Waterdance (4 page)

There was a camp by the spring, a tiny, smokeless peat fire, carefully screened. The five figures around the fire did not speak, wore simple cloaks that concealed their clothing; but the movement as one of them reached for the pot over the fire exposed a swarthy hand and wrist and the sleeve of a black leather tunic studded with bone beads, and the sight of that tunic and hand told Peri all she needed to know. A shock ran through her.

Sarkonds!

Sheer amazement almost startled a gasp out of Peri. Since the alliance between Agrond and Bregond, the Sarkonds to the north were Bregond’s only enemy—and since the war, since the Barrier, even they had ceased to be a threat. Raids by the vicious nomads that swept down from the Sarkondish steppes to steal horses and supplies were rare now, partly because the Barrier foiled any attempts to scry out Bregondish patrols or rich targets, partly because of the border garrisons maintained by Agrond and Bregond alike, and partly, it was hoped, because Sarkond had taken such a beating in the war that they no longer dared attack.

But here were Sarkonds in Bregond again.

Bright Ones, what in the world are they doing here? Not a raid, not with just five of them. And there’s nothing out here but the garrison, nothing to raid, anyway. Are they spies? Saboteurs? Assassins?

A low moan drew Peri’s attention to a sixth figure she hadn’t noticed before, huddled on the ground a few feet away. The moan sounded male, but it was impossible to tell—the figure was almost completely swathed in cloth and bound in a tight web of ropes, one of the ropes connected to a stake driven deep into the ground.

Abductors!

Peri’s breath shortened. Whoever had been riding the mare, despite his pitiful mount, he was apparently important enough to rate five Sarkondish soldiers to hunt him down—five Sarkondish soldiers willing to ride within sight of a Bregondish garrison. The Sarkonds had bound their victim tightly in time to keep him from suicide so far; possibly they could prevent it long enough for him to fulfill whatever purpose had made them seek him out in the first place—certainly long enough to subject him to the tortures for which Sarkonds were renowned. But if he could be rescued ...

A great warrior could do it. Someone MEANT to be a warrior, destined to follow the sword. Anybody would have to admit that. Even High Lords and Ladies.

Peri touched her knives again, her fingers twitching. She could get at least one of them, maybe two with luck. Or maybe none—she really couldn’t tell what kind of armor the Sarkonds wore under those cloaks. If she crept back and fetched her bow, she could still do no better, not in the fading light.

Right. Leaving me on foot facing at least three experienced Sarkondish soldiers, all half again my size and weight, armed as well as me and likely armored much better. Uh-UH. Not THIS great warrior.

Peri took a deep breath, forcing her muscles to relax, forcing her mind to calm.

A wise warrior doesn’t pit her strength against her enemy’s, she thought. Danber had taught her that, and it was true. A wise warrior pits strength against weakness.

Peri strained her ears, sniffing the air. The Sarkonds were eerily silent.

Tell me, Mahdha. Tell me their secrets.

No more Sarkonds patrolling around the camp—just the five of them. And the horses—ah, there!

They think they’re smart, tying their horses downwind of the camp. They think the scent, the sound of the horses will keep others from hearing or smelling THEM. Oh, yes, it will, too. But that sword, Sarkondish scum, has two edges.

Peri crept backward ever so slowly, soundlessly, until she met Tajin back along her own trail. She toyed with the idea of muffling Tajin’s hooves, rejected it. Coming from downwind, that sound would not betray her.

Visato root grew wild all over the plains; it was no effort to dig enough, little trouble to wrap them in sweetgrass so the horses would eat them. She’d done it a dozen times with Danber and his clan.

He always said I was talented tending wounded and sick horses. I’d be REALLY good now, wouldn’t I? Of course, can’t waste my talent somewhere where it might actually do some good—not now, Peri, not now!

Peri worked her way slowly around the perimeter until the five tethered horses stood between her and the camp. She stayed close to Tajin as she worked her way painstakingly forward. The horses would smell Tajin, just another horse.

Two things I know, Peri thought grimly. Swords and horses.

Silently she tied one horse’s reins to Tajin’s saddle; she fed the grass-wrapped roots to the others.

All right, she thought, her heart pounding. Now it’s got to be fast.

She swung into Tajin’s saddle, a movement as easy for her as breathing, and urged Tajin forward—

—and the time for thought was over.

