Del’s voice had its customary morning huskiness. “I only went to sleep a few minutes ago.”
“Uh-huh. Right.” I peeled back my blanket and looked around at the world. A faint film of moisture touched almost everything.
I yawned prodigiously, stretched from a sitting position, then stood up for an additional stretch. Across the oasis others were beginning to move. Livestock awoke and began their noisy morning pleas for food. Behind me, picketed on the other side of the tree, the stud snorted loudly and pawed at the ground, raising dust.
“Oh, stop,” I said through a yawn.
The stud dropped a certain equine apparatus and began peeing emphatically. Fortunately the river did not find a channel through our bedding. Steam rose, along with a pungent scent.
“So?” I asked. “I can do that, too. Even if I’m only human-sized.” And I walked off to a shrub to prove it.
When I returned, Del was in the midst of rolling up her bedding. Saddle pouches were over by her gelding. She grabbed saddle blanket and saddle and took both to her horse, where she set the blanket across his back one-handed, swung the saddle up into place and cinched it up. Then she went off to have her own communion with a bush.
When she returned, pretty much everything of mine was on board. I donned harness and sword followed by burnous, belted it, waited for Del to finish readying the gelding and herself. A normal start to the morning. We never cooked breakfast on the road, just ate what we had in saddle pouches.
“A few more days,” I said as we led the horses through the middle of the oasis, bound for water. “Then we’ll be home where we can once again look after a determined and opinionated two-year-old. And train young men to become sword-dancers.”
Del smiled. “So we can. Though I’d like to see a woman student come to us.”
I shrugged. “It’s the South.”
“Maybe some day.”
“Maybe.”
As we approached the big rock surround where the spring bubbled up, we heard the sound of swords, of spectators shouting approval for one blow or another—obviously wagering was in progress. Since this gathering was directly beside the track Del and I wished to follow, we mounted our horses once watering was done and rode over there, intending to pass on by. But then we saw the circle, the men inside it. Tariq, and the sword-dancer I’d seen at the spring on our arrival.
Del and I watched a moment—we couldn’t help it—then headed out. Or we were, until I heard a shout.
“Sandtiger!” I should have known: Tariq. Then I heard, apparently said to his opponent, “Yes, yes, it’s the Sandtiger. I met him last night. We shared a bota. Wait—where are you going?”
I had a very good idea where Tariq’s opponent was going. Swearing under my breath, I swung the stud around. The man strode steadily, sword gripped in his hand. Older than Tariq, now that I could see him in daylight, dark-haired, tanned. His eyes were blue. Probably a Borderer.
He stopped short of the stud. “When I acknowledged you last night, I didn’t know who you were. Trust me when I say I would never have done you the courtesy had I known. I didn’t see the scars in the dusk.” He stood even straighter. “I challenge you.”
I released a rather noisy sigh. “You know,” I said to Del, “I’m getting really tired of this. Maybe I should just kill everyone who challenges me.”
“I am Hamzah,” the man said. “Come down from there and step into the circle.”
Del was at my side, relaxed but watchful. “We have somewhere to be,” I told Hamzah, “and it isn’t here or in a circle. I won’t accept your challenge.”
He was outraged. “You must! It’s required!”
Well, it sort of was. “Death dance?” I asked.
“No. To defeat.”
Well, that was something.
Tariq looked thrilled. “Yes! I would pay to see this!”
If I defeated Hamzah, he’d never challenge me again. It was attractive. “Then let’s get this over with,” I told Hamzah. “We do have somewhere to be.”
He nodded once, walked to the circle and into it. He set down his sword in the middle, took up a position outside the line, and waited for me.
I swung off the stud, undid belt, took off burnous and sandals. All these I draped across my saddle. I handed the reins up to Del, who had a better vantage point from horseback than from the ground.
“Do hurry,” Del suggested.
I grinned crookedly. “I’ll do my best,”
I walked into the circle, set down my sword, and noticed how avidly the crowd watched. I suspected they’d prefer a death dance, but we weren’t offering that today. Probably a little blood, though, which should please them to some extent.
On my side of the circle, I looked across at Hamzah. Tariq stood at an edge, nearly quivering with excitement. “May I?” he asked of both of us. “May I have the honor?”
Hamzah shrugged. Resigned, I told Tariq he could say it.
“Dance!”
It took a little longer than the ‘immediately’ I’d planned. Hamzah was talented. Whether he considered me past my prime, or at its peak, he did not let it show. He just danced. So I let him have a taste of what I could really do. I laid on, he defended. We spun, ducked, blocked, clashed blades, scraped steel, leaped apart only to go back in again. I drove him to the edge, he drove me to the edge.
Then I heard Del shout. She never did that. Never. She knew what focus was all about. I put a hand in the air in Hamzah’s direction. “Wait!” This was allowed. The opponent was to halt. And halt Hamzah did, smiling.
Smiling.
I turned toward Del. I saw that she had been yanked down from her saddle. She was sprawled on the ground with a man sitting atop her, holding a knife to her throat.
I wheeled around, expecting Hamzah to be coming up on me with his sword. But he stood there, blade hanging from his hand, and shook his head. Then I felt a hand lock into my harness from behind, and a knife point delicately pricking a few layers of skin over a kidney. Not a good place for the recipient.
“Drop it. Now.”
Tariq. His voice was no longer young or eager. And he made no threats about what would happen to Del if I didn’t drop my sword. There was no need. He knew, I knew. I dropped the sword.
“Wise.” He jerked me out of range. Pressed the knife deeper. I gritted my teeth against it. “Stand very still.”
“Del,” I said tightly.
“Oh, she’s coming, too. Umir wants you both,”
I let out a long string of vicious epithets. Umir. Umir. And we’d walked right into it, thanks to Tariq’s assurances that he didn’t know about any bounty.
Hamzah came close. “There are six of us,” he said. “Look around.”
I looked. Four men stood forward from the crowd, dressed in the kind of clothing that made them inconspicuous. They wore no harnesses, no swords. They looked like every other man standing with the spectators. Two stood by Del, still pinned down.
Hamzah stepped closer yet. “We have great respect for you,” he said. “Be glad of it.”
Something very hard came down on the back of my head. I nearly went to my knees, but managed a staggering turn toward Tariq even though my head was full of flashing light. A second hard blow collided with the side of my head, and the world winked out.
Chapter 37
I REJOINED THE LIVING IN SHEER MISERY. My head hurt so badly I thought I might throw up, which would have made things worse, of course. But my abdomen was hurting, too. And wrists and ankles. The world was wavering back and forth.
I opened my eyes a slit. I discovered myself in my saddle, atop the stud. My abdomen hurt because I was lying forward across the pommel, upper body stretched out along the stud’s neck. When I tried to sit up, I discovered my wrists were shackled together under the stud’s neck. It was impossible to sit up. And my legs, when I tested them, were locked into shackles as well. The connecting chain ran under the stud’s abdomen. If I made a significant attempt to loose my legs, the chain would shorten and very likely send the stud into a temper tantrum with me stuck aboard. That, I did not wish to experience.