“Of course. And I would have. But—he chose otherwise.”
“I don’t think he had a choice, Del. I think he knew it was best for him to remain with the Vashni, where he was accepted for himself.”
“Accepted because he belonged to the old man.”
I knew what she meant by the emphasized word. In the South, where women are little more than brood mares or ornaments, men often seek more stimulating companionship with their own sex. In bed as well as anywhere else. And then, of course, there was the slave trade—
I broke off the thought. “Maybe so,” I agreed. “And maybe, by then, it was what he wanted.”
Del stopped honing. “But what happens?” she asked. “What happens when the old man is dead? Does Jamail become the slave of a new chieftain? Does he then serve the new man as he served the old?”
“I don’t know,” I told her. “Short of going back down there to find out, we never can know.”
“No,” she said sharply. Then, more quietly, “No. You are right: he made his choice. Just as I made mine with Kalle.”
I expected something more. But she gave me nothing save the muted ring of whetstone on steel. Another kind of song.
One I understood.
We had privacy until sundown. And then the headman and several other villagers came into the lodge and very politely invited us to dinner. Since Del and I had nothing better to do—and both of us were hungry—we accepted.
Given a choice, I’d have preferred the meal inside a lodge; as a matter of fact, it was sort of what I’d expected. But apparently the Northerners took the first breath of spring as a promise of temperate nights as well as days; when dinner proved to be a village-wide gathering under the naked sky, seated on pelt-covered ground, I wrapped myself so close in my cloak it was next to impossible to move, though I left enough room for my eating arm to do its work.
One thing I’m good at is eating. And you never spit on a gift meal unless it’s served by an enemy.
The headman, whose name was Halvar, was very aware of the honor our presence did Ysaa-den; he was also very aware of his own responsibilities in hosting us properly. While Del and I chewed roast pork, bread, tubers, and swallowed mugs of ale, Halvar entertained us with the history of the village. I didn’t pay much attention, since I had trouble following his accent, and since I kept hearing references to the dragon, which told me mythology ran rampant in Ysaa-den. And I’ve never cared much for mythology. Just give me a clean sword made of true-honed steel—
“Tiger.”
It was Del; no surprise. I glanced over, picking a string of pork rind from between my teeth. “What?”
Briefly, she frowned. Then made a graceful one-handed gesture that somehow managed to indicate the entire gathering. “Because we go tomorrow to face the dragon, the village of Ysaa-den would like to make a song in our honor.”
“I don’t sing,” I answered promptly.
“They don’t want to hear you sing, Tiger. They want to sing for us.”
I swallowed the freed bit of pork and washed it down with ale. Shrugged a single shoulder. “If they want to. You know I’m not big on music.”
Del changed languages adroitly, switching to accented Southron and smiling insincerely for Halvar’s benefit. “It’s considered an honor. And if you have any manners at all—or good sense—you will tell them how honored we are.”
“They can sing us to sleep, for all I care.” I swallowed more ale.
Del’s smile fell away. “Why are you being so rude? These people believe in you, Tiger … these people are trying to tell you how much it means to them that you’ve come to save the village. You are the Sandtiger—someone out of Southron legends. Now perhaps you can become the man of Northern legends as well. Someone who cares for the troubles of others, who tends the helpless and weak—”
I had to interrupt before she got in any deeper. “Appealing to my pride won’t work.”
“It has before.”
I ignored that. “Maybe because I just can’t understand why a village full of adults persists in telling stories instead of discussing things rationally.” I gestured with my head toward the looming mountain. “It’s a heap of stone, Del; nothing more. If the hounds are up there, I’ll go—but why keep telling me there’s a dragon?”
Del sighed and set down her own mug. All around us the people stared; we spoke in Southron, not Northern, but undoubtedly the tenor of our discussion was obvious, even if the words weren’t.
“Tiger, weren’t you listening to anything Halvar told us about how Ysaa-den came to be?”