We were here for Rashida and the horses, not sword-dances. But I could be challenged at any moment. Rafa was dead, but Eddrith wasn’t—Darrion didn’t count—which meant the other two rumored sword-dancers could be hanging around, whoever they were. I suspected word was passed that I had departed, but as Danika had said, it was hard to miss me with the scars on my face. A fair number of people knew me by them: sword-dancers, tanzeers, tavern keepers, and possibly others I couldn’t count. For now the hood would hide me, but once the storm broke and the sun came out, there’d be no need for the coat, and a man who kept his hood pulled up in the sunlight would be even more noticeable.
We entered the town, horse hooves clopping on paving stones and splashing through puddles. Water ran swiftly in a miniature stream down the center of the street. We passed two cantinas—taverns, here in the North—including the one with the red-and-yellow sign, and an inn.
“I can go into the taverns,” Del said. “I’m not so out of place here as I am in the South. I’m one of many Northerners. You could wait for me.” I began to object, but Del rode right over the top of my words with a raised voice. “We have no time to waste,” she reminded me. “You being challenged to a dance wastes it. I’ll go into taverns and inns, ask a few questions about a red-haired man.”
It sounded unlikely. “You believe borjuni will be staying at an inn? Really?”
“It’s not impossible. And who’s to stop them?”
I still found it unlikely. “You could be recognized by one of his men,” I reminded her. “They saw you at Mahmood’s caravan when they attacked. Once seen, no one forgets you.”
“They will if I’m not wearing harness and sword. In a burnous, I’ll be just another Northern woman.”
My hood slid back. I pulled it forward again. “Bascha, trust me—you could never be just another Northern woman.”
She turned her head and shot me an irritable glance. “You know very well what I mean. You go to Marketfield and talk to Mahmood—he may have seen the red-haired man if the raiders have brought the horses in. I’ll see what I can find out in taverns. It shouldn’t be difficult. Men are willing to talk to me.”
That resulted in me laughing aloud, and loudly. When most of the laughter died away into the occasional chuckle, I shook my head. “Gods, Del, you have a true gift for understatement!”
She scowled, worked her way out of her coat, took off the harness with its sheathed sword. She moved her horse closer to me and thrust the harness and sword into my hands. “Take this to Mahmood. He can keep it for me.” She pulled her coat back on and tugged it into place swiftly before she got too wet. “I’ll meet you at Mahmood’s camp.”
“I don’t like it,” I told her. “You without a sword.”
She hitched one shoulder in a slight shrug. “Without one, people are less likely to recognize me. And they certainly won’t challenge me.”
“Darrion did. I’ll bet Eddrith would.”
“Not if I have no sword.”
Well, she was right. By the codes, sword-dancers need not accept challenges if, by their own free choice, they were not wearing a sword. It didn’t matter for me, but it did for Del. I knew what she said was the truth.
“Well, I still don’t like it.”
Del’s smile was faint. “You don’t have to.” She turned her gelding and rode away from me.
I scowled after her. You just couldn’t change Delilah’s mind once she had it set on something. Sometimes that was a good thing. Other times, such as this one, it annoyed the hoolies out of me.
The clouds began to break just as I tracked down Mahmood’s caravan. His wagon was all closed up, silks and spices tucked away; himself as well, if he weren’t at a tavern. I rode up to the back end and used the pommel of Del’s sword to knock on the wagon. I heard a body moving around, some activity. After a moment, Mahmood stuck his head out.
“Oh,” he said in surprise. “You’re back.”
And before either of us could say another word, the stud let loose with a spine-rattling, lengthy shake, spraying water in every direction. Poor Mahmood received much of it in his face. He scowled at me, disappeared a moment, then stuck his head out, wiping his face with a cloth.
“Will he do that again?” he asked, aggrieved.
I sighed deeply, trying to settle my bones back into their accustomed places. “Who knows. He does as he will. He’s stubborn that way.”
“Teach him better manners!”
The rain had let up. I pushed my hood down on my shoulders. “Speaking of horses, I understand there’s a horse fair here on Marketday?”
“There is. Every Marketday.”
“Have you seen any of the horses to be offered?”
Mahmood pushed open the snugged-down canvas. “How should I know? Horses are horses.”
“These have shorn manes. And Mahmood, it’s important. They were stolen from Neesha’s parents. Along with his sister.”
Mahmood stared in shock at me a moment, then shook his head. “I’ve seen none as you describe. Is Neesha here?”
“No, he’s staying with his mother. His father—well, stepfather—has a serious head injury and may not live. If you see any horses that suit, let me know.” I displayed harness and sword. “And can you put this in safekeeping? It’s Del’s. She’s checking taverns for that red-haired raider; I’m looking for horses with shorn manes.”
Mahmood took the harness and sword. “The red-haired man who attacked my caravan?”
“The same. He won’t be doing it much longer.” I gathered reins. “Del’s meeting me back here, if that’s all right.”
“Of course! Of course!” Mahmood made a shooing gesture. “Go! Find this man!”
The stud and I set out to do just that.
Chapter 27
MARKETFIELD WAS FULL OF WHEELED CONVEYANCES. Now that the rain had stopped, merchants began to open up their wagons again. Clouds broke apart and allowed the midday sun to strengthen, warming the air. But the earth was saturated, and puddles and rivulets didn’t dry up immediately. The stud splashed through, mud sucking at his hooves.
I wore sandals; I was not going to dismount unless I had to. I did, however, shrug out of the oilcloth coat and drape it across the saddle in front of me. My burnous was quite wet at the neck and hem; the latter was freighted with mud as well. I considered taking it off altogether, but that would make it obvious I was a sword-dancer. I’d just as soon not advertise it, though I knew there was a good chance I would be recognized. My facial scars did indeed identify me.
I rode slowly through the wagons, making no sign that I was looking for anyone specific. And in a way I wasn’t; what I sought now were horses with shorn manes. Even if I came across any, I wouldn’t confront anyone. Del and I would do that together. Six-to-two weren’t superlative odds, but we’d handled six before.
Hmm. We had fought six at Mahmood’s caravan, and killed four. Whoever was leader—and I tended to think it was the red-haired man, since he’d done all the shouting—must have replaced them, unless Danika had miscounted. But perhaps they were more than six, while each raiding party was kept to a smaller number. It didn’t really make any sense to me, but then I wasn’t a raider to think of such things.
Though perhaps I’d better think of such things if Del and I were to overcome the borjuni—especially if they had more men to draw on as needed. That suggested a tougher enemy than originally expected. An endless supply of men, all dedicated to killing whoever so they could take whatever they wished.
I rode onward, wandering idly through narrow alleyways, between wagons, in front of or behind various lines of conveyances. Horse teams were picketed here and there, close by their respective owners. The stud got snuffy and whipped his tail, stuck his head up in the air, developed a slight hump in his back as he pulled himself into a compact bundle. I swore. This was his there’s-a-mare-in-season-nearby-I-want-her behavior. It certainly wasn’t surprising in view of the fact horses were picketed all over, but neither was it appreciated.