Sword Maker-Sword Dancer 3 (47 page)

"There's likely to be a war." He sat against the wall with legs splayed, combing

mustaches with his fingers. "Haven't you seen the change? The tribes have all but disappeared--the warriors, that is... word is all the tribesmen have gathered in the foothills to welcome this Oracle fellow. And then they're supposed to bring him down into Iskandar, so he can name the jhihadi."

I nodded thoughtfully. "I noticed things felt different. The tanzeers are hiring

armed men."

"And a few assassins." Rhashad's teeth showed briefly. "That's never been my style, but it didn't stop him from asking."

I frowned. "Who asked what?"

"A tanzeer asked me to help assassinate the Oracle." Rhashad gestured. "Not in

so many words, of course, but that was the gist of the talk."

I rubbed at gritty eyes. "I thought it might come to that. They can't afford to

let him live... especially if he's rousing the warriors like this. They'll try

to kill him before he does any more harm."

Del shook her head. "That will cause a war."

Rhashad pursed his lips. "A small one, yes... but without the Oracle to rouse them, the tribes will never remain united. They'll end up fighting themselves."

"And the tanzeers will win." I nodded. '"So, they're hiring sword-dancers to fill out their guard, planning to send them against the tribes."

"Seems likely." Rhashad drank. "I'm not an assassin. I told the tanzeer's man I'd hire on to dance, but not to murder a holy prophet. He wasn't interested in

that, so I still don't have a job."

Del looked at me. "You have a job."

"I hired on to dance," I emphasized. "Believe me, bascha, the last thing I'd do

is get myself tangled up in a holy war, or an assassination. I don't mind risking myself in a circle--since it really isn't a risk--" that for Rhashad's

benefit, "--but I won't hire on to assassinate anyone. Let alone this Oracle."

Rhashad's blue eyes glinted. " 'A man of many parts.' "

Del frowned. "What?"

"Oh, that's one of the things they're saying about the jhihadi. That, and his special 'power.' Since nobody knows who--or what--he is, they're making up anything."

I looked at Del. "That's how Abbu described Ajani."

"Abbu described him ..." Del let it go, interpreting other things. "So, Abbu knows Ajani. And does he ride with him, too? Both sides of the border?"

"I don't think so, bascha."

"How do you know? I danced with him; I have learned a little about him. Abbu could be--"

"--many things, but he's not a borjuni. He's not a murderer, or a man who sells

children." I kept my tone even. "He said he knew Ajani. He also said they were

not friends. Do you claim everyone you meet as a friend? Or are they all enemies?"

Rhashad, not much of a diplomat, didn't sense the danger. "I'm not an enemy, bascha... I'd much rather be a friend."

Del's tone cut through his laughter. "Do you know Ajani?"

Rhashad stared at her. Amusement died away. "I don't know him. I know of him.

What's he to you?"

Del was very succinct. "A man I plan to kill."

Ruddy brows arched up. "Oh, now, bascha--"

"Don't," I said clearly.

He is slow, but he gets there. "Oh," he said at last. And then went off in another direction. "You danced with Abbu Bensir?"

"Sparred," she answered briefly.

I grinned. "That's what she calls it. Ask Abbu about it: he'll tell you he was

teaching her."

"Abbu wouldn't teach a woman." Rhashad eyed her thoughtfully. "I would, though.

Do you still need a shodo?"

Del's tone was cold. "What I need is Ajani."

I set down the jug of aqivi. "What I think you need--"

But I didn't finish it. Something intruded.

It was, at first, unidentifiable. It was noise, nothing more; an odd, alien noise. I thought immediately of hounds, then dismissed it impatiently. It didn't

sound like that; besides, there were no hounds any more.

Rhashad stirred uneasily, leaning forward from the wall to alter posture and balance. He did it without thinking; ingrained habits die hard. "What the hoolies is that?"

I shook my head. Del didn't move.

The noise renewed itself in the silence of the cantina. No one spoke. No one moved. All anyone did was listen.

It was a high-pitched, keening wail. It echoed in the foothills, then crept onto

the plateau and into the city itself.

"Tribes," I said intently, as the noise abruptly changed.

