Sword-Maker, page 11
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 Cantéada 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 jivatma? 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 of her jaw cut the air like a blade. I saw her lips part; she said something to herself, mouthing it in silence, and I wondered what was in her mind. Ajani? Delay?
Or maybe a Southron sword-dancer who taxed her dwindling supply of patience.
Hoolies, she didn’t have to stay. I wasn’t forcing her to. She could turn around with Halvar and ride back down the mountain to Ysaa-den. Or ride clear to the South. To Harquhal and beyond, maybe even to Julah; or to the Vashni, who had her brother; hoolies, there was no place in the world Del couldn’t go if she put her mind to it.
Except Staal-Ysta.
Del slid a leg over her saddle and stepped down carefully, sparing her midriff as much as she could. It would be days, possibly even weeks, before either of us could move freely again, without awareness of stiffness and pain. It was possible neither of us would ever fully recover fluidity of motion, since respective sword blades had cut muscle as well as flesh.
Then again, it was possible only I wouldn’t; Del was twenty-one. The young heal faster, neater, better.
And maybe she needed it more.
I unpinned my cloak, rolled it, fastened it onto my saddle. No doubt come night I would regret leaving it behind, but its weight and muffling folds would hinder me during the climb. Hopefully the task could be accomplished before it got cold enough for me to need the warmth of its weight.
Hopefully.
Well, one can always hope.
Del tied off the roan—outside of the stud’s reach—and chatted briefly with Halvar. Like me, she shed her cloak and put it away. Sunlight glinted off the hilt of her jivatma; I saw Halvar stare at it in something akin to reverence. No doubt any village full of people who believed in dragons also told bedtime stories about Northern blooding-blades and the men who bore them. Now they could add a whole new raft of tales about the pale-haired woman who summoned a banshee-storm with only a name and a song.
“Let’s go,” I said irritably. “We’re burning daylight.”
“So is the dragon,” Del observed, as smoke issued from “mouth” and “nostrils.” This time sound came with it: a low-pitched, hissing rumble, as if the dragon belched.
“Beware the fire,” Halvar said, clearly enough for me.
I looked up the mountain. “If there’s fire,” I pointed out, “someone has to tend it. Which means there’s more up there than rock and hounds … likely a man as well.”
Halvar looked at me strangely.
“It makes sense,” I said defensively; I hate it when I’m doubted. “Do you really think there’s a dragon up there, fire-breathing and all?”
Still Halvar stared. And then he looked at Del as if hoping she could explain.
“No,” Del said quietly, “he thinks no such thing … Tiger, I am sorry you have been so left out of the conversation—I didn’t realize it was so hard for you to understand. No one in Ysaa-den believes there’s a real dragon up there—no one is so foolish as to believe in a mythical creature—but a sorcerer. A specific one, in fact: Chosa Dei.”
“Who?”
“Chosa Dei,” she repeated. “He is a legendary sorcerer, Tiger; surely you must have heard of him, even in the South.”
“No.” Emphatically. “Del—”
“He has not been seen for hundreds of years, ever since a fight with his brother, Shaka Obre—who is also a sorcerer—but Halvar tells me Ysaa-den has lain in his shadow for nearly ninety years. They believe it is Chosa Dei who troubles them now, awakening; he is the ‘dragon,’ not this pile of stone.”
“Have you heard of this sorcerer?”
“Of course.” Del was dead serious. “He was one of my favorite stories when I was a child. I know all about Chosa Dei … and all his fights with his brother, and how they spent all their magic trying to kill one another—”
“Are you completely sandsick?” I gaped at her inelegantly. “You’re standing here telling me you believe a man out of childhood stories is living in that mountain, blowing smoke out stone tunnels just to pass the time?”
Del smiled. “No,” she said in Southron. “But it would be rude to tell Halvar so, and ruin the history of his village.”
I blinked. “Then why are we here?”
She slipped a thumb beneath a harness strap and resettled her sword. “Because a newly-named kaidin made a promise he’s sworn to keep.”
I opened my mouth to respond. Rudely, of course; she was throwing things I’d said back in my own face. But before I could say a word something interrupted.
A keening, rising howl, echoing eerily. And a gout of malodorous smoke, fanned by heated wind.
No matter who it was, someone—something—was killing people. And I was here to stop it.
“Come on,” I said curtly.
Del fell in behind me.
∗ ∗ ∗
Conditioning is important to a sword-dancer. Because if you lack stamina, speed and wind, you risk losing the dance. And, much of the time, if you risk losing the dance, you also risk losing your life.
Which means a sword-dancer worth his salt always stays in condition.
Unless he’s been recently wounded, which changes things altogether.
I suppose two months isn’t recent. But it felt like it. It felt like yesterday every step I took—no, let’s make it today. Like maybe a moment ago. All I know is, it hurt to climb the mountain.
I knew I was a fool to go charging up a rockpile where there wasn’t any air to breathe and I had no lungs to breathe it. I knew I was a fool to even consider taking on anything with my sword, be it human or animal. And certainly I was a fool to be doing it with Del, who was in no better shape than I. It’s nice to have backup—it’s great to have backup—but only if they’re healthy.
