Sword Bound

Chapter 28

I EYED HIM UP AND DOWN. “You do not appear to be dead.”

“Well, no. It wasn’t a killing strike, it just looked like one. And another caravan came along not long after.”

I nodded. “All right, let’s back up a little, shall we? Something you said early on. You know: about this not being a challenge yet. Yet.”

“Oh,” he said.

“Yes, oh.” I smiled at him cheerily. “Well?”

“Not a real challenge,” he said hastily.

“How do you make a challenge that isn’t a real challenge?”

“Yes,” Del said grimly. “How do you do that?”

Eddrith seemed somewhat puzzled by our ignorance. “Well, I challenge you to dance. But it’s not to the death. Practice, mostly, because I know you would defeat me.”

I’d decided Eddrith was younger than I’d thought at first glance. “You mean sparring.”

Eddrith nodded. “In exchange.”

“In exchange for what?”

“Help with the raiders.”

My eyebrows shot up. “Oh, there’s a price for your help, is there?”

Del took two steps toward him. He was now in range of her blade. In an icy voice, she told him, “You mentioned no price in the tavern. You simply offered to help.”

“I think it’s fair.” Now he was on the defensive. He looked at me again. “Don’t you think it’s fair?”

Neither Del nor I said anything. Color filled, then drained from his face.

What Eddrith didn’t realize was that he had actually put Del and I in the position of having to pay his price for his help. It wasn’t that we needed help, particularly, but if we chased him away, he might just go to the raiders and tell them where we were. I didn’t think he would, because of his story; then again, it would be a clever man to tell such a touching story, all to win our favor.

Maybe Eddrith was brighter than I’d thought. Or else a very good actor.

I glanced at Del. Her expression said she was leaving it up to me, probably because it was me Eddrith wanted. “All right,” I said. “You can help us. Afterward, you and I will spar.”

He nodded once, attempting a dignified acceptance, but the light in his eyes was pure anticipation and excitement.

Del remained in reach of Eddrith, though she spoke to me. “I stabled my horse. I took a room in an inn.”

I glanced briefly at Eddrith. “Did he recommend the inn?”

Del knew better than to do such a thing, but it was worth asking in front of the young man. “Oh, no. This was done before I began going into taverns.”

I looked again at Eddrith. “Meet us here tomorrow. We’ll discuss plans.”

He nodded, but remained where he was. Warily.

Ah. I walked over to his sword, slid my blade under his, and flipped the sword in his direction. Del was already in position to defend or attack, as was necessary.

But it wasn’t necessary. Eddrith caught the sword awkwardly, shook it to clear some of the mud, but did not sheath it. The blade would have to be cleaned, first. He backed up, then turned and walked away, attempting to avoid the deeper puddles.

“Why?” Del asked.

“My shodo once told me it’s better to keep potential enemies close, rather than distant. So you know what they may be planning.”

“Ah. My an-kaidin just told us to kill them.”

Mahmood once again offered us his wagon for the night, but this time I politely declined. He’d done quite a bit for us already, and he was certainly entitled to sleep in his own bed. Del took her sword and harness out of Mahmood’s wagon, while I put tack back on the stud, loosed his tie-rope and the rope around his nose, and led him away from the tree. I suggested to Del we ride double through all the muck so as not to wade through it.

She shook her head. “I don’t think we should be seen together. You ride, I’ll walk.”

I wanted to object, but she had a point. “All right. Where am I going?”

She provided directions and description for the inn; the small livery in which she’d stabled her gelding was in the same row of buildings. It was nowhere near the main street through town, nor where many men drank, she explained. Spirits were not allowed in the inn.

“Not allowed?” I asked.

“Not allowed,” she confirmed.

“Well, no wonder you chose that one!”

Del merely smiled in satisfaction.

“I hardly ever drink anymore,” I protested. “I don’t even know the last time I was drunk.”

“Approximately five days ago, when you and Alric sat by the stream sucking down ale.”

Oh. Yes. We had sucked down ale. And yes, I’d felt it. Time to change the subject. I asked if she’d learned anything about the raiders while visiting taverns. She said she would tell me at the inn.

I watched her go, then gathered up the tack and gear resting on my raincoat, which now would be even muddier than before. Once the stud was ready I worked my way back into the mud-coated oilcloth, mounted, and rode away in a direction different from the route Del took.

The sun, hidden above dark clouds for much of the day, began its journey down the ladder of the sky. Now was the time the taverns would fill up. Marketday would draw from miles around. The end of the day signaled time for food, spirits, even wine-girls, were a man not married. Caravaners who brought wives with them could avail themselves only of food and drink.

Hoolies, I couldn’t avail myself of drink, thanks to Del finding what likely was the one inn in all of Istamir that neither sold nor tolerated spirits.

