"Tiger!"
I let the stud go on, twisting in the saddle to look back. Del and Nayyib had stopped some distance away and were staring at me. "What?"
"Where are you going?" Del called.
"Julah!"
"Julah's this way."
I reined in. "No, it's not." I pointed. "This way. South."
"That's east," she declared.
Was she sandsick? "No, it's not. This is south. Julah's this way."
Del stabbed a finger in front of her horse. "There's the road."
"That's a road," I told her. "Five of them meet at the oasis. This is the road to Julah."
Nayyib shook his head and said something to Del I couldn t hear.
"What?" I asked, irritated.
"It's east," he answered.
"How would you know? You're not from around here."
"No, but I do know my directions."
"That's not a road at all, Tiger," Del called. "Take a look."
This was ridiculous, having this pointless discussion in the middle of the desert. I looked. Blinked. Saw that indeed the stud and I were striking out across the desert with no road, trail, or track in sight.
I scowled. It felt right, this direction. It felt south. Or else I really had fallen asleep, and the stud had chosen his own route.
I turned him around and headed back. Felt an abrupt sense of wrongness so powerful I reined in sharply. "No," I insisted, "it's this way."
Del pointed down the road. "South. Julah. I'm not from around here, either, but I know that much."
But it was wrong. Wrong. I knew it. Felt it in my bones.
And abruptly I swore, remembering the dream. My bones would know, she'd said.
Del's voice, "Tiger?"
I closed my eyes tightly. Tried to reorient myself. Tried to let my lifelong sense of direction tell me which way was the correct one. Yet when I opened them again, I still felt that they were wrong and I was right, despite the evidence of the road.
Or maybe we were both right. Julah lay south, but where I was supposed to go lay east.
"Find me," she had said. "And take up tine, sword."
I looked at Del. "Which way is the chimney from here?"
"The chimney?"
"The rock formation we brought down when you broke your sword. When Chosa Dei fought Shaka Obre." Oziri had called it Beit al'Shahar.
Del pointed. "That way."
"West."
She nodded. So did Nayyib.
The stud and I were facing west. Del's gelding and Nayyib's bay faced south, toward Julah, with the oasis not terribly far behind them. East lay behind me, and that was the way I—or my bones—wanted to go.
Well, we don't always get what we want. I clucked to the stud and headed him toward the road. Once there, I stopped. Shuddered from head to toe.
Del's expression was concerned. "What is it?"
"I don't know. Something …" I shook my head, knowing how it sounded. "Something keeps telling me we need to go east. Or I do, at least."
"What's east?" she asked.
A dead woman, apparently. A scattering of bones: pearls of the desert.
"The Punja," I said.
A line appeared between her brows. "It makes no sense."
"And I agree with you wholeheartedly," I said. "All I know is, something in me wants to go east."
Nayyib, wisely keeping out of the conversation, looked past me and changed the subject. "Someone's coming."
I turned in the saddle, looking in the direction of the oasis. A cloud of dust accompanied the ride, obscuring the horizon. I noticed then that one arm was waving. A man's voice was raised over the hoofbeats of his horse.
"Wait!"he cried. "Wait!"
"Someone from the oasis?" Nayyib wondered.
"Wait!" He sounded frantic; had something happened at the oasis that required help?
"Guess we'll find out," I said. At least the distraction kept me from heading east.
The stud snorted, pawed, shifted sideways restlessly, not happy to be standing in one spot. I reined him in, had a brief discussion with him when he protested, and glanced up as the rider grew closer. I could make out his features, but I recognized none of them.
"Wait!" he called.
Then I saw the flash of steel.
I twisted, gesturing at Del and Nayyib with a sweeping left arm. "Move! Out of the way!"
As I swung back, yanking blade free of sheath, everything around me slowed. Swearing, I reined the stud back sharply, off the road, but by then it was too late. The rider neither reined in nor reined aside. With sword raised above his head, he crashed his dun horse into the stud.
Perception fragmented into shards of images, impressions. I felt the impact rock the stud, knocking him sideways. Was aware of the dun's head smashing into my left elbow, of rolling eyes and hot breath. The stud staggered, nearly went down. A flash of steel blinded me even as I tried to yank the stud's head up into the air, trying to keep him on his feet, to pivot left so I would have a clean line for my own blade. But we were too cursed close, my assailant and I, with our horses jammed together.
I dropped the reins and, cursing, hammered a fist into the dun's nose, trying to get him off me, off the stud. I saw the flash of a blade, brought up my own. In the mass of tangled horseflesh it was impossible to parry properly, but I did block the worst of the blow's impetus. Then the stud was trying to fight the dun, mouth agape, neck snaking, head swinging sideways, teeth snapping.
The dun reared, screaming. My stirrups were gone anyway; I pushed off, diving sideways, and lost my sword on the way down. I landed hard, tasted sand and blood, saw stars; I tried to scramble up, to get out of the way, but my momentum was off, and I tripped over my sword and fell. Escape was now impossible in the midst of the equine battle; I couldn't tell which way was up or down, in or out. I just rolled myself up in a tight ball, arms hooked over my head, and prayed no hoof would land on any part of my anatomy.
Dimly I was aware of shouting. Del's voice. Nayyib's. And a stranger's. The screaming was terrible, the frenzied trumpeting of an enraged stallion. I focused on it, sorted out which direction it came from, and decided to take the chance. I lunched upward from the ground, ran two steps, fell again, rolled, came up into a crouch. In the midst of the battle I saw Nayyib dart in on foot and bend, sword bared. He sliced at something, and nearly got his head smashed for his trouble. But I saw the dun go down as Nayyib leaped back out of the way, and realized what he'd done.
The rider flung himself off as his mount, hamstrung and pressured by the stud, crashed to the ground. He rolled away, scrambling even as I had, and lunged upward—only to come face to face with Del. He had lost his sword in the melee, but grabbed for his knife. Del, who still claimed her blade, used it with fierce efficiency, driving it through his belly.
The stud reared, trumpeted again, came down with both front hooves striking. I heard the sickening crunch as he smashed the dun's skull. He spun then, took two leaps away, whirled back and stood trembling, front legs twitching, tail slashing. Ribbons of sweat rolled down his flanks.
And blood.
Nayyib was there immediately. Not everyone will approach a horse in the stud's condition; probably no one should. He could easily strike again, or bite. But Nayyib caught the cheekstrap of his bridle, quickly looped the rein around his nose, then through bit shanks, and pulled it taut. He was done so quickly the stud had no chance to react. Nayyib held him there, soothing him with his voice, using the looped rein as a makeshift stud-chain.
Del was with me. "Are you all right?"
I spat blood and sand, felt grit in my teeth. Wiped a hand across my mouth and managed only to smear things around. "Fine." I tried to get up. My left leg protested vociferously. I sat back down. "Well, maybe not so fine." I inspected the sore leg. The side of my knee was scraped and sore. But what—? Oh. Yes. I recalled the dun's shoulder slamming into the stud, with my leg trapped between.