"It lives," I commented.
Del peered balefully at me, shielding her eyes from the sun with a raised hand. "Barely. I had more of the spirits. What do you call it?—the bark of the dog?"
I grinned. "The hair of the dog. Told you it works."
"Marginally." She hooked a finger under the fingerbone necklet dangling against her harness and displayed it. "What's this?"
"My guess is it's some kind of guest-gift. You're the Oracle's sister, and I'm the jhihadi. Maybe they're some kind of safe passage tokens through Vashni territory. Not a bad thing to have."
It was an understatement to mention Del was not happy. "We didn't even wake up when they put them on us. They might as easily have cut our throats."
"They could have done that while we were awake. Anyway, I think we'd better wear them for a while, just in case."
She didn't like the idea, but nodded. Then she pointed at the Vashni sack. "Can we at least get rid of that? I think we should bury it."
I grinned. "Not too fond of sandtiger, are we?"
"It doesn't taste particularly good going in either direction."
Fortunately I'd only experienced the one direction. I grabbed a bota and sucked down more water, then made the effort to climb to my feet. It was easier this time. "Better take it with us, till we're out of Vashni territory. You never know what might insult them."
"Then you carry it."
I glanced up at the sun. "Midday," I muttered. "We ought to get moving. Maybe we can make the chimney before nightfall."
"Or not," Del said, "considering how we feel. You said yourself there is no rush."
"That was earlier, when I took pity on you."
"And I'm not deserving of any now?"
"You're standing, aren't you? If you can stand, you can ride."
Del said glumly, "I suppose that means I must stay on my horse."
"Well, I could always throw you belly-down over the saddle and tie you on. Of course, all the blood would rush to your head, and I'm not sure that would make you feel any better. I certainly recall how I felt when you did it to me."
She flicked me an arch glance. "That was the Vashni who did it to you. And it was either that or let them kill you. To kill Chosa Dei."
"Well, they were much friendlier this time around," I agreed. Then I scratched my head and sighed, staring at the horses. "I suppose they won't saddle themselves. Guess we'd better get to work."
And work it was, with a pounding head. Took longer than usual, too, though eventually we did have both horses saddled, repacked, and ready to go. The Vashni had left us two blankets as well, which I found downright neighborly of them.
I led the stud into the center of the clearing, sorry to leave the shade. With great deliberation I stuck a foot into the left stirrup, carefully pulled myself up, and swung my right leg over. Amazingly, everything stayed attached.
"Well, bascha, I guess—" But I didn't finish, because Del arrived with the gelding in tow, thrust his reins at me urgently, and disappeared with haste behind a clump of trees.
This time I didn't tease her. I dug out some of the red silk left over from my Skandic clothing, unhooked a water bota, and handed both down to her without comment when she reappeared. Del rinsed her mouth, spat, then washed her face. She looked terrible.
I made the sacrifice. "Maybe we should stay here another night."
"No." Del took the gelding's reins back from me, flipped them over his neck, and mounted. She was clearly shaky, but determined. "I know how badly you want to get your hands on your jivatma. If it were mine . . ." She shook her head. "We'll go on."
The poor, pitiful bascha had reverted to cold-faced Northern sword-singer. I knew better than to attempt to jolly her out of it.
Besides, she needed to concentrate on keeping her belly where it belonged.
I realized within a couple of hours that we were not going to make the chimney before nightfall. Though I was feeling much better as the day wore on, and Del seem resigned to a generalized discomfort—at least she wasn't sick anymore—a faster pace might upset the balance. Not only that, but footing was tougher as we wound our way closer to the dramatic rock formations in the distance, beyond the foothills. Skull-sized boulders sprouted like shrubbery, abetted by drifts of bedrock peeping above the soil. "The horses had to pay more attention to where they set their hooves, and we had to pay more attention to the occasional misstep, prepared to bring equine heads up to reestablish balance before they went down onto their knees.
Then a sandy area caught my eye. Like water spilled from a pitcher, it wound its way through rocks, then spread into a wider patch.
"Over here," I called to Del, riding behind me. "Footing's better."
And indeed it was. The sandy area went down a rocky hillock and opened into something very like a shallow streambed, except there was no water. There had been once, before desert took it over. But now it was dry, with an underlayment of hard and uneven stone intermixed with sandy pockets and water-smoothed, hollowed-out boulders. Amazingly, there was a scattering of vegetation here, edging the streambed. Tough, reedy-looking shrubbery of a pallid green hue.
"Look ahead—there." Del pointed. "Are those wagon ruts?"
"Out here?" But even as I asked it, I saw what she meant. A few paces up there indeed appeared to be wheel ruts running across the streambed, visible only when they hit sand pockets. I moved the stud into a faster pace, then pulled up when I reached the ruts. "Hunh," I commented. "Someone's been out here in a wagon."
Del reined in beside me. "It makes no sense. There is nothing out here for settlers or caravans."
I shook my head. "Not enough tracks for a caravan. One wagon, I'd guess. Two mules. Maybe someone got lost." I marked how the ruts entered the streambed on one side and exited the other. "Let's follow the tracks," I suggested, reining left. "Maybe whoever we find will invite us to supper."
If they haven't already been someone else's supper."
'I'm not sure we're still in Vashni territory," I said. "Which reminds me …" I untied the increasingly odiferous bag of sand-tiger meat from the saddle and let it drop into the edge of the streambed as the stud climbed out. The gelding followed, white head swinging on the end of his long neck. Gold fringe dangled lopsidedly. "You know, you could always hang your Vashni neck-let across your horse's face. He's already wearing axle grease and wine-girl fringe . . . human fingerbones might give him a little added class."
Del, not surprisingly, did not deign to reply.
We followed the tracks as they wound their way through the rocks and sand. After a while they turned in toward the mountains on our left, gaining in elevation. We wound our way up, and then almost abruptly the crude ruts gave out onto a flat area to our right, opposite the massive boulders skirting the bottom of the mountain on the left. The flat formed a plateau, the chopped off crown of a shallow bluff overlooking where we'd come from, including the streambed. A few straggly trees, low shrubbery, and modest grassy patches skirted the edge near the continuation of the ruts. I pulled up there to give the stud a blow and take a look around. Del's gelding picked its way slowly up to join us. Del was, I noticed, drinking water again.
"You all right, bascha?"
She nodded as she restoppered the bota. "Much better than this morning. Just thirsty."
"Liquor does that." I glanced around. "You know, this wouldn't be a bad place to stop for the night—" I broke off, whistling in surprise. "Hoolies—would you look at that?" I pointed. "Up there against the boulders, there. Looks like a shelter to me. And the remains of a cookfire in front of it."