The mud on my face had dried and now itched, caught in beard scruff. It took great effort not to scratch all of it off. I remained barefoot, riding with sandals tied together and draped across the pommel, wearing the bedraggled coat in hopes of looking nothing like a sword-dancer, despite my sword jutting up over my shoulder. I’d covered it with the flap of oilcloth, but mostly it made me look like a hunchback. A very oddly shaped hunchback. So after consideration I took my mud-caked sandals off the pommel and tossed them over my shoulder, one dangling in front, the other in back, attempting to disguise the hilt.

So. A hunchback with a very muddy face and muddier coat. Well, it might work.

I drew a few idle glances as I made my way around the wagons, looked for a way into the town that wasn’t part of the paved main street. Nothing about me looked particularly prepossessing. And no one commented or called out to me.

Eventually I found my way to the small, extremely narrow street Del had described. It was indeed well away from the main part of town and its paving stones. Here, dirt ruled, which, of course, had transformed itself into serious mud. Livery stables and smithies often were built adjoining one another; I followed the sound of a blacksmith ringing down a hammer upon an anvil. As I rode closer, I saw the shower of sparks, smelled the acrid tang of coals burning in the forge. And there was, indeed, an adjoining livery.

The blacksmith glanced up as I reined in the stud. He nodded his head toward the open double doors of the livery. “Wanting stabling, then?”

I nodded, untangled myself from sandals and coat, and stepped down into mud. The black-eyed smith, arms and shoulders overdeveloped from years of pounding iron, smiled through his dark beard. “A soft day, wasn’t it?”

I shot him a morose glance. “If that’s what you call unremitting downpours up here in the North, then yes, it was ‘soft.’”

“Not a Borderer, then?”

I decided the better part of safety lay in saying nothing about me being a Southroner. I wanted to give no one the puzzle pieces of my presence and appearance. “Borderer,” I said. “Just not from this area.”

“You’ve got the look.” He used tongs to pick up the horse shoe from the anvil, inspected it, dumped it back into the coals. “How long are you wanting to keep your horse here?”

“A few days. Is there an hostler here?”

“Oh, that’d be me,” he said comfortably. “Both places, you see. I’ll see to your mount. By the looks of that crest on his neck, he’s a stallion.”

“He is.”

“Stallions cost extra.”

“He’s a very well-behaved stallion.”

The smith looked at him again. He grunted. “Doubting that. Extra, like I said.”

I sighed and agreed. Then a thought struck me. A smith would know more about what horses came through town than anyone. Even if they hadn’t seen them in the flesh, smiths undoubtedly spoke of their trade and customers—human and equine—in taverns.

“I’m here for the horse fair,” I said. “Harith—you know Harith? East of here?—asked me to pick up two head, if I found any good ones. Mares, of course.”

The smith pulled the horseshoe out of the coals, set it on edge on the anvil, gripped the tongs tightly closed, and began banging away to shape the shoe properly. He nodded, watching his work, not me. When he paused for a moment to examine the shoe, he spoke. “I know Harith. Good horseman. Hasn’t been running so many head now that his son’s away. Gone two years, I think it is. No matter. Young men wanting travel. Though I don’t know as how being a sword-dancer is an honest day’s work compared to raising horses.” He cast a knowing glance at me. “But no offense. You’re either that, or a hunchback. And I don’t think you’re a hunchback.”

I ignored the unsolicited comments. “Harith just hired me on. Said his son was gone, and he needed the help.” I paused a moment, watching him; made the question idle. “Have you seen any horses with shorn manes? Wildcat got into a corral, broke one of the poles down. A few horses got out. Someone might have picked them up.”

“Someone might have. I haven’t seen any.” He once again stuck the shoe under the coals and laid down his tongs. “Well, shall I be taking this brute, then, or will you put him in a stall yourself?”

I assumed a blank expression, just held out the reins. He was a big, stout man who likely took no guff from recalcitrant horses. He might be a match for the stud.

He indicated a table piled with bridles, straps, bits of iron, horse shoes and nails, a rasp. “Be putting it there.” And he told me how much I was to be putting there. He grinned, displaying a missing front tooth, as my eyebrows shot up. “Extra for a stallion.”

I glowered at him, then pulled the saddle pouches down, dug through one, and came up with a modest leather pouch. From it I took his price, laid coin on the table. I decided I preferred that the stud be difficult, successfully difficult, just to show the smith he was right not to make exceptions.

Grinning again, he took the reins from my hand. “Extra if he’s mean.”

“More ‘extra?’ Hoolies, you’re not a smith or an hostler. You’re a thief!”

“Others have claimed the same,” he said agreeably. “But there’ll be no other liveries with room so close to Marketday.”

I figured he told the truth. But I glared at him anyway, watched him lead the stud into shadow. I changed my mind and decided I wanted the stud to be meek. Otherwise he was going to cost me more.

With the sun nearly gone, the mud under my feet was growing cold. I walked hastily, wanting to reach the inn before I had to stop and put my filthy sandals back on. Keeping the smith’s comments in mind, I’d hung the saddle pouches over my shoulder, hiding the hilt poking up beneath my coat. I found the inn Del had described and went in.

