Sword Breaker-Sword Dancer 4 (19 page)

A Southroner born and bred in habits as well as color.

The desperate thirst initially slaked, he opened his eyes for the first time and peered over the bota at Del. Brown eyes dilated as he acknowledged several things, among them her gender.

He sat bolt upright. Then saw me beyond her. He stared again at her, disbelievingly.

And back again to me. He husked a single word: "Afreet?"

I snickered. Del glanced over her shoulder at me, frowned bafflement at my amusement, then turned back. That she didn't understand the tongue was clear; she'd have said something, otherwise. But then I hadn't expected her to. The language he spoke was an archaic Desert dialect, unknown to anyone outside the Punja. I hadn't heard it for years.

I briefly debated the merits of lying. It would be amusing to tell him she was a Southron spirit, but I decided against it. The poor man was dry as bone, nearly delirious; the last thing he needed was me convincing him he was dead--or near death--by agreeing with him.

"No," I told him. "Northerner."

He sat very still, staring at her, drinking in Del as if she were sweeter than bota water.

Which amused me briefly, until I thought about how that amusement could be considered an insult of sorts. Del was worth staring at. Del was worth dreaming about.

Del was even worth looking upon as salvation: she had given him water.

I grinned. "You've impressed him."

Del hitched a self-conscious shoulder; she's never been one for trading on her looks, or talking much about them. Down South, for the most part, those looks got her in trouble, because too many Southron men wanted a piece of her for themselves.

"More?" she asked briefly, offering the bota again.

He took it by rote, still staring. And drank by rote, since the first thirst had been satisfied; now he drank for pleasure instead of need.

And, I suspected, because her actions suggested it.

The stud bent his neck, trying to reach the mare Del had left groundtied a pace or two away. He snorted gustily, then rumbled deep in his chest. Tail lifted. The upper lip curled, displaying massive teeth--and his interest in getting to know the mare better.

The last thing I needed--the last thing anyone needed--was the stud developing an attachment to Del's mare. And since a stallion outweighs a man by a considerable amount, it takes firm methods in dissuading him of such interest. Before someone got hurt.

I punched him in the nose.

Bridle brasses clanked as the head shot skyward. I took a tight grip on the reins, managed to retain them, managed to retain him--and avoided placing sandaled feet beneath the stomping hooves.

Del, of course, cast me a disapproving glance across one shoulder. But she wasn't on the end of an uncut horse taking decided interest in a mare; her mare, I might add. If she'd bought a gelding in Quumi, we'd all be a lot better off.

Meanwhile, the bay mare nickered coy invitation.

Also meanwhile, the young man on the ground was getting up from it. At least, partway: he knelt, then placed one spread-fingered hand over his heart, and bowed. All the while gabbling something in a dialect even I didn't know.

And then he stopped gabbling, stopped kneeling; stood up. He pointed westerly.

"Caravan," he declared, switching back to deep-Punja Desert.

I squinted. "How far?"

He told me.

I translated for Del, who frowned bafflement. Then I invited him to be more eloquent.

He was. When finished, I scratched at brown hair and muttered a halfhearted curse.

"What?" Del asked.

"They were bound for Iskandar," I told her. "Him and a few others. They hired a couple of guides to see them across the Punja. These so-called guides brought them out here, and left them."

"Left them," she echoed.

I waved a hand. "Out there a ways. They didn't hurt anyone. Just brought them out here, took all their coin and water, and left." I shrugged. "Why waste time on killing when the Punja will do it for you?"

Del's eyes narrowed. "Had he no mount?"

"Danjac. He was thrown, and the danjac deserted." I grinned. "They do that a lot."

Del looked at the young man. "So, he came looking for help."

"He figured out pretty quickly they'd been led a merry dance. Off known tracks, far from any markers ..." I shrugged. "He just wanted to find some help, someone who knew the way to a settlement, or an oasis. He's hoping to trade for a mount and botas." Again, I shrugged. "Meanwhile, the others are with the wagons."

Del glanced skyward, squinting against the glare. "No water," she murmured thoughtfully. Then glanced assessively back at the young man, scrutinizing him.

