Sword Singer-Sword Dancer 2 (38 page)

"Am not," she said softly. After a moment, she shook her head. "I don't know what I'm not. I don't know what I am, other than what I have to be." Del resettled the blankets. "Not so different from you."

I rose, took up harness and sword, stood up to meet the dawn even as it fell down to meet me. Such a soft, gentle thing, sneaking up like a woman's caress.

Flakes fell out of the sky and took roost on any part of me they could touch, melting or sticking together. The world itself was blurred, softened by falling

snow. I couldn't hear anything but my own breathing as I exhaled a cloud of steam.

"I'm a killer," I said. "Strip away the pretty words and the real ones come to

the surface. Men hire me to kill; it is what I do."

She twisted to stare at me. Her face was pallid with shock.

"Not always," I said. "Sometimes the job has nothing to do with killing. But I

am effective because I can kill, and people know I will do it. It frightens them

into docility, into payment... into doing whatever I tell them, being hired to

tell them things. I don't take sides--or very rarely. Mostly, I just take money.

I take money to dance." I slid the sword from its sheath. "I'm a whore in my own

way, ruled by greed, not retribution. But I think I'm happier than you."

Del folded back the blankets and sat up. Snow gathered on head and shoulders, clinging to her hair. "Why are you telling me this? What point are you trying to

make?"

"No point. I just want you to realize that it's an ugly sort of life you've portioned out for yourself, in the name of retribution."

Del's mouth nearly dropped open in amazement. "You don't think I should hunt Ajani down? After what he did?"

"I didn't say that, now, did I?" I turned from her, found a tree limb, began to

draw a circle. Snow would eventually hide most of the line, but it really wouldn't matter. We'd know where it was. In our hearts, if nowhere else. "I just

meant you ought to give yourself room to be Delilah along with the sword-dancer

known as Del."

Damp hair straggled on either side of her face. She gazed at me blindly, locked

away in her head.

I straightened, tossed the limb aside. "I have hated as well or better than anyone, in my life, maybe even you. Because much of it wasn't a life. I never had anything--or anyone--to lose, except myself. I don't doubt that if I'd had

kin stripped from me as you did, as well as innocence, I'd be angry, too. I'd want revenge, too. But destroying myself in the process isn't a choice I'd make."

Del's stare sharpened. She frowned a little, thinking about my words, then stood

up and brushed off snow.

"A woman is required to be stronger," she said quietly. "Even in the North, even

in Staal-Ysta. Tougher. Stronger. Better--if she is to be judged worthy at all.

And so there are sacrifices--"

I didn't let her finish. "Did they demand those sacrifices? Or did you simply offer them, determining them yourself?"

Del stood very still. "I don't know," she said numbly. "I can't remember, now."

It made me angry, that she could be so focused on hatred and revenge that she could forget herself. I stalked back through the snow to face her squarely.

"Be

you," I told her curtly. "Just you, whoever that may be... that's what I want from you. And if it means traipsing across two countries to find the man who killed your kin, so be it; I don't much like him, either. If it means going into

sleet and snow and banshee-storms, I'll do it willingly. Not happily, but I'll

do it; there's enough between us for that, even if you won't admit it. But if it

means warping yourself into a travesty of Delilah because it's the only way, I

say it isn't worth it. You deserve better than that."

Softly, she said: "I'm afraid."

"I know you are, bascha. I've known it all along. But it doesn't make you a bad

person." I smiled, reached behind her left shoulder, drew her Northern sword.

"Step into the circle, Del. Let's do what we do best."

Good idea, bad execution. I'm not used to snow. And so I performed badly, giving

Del an easy match, but in the end it served its purpose. She was thinking about

the dance, not about herself, and it burned the tension out.

"No, no," she blurted, as I let one of her subtle wrist patterns break through

my haphazard guard. "If you do that in Staal-Ysta, you'll impress no one."

I grunted, moving away again. "I didn't know I'd have to impress anyone.

We're

going there for you, remember? Not for me."