I made it two strides inside, whereupon a woman shouted at me. “Stop!”

Startled, I stopped.

She wore an apron over black homespun tunic and full skirts; a woman no longer young, with bony shoulders, thin frame. Hair, gathered into a thin coil fastened with pins, was gray-to-white, and her skin was heavily creased. Her fingers, I noticed, were beginning the characteristic twist of joint-ill.

“I run a tidy inn,” she declared. “I’ll not have you tromping in here bringing street mud with you. Go outside, shake off that filthy coat, and wash your feet.”

I was taken aback. “Wash my feet?”

“There’s a pot out front on the bench and cloth. Shake off that coat, I said; wash and dry your feet, and then we’ll talk about a room while I decide whether I want your custom or not. And wipe those sandals.”

“Whether you want my custom—?” But I let it go. I turned around, walked the same two steps outside, saw the bench she meant. Pot of water, folded cloths.

“Shake that coat!” she called from inside.

Shake the coat, shake the coat. I yanked it off my body, sleeves now inside out.

Another command was issued from inside. “And shake it in the street, not on my porch!”

Hoolies. Why had Del decided we should stay here? I had to wash my feet and there were no spirits.

I shook the coat in the street. I beat the coat with my hand. I brushed off the coat as best I could. Then I planted my butt on the bench, grabbed a cloth, dunked it in the bowl, and began washing my feet.

When I was done, I turned to step into the inn and found her waiting on the doorstep. “Show me,” she ordered.

Dutifully I held out my raincoat. As dutifully I displayed my feet one at a time. I let the sandals dangle from one hand.

“Very well,” she said. “Now, you’ll be wanting a room. How many nights?”

“I’m not sure. But I’m here for the horse fair, if that helps.”

She nodded once. “Extra if you can’t say how long. It affects my business, you see, not knowing who’s staying and who’s not.”

Extra. More extra? “Are you related to the blacksmith?”

She knitted gray-white eyebrows over brown eyes and her mouth went flat. “An odious man.”

I wasn’t quite sure what ‘odious’ meant, but I assumed from her demeanor and the tone in her voice that it was not a good thing. I was just on the verge of saying I’d share the room with Del, but it crossed my mind that doing so might make me an odious man.

“I’ve one room left,” she said. “It’s small but will do.” She examined me from head to toe. “Your feet may hang off the end of the bed. Just double up your knees. The mattress is clean, as is the pillow. There’s a ewer and pitcher on the stand with a towel and a nightcrock underneath. Wash up before you get into bed.”

I nodded, sighing in resignation. “Where am I?”

Brows lowered. “Standing right here in front of me.”

“No—I mean, where is my room?”

“End of the hall. Blue curtain. And don’t bother that lovely young woman in the room next to you. Green curtain. She needs her rest, she told me. Mind, I don’t approve of those swords, but a young woman will be wanting to protect herself.” She squinted at me. “If you bother her, she’s likely to skewer you. Leave her be.”

We stared each other down. “And the other men here?” I asked. “Did you give them that speech, too?”

“No other men but you have come in since the young woman did. But I’ll tell them when they come back from their carousing.”

“Then you don’t mind your lodgers—carousing?”

“Of course I mind it. I won’t tolerate it in my inn. But I don’t make any coin if I turn away every man who arrives on my doorstep. A widow’s got to live. So they may go elsewhere for their spirits, then come back here after.” She squinted her eyes at me. “Well?”

“I won’t bother her,” I offered meekly.

“Very well.” She gestured. “End of the hall, on your left. Blue curtain.”

I tried to sound harmless and grateful. “Thank you.” I took a step, but she remained planted. I paused, backed up a step.

“Do you snore?” she asked. “I can’t abide a man who snores.”

I stared back at her. “I do not snore.” Which, of course, I did; at least, Del told me I did. I’d never personally heard it.

“Extra if you snore,” the old woman said crisply. “You’ll wake me and any number of other lodgers.”

Gods above and below. Again, extra. But I did not call her a thief, as I had the blacksmith. She was likely to charge extra for name-calling. “I don’t snore.”

“And wash your face. You’ve mud all over it.”

I waited for additional orders. This time, she stepped aside. With great care, I scooted my way past her and escaped down the indicated hall on the left. Even as I walked to the end, I braced myself for yet another order.

And it came. “Don’t put those filthy saddle pouches on my clean bed!”

Blue curtain, pulled aside in the doorway. I ducked in as quickly as I could, yanked fabric across the opening, then dropped my pouches and sandals—on the floor—with a sigh of great relief. Hoolies, what a termagant!

I divested myself of coat. Of burnous. Of harness and sword. Fell down flat on my back on the bed in dhoti, a string of claws, doubled silver earrings, and nothing more. I lay there for a long moment contemplating things. And remembered that I was paying for a room I did not intend to sleep in. Del was, after all, right next door.

Hoolies. I’d have to sneak!