Sword-Maker(38)
Was I sandsick?
Del reined back the blue roan, who showed signs of wanting to nose the stud. “So, do we turn back now? Do you explain to Halvar that this was all a big misunderstanding, so that he will be forced into offering what little coin Ysaa-den has? Will you hold a village for ransom, Tiger, in the name of your avarice?”
The dragon snorted smoke. One of the beasts bayed.
“Nice little speech,” I remarked finally. “You really know how to manipulate a person, don’t you? Too bad you’re not willing to consider that I had no intention of asking for money in the first place—you just jumped to the conclusion that I’m a no-good, low-down sword-for-hire with no sense at all of humanity, only a well-developed sense of greed.” I smiled at her with eloquent insincerity. “Well, I won’t give you the satisfaction of thinking you convinced me … I’m going to do what I please, regardless of what you think, and let you try to figure out the truth of my intentions. I’m also going to suggest you take your own advice: never assume anything. It can get you into trouble.”
I climbed down from the stud and led him off the remains of the track to a stout young tree, where I tied him and explained I’d be back in two days, if not before.
He nosed me, then banged his head against my ribs, which hurt, and which left me less regretful about leaving him. As a matter of fact, it left me downright displeased; I thumped him on the nose and told him he’d just lost his ration of grain for the day.
Of course, I didn’t tell Halvar that, which meant the stud would get his share from whoever came to tend him, but he didn’t have to know that. It would do him good to suffer until nightfall.
I glanced at Del, who still sat her roan. “Well? You coming?”
She tipped back her head and stared up at the crown of the mountain, frowning faintly. Her hair, still laced and braided, dangled against her spine. The line of her jaw cut the air like a blade. I saw her lips part; she said something to herself, mouthing it in silence, and I wondered what was in her mind. Ajani? Delay?
Or maybe a Southron sword-dancer who taxed her dwindling supply of patience.
Hoolies, she didn’t have to stay. I wasn’t forcing her to. She could turn around with Halvar and ride back down the mountain to Ysaa-den. Or ride clear to the South. To Harquhal and beyond, maybe even to Julah; or to the Vashni, who had her brother; hoolies, there was no place in the world Del couldn’t go if she put her mind to it.
Except Staal-Ysta.
Del slid a leg over her saddle and stepped down carefully, sparing her midriff as much as she could. It would be days, possibly even weeks, before either of us could move freely again, without awareness of stiffness and pain. It was possible neither of us would ever fully recover fluidity of motion, since respective sword blades had cut muscle as well as flesh.
Then again, it was possible only I wouldn’t; Del was twenty-one. The young heal faster, neater, better.
And maybe she needed it more.
I unpinned my cloak, rolled it, fastened it onto my saddle. No doubt come night I would regret leaving it behind, but its weight and muffling folds would hinder me during the climb. Hopefully the task could be accomplished before it got cold enough for me to need the warmth of its weight.
Hopefully.
Well, one can always hope.
Del tied off the roan—outside of the stud’s reach—and chatted briefly with Halvar. Like me, she shed her cloak and put it away. Sunlight glinted off the hilt of her jivatma; I saw Halvar stare at it in something akin to reverence. No doubt any village full of people who believed in dragons also told bedtime stories about Northern blooding-blades and the men who bore them. Now they could add a whole new raft of tales about the pale-haired woman who summoned a banshee-storm with only a name and a song.
“Let’s go,” I said irritably. “We’re burning daylight.”
“So is the dragon,” Del observed, as smoke issued from “mouth” and “nostrils.” This time sound came with it: a low-pitched, hissing rumble, as if the dragon belched.
“Beware the fire,” Halvar said, clearly enough for me.
I looked up the mountain. “If there’s fire,” I pointed out, “someone has to tend it. Which means there’s more up there than rock and hounds … likely a man as well.”
Halvar looked at me strangely.
“It makes sense,” I said defensively; I hate it when I’m doubted. “Do you really think there’s a dragon up there, fire-breathing and all?”
Still Halvar stared. And then he looked at Del as if hoping she could explain.
“No,” Del said quietly, “he thinks no such thing … Tiger, I am sorry you have been so left out of the conversation—I didn’t realize it was so hard for you to understand. No one in Ysaa-den believes there’s a real dragon up there—no one is so foolish as to believe in a mythical creature—but a sorcerer. A specific one, in fact: Chosa Dei.”