Her mouth was flat and grim. "You are the Sandtiger. One of the greatest sword-dancers in the South. If you think you can go to Staal-Ysta and not be called upon to dance, you are sandsick."

One of the greatest, not the greatest... as usual, she knew how to provoke me.

I

beat her blade back, then followed it up with a slashing blow that, had it connected, would have severed an arm at the shoulder.

"Better," she said grudgingly, skipping out of the way.

Better, schmetter. I was the best. "How long is this trial supposed to take?

I

mean, we will be done before spring, won't we? We won't have to winter here?"

Del moved warily, testing my intentions. Snow still fell, but softly, clearly not bothering her. But I could do without it. I don't like footwork fouled by slush.

"Maybe," she said quietly, mostly under her breath.

"Maybe? Maybe? You mean--this thing could last for months?" I dropped my guard

completely, calling off the dance. "Just what will you have to do?"

"I don't know. Tiger, don't stop. You need to learn how to move. Snow, mud and

slush can be difficult to dance in."

"I'm not dancing!" I shouted. "I'm coming along for the ride, and that's it.

I

suppose if someone invited me to participate in a friendly little wager revolving around a dance, I'd do it, but that's as far as it goes. I'm not a performing dog."

"No, but you are my sponsor."

Dimly I recalled having agreed to some such title. "I said I'd back you at the

trial."

"And if the trial is a dance?" Del had stopped moving, too. We faced each other

across the circle, fogging the air with our breath. "Here in the North, such things are often decided by combat. It seems the fairest thing."

"Wait a minute. Do you mean to tell me that you've dragged me all the way up here to do your righting for you?" I stared at her in astonishment. "Hoolies, Del, you're sandsick! For as long as I've known you, all you've done is fill my

ears with all this noise about you being as good a sword-dancer as any man--including me--and now you tell me I might have to dance in your place?"

I

shook my head. "What kind of a deal is that?"

Del nodded grimly. "Not much of one, is it? But it may be the only deal. Who can

say what the voca will do?"

"You," I accused. "I've seen that look in your eye... you've got a good idea."

"No," she demurred calmly. "Now, about your footwork--"

"To hoolies with footwork, bascha... I want to know what I face!"

Del glared across the circle. "I don't know!" she shouted. Then, more quietly,

"But you just said again you'd go with me, so I guess we'll find out together."

I said something very rude in Desert dialect, because Del didn't know it, and because I didn't really want to call her names, but felt I had to do something.

So, all that being said, I continued to scowl at her. "Sometimes," I said,

"sometimes."

Del waited, brows arched.

"Sometimes," I muttered again, stepping out of the circle.

"Where are you going, Tiger?"

"To wash my face," I answered. "Maybe the cold will shock me awake, and I'll know this is all a dream."

I tromped down to the rushing stream, sheathing my sword, and knelt down on the

snowy crust at the edge of the water. I had every intention of thrusting my face

into the water, but something kept me from it. Something told me it would be terribly, horribly cold; too cold, even, for anger. I paused, considering it, and then felt the familiar warning tingle in my bones.

"Magic," I blurted, disbelieving, then spun in place to warn Del.

Unfortunately, the magic came from behind. From the water. It reached up and dragged me down.

The stream was no deeper than possibly two feet, no wider than maybe three.

But

suddenly it felt like a river in full spate, sucking me into the depths.

I was, of course, cold, being soaked through in an instant. I was also frightened and angry; what in hoolies had me? And what could I do about it?

I gurgled Del's name. Knew she'd never hear that, but surely she'd hear my splashing. I was kicking like a danjac, trying to thrust my head above water so

I could breathe again.

Hands were on me. For just a moment I thought they belonged to Del, coming to my

rescue, and then I realized the hands were on my front, not my back, and were dragging me farther down.

Can't be real, I thought. The stream isn't deep enough.

Hands dragged me down.

Hoolies, not like this... I'm a desert man--

And then I realized the water was warm. Incredibly warm. So were the hands, tangling in my hair. Threading fingers through my beard. Pulling my face toward

hers...

