Sword Sworn-Sword Dancer 6 (34 page)

Had the priest-mages of ioSkandi not shaved my head, we'd never have known the truth. Del had once

asked if I now considered the possibility of returning to Skandi and presenting my case to the ten other

Families, but I wasn't interested. The metri had her heir in Herakleio, a cousin of sorts. He was

Skandic-born, bred into island customs and convictions, one of
them.
I was Southron-born and -reared

despite my Skandic ancestry; I belonged here.

Of course, only if I survived the current minor problems of sword-dancers out to kill me, and Umir

the Ruthless.

My eyes were gritty from reading all day. For that matter, all of me was gritty; I hadn't bathed in

days. It crossed my mind to ask Fouad to have the girls bring in a half-cask and fill it, but I decided not

to push my luck. I was in their bad graces after my comment to Del. So I opted for the public bathhouse

down the street a way. A hot bath, a filling meal, a drink or two, and a good night's sleep in a real bed. I

felt my jaw: and a shave. Because come morning, we'd be back on the sand, sweating under burnouses,

hunting one of Del's strays.

Of whom I was decidedly not jealous, thank you very much.

I donned harness, did up buckles, made sure the blade exited the sheath without catching, and took

myself off to the bathhouse.

Del, who had explained that the scent of an unbathed, hot, active, liquor-imbibing male was not

necessarily arousing in intimate moments, would undoubtedly appreciate it.

Me, I'd never noticed. But sometimes you just have to cater to a woman's wishes if you want her to

yield to yours. It's the way of the world.

TWENTY-FIVE

JULAH'S public bathhouse was actually a bath
tent
. In a small courtyard set back from the street,

not far from the main well, an enterprising soul years before had strung a cross-hatching of ropes from

hooks pounded into the back walls of buildings, hung swathes of gauzy fabric over them to form tiny

private "rooms," built three good-sized fires, and hired people to keep big cauldrons filled with heated

water. Others filled smaller wooden buckets and hauled the water to the rough-hewn tubs in each

"room." It wasn't much, but when you've been in the desert for weeks on end, it was sheer luxury. From

time to time sun-baked ropes and fabric had to be replaced, but otherwise it was business as usual.

I paid the price for water and soap, which cost extra, gave the hirelings time to reheat the tepid water

in a tub, waved away the attendant who offered to scrub my back, and pulled the draperies closed.

There's not a lot of privacy in the bathtent, but since only men used it, it didn't really matter. I stripped

down and draped the burnous over the nearest rope, bowing it slightly, then made a small pile out of

sandals, dhoti, and harness next to the tub. I risked one foot in the water, hissed a bit, then worked the

other one in. The introduction of netherparts required a bit more courage, but once I was down, rump

planted against wood, water lapping around my navel, the contrast between cooling air and hot water

faded. Sighing, I unsheathed the sword, balanced it across the width of the tub, and felt the knots in my

muscles begin to loosen. Bliss.

I was about halfway through my bath when an overeager attendant pulled the curtain back, chattering

to his customer, only to blush fiery red when he realized the tub already held a body. He apologized

effusively and yanked the curtain closed, but not before the stranger had a good look at me hunched in

the tub with one foot stuck up in the air as I scrubbed at toes.

Additional mortified apologies from the attendant were issued through the curtains. Smiling, I assured

him that all was well and forgiven—even as I quietly climbed out of the tub, pulled on my dhoti (not easy

over wet flesh), knotted sandal thongs together and hung them over a shoulder along with the harness.

The sword was in my right hand. I bent over, sloshed my left through the water as if I was only just

exiting, then waited.

Sure enough, within moments a sword blade sliced down through the back wall, severing the support

rope. A body moved against falling fabric. I heard a blurt of shock, a curse—the former from an

attendant, the latter from my attacker—and the clang of steel as I trapped the blade with my own and

drove it down. Unweighting, twisting, I kicked out with one foot and made contact with the man's body,

knocking him backward. He tripped, went down hard. Sheets of gauzy material collapsed upon him,

fouling his sword. I bent, locked hands around the tub, upended it, spilling lukewarm water in my

assailant's direction. Water on hardpack turns it slick; anything to slow him.