Whinnies of the horses as they startled. Thunder of Tajin’s hooves. Darkness, then firelight to dazzle her. Sarkondish eyes widening. Cloaks flung back from black leather. Hiss of swords drawn from their scabbards.

Peri hooked her knee around the high pommel of her saddle, her other foot into the bracing loop, and leaned down, drawing her knife. The blade cut through the rope smoothly and she dropped the knife immediately, winding her fingers through the web of rope confining the Sarkonds’ captive as firmly as she could. Tajin was already moving again, fast, dodging swords.

Peri groaned, every muscle and her bruised ribs screaming as she dragged the deadweight of her burden—try as she might, she couldn’t heft the captive high enough to hook his ropes over one of the saddle clips. There was nothing to do but hold on and hope whoever she’d just rescued didn’t wind up under Tajin’s hooves.

“I’m going to stop in a minute,” she grunted out between gasps. “I’ve got to get you up in the saddle, and you’ve got to help me. Understand?”

There was no reply but a hollow groan, and Peri doubted she’d been heard, much less understood; when Tajin slowed, however, the captive made a weak attempt to gather his legs under him, pushing upward as Peri wrestled him over Tajin’s back. Then they were moving again, as quickly as Tajin could run under the doubled load and with the other horse in tow, but in addition to the shouts behind her, Peri now heard hoof-beats.

All right, she thought grimly. Just see how far you get.

Her passenger groaned weakly at every jar, and Peri remembered the blood on the trampled grass and realized she had no idea how badly he might be hurt. For all she knew, he might be dying.

No. If he’s that important to the Sarkonds, they wouldn’t have just left him lying there untended in that bad of shape. They wanted him alive. NEEDED him alive, to go to so much trouble when it would’ve been easy enough to put an arrow through his heart.

Then a crossbow bolt whistled past her, driving all other thoughts out of her mind.

Oh, Bright Ones—never thought they’d have Agrondish crossbows. With Bregondish horses, I thought they’d have Bregondish saddle bows or longbows, that I could stay out of range—

She bent down as low in the saddle as the high pommel would allow, relying on the equally high cantle to protect her, just as it had protected generations of Bregondish warriors. A
bolt thunked solidly into the cantle and Peri blessed the saddle, the hours she’d spent in it, the craftsmen who had made it, the ikada whose leather covered it—

Then the horse beside her screamed and faltered, dragging against the tow rope. Peri glanced over and groaned in dismay as she saw the bolt solidly embedded in its right rear leg.

Have to be cut out, she thought automatically. A few stitches and a blackthorn ash poultice and—never mind that!

Grimly Peri drew her knife and cut the lead rope. No longer held back by the second horse, Tajin leaped forward with new energy. A quick glance over her shoulder, however, gave Peri no encouragement—the four horses behind her had spread out, cutting her off. She couldn’t turn back; the only possible route was north, toward the Barrier.

All right, then, she thought grimly. The Barrier it is. But those roots had better take effect soon.

By the time she neared the Barrier, Tajin was beginning to strain under the hard pace and the double load, although he maintained his speed—if she asked it of him, he’d run till he dropped. Peri could still hear the other horses behind her, but despite Tajin’s heavier load they had drawn no closer; Peri hoped that meant the horses were starting to feel the effects of the soporific roots and beginning to slow, but she dared not count on it. She lowered her head, bracing herself, gripped her rope-bound burden more tightly, and rode directly at the shimmering wall.

A tangible shock ran through Peri as she struck the Barrier, exacerbated as Tajin shied instinctively, then stumbled hard, nearly falling; Peri’s long-trained riding skill was all that kept her and her rescued captive in the saddle as Tajin gathered his feet under him again. Peri cried out from the shock and from the pain in her bruised ribs as she jolted in the saddle. The bound man in front of her cried out, too, and went completely limp—unconscious, Peri hoped, not dead.

Then they were through the Barrier, and Peri glanced around frantically for cover, straining her eyes in the starlight.

There was no cover to be seen. Tajin stood on what had once been plains not unlike those in Bregond, but here there was not even the concealment of tall grass, of thorny thickets. The ground was scorched and blackened, blasted bare of any life not only by fire but magic as well during the wars, and doubtless tainted, too, by the continuing magical presence of the Barrier. Peri shivered and reluctantly urged Tajin to continue north. She’d fare no better following the Barrier east or west, and who knew where the Sarkonds might come through? Her best chance was to get away from the Barrier, find some kind of hiding place, let her pursuers pass her, and then double back later.