I knew what was coming.

I also knew not to protest; she wasn't really wrong. I sighed gustily, putting up a forestalling hand. "I know. I know. You want to go out there. You want to take him back to his caravan, then lead them all to Quumi."

"It's the closest settlement."

"So it is." I stared into the west. "Might as well, I suppose. I mean, the Salset picked us up out of the desert and saw to it we recovered."

"Don't sound so ungrateful."

"I'm not ungrateful. Just thinking about how much time this will eat up. And what we may find once we get back to Quumi."

Del frowned. "What?"

"Sword-dancers," I answered. "And, for all that, religious fools like this one."

Eyes widened. "Why do you call him a religious fool? Just because he believes in something you do not--"

I cut her off, forestalling a lengthy discussion on the merits of religion. "He is a fool," I declared, "and I have every right in the world to say so."

She bristled. "Why? What gives you the right--"

"Because any man who worships me has got to be a fool."

That stopped her in her tracks. "You?" she ventured finally. "Why do you say that?"

"I'm the one he and the others are going to Iskandar to see."

She blinked. "What for?"

"Seems they heard the Oracle's stories about the jhihadi." I shrugged. "They packed up their lives and headed north."

Del's mouth opened to protest. But she said nothing. She stared at the religious fool a long moment, weighing what I'd said against the man himself, and eventually sighed, rubbing a hand across her brow.

"See what I mean?" I asked. "You think he's a fool, too."

Her mouth twisted. "I will admit that opinions can be led astray, but that doesn't make him a fool for believing in a man whose coming is supposed to improve his homeland."

"Right," I agreed. "Which means the least I can do is get him and his people to Quumi. It seems like a properly jhihadi-ish thing to do, wouldn't you say?"

"Will you tell him?" she ventured.

I grinned. "What--that I'm a fraud?"

Del's expression was sour. "He would probably figure that out for himself."

"I thought you'd see it my way." I patted the stud's neck. "Well, old son, looks like we'll be carrying double again."

Del hitched a harness strap. "Why not put him with me? Together he and I weigh less than you and he."

I looked at the religious fool who gazed at Del raptly. "Yes," I agreed sourly. "He'd probably like that."

Del frowned.

"Never mind," I muttered. "Let's just get going."

Twenty

His name was Mehmet. Mehmet was a pain in the rump.

He didn't start out that way. He was what he was: an exhausted, thirsty young man badly in need of help. Trouble was, we'd offered that help, and he'd taken us up on it.

Now, I'm not really as ungracious as I might seem, some of the time. I admit I sound that way upon occasion, but the truth of the matter is, I'm soft-hearted enough to get myself in trouble. So here we were, helping Mehmet, who wanted to help his companions.

Who wanted to help them now.

Trouble was, now meant now, the way he looked at things; while Del and I looked on it as an in-the-morning thing, since the sun had disappeared, and we saw no great benefit from riding through the night.

Mehmet, however, did.

Del, busily unrolling a blanket beneath a dusky sky, frowned across at me as I did the same with mine. "What's he saying now?"

"What he said a minute ago. That we can't wait till morning while his aketni is in need."

"His what?"

"Aketni. I'm not exactly sure what it means, but I think it has something to do with the people he's traveling with. Sort of like a family, I think ... or maybe just a group of people who believe in the same thing."

"A religious sect." Del nodded. "Like those ridiculous khemi zealots who shun women."

"They carry things a bit far. Mehmet doesn't seem to feel that way." I glanced at him, standing expectantly between us with hands clutching the front of his grimy burnous.

"Matter of fact, about the last thing Mehmet would shun is women, I think--he's staring at you again."

Del scowled blackly.

We didn't bother with a fire, since there was no wood on the crystal sands, and the charcoal we carried with us was for emergencies. We had plenty of supplies for a trip across the Punja, and while we were not enthusiastic about travelers' tedious fare, we knew it would get us where we were going. So Del and I settled in for the evening. The sun was down, the twilight cool; what we wanted now was to eat and sleep.

Mehmet, seeing this, started in yet again on how we should not stop, but ride on to his aketni. Where, he announced, we would be well recompensed for our services.

