Sword-Singer Read online

  “Garrod,” I said, “so? He’s here to sell his horses.”

  Del’s fingers bit into my forearm. “Those men…Tiger, I know them. They are Ajani’s men.”

  I hauled her back before she could take more than a single step. “Del—wait.”

  “I know them, Tiger.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what do you want to do, storm out there and challenge them to a sword-dance?”

  She tried to break free by twisting her arm. I hung on. “Tiger—you don’t understand—”

  “Yes I do. I also understand that right now probably isn’t a good time to challenge them.”

  She stopped struggling. Color stood high in her face. “And when is a good time?”

  “Probably in the morning, if you insist. We’ve spent the last two weeks tromping all over these hills, bascha—why not at least get a good night’s sleep? They’ll be here. And so will Garrod. If he knows them, he might just know Ajani. Or not; they may simply want his horses.”

  “They have horses, Tiger.”

  “The least we can do is ask him before we spit him on your sword.”

  “Then let’s ask him right now.”

  “Let’s not.” I hauled her back again. “Del, I’ll even help you, but let’s wait till morning.”

  “We have to leave in the morning.”

  “And find a horse and wagon for these people.” I tilted my head in the direction of Adara and her children. “It’s our last night together, bascha…don’t you think they might want to spend it without witnessing bloodshed in the circle?”

  She gritted teeth. “You are a sentimental fool.”

  I gripped her arm more firmly. “Better than just a fool, which is what you’re being at the moment.”

  “Those men owe me blood-debt,” she hissed angrily. “Each and every one of them owes me blood-debt ten times over, for what was done to my family. And if you think I can let them ride through this kymri without calling them into the circle, you are the fool!”

  “And if they refuse?” I released her and saw the reddening handprint on her arm. “They probably will, Del. They’re Southroners, after all. They won’t take the invitation seriously. What they will do, however, is cut you to pieces when you’re not looking, because that is how they live. They have no honor, Del. And you’ll die because of it.”

  “Not till I find Ajani.”

  Something inside of me squeezed. “I don’t want you to die at all.”

  The sun was nearly gone. Fading light softened the lines of Del’s face and altered her expression into something more sanguine than former anger. She looked back at me blankly a moment, then drew in a deep breath. “No. Neither do I.”

  “Then let’s make sure you don’t.” The men were gone, Garrod with them. “And let’s have something to eat.”

  In an oddly private silence, Del went to the fire.

  The stew was very good, although I might have preferred better company. Adara remained locked in depression, only rarely breaking her silence, and Massou continued his sulk. Del tried to draw him out and he responded a little, but sullenly, as if he blamed me for the stud’s hostility.

  Well, maybe whatever I felt also affected the stud.

  Cipriana, on the other hand, had a strange bright glint in her eyes, smiling to herself, occasionally touching the neckline of her tunic. She served me in place of her mother, tending my cup until I told her to stop, and filled my bowl to brimming three times running.

  Del, of course, saw it, smiled wryly, said nothing. On one hand, it was nice not to suffer the sulks of a jealous woman; on the other, it might have been nice to know she cared. Del did not appear to—or else she dismissed Cipriana as not worthy of consideration as real competition.

  It became patently clear, however, that Cipriana did.

  After dinner I went back to the stud, who was making a lot of noise. He stomped, pawed, dug holes, snorted, peeled back lips to show yellowed teeth. I thought maybe there was a mare in heat close by; it doesn’t take much to set him off.

  I soothed him as best I could, but he wasn’t particularly interested in anything I had to say, nor did a pat or two still his restiveness. I tried scratching the firm layers of muscle lying between the long bones of his underjaw, which usually resulted in a silly half-lidded expression of contentment. This time all it resulted in was a wet, messy snort of abject contempt.

  “Fine,” I told him, “stay out here and sulk. I’m not taking you to any mare no matter how much you beg.”

  Cipriana came up to me, melting out of the fireglow. It was dark now, and the entire kymri was shrouded in smoke and glare, smelling of food and liquor. “Tiger?”

  The stud bared teeth; I slapped his nose away from the girl. “Yes?”

  “Could you—” She broke off, gathered her courage, asked it. “Would you walk with me?”

  Hoolies. Oh, hoolies.

  “Not far,” she said. “Just—out there.” A wave of her hand indicated somewhere beyond the stud.

  She is a girl, I told myself. What are you afraid of?

  Well, nothing. Nothing, really. Other than being wary of what she wanted, while having a feeling I knew. Part of me suggested I say no and go back to the fire, avoiding the situation; another part jeered for being such a coward.

  But I had no experience with fifteen-year-old girls. I like my women older.

  Still, there was no dignified way of refusing. So I didn’t even try.

  We left the stud behind, viciously digging holes in the turf. Side by side we walked out of the light from our fire into the glow cast from other campsites. In the distance I could hear the ringing of tambors, the clatter of rattle-bones, the trilling hoot of wooden pipes. I thought Cipriana deserved to go dancing instead of walking with me, and said so.

  She shrugged. “I wanted to be with you.”

  Hoolies. “You’ve been with all of us the past two weeks.”

  She walked with arms folded across her chest, head bowed. Pale hair fell forward to obscure her face. “Because I wanted to be with you.”

  I sighed. “Cipriana—”

  She stopped and raised her head, snapping hair out of her face with a deft twist of her head. “I’m confused,” she said. “Things happened today that I don’t understand, and I need to ask someone.” She shrugged again, hugging herself. “My father is dead and Massou is too young. There is no one else but you.”

  Oh, hoolies.

  I drew in a deep breath, trying to buy time. Trying to come up with an answer. “I think—”

  “Men looked at me today,” she said. “Men looked at me, and followed me with their eyes…some men even followed me. And they said things, some of them…” 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 wrongness 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, gaite
rs 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.