked Garrod plainly. "I smelled the stink, horse-speaker--did

you know they were coming?"

He shook his head. Pale braids twisted against shoulders, rattling beads that glinted in the light. "Not until the horses told me. By then, it was nearly too

late. I had time only to come for all of you."

I caught a handful of spiky mane, leaned back, swung a leg up toward the stud's

rump. Up and over, settled, hauling in reins and rope. Bareback, he was slippery; I clamped buttocks and legs against his flesh, feeling the play of muscles. "All of us? But you knew only Del and me... why did you think of all of

us?"

"Because I saw you," he said quietly, "when I came down to talk to Ajani's men."

I looked at Del. I knew we were thinking identical thoughts: Ajani's men stole

people to sell them into slavery. Were we making it easy for them?

"Come on," Garrod said sharply. "Do you want to let them eat you?"

Given a choice, I'd rather fight men than beasts. We turned the mounts loose and

ran.

Garrod took us toward the end of the little valley. There was no question he knew his business; I fully expected the spirited horses to prove difficult, but

Garrod apparently had "spoken" to them. They were swift and alert and responsive, but they didn't panic. They didn't lose their riders.

The stud, meanwhile, wasn't particularly pleased with the direction of the flight, since he'd wanted to go the other way. I fought him with hands and heels, keeping him tightly reined as I muscled him through the kymri. Garrod led, while Del and I hung back to herd Adara and her children after him. All around us were abandoned fires, blocky Northern wagons, huddled humans and frightened livestock.

And eyes.

We ran, and they ran with us. I began to see shapes, little more than snatches

of shadows as I fought to stay aboard the slick-backed stud. I saw low-slung heads, gaping jaws, tongues lolling out of mouths. Saw the hard shine of eyes and teeth. Heard the whine and whistle of panting breaths. They were four-footed

creatures with brushy tails, and a mane across hunched shoulders. Smudgy gray,

but dappled silver. Not wolves. Not dogs. Not foxes. Something in between.

"Hounds of hoolies," I muttered.

Del's horse was next to me. "What did you say?" she asked.

"--bedtime story in the South." It was hard to talk over pounding hooves and the

noisy breathing of running horses. "Supposedly they're the familiars of Dybbuk

himself."

"Who?"

"The lord of hoolies, which is undoubtedly the place I'm bound for, if we keep

going the way we're going."

"Oh." Her sorrel stumbled. Del snugged reins, drew up the gelding's white-splashed head, set him to running again.

"For what it's worth," I said, "I don't think Garrod's turning us over to slavers."

Del tilted her head in consideration. "Maybe not at the moment. But once we're

free of the valley, who's to say what he'll do?"

I grinned. "A pair of sword-dancers, maybe."

"Tiger--watch out!"

Something snapped at the stud's hocks. Swearing, I saw the flash of teeth and the shine of pale, slanting eyes. The river had reached us at last.

"Keep going!" Garrod called, twisting to shout over one shoulder. Pale braids whipped. "If we slow, they'll pull us down. Just hold on and let the horses go!"

Massou and Cipriana were hunched forward, clutching reins and flying manes.

They

made themselves very small, pulling knees and ankles upward to present smaller

targets to the leaping "hounds." Massou certainly was small enough to succeed,

clinging to his bay like a tick to a dog. Cipriana and Adara, longer-legged, had

more trouble, but managed, just as Del did. I was bigger than any of them and on

a less predictable mount; inwardly I swore and reached to jerk Theron's sword from the sheath slung across my back.

"Bascha--let's cull the pack, shall we?"

Del glanced over, saw the metallic glint, smiled. And freed her own blooding-blade.

Answering immediately, the beasts began to bay.

"Through the canyon!" Garrod called. "The opening's just ahead."

We went into the canyon, all six of us, cutting a path through blood and bone.

Del and I flanked the others, swept around the edges, closed in. The hounds snapped and howled and yipped, trying to pull down the horses, but they were no