"How's that?" I asked dryly. "You said the guides stole all your money."

His chin developed a stubborn set. "You will be paid," he declared, "in something much better than coin."

"I've heard that before." I unrolled my blanket the rest of the way, shaking out folds and wrinkles. "Look, Mehmet, I know you're worried about them, but the best thing to do is get some sleep. We'll start out again at first light, and reach them by midday. If you remember your distance right." I shot him a baleful glare. "You do remember it right, don't you, Mehmet?"

"That way." He pointed. "If we left right now, we would be there before morning."

"We're not leaving right now," I told him. "Right now, I'm going to eat something, digest it in calm, quiet dignity, then go to sleep."

He was offended. "How can you go to sleep when my aketni is in need?"

I sighed and scratched at claw scars. "Because," I said patiently. "I'm not part of your aketni, whatever the hoolies it is."

Mehmet drew himself up. He was a slender, dried out stick of a young man, with very little fat beneath his flesh, which made his desert features sharper than ever. Punja-born, all right--he had the prominent nose that reminded me of a hawk, but his brown eyes lacked the predator's piercing impact.

He stood rigidly between Del and me, glaring down at us both. He was young and full of himself, if in a more subtle way; Mehmet wasn't as obnoxious as a cocky young sword-dancer trying to earn a reputation, such as Nezbet, but he had that mile-wide streak of youthful stubbornness that eclipsed the wisdom of experience and age. To him, Del and I were simply being selfish--well, maybe only me; I don't think he looked on Del as anything other than a wonder, and wonders aren't selfish--and purposely difficult.

Behind him, the night sky unrolled its own version of blanket bedding, spangled with glittering stars. A sliver of new crescent moon glowed overhead.

And Mehmet continued to glare, although I noticed he stared with more virulence at me.

Trust Del to escape the wrath of a male firmly smitten by her beauty.

"It is an aketni!" he hissed. "A complete aketni!"

Del heard his tone, even if she missed the context. "What's he so upset about?"

"Nothing new," I explained. "He's singing the same old song." I sat down on the blanket, automatically settling my knee in the position least likely to stress it, then looked up at Mehmet. "I don't know what a complete aketni is, let alone what it means. So why don't you just spread out that spare blanket, settle in for the night, and worry about it in the morning?"

He stood so rigidly I thought he might break. But he didn't. He wavered eventually, then collapsed to his knees, bowed his head as he spread one hand over his heart, and began mumbling in the dialect even I didn't understand.

"That again," I muttered.

Mehmet stopped mumbling. He appeared to be applying tremendous self-control. "Then may I borrow a horse?" he asked quietly. "And water? I will go now; you may come in the morning."

It crossed my mind that if we let him take a horse and water, we wouldn't need to go.

But that gained us nothing we hadn't encountered before: two people on one horse, with less water than ever. "No." I dug through pouches to flat, tough loaves of traveler's bread, and two twisted sticks of dried cumfa meat. "Just bide your time."

Abruptly, Mehmet turned to Del, who, arrested by his fervor, stared warily at him as he spewed out an explanation to her, along with a request for her mare and some water.

"She doesn't understand," I told him. "She doesn't speak your language."

He considered it a moment. Then began again in dialect-riddled Desert.

Del glanced at me. "If I say no, he won't try to steal her, will he?" She as much as I wanted nothing to do with riding double and walking again.

Smiling, I repeated Del's question to Mehmet, who was horrified. He leapt to his feet, then fell down to knees again, clutching his tattered burnous as if he meant to rend it, and gabbled on in something akin to a reproachful dialogue, except parts of it were addressed equally to Del, to me, and the sky.

"I don't know." Before Del could ask. "But I'm guessing we've offended him."

"Oh." She sighed and reached into the pouch to dig out her share of the evening meal.

"I'm sorry for that, but if he's so horrified, he probably won't try for the mare."

"Better the mare than the stud." I chewed tough bread while Mehmet muttered prayers.

"Do you think he'll do that all night?"

Del's expression was perplexed as she stared at him. "If he is so worried--"

"No."

"If they are in danger--"