Sword Breaker-Sword Dancer 4 (40 page)

"You broke them. You broke them. You made a mockery of the oaths and honor codes."

"I did what I needed to do."

"Now you'll die!" she shrieked. "Do you think I don't know? Do you think I don't know how?" Sabra laughed stridently, tossing hair out of her face. "They'll forgo paying dances to kill you, all of those sword-dancers... you're meat to them now. They'll kill you first chance they get--"

"Elaii-ali-ma." I nodded. "I know all about it, Sabra."

"You're not a sword-dancer anymore. You have no honor. You broke the codes. You repudiated your shodo, and the honor of Alimat. Do you think I don't know?"

Wearily, I sighed. "I don't care what you know."

"You're a borjuni!" she spat. "Sandtiger the borjuni... how will you live now? How will you find work? No one will hire you ... no one will ask you to dance. You're nothing but a borjuni, and you'll live by borjuni rules!"

"I'll live by my own rules."

"Tiger." It was Del. "We have company."

I glanced up. Nodded. "I wondered what took them so long."

Sabra, still sitting in shale and smokerock, twisted her head to look behind us. She saw what we saw: four leather-kilted Vashni warriors wearing human fingerbone necklets, mounted on small dark horses.

She scrambled up and moved close to the stud. "Vashni," she hissed. "Do you know what you've done?"

"Pretty much. It's the one reason I came up here."

"Vashni, you fool! They'll kill us all!"

"They won't kill any of us. Well ... I suppose they might kill you, if you don't do what they want." I dug a rigid toe into her spine and prodded her off the stud. "Don't crowd him, Sabra. He might take a bite of your face."

Del sat quietly. Equally quietly, she asked, "Do you know what you're doing?"

I grinned. "Pretty much."

"Oh, good," Del muttered. "I guess I need not worry."

"Not yet." I reached down, caught a handful of shiny black hair, pulled Sabra up short.

"This is Julah's tanzeer."

The four warriors sat impassively on their horses. Bare-chested save for the pectorals; also bare-legged. Dark skin was greased. Black hair was oiled smooth and slicked into single fur-bound plaits.

I smiled at the warriors. "This is Aladar's daughter."

Dark eyes glittered. Single-file, four men rode down the mountain. Sabra called me names.

"It's not my fault," I told her. "Blame your father. He double-crossed them in the treaty, and then he snatched a few young Vashni and put them to work in the mine. Vashni don't take kindly to that sort of bad manners ... I wonder what they'll do to you."

She exercised her tongue a little more, until the four warriors pulled up close by. Then she fell silent, twisting wrists against silk bonds. Brilliant crimson finery was torn, soiled, befouled. Tangled hair obscured half of her face. The paint on her lips had smeared. She was altogether a mess.

"Sabra," I told them. "Aladar's daughter, now tanzeer in his place. Any business you have with Julah can be tended by this woman."

They ignored Sabra completely, concentrating on me. Del earned a quick assessment, being a woman and obviously foreign, but me they measured more closely. Then one of them made a gesture, and put a finger on his cheek. "You are the Sandtiger."

I nodded.

"You and that woman came here before, looking for a not-Vashni boy, one of Aladar's slaves."

"That woman" said nothing, but I sensed her sharpened awareness. Again, I nodded.

"He remained with the Vashni," I said. "It was his own choice."

The warrior flicked a glance at Del, marking fair hair, blue eyes, the sword. He made another quick gesture I didn't understand, but his fellow warriors did. The three rode down slowly to Del and surrounded her, cutting her off from me. I stiffened in the saddle, aware of sudden tension, but the leader's eyes forbade me to move.

Each of the three warriors reached out and touched Del's shoulder. One touch only, then a half-hidden sign. Without saying a word, they reined back and turned their horses, rejoining the fourth warrior.

He nodded. "Bloodkin to the Oracle; may the sun shine on your head."

The common Southron blessing sounded incongruous coming from a Vashni. But it put me at ease. If they respected Del, they weren't about to kill us.

"Jamail," she said. "Is he with you again?"

Something pinched the pit of my belly. I recalled with sick realization that Del hadn't been present when Sabra had told me her men had killed Jamail.

"Bascha--"

But the Vashni overrode me. "The Oracle is dead."