She rode on miserably. In many places sandy soil had been fused by fire and magic into shiny rock-glass that could easily lame Tajin despite his stout shoes; in other places drifts of ash could conceal holes deep enough to snap a horse’s leg. Peri dared not push Tajin beyond a slow, careful walk, although she shook in the saddle with impatience and fear. She could not hear any horses behind her, but that was no help; clouds had covered the stars and there was no light to guide her, no wind to carry scent and sound to her. For all she knew, the Sarkonds were already through the Barrier and closing on her.

By the time Peri and Tajin literally stumbled into a cluster of low foothills, woman and horse were equally exhausted. But Peri was provisionally encouraged; where there were foothills, there was probably cover of one sort or another. It was hard searching in unfamiliar countryside in almost pitch darkness, but at last Peri spotted a gulley deep enough to hide Tajin; the footing, however, was so bad that she had to dismount to lead him down into it. She felt a twinge of guilt as she signaled Taj in to kneel and the panting animal obeyed;
Tajin needed walking, rubbing down, brushing, water—

The bundled man groaned loudly, and Peri hurriedly rolled him out of the saddle.

“Shhhh,” Peri murmured. “I think we’ve lost them, but you’d better keep quiet. For all I know, they’ll be here any moment. Keep still. I’ll have you loose in a minute.”

She drew her knife and carefully cut through the ropes binding the captive. To her surprise, the cloaked figure under the ropes was bound yet again with thongs at hands and feet, and gagged as well, his hood pulled down over his face and tied there as a kind Of blindfold. Curious, Peri cut the gag and pulled up the hood—

—and her jaw dropped as wide pale gray Sarkondish eyes met her own.

“Free my hands,” he said in heavily accented but understandable Bregondish.

“What the—” Peri hesitated, clutching her knife more tightly.

Sarkond. Enemy.

The gray eyes burned into hers.

“Either free my hands,” he said, “or kill me. But whichever you choose, do it quickly if you wish to live.”

Peri’s hand clenched tightly around the hilt of her knife. This was a Sarkond, an enemy, fit only to kill on sight. Everything she’d ever been taught in both Agrond and Bregond told her that.

But he was a captive, unarmed and injured and bound. Peri had never killed a human being in her life, and she could no more make this helpless man her first than she could cook a baby and eat it. She hesitated only a moment longer, then silently slit the thongs binding the Sarkond’s wrists and ankles.

He sat up slowly, painfully, never taking his eyes from Peri as he gingerly rubbed circulation back into hands that were probably long since numb. At last he flexed his fingers, grimacing, and touched the scabbard at his belt; of course it was empty, and he held out one hand.

“Your knife,” he said.

“Other than blade first,” Peri said grimly, “you’ll get my knife the day the sun rises in the west.”

The man muttered something in Sarkondish, probably an oath—Peri’s lessons in Sarkondish hadn’t included obscenities—and turned away, scrabbling at the ground. In a moment he apparently found what he wanted, and Peri saw a meager beam of starlight reflect off a sharp shard of rock-glass. She tensed, her hand clenching on the hilt of her dagger, but to her amazement the man turned the shard and slashed his own palm.

The man dropped the shard and pushed himself up to his knees. He tried to stand, only to fall down again, groaning.

“Help me up,” he gasped.

Once again Peri hesitated, but at last she sheathed her knife and went to him, grimacing as she grabbed his upper arm and hauled him to his feet, shivering at the contact.

This is a Sarkond. I’m touching a Sarkond. HELPING a Sarkond.

As soon as the man could stand on his own, Peri snatched her hand away, but the man appeared not to notice. He squeezed his hand into a fist, droplets of blood trickling slowly down to fall on the earth. He walked in a shaky circle around Tajin and Peri, trailing drops of blood; when the circle was complete he collapsed back to his knees inside it. He raised his uninjured hand and chanted slowly; if his words were Sarkondish, they, too, were words Peri had never learned.

Peri gasped at a sudden sparkling of light from the ground; to her amazement, she realized that the drops of blood were glowing, shining like fireflies. Almost immediately the glow disappeared, and the man slumped back to the ground limply, as if utterly exhausted.