Hers?

Hoolies, I've gone sandsick. Or have I? There's a woman staring at me...a gray-haired, gray-eyed woman, young, not old, but all gray, gray and pallid white, but the lips are carmine red.

Hoolies, I am sandsick!

And then, abruptly, something grabbed me by the hair and yanked me up out of the

water.

It hurt. I yelled, struggled, splashed, was rewarded by yet another yank on the

hair.

"Get out!" Del shouted. "Get out of the water now!"

Well, I was trying. But so was the other woman, who reached up to catch my hands.

Hoolies, two women?

"It's an undine!" Del shouted. "Tiger--fight her off! She'll drown you if you give in!"

Red lips smiled at me. Gray eyes beseeched my own. Wet hair tied itself in knots

around my wrists.

Del yanked harder yet. "Get out of there!" she yelled.

Hoolies, one woman wanted to drown me, the other to pluck me bald.

The hair was like wire around my wrists. I tried to twist loose, failed; lunged

toward the side even as Del took a harder grip. I landed face down in the snow

with half of me still in the water.

One hand was free. "Knife," I croaked, and felt Del press hers into my hand.

Quickly, I cut the hair that bound my right wrist and felt the tension slacken.

"Get up," Del said, "get away. She can still reach you from here."

I pushed to my knees, to my feet, staggered two steps, stumbled, got up and ran

again. Fell down again in exhaustion.

"Far enough," Del said. "Give me the hair, Tiger."

It was all I could do to breathe. I held up my arm, felt her strip the hair from

my wrist. Watched, hacking loudly, as she threw it on the fire.

I thought the water would quench the flame. But for a moment it burned very brightly, red as blood, and then the hair ashed away into nothing, leaving behind an acrid stink.

I sucked in a wheezing breath. "What in hoolies was that?"

"Undine," she told me. "She wanted you for her own; unfortunately, she would have drowned you. It's the only way she could have kept you."

"Kept me for what?"

Del shrugged. "What most lonely women desire... she wanted a man of her own."

Coughing interrupted my outraged expression of horror. I was wet and cold and shivering; if I wasn't careful, I'd freeze. "That--thing--wanted to keep me?"

"Legend says undines--always female--can gain a human soul if they conceive by a

human man." She shrugged. "I guess she wanted a soul."

I peered at her out of stinging eyes. "You're awfully calm about it."

"She didn't want me."

I tried to sit up and failed. "First the loki, now this. Is this how the North

is? Filled with frustrated female spirits?"

Del laughed aloud, then smothered it, but the amusement remained in her eyes.

"Here," she said gently, "I'll build up the fire. You strip down and get under

the blankets; I'll come in beside you."

"At least you're human," I croaked. "Hoolies, I hate this place."

But at least the snow had stopped.

Thirty-three

Days passed. So did the storm, but another followed on its heels. Just like the

hounds on ours.

They were always out there somewhere, slinking through the trees. The ward-whistle kept them at a distance but didn't drive them away. It made us irritable, snappish, because we weren't sure what they'd do, other than drive us

north. It was where we wanted to go, but we wanted to do it without escort.

Del hunched down in the snow, carefully nursing a tiny fire in an attempt to keep it burning. But wind made it difficult; wind and snow and damp wood. I did

what I could to form a shield, holding up a large blanket, but knew the effort

was futile.

"Hoolies," I said, "I'm sick of this! What I'd give for a little warmth!"

Del hunched over the flickering flames. "What would you give?" she asked.

"My beard?" I suggested hopefully.

She grinned, casting me a glance as she made a windbreak with her hands. "How many times must I tell you?--you'll do better with a beard. It's a form of winter hair, just like the stud wears."

"He's a horse, Del; I'm a man. And I prefer bare skin to a pelt, especially on

my face."

She laughed a little, nodding. "As much hair as you've grown lately, I begin to

think you're half bear."

Well, I was. The Canteada had given us blankets for bedding, but lately we'd taken to using them as cloaks against the increasing cold. I hadn't cut my hair