Del, shocked, opened her mouth. Shut it. Shock was transformed to acknowledgment; her mouth to a grim, tight line. The flesh at her eyes was pinched. "Then I will have to sing his song, when I am free to do so."

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I meant to tell you myself."

"What is this?" Sabra asked. "Grief for a worthless fool? Did you believe all that nonsense about Oracles and jhihadis?"

I shrugged. "Doesn't matter anymore, does it?"

The Vashni looked at me. "Will you kill Aladar's daughter as you killed Aladar?"

I grinned. "I thought I'd let the Vashni have her, as recompense for the warriors Aladar stole."

Del spoke before they could say anything. She was, at long last, making sure everyone got it right. "Tiger didn't kill Aladar," she said clearly. "I did."

"You!" Sabra tried to wrench her hair free of my grasp. She failed, then gave it up, transfixed by new information. "You killed my father?"

"Recompense," Del spat. "For Tiger. For my brother. For all the others." Cold eyes glittered. "Your father deserved to die. I was grateful for the chance to see the color of his guts."

Sabra was rigid. "You," she whispered. "You--not him."

"No," I agreed. "But she just beat me to it. He wasn't a popular man."

Sabra stared at Del. "You," she repeated.

Then she reached up and clasped the grip of my sword, trying to tear it down from the saddle.

Forty-three

The stud spooked violently, lurching sideways. I swore, grabbed rein and harness; felt Sabra's frenzied jerking. The harness came free of the saddle.

"Hoo-- " I lunged, leaned, grabbed hold; felt the stud bunch, then cut loose with a buck that nearly lost me my seat. As it was, my position was more than a little precarious.

Sabra was shouting. Both hands were locked on the hilt, tugging it free of sheath. I hung onto harness, tugging back, but the stud's violence distracted me. He stumbled, staggered, nearly fell. I was halfway out of the saddle, trying to jerk the harness and sheath away from Sabra. Sabra jerked back.

Overbalanced, I came off. One foot caught briefly in brass stirrup, then pulled free as the stud leaped aside and I twisted in mid-fall. I landed hard, one leg bunched under me, then threw myself full-length and flopped belly-down as Sabra dragged at the harness, trying to jerk it out of my hands.

I called her a nasty name, but she wasn't listening. By then she had the sword halfway out of the sheath.

"Tiger!" It was Del. I saw the glint of Boreal as she unsheathed the jivatma.

"Kill her--" I said hoarsely. "Don't let her get the sword."

But Sabra had the sword.

I pushed up, dove, caught silk. Felt the bite of steel in flesh as the tip dragged across one forearm. I reached to grab for the hilt; to peel her hands away. "Sabra--Sabra don't... you don't know what it is."

But Sabra didn't care.

"Get away!" Del shouted. "Tiger--you're too close."

"Hoolies, she's got the jivatma--"

Something inside me flared. Chosa Dei, scenting power, swarmed out of the dark little corner he'd used as a place to live, biding his time patiently. Now the time had come.

Sabra screamed. She scrambled through loose shale and tumbling smokerock, kicking dirt and debris and stone as she tried now to escape the sword a moment before she'd wanted so badly. Wet blackness ran up the blade, darkening twisted runes, then danced along the quillons and began to tickle the grip. Began to caress her fingers.

"Let it go--" I rasped. "Sabra--let it go--"

But Sabra didn't. Or couldn't.

A convulsion cramped my body. I tied up, spasmed, retched; blurted a grunt against the pain.

Sabra kept on screaming.

Hoolies, shut her up--

Blackness charred her fingers. Reached her wrists. Then, sensing unrestricted opportunity, engulfed her entire body.

The screaming abruptly stopped.

Within me, Chosa moved. No more tentative testing. No more anticipation. He went straight for the heart, and squeezed.

Sabra's mouth hung open, but made no sound. She sat upright, clutching the sword.

Rocking back and forth, with black eyes stretched so wide the whites showed all around them.

Chosa Dei was in her. Part of him, at least. The rest was still in me.

Sabra's features began to soften. The skin began to droop. The nose slid sideways as the mouth slackened to shapelessness. A keening moan bubbled from her throat.

She bled from nose and ears. The hands on the sword swelled until the flesh split like a melon. Chosa Dei had filled her utterly, and found she wasn't enough.