The keening wail altered pitch. Hundreds of voices joined in exultant ululation.

Rhashad's eyes were fixed. "Hoolies," he breathed in awe.

Del looked at me. "You know the tribes."

It was an invitation to explain. But there was little I could say. "If I had to

guess," I murmured finally, "I'd say it's the Oracle. They're paying tribute to

him... or else preparing for an attack."

"Foolhardy," Rhashad muttered. "They'd have to come up the rim trail. The plateau is too easy to defend."

I flicked a glance at him. "Who's camped at the head of that trail?"

"Tribes," Del murmured. "But still, I think they're outnumbered."

"We don't even know their numbers. Some of the warriors may have come through here every day, but most have camped elsewhere. The families have been here...

with a few men to protect them."

Rhashad nodded. "To make things look normal."

I rose and kicked back my stool. "I think we should go back. Alric's probably with Lena and the girls, but you never know."

Even as we moved, the ululation died. The absence was eerie and strangely unsettling. Then everyone in the cantina was heading out the door.

"Come on, bascha," I said. "I don't like the way this feels--like something's going to happen."

Del followed me into the street.

Something did happen. It waited until we were almost all the way back to the house we shared with Alric, giving us time to breathe, but then it grew impatient. The time for waiting was done.

Del and I heard it before we saw it. Hoofbeats, then frenzied shouting. About four streets over.

"The bazaar," Del said, unsheathing Boreal. In the moonlight, the blade was white.

I unsheathed my own, hating it all the while.

In the bazaar, people gathered. They hugged the shadows of empty stalls and dwellings uneasily, disliking uncertainty, but not knowing what else to do.

In

the middle of the bazaar, in the city's precise center, tribesmen had gathered.

Not many; I counted six, all mounted and ready to ride. We outnumbered them vastly.

A seventh horse was mounted, but not in the usual way. The man who rode it was

dead.

"What are they?" Del asked.

"A couple of Vashni. A Hanjii. A Tularain. Even two Salset."

"Do you know the Salset?"

"I knew them. They didn't know a chula."

A stirring ran through the crowd. One of the tribesmen--a Vashni--continued his

harangue, pointing at the body, then gesticulated sharply. Clearly, he was unhappy.

"What is he saying?" Del asked, since he spoke pure Desert in the dialect of the

Punja.

I released a noisy breath. "He's giving us a warning--no, not us; he's warning

the tanzeers. The man--the dead man--crept up to their gathering and tried to murder the Oracle, just as Rhashad predicted. Now he's telling the tanzeers they're all fools; that the Oracle will live to present the jhihadi to us, just

as he has promised." I paused, listening. "He says they don't want war. They only want what's rightfully theirs."

"The South," Del said grimly.

"And the sand changed to grass."

The warrior stopped shouting. He gestured, and one of the others cut the ropes

binding the body on the horse. The body fell facedown; it was turned over roughly, then stripped of its wrappings to display the bloody nakedness and its

blatant mutilation.

I must have made a sound. Del looked at me sharply. "Do you know him?"

"Sword-dancer," I answered tightly. "Not a very good one--and not a very smart

one--but someone I knew nonetheless." I drew in a deep breath. "He didn't deserve that."

"He tried to kill the Oracle."

"Stupid, stupid Morab." I touched her on the arm. "Let's go, bascha. The message

has been delivered."

"Will the tanzeers listen?"

"No. This just means they'll have to look to their own men to find another assassin. No sword-dancer will take the job; I'm surprised Morab did."

"Maybe he wanted the money."

I slanted her a disgusted glance. "It'll be hard to spend it now."

Even as Del and I went back into the shadows, the hoofbeats sounded again. I knew without having to look: the warriors were riding out. And Morab was dead and gone, lost to greed and stupidity. Someone would bury him; already the gawkers gathered.

The darkness was thick and deep in the caverns of recessed doors. Del and I knew

better; we avoided those we could without exposing ourselves too much by using

too much of the street. A compromise was best. Compromise--and a sword.

And yet the sword didn't help much when the thing slashed across my vision and

thunked home in the wood of a door jamb but two feet from my face.

