Sword-Maker(89)

Belatedly, I recalled introductions. “Del, this is Rhashad. Old friend of mine. Rhashad, this is Del. New friend of mine.”

“I can see why.” He bestowed his best smile on her, displaying big, very white teeth framed by heavy red mustaches drooping just past his jaw. “Northern-born, are you? I’m half Northern myself.”

And it showed. Rhashad was a Borderer, born in the foothills near the ruins of Iskandar. His hair was reddish blond, his eyes dark blue. To go with the hair his skin was tanned an odd yellowish red, with a generous sprinkling of sunspots. He was big; his height nearly matched mine. Del was only a finger’s-width shorter. He packed more weight than me, though, especially through the shoulders.

“So,” I said dryly, “I suppose you’re heading home, since home is near Iskandar. No doubt you’ll make a side-trip, if only to check out the action.”

Rhashad grinned. He has a nice grin. He kept showing it to Del. “It’s in my blood, Tiger. And I don’t dare go home poor. My mother would throw me out of the hut.”

Rhashad’s mother was a long-standing joke among sword-dancers who knew him. She was, he claimed, a giantess, able to knock him silly with only the flick of a finger. But someone who’d met her once said she was a little bit of a thing, hardly reaching her son’s elbow. Rhashad is known to exaggerate, but it’s all part of the package. So far it hasn’t killed him, though he came close some time before.

I glanced at Del. “His mother’s the Northern half. That’s where he gets his color.”

Del arched her brows. “That’s where he gets his charm.”

Which promptly set Rhashad to braying for a cantina girl to reward Del’s prescience. I told him a girl was on the way; he settled back into the window, hooking elbows on the sill.

“I’m up from Julah,” he said. “New tanzeer down there, now that Aladar’s dead. I picked up a little work, then the Vashni got too active and I decided to head back home. No sense in giving up my life just to let their black-eyed women make jewelry out of my bones.”

I knew all about Aladar; I’d been present when Del killed him. “What’s stirred up the Vashni?”

Rhashad shrugged. “This Oracle fellow. He keeps telling everyone the jhihadi is coming to reclaim the South for the tribes. The Vashni have always been superstitious. So now they’re beginning to think maybe they ought to help out the foretelling by making it come true. They’ve been killing a few people here and there; nothing serious yet, but it’s been the obvious foreigner. You know—anyone blond, red-haired, blue-or green-eyed … whoever they think looks non-Southron. I guess they feel that if they’re to reclaim the South, they’ve got to rid it of foreigners.” He shrugged, stroking one half of his mustache. “I look too Northern, I’m thinking, so I made my way back up here.”

“Jamail,” Del said blankly.

Rhashad frowned. “Who?”

“Her brother,” I explained. Del’s face was white. “He’s living with the Vashni.”

The frown deepened: two lines met between his eyes. “What’s a Northerner doing with Vashni?”

“Never mind,” Del said grimly. “Are you certain they’re killing all foreigners?”

“That’s what they’ve been doing. Whether they still are, I can’t say. All I know is, this Oracle fellow’s got them all stirred up.” His blue eyes were solemn. “I’ll be frank, bascha—if your brother’s with the Vashni, his chances aren’t worth much. They take matters of religion seriously.”

“They’ll kill him,” she said bitterly, “because this loki-brained Oracle tells them to.”

Rhashad lifted a negligent shoulder. “Take it up with him, then; he’s heading to Iskandar.”

“The Oracle?” I frowned. “How do you know that?”

“Rumor. Makes sense, though. This Oracle fellow’s been predicting the jhihadi will show his face at Iskandar; don’t you think he might want to be there? Sort of to prove his point?”

I didn’t answer. The cantina girl arrived, at last, carrying bowls of stew and kheshi, also a jug each of wine and aqivi. She balanced all with great care and concentration, gritting out Southron “excuse me’s” as she fought her way through the throng. Del saw it and reached out at once to relieve her of the jugs and cups.

“Pay her extra,” Del commanded as I reached for my pouch.

I scowled as I dug deep. “You’re awfully free with my money.”

“Women are,” Rhashad observed cheerfully. “You should see how quickly my mother spends the coin I send home.”