Breath came in heaves and gusts: sucked in, then held, then expelled. I crawled across the ground and reached for Aladar's daughter. Caught the quillons in one hand, both tiny wrists in the other. "Let her go," I grated. "There isn't enough of her!"

The Chosa in me lunged the length of my arms, trying to pour himself into Sabra, whom he saw as a means to escape. I felt him swarm into the quillons, up the grip, then to her fingertips.

I wrenched her hands loose. "No," I said hoarsely. "I said there wasn't enough!"

"Let him go!" Del shouted. "Let him go into her!"

"She'll die--she'll die... and he'll be loose. Do you really want him loose?"

"Better than in you!"

Nice sentiment, bascha.

Then Chosa came surging back. The tiny body was clearly unsuitable; I offered much better. Bigger. Stronger. Alive.

At least, for the moment.

"Tiger--let go of the sword!"

In leaps and bounds, he came, flowing out of Sabra's body. I scrambled backward, thrusting the sword away, but realized I'd left it too late. The blade was black again, but so were my hands. Even as I swore, the blackness invaded forearms and climbed up to elbows.

"Drive him back!" Del shouted. "You've done it before--do it again--"

Legs flailed impotently as I scrambled to get up. My right knee failed. Belly knotted itself, then spewed out its contents. I grasped the hilt and clenched it in both hands, straining to force him back.

It would be so easy if I simply let him have me.

I lunged up onto my knees and hoisted the sword into the air. Brought it down against shale and granite, splintering dark smokerock.

Again and again and again. Steel rang a protest.

"Go back--" I husked, "--go back--"

Tried to focus myself. Tried to beat Chosa Dei back as I methodically beat the steel against the hard flesh of Southron mountains.

"go back--"

"go back--"

"GO BACK--"

Del's voice, strident: "Stop... Tiger, stop--"

"--go back--go back--go back--"

"Tiger--no more!"

"--back--" I gasped. "Go back--"

A litany. A chant. The kind learned at Alimat, to focus concentration.

In the North, they sang. In the South, we don't.

"Tiger--let go--"

"Go. Back," I commanded.

Someone hit me over the head.

"I'm sorry," Del whispered.

But I didn't care anymore.

* * *

I came to in grave discomfort, aware of constant movement, and blood pounding in my head. "What have you done to me?"

Del rode ahead on the mare, leading the stud. "Tied you onto your horse."

That part I could tell. "Hoolies, bascha--you might have let me ride normally, instead of throwing me over the saddle like a piece of meat!"

"It's what you did to Sabra."

I shifted. Swore. I was exceedingly uncomfortable, sprawled belly-down across the saddle just as Sabra had. Wrists and ankles were tied to stirrups. "Do you mind if we stop?" I croaked.

"We don't have any time."

"Time for what? What are you talking about? Del--what in hoolies do you mean?"

"Shaka Obre," she said.

"Shaka--" My belly cramped. "Del, for pity's sake--"

"It's for your own good."

"How is it for my own good?"

"Look at your hands," she said.

I looked. Saw the pallid, hairless flesh, all flaky and scaly. The crumbling, discolored fingernails. "Not again," I muttered.

"They told me where to go."

"Who did? What are you talking about?"

"The Vashni. They told me how to get there. So that's where we're going."

"Told you how to get where? What are you talking about?"

"Shaka Obre."

I spasmed. "You know where he is?"

"I told you: they told me."

"How do the Vashni know where Shaka Obre is? And why tell you?"

She twisted in the saddle and looked back at me. Her face was very white. "They know because they have always known; it's never been a secret among the Vashni. But no one ever cared, and no one bothered to ask. They told me because I am the Oracle's sister.

They also told me because you are Chosa Dei--or so they believe." She shrugged. "I am to take you there, to imprison you in the mountain."

"Imprison me!" I flailed. "But I'm not Chosa Dei. I'm me. Didn't you tell them that?"

"You didn't see what happened. They did, and they're superstitious."

I gritted teeth, trying to keep from shouting. "I didn't see it--I was in it."

"I'm sorry," she said. "It was the only way they would let me take you. Otherwise they meant to kill you on the spot ... I explained why we needed to find Shaka Obre, and they agreed to let me take you."

"You could untie me now. There aren't any Vashni around."

"They said they'd watch, to make sure I got you there safely." She paused. "Also myself."

"So you're just going to leave me this way?"

"They said they'd be watching, Tiger."