She sighed. “You’re probably right. The South is still too backward.”
The sun dipped lower still. “I think instead of a sword, I’m going to get a new horse.”
Del grinned briefly. “The old one might protest.”
“The old one can protest himself right into the stewpot, for all I care. I’m not about to put up with him taking pieces out of my head just because he hates magic.”
“You hated magic, once.”
“I still hate magic. It doesn’t mean I’m going to kick somebody’s head off if they use it.”
“You used to bite mine off.”
I grunted. “Long time ago, bascha.”
“Hours ago, maybe.”
I sighed. “Why are we arguing?”
“We’re not arguing. We’re delaying.”
“What are we delaying?”
“Discussing what we’re going to do.”
“What are we going to do?”
“Go north?”
“No.”
“Go south?”
“We have to. There’s Shaka Obre to find.”
Del didn’t answer at once. When she did, her tone was odd. “You’re certain you want to do that?”
“I have to. How else am I going to discharge this sword?”
“You’ve already learned to control it better.”
I frowned. Rolled my head to look at her. “You sound like you don’t think it’s such a good idea to go hunting Shaka Obre.”
She chose her words carefully. “I just think it will be very difficult to find him. His name is shrouded in myth—he’s part of children’s stories.”
“So was Chosa Dei, but that didn’t make him any less real. I can attest to that.”
Del sighed, picking at the thin blanket she’d thrown over her long, bare legs. “It isn’t easy, Tiger.”
“Nothing much is, but what do you mean?”
“Looking for a man very difficult to find. I had reason, I had need … but the task was no easier.”
“You’re saying you don’t think I’ll stick with it.”
“I’m saying it will be a very difficult quest.”
“I don’t have a lot of choice. Chosa Dei’s presence will provide a good enough reason, I think.”
Del sighed. “It will be complicated. We are wanted now, more so than anyone in the South—we killed the jhihadi. They will track us without respite. We killed the jhihadi, the man who intended to change the sand to grass.”
“The man they think was the jhihadi.”
Del considered it, then laughed a little. “Jamail was very clever, doing what he did. I wouldn’t have thought of it.”
“What did Jamail do?”
“Pointed at Ajani. He must have known someone would try to kill him … if not me, then the tanzeers. He got his revenge after all.”
I grunted. “He wasn’t pointing at Ajani. And it wasn’t Alric, either; I know: I was there.”
“Who else was he pointing at? I saw him do it, Tiger.”
“So did I, bascha.”
“Well, if it wasn’t at Ajani—” Then, lurching up out of blankets: “You’re sandsick!”
“Oh, I don’t think so.”
Loud silence.
“He wouldn’t,” she said at last. “He didn’t—you know he didn’t. Why would he do such a thing?”
I didn’t offer an answer, thinking it obvious.
Del stared at me. “That horse kicked you harder than I thought.”
I yawned. “I might make a bad tanzeer, but I think I can handle messiah.”
Louder silence.
Then, in pointed challenge, “Can you change the sand to grass?”
Another yawn. “Tomorrow.”
Del’s tone was peculiar. “He didn’t really point at you. You were right there, yes, but it was Ajani he pointed at. I saw him. I saw him point. It was Ajani, Tiger.”
I just lay there and smiled, blinking drowsily.
“Swear by your sword,” she ordered.
I grinned. “Which one?”
“The steel sword, Tiger; don’t be so vulgar.”
I put out a hand and caught the twisted-silk hilt. “I swear by Samiel: Jamail pointed at me.”
I knew she wanted to admonish me not to speak the name aloud. But she understood what it meant. She understood the oath.
Del thought about it deeply. Then made a careful observation. “You know better than to swear false oath on your jivatma.” As if she wasn’t certain; maybe, with me, she wasn’t.
Through yet another yawn, “Yes, bascha. You’ve made it very clear that’s a bad thing to do.” I paused. “Would you like me to swear on your sword?”
Very firmly, “No.”