"Sorry," a voice said. "I just wanted a little practice."

He should have known better. Not only did the voice tell me who he was, it told

me where he was. And I went there quickly to find him.

He grinned, stepping smoothly out of a doorway directly across the street. In each of his hands was an ax; the third was stuck in the wood.

"Ax," Del said quietly, inspecting the planted weapon as I moved to cut off its

thrower.

"Oh, I know," I answered lightly, and teased his chin with my blade.

"Wait," Bellin said.

"You wait," I suggested. "What in hoolies do you think you're doing?"

Bellin's tone was disingenuous. "Practicing," he declared.

"Not any more." A flick this way and that; axes spilled out of his hands.

"No,"

I said plainly, as he made a motion to scoop them up.

In the moonlight, his face was young. Almost too young, and too pretty. The grin

bled away from his mouth. "I knew what I was doing."

"I want to know: why?"

He stared back at me unflinchingly, ignoring stinging hands. "Because I could,"

he told me. "And because you're you."

Del jerked the ax from the doorjamb and brought it over to me. "He might have sheared off your nose."

Bellin the Cat smiled. "I just wanted your attention."

I eyed him assessively, disliking his attitude. Then reached out my left hand and caught a wad of cloth at his throat, jamming him back against the wall.

"You," I said, "are a fool. A lying, conniving fool who's lucky to be alive.

I

should give you a spanking--with three feet of Northern steel."

With my fist tucked up beneath his chin, Bellin's face was less than happy.

But

he didn't sound repentant. "I hit you in the cantina because I had to."

"Oh? Why is that?"

"If I hadn't, they might have begun to suspect me."

"Who is that?" I asked.

"The men I'm riding with."

"The men you're riding with would have required you to hit me? I find that hard

to believe."

"You don't know them." He swallowed awkwardly. "If you'd remove your hand from

my throat, I might be able to breathe... and then I could explain."

I let go all at once. "Explain," I said harshly, as Bellin staggered his way to

regained balance.

He rubbed gingerly at his throat, then set his green-striped robe into order.

"The story would sound better over a jug of aqivi."

I lifted my blade slightly. "Or over three feet of steel."

Bellin looked past me to Del. Smiled weakly, eyeing the ax in her hand, then glanced back at me. "It was your idea."

"My idea--" Abruptly I stepped close, forcing him to back up. The doorway behind

him was open; Bellin fell in, then through. I followed silently with Del on my

heels. "My idea, panjandrum?"

"Yes." He stopped and stood his ground. "My axes," he said plaintively.

Del and I didn't move.

Bellin, seeing it, sighed. Rubbed vigorously at his head, which hurt his cut hand and mussed his hair, then glared back at me. "You said I could ride with you if I found Ajani for you."

Now it was Del's turn. "Have you?" she asked. "Or is this another trick?"

"No trick," he assured us. "Do you know how many months it took me to find him?"

"Less than me," she snapped. "What about Ajani?"

Bellin sighed. He was, I realized all over again, no older than nineteen, maybe

twenty, and a stranger to the South. I didn't know much about him except he was

seeking fame, and he had a smooth way with his tongue. I was surprised he was still alive, that no one had killed him yet.

And then I remembered the axes.

"We're waiting," I said grimly.

Bellin nodded. "Not long after meeting you, I set out to find Ajani. It was the

condition, you said; I decided to fulfill it."

The ax in Del's hand flashed. "Don't waste time, panjandrum."

He eyed her. Eyed the ax. Considered what it might be like to die by his own weapon; at least, I think he did. But it got him talking again.

"You can't just walk into countless towns and settlements asking for Ajani,"

he

explained, even though Del, so straightforward, had. "It takes more than that.

Cleverness, guile, a hint of ingenuity." Briefly, he smiled. "What it takes is a

man who knows how to fit a story to suit his needs."

"The Sandtiger's son," I murmured.

Bellin nodded. "Who was I, but a stranger? A foreigner, to boot. No one would tell me the truth if I said what I really wanted. So I fed them a story. The best one I could think of." He touched a shadow at his neck; strung claws rattled. "I said I was your son. People talked to me."