Sword Bound

Chapter 25

FOR A LONG MOMENT I was too stunned to speak. Even to move. Then a wave of fear swept through me. My scalp prickled. “Bascha…bascha, no. Please don’t do it.”

“Don’t do what? Kill the raiders?”

It was difficult to say. I had never expected this to come up. “Make yourself into what you used to be.”

She sat up, removing her hand from mine. I sat up as well. We faced one another in the starlight, physically close, but very far apart in certainty of mind.

Her eyes were hollows made of shadow. “I will do what needs to be done.”

“Del, please. You can’t do this to yourself.”

The stars were kind to her face. Always. Whatever she said, they were kind. “I will do what needs to be done.”

I wished very badly for daylight. For torchlight. A lantern. Hoolies, even a coal. Just to see her. Just to look into her eyes, to see Delilah. “You won’t need to butcher them, Del. Just kill them. That’s all that needs doing. Not a deliberate, step-by-step plan.”

She was silent.

And I knew that silence. “It’s not necessary, Del.”

“Oh, it is very necessary.”

I tried with great effort to keep my tone level. “This is not about you, Del. This is not what happened to you ten years ago. The circumstances are different, the people are different—”

The heat of her anger replaced icy self-control. “What is different about a young girl being kidnapped by raiders? About a man who was beaten nearly to death…about a girl’s mother who was raped repeatedly by multiple men. What is different, Tiger, from what I experienced?”

“Del—”

“No. No, Tiger. You can’t know. You’re a man.”

A man. It wasn’t me that mattered. It was my gender.

I couldn’t help being sharp. “Bascha, we fought that battle five years ago. Or began that battle five years ago, and finished it some while back. I’m not the same, you’re not the same, the circumstances are not the same. Don’t erase those five years. Don’t become what you were. How many times must I say it? This is not the same.”

“Tiger—”

I put it into words a Northerner trained on Staal-Ysta would understand. “This is not your song.”

She began to stand. Before she could, I grabbed an arm and pulled her down again.

All of her went stiff. “Let me go.” She tried to twist her arm out of my hand. “Let me go, Tiger.”

It would have been easy to be angry, to use that anger to underscore anything I might say. But I didn’t do it. “We have a daughter, Del. We have a life at Beit al’Shahar. We have friends there in Alric and Lena, in Mehmet and his aketni. We have a business partner in Fouad, who will cheat us whenever he can, thinking we don’t know. We have circles under the sun, watched over by a ruin of rocks where our blooding-blades lie broken: your Boreal, my Samiel. Hoolies, we own goats and chickens! Our daughter spends far more time dirty than she ever does clean. And we are happy there, Del. Contented. Certain of our course. Any songs we had, any songs we once sang in the circle—even me, who can’t sing to save his soul—are finished.”

“Tiger—”

I raised my voice over hers. “We are not the same, neither of us, as we were five years ago, when you walked into a cantina searching for a guide to lead you across the Punja in pursuit of your brother. We are not the same. And you are not Rashida, not stolen by these raiders. You are you, and you are whole, and to become what once you were is to turn your back on me, on our life…and on your daughter.”

She hissed in anger then fell silent. I knew to wait, not to continue to spew words even if I badly wanted to. You can drown a person in words, in reasonings, in your own fears and angers and biases. I had to let her think. Even if sometimes my words, and my silence, did not immediately plant a crop.

At some point, I had loosened my grip on her arm. Now, she twisted that arm free and rose. She walked away.

Ah, hoolies. The remains of the night, I knew, would not be spent in sleep. By either of us.

Shortly after dawn, on a gray, heavy day, I got up to see to my needs and to begin the bucket run for the horses, but found Del had already done the horse chores. Her gelding was saddled, bridled, haltered, pouches on board, ready to go, and the stud was still picketed under the tree. Taking that as a message, I got my gear together and prepared the stud for the journey. I didn’t see Del and assumed she’d visited a nearby shrub. Eventually, when she did not appear despite my being ready to go, I headed to the house, and found her about to come out the door. I stepped aside and let her pass.

No sign of our argument reached her face as she spoke to me outside. “Harith hasn’t wakened. It’s possible he never will. We won’t get any information from him.”

“And Danika can’t provide what we need, either.” I scratched thoughtfully at beard scruff; I really needed to shave. “So, we go to the farm and hope to find hoofprints.”

In silence, Del pointed to the sky.

