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the
Northern bascha.
The hunt took until late afternoon, and when it ended I was the hunted, not
the hunter, because it was Del who found me instead of the other way around.
I was relieving myself when she melted out of the mist, damp hair straggling
down her back. She saw the stud, not me; I'd left him in the open while I
sought the trees. I considered calling to her, then discarded it. The reunion
could wait until I'd finished.
Del went directly to the stud, speaking to him quietly. He whickered a little,
nosed her, rubbed his head on her shoulder as she stepped close to stroke his
neck. I finished, took two steps, stopped. Said nothing. Instead, I listened
to her, and looked.
"Poor boy," she said softly. "Poor brave boy, so torn by teeth and claws...
you've been badly used, haven't you? Asked to run and fight and run some
more...
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smiled a little as he butted against her and rubbed harder, relieving the
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unpleasantness of damp hair against equally damp wool. "Poor Southron-bred
boy, so tired of all the cold and rain and damp... as much as your rider
himself, my poor beleaguered Sandtiger, so far from what he knows."
Del glanced around, still rubbing the stud's head. She'd scraped wet hair back
from her face, which sharpened the angles of her features and robbed them of
feminine softness. I realized, looking at her anew, she'd lost weight, and
tension had tautened the flesh at the corners of her eyes and mouth. It aged
her, made her look more determined than ever; stole away the lightheartedness
of youth to show instead the burden of responsibilities no one should ever
have to know, regardless of gender.
My poor brave Delilah, so driven by the dual needs for forgiveness and
retribution.
I stepped out of the trees and went down to her, watching the alteration in
her eyes as she saw me; the brief glow of relief that said, "he is alive, he
is whole, he is still the Sandtiger."
In which case, I had an image to live up to.
"Well," I said lightly, "took you long enough."
Del smiled, showing teeth. "We did consider leaving you."
"So why didn't you?"
"We needed the horse."
So we did, since five of them were dead. "How are the others?"
"Adara is tired and letting everyone know about it. Garrod is still upset over
the loss of his horses; he's a horse-speaker, after all. Massou considers it
all an adventure, and Cipriana--well--" Del shrugged. "She wanted to come
along, but
Adara made her stay behind."
I scrubbed a hand over my face. "Hoolies, Del, what am I to do with her? She's
just a girl--"
"And if she were older?" Del smiled again, arching suggestive brows. "She's
not really all that young, Tiger. I'm only five years older."
"I know, I know... don't remind me." I sighed. "Sometimes I think you're too
young for me."
"Me, too." Heartlessly. "Someone like Garrod, now..." Her expression was
elaborately thoughtful.
"No," I said flatly, "not Garrod. Not for you. Not a man who might have taken
part in the murder of your kinfolk."
It effectively robbed the moment of humor. The ice was back in her eyes.
"Garrod did not," she said coolly, "but plainly he knows about it. He would
have to; he has ridden with Ajani."
"Ridden with him?" I frowned. "Knowing him is one thing; riding with him is
another."
"He knows him. He said so. He's ridden with him, too. But not lately, he says,
and never to murder people." Del's tone was so flat it underscored her anger
more than shouting could have. "There is a distinction somewhere, but I have
yet to see it."
Garrod's habits were worth discussing, I thought, in view of his link to
Ajani, but there were more pressing matters. Like the hounds. And I said so.
Del shook her head. "For the moment, they've disappeared. But I think they'll
be back." She braced as the stud rubbed against her again. "You may be right,
Tiger. I think they're after someone--or something--in particular... and I
think they're conjured beasts. They aren't natural. Otherwise they wouldn't be
so selective, so single-minded. And they'd never have let you and the stud
break free."
"I sort of wondered about that myself." I gathered dangling reins. "He's too
tired to carry double, bascha. We'll have to walk, if you'll lead the way."
She gestured in a northerly direction. "Back that way a couple of miles. In a
canyon ..." She smiled oddly a moment. "A very remarkable canyon."
"Not another trap-canyon." I started walking, leading the stud.
"No. Oh, no. And there is no danger of the beasts attacking there. The magic
is
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"Magic." I stopped walking. "Magic?"
Del nodded. "A very powerful magic, like nothing you've ever seen."
I grunted. "I've seen a little in my lifetime, bascha, and I haven't liked any
of it. The hounds themselves are magic--even you admit it."
"Even I admit it," she agreed patiently. "Yes, the hounds are born of magic;
and yes, a malignant magic... but the Canteada aren't."
"The what?"
"Not what: who. The Canteada." Del sighed, looking uncharacteristically
fatuous.
"Oh, Tiger, if only you could understand..."
"I'll try!" I said dryly. "Explain it to me."
Del shook her head. "Explaining won't help. You wouldn't understand. I don't
think you can understand; not you."
I wasn't particularly pleased by her conviction. "How do you know that? I'm
not entirely blind--"
"Not blind," she said, interrupting, "deaf. At least deaf to music."
"Music." I sighed, scrubbing my face again. "Bascha, can't you be a bit more
specific? All this jabber about music and magic--"
"All this 'jabber,' as you put it, is as specific as it gets." Del pointed
north, suggesting we continue our journey. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]