A series of quick slashes with my sword brought down every "room" in my immediate area,

entangling customers and attendants alike in steam-dampened curtains and ropes. I heard angry shouting

and cries of alarm. Barefoot, damp, half-naked, with harness and sandals flopping against my ribs, I

light-footed into the alley, to the street, then raced toward Fouad's, hoping the sword-dancer had no

idea where I might be staying.

At the cantina door I paused briefly, caught my breath, examined the customers even as I entered.

The first thing I saw was Del seated at a table with a man. She faced the doorway; his back was to me.

Short of twisting all the way around on his stool, he wouldn't see me. Del's expression didn't change, but

I did note the way she lifted a hand as if to smooth back hair, and saw the quick, subtle gesture with

fingers:
go
away.
Not polite, perhaps, but it got the message across: He wasn't an innocent customer

making time with her but a threat, and she was making time with
him
to control his intentions. I tilted my

head toward the back hallway, sending my own message, then soundlessly moved to our room.

By the time Del joined me, I had sandals and harness on and the saddlepouches packed. "We're

leaving," I said. "Go back and keep him company so there's no suspicion, then meet me at the livery

when you've got a chance to get away. I've got all of our things; I'll have the horses ready."

Del nodded and disappeared. I waited until I was fairly certain she owned his attention again, then

made my way to the cantina's back door.

Fouad met me there. "Trouble?"

"The man with Del is a sword-dancer, likely on my trail." "Ah. I wondered why she sat down with

him." He offered me an armload of filled botas. "When Del disappears, I'll send Silk out to him with

drugged wine. That'll delay him."

I opened the door. "He may have someone riding with him."

He shrugged. "We'll deal with him, too."

I grinned. "Kind of nice having another partner."

Fouad made a sour face and shut the door behind me.

It took Del a bit longer to arrive at the livery than I expected. Both the stud and the white gelding

were tacked out and ready to go as we lingered in the stableyard; I tossed Del the reins to the gelding

and swung up onto the stud. "What took you so long?

"He was very curious about your habits."

She wore a fresh, pale burnous and had wound her hair up on top of her head in some kind of

arcane knotwork fastened with a carved bone rod. Wisps straggled down her neck most fetchingly. "I

doubt it was me he was asking about!"

Del mounted, gathering reins as she hooked her right foot in the stirrup. "Not initially, no. But we got

around to you." She paused. "Where are we going?"

"North—" But I broke off as the stud sashayed sideways, snorting. I felt the tension in his body, the

quivering of muscles. "What's
your
problem?"

"I think it's my gelding," Del said, amused.

"What—again?" But it was possible. Horses could be rather obtuse sometimes. I reaffirmed my

control over the stud. "As I was saying, we're going north. We'll get out of town a ways, then find a

place to stay the night." I shot her a glance over my shoulder. "Guess you got your wish."

"What wish?"

"To ride out after Nayyib tonight."

Del's smile was swift as she took out the hair rod, tucking it away in a saddlepouch. "Guess I did."

"And I, meanwhile—unlike a certain someone I could mention, who spent most of the day

unconscious—did not get to sleep in a real bed."

She brought the gelding up next to the stud as we turned onto the main drag. "Take solace in the

knowledge you are repaying a debt."

"Solace isn't as comfortable as a real bed."

Del nodded, tucking now-loose hair under the neckline of her burnous. "I did tell him you were a

disagreeable soul. Cranky, even."

"Told who?"

"Ahmahd. The sword-dancer back at the cantina. A very courteous soul, he was—offered to buy

me liquor, dinner, and a bed."

'So long as he was
in
the bed." "Well, I suppose he had hopes, yes."