I followed her finger with my eyes and saw what she meant: The clouds had significantly darkened and were now hanging quite low, fat with rain. “No. No, no. Oh, hoolies, that’s the last thing we need. Rain will wash tracks away.”

“That’s why I got the gelding ready and brought the stud over. But you were still asleep, so I let you be.”

I found that amazingly unlike her, considering our goal. “Why?”

Del sighed. “First, because I hoped Harith could provide an answer. Second…well, because of last night.” An uncharacteristic darkness shadowed her eyes. “I understand now what you meant. But Tiger—it needs doing. Those raiders should all be killed for what they did to Neesha’s mother and father, and Rashida.”

“I wasn’t arguing that. I agree with you. I was scared to death I’d lose you back into the constant coldness and anger that defined you when we met. It was a hard journey for you, becoming a kinder—but not a weaker woman—and I didn’t want you to go through it again.”

She nodded, looking past me to the sheltering tree. “But I still might take a head.”

It was almost, but not quite, worth a laugh. “Hey, if a head ends up in front of my blade, I’ll take it myself.” I touched her on the arm. “I’ll go see Neesha. And I need to ask Danika a question.”

Del nodded again and walked toward the horses. I went into the house and found the cluster of people gathered near the bed. Harith’s breathing did not sound normal. Like Del, I felt it likely he’d never wake. Danika glanced up as I entered the crowded room. I gestured with a lifted chin, and she got up and came to me. I led her into the kitchen area.

She was exhausted. It showed in her face, in every line and posture of her body. But I knew better than to suggest she get some rest. She wouldn’t until she collapsed from exhaustion. “What does Harith use to mark the horses as belonging to your farm?”

“He shears the mane to the neck.” She saw my brows go up. “You can’t disguise them as someone else’s horses that way. If we tied something into the mane or tail, it could be found and removed. And he won’t burn a mark because that, too, can be altered. Only time will alter a shorn mane.”

Well, yes. I hadn’t thought of that. Rather clever. “And what should we tell Rashida when we find her? She’s not likely to trust us any more than the raiders, after what she’s been through.”

Danika smiled wearily. “She’ll know you. How many sword-dancers have sandtiger scars in their faces? Do you forget? She and Neesha used to spar. He spoke of you often, saying one day he’d find you and tell you he was your son. She’ll know.”

“And how will I know it’s her?”

She blinked. “She’ll be with raiders. Won’t you be able to tell? Besides, she can certainly tell you who she is.”

A dozen answers went through my head. Raiders often kidnapped and kept women with them, which meant Rashida could be one of several. Some captives were sold. There were no guarantees Rashida would still be with them, depending on where they were bound. And no guarantees they would not have removed her tongue.

Danika saved me from having to say such things. “She has Neesha’s eyes, all warm and cider-colored. Her hair is brown, but the sun streaks it gold in places. She was wearing a yellow tunic and skirt.”

I opened my mouth to say something more, but heard the sound of raindrops on the roof. Danika and I both looked up, then at one another. “Yes,” I said. “I’d better go if we’re to make the farm before rain washes away the prints.” I leaned forward, kissed her briefly on the brow, and told her we’d bring home her daughter and the horses.

Danika shook her head. “Just bring my daughter home. Don’t worry about the horses.”

“Neesha,” I called, “we’ll be back.” He barely had a chance to nod before I left.

Outside, Del had the stud ready to go. She wore her hooded oilcloth coat, belted around her waist. She had once insisted we needed these and I had disagreed. Now I was glad I’d lost the argument. I pulled on mine, buckled the belt, then grabbed the stud’s rein from her. I stepped into a stirrup and swung a leg up and over hastily. The rain was falling harder.

“Wait!” It was Neesha coming after us. “There’s a horse fair. In Istamir, on Marketday.”

A horse fair. And here we’d thought to learn details from a badly injured man, rather than from my son who actually knew the answer.

Del and I looked at one another. Now there was no need for us to go to the burned farm, to look for hoofprints. Merely to ride to Istamir.

I very much wanted to ask Neesha why he hadn’t told us that earlier. Del read it in my face. She eased the gelding around so his back was to the house, to Neesha. Very quietly, she said, “Let it go. Too many distractions for him.”

To my son, I said, “Go back in, get out of the rain. We’ll return as soon as we can.”

He nodded, lifted a hand, but was too distracted to offer anything else. He disappeared inside.

“The raiders might go elsewhere,” Del suggested. “The horses will be known here.”

“But we’ll have to look in Istamir first. Ask a few questions.”

We exchanged nods and set both horses to a hard gallop.