I shook my head, grinning; so ... predictable. Just like me. 'This way ..." I turned the stud and led Del

through one of the narrower alleys, twisting about like a tangled skein of yarn. When at last we left the

last hedge of buildings behind, we were free of the town entirely, striking out northward beneath a

star-pocked sky. "I suspect they won't think I'd head back
into
Umir's domain."

"I suspect Ahmahd won't, since I suggested otherwise." Del brought the gelding up next to me again.

"I explained we hadn't seen one another for weeks. That you'd been hauled off to Umir's by Rafiq and

his friends, and that was the last I'd seen of you. But before then you'd talked of going to Haziz to take

ship back to Skandi. I was hanging around hoping you'd show up but was beginning to worry that you'd

gone without me."

I grunted. "I doubt he believed you."

"There was no one left in the cantina who'd seen us together. Fouad had different girls working, and

everyone else who'd seen us talking had left. Ahmahd will learn the truth, of course, at some point, but at

least it will buy us a little time." A trace of dry amusement laced her tone. "Men tend to believe me, if I

wish them to."

Present company included; nice of her not to mention that. "Here." I led her off the road. We rode

some distance away, winding through scrubby trees and shrubbery, until I indicated a cluster of

vegetation forming a leafy blockade against a rill of windblown sand and soil. It sloped into a slight

hollow, good enough for a smidgen of shelter. "No one would believe anyone would camp out here, this

close to Julah. This close to
real beds."
A glance southwards showed the flickering lights of the city,

sparking against the dark horizon. "We should be safe. Come dawn, we can head for Umir's domain.

And let's hope Nayyib's there, or this is all for nothing."

"He is." Del swung down off of her gelding even as I dismounted. "I asked Ahmahd."

Well, that was something. More than we had known. "Did he say if the kid was being held against his

will?"

"That he didn't know. Just that Neesha arrived and had not yet departed when Ahmahd and his

friend left."

"So it's likely the kid would have heard about any reward for me."

"It seems so."

"And how do we know Nayyib didn't tell Ahmahd about Fouad's cantina, hoping for a cut without

involving himself personally?"

Del flicked me an icy glance.

"All right, fine." I was grinning as I dismounted. "We'll assume he didn't."

"He wouldn't. But if he had, don't you think Ahmahd and his friend would have arrived in Julah

sooner?"

"Possibly," I conceded.

"Oh, and I did neglect to mention something Ahmahd said about you."

"About me? In between seducing you?"

"He did not seduce me. He
attempted
to seduce me."

"Ran out of time, did he?"

"He said," Del began, ignoring me, "that he had seen you dance there at Umir's and was quite

impressed by your skills."

"At least he's being honest."

"He said you were better than he expected—especially for an old man."

I began untacking the stud. "He did not.
You're
saying that."

"Ahmahd said it." Del's expression was blandly serene. "Right before he asked me what a woman my

age was doing with a man
your
age."

I scowled at the stud, undoing thongs and buckles, and changed the subject. "I don't suppose this

friend of Ahmahd's felt in need of a bath."

"As a matter of fact, Ahmahd said he
did go
to the bathhouse. Why?"

"Because that's where I was when someone decided to interrupt my soak by taking off my head.

Fortunately, I was ready. Last I saw of him, he was wrestling with curtains." I deposited the saddle on

end, plus the tied-on saddlepouches, then peeled blankets off the stud's back. They were only slightly

damp; we hadn't ridden long enough for the horses to work up a true sweat. "Did your friend Ahmahd

happen to mention how many others might be tracking us?"

"Oh, I'm not being tracked," Del said, precise as always. "At least, not as prey. For information, yes.

But it's you they want to kill."

"Comforting," I muttered, kneeling to hobble the stud.

"I'm assuming a goodly number are hoping to find you," Del added. "Though they won't kill you out

of hand, Ahmahd said. Apparently Umir's far less concerned that you dishonored the circle and your

vows than he is in recovering the book, despite what the sword-dancers want. The orders are explicit: