I drew in a breath. 'I made a choice that day when I stepped out of Sabra's circle and declared elaii-ali-ma. We all of us make choices. Some are good, some bad, some are right, some wrong. And we all pay the price. I accept that I am dishonored, that I have no place among you. I made the choice. And I make another now: to let this man live.'
I backed away, taking my sword with me. Musa remained sprawled in the sand a moment longer, then hitched himself up onto his elbows.
'Why?' he rasped.
I smiled. 'Some day, when you meet yourself in the circle– and you will, because we all do—you'll know.'
I turned away. Musa's sword lay against the opposite wall, well out of reach. Though I meant what I'd said, I wasn't entirely stupid; you don't leave a loser's weapon close at hand.
Of course, I had reckoned without the insanity of irrational pride.
I heard him move and knew, even as I spun. Musa was up on his feet again, charging at me. Time slowed as he came: I saw the ripple of a tic in his cheek, the strain of tension reforming his facial muscles.
Oh no. No.
He came on. Despite the fact that he lacked a sword, and I did not.
Stop now. Save yourself. . .
But he did not. He gathered himself. Took that fatal leap. Committed himself. So I committed as well. I ran him through with my blade.
There was no triumph. I felt hollow. Empty. 'You had the world,' I told him, meaning it.
Musa's world—and his legs—collapsed. He knelt in the sand, choking on blood. I withdrew the blade sheathed in his chest. Blood ran down steel and pearled in white sand.
I was aware of movement. I looked up, lifting the sword; saw men stirring. But no one spoke to protest. Musa had effectively killed himself, though I had been the man holding the blade.
Alric, escorting our friendly host, came out of the house again. 'Everything's ready.'
I nodded. I cast a glance at the waiting sword-dancers. I couldn't help but smile at the irony. 'I expect I'll see some of you again,' I said, 'but not for a few days or so. Until then, why not avail yourself of Umir's hospitality? Since none of you won his offer of lifetime employment, you might as well enjoy it while you can.'
I heard at my feet, from the kneeling man, an expulsion of breath. Musa seemed to fold in upon himself, upper body collapsing upon the lower. The sweat-drenched hair fell forward as his head lolled upon his neck.
A waste. A waste of pure talent, barely matched skill. Banished by pride even greater, and thus presented to death—like dessert on a plate.
The body fell.
I turned then and walked away. Alric let go of Umir. We swapped swords with practiced lateral tosses, then ducked into the shadowed coolness of Umir's house.
'Nicely done,' Alric commented.
'I thought so.'
'Do you think they'll wait until you're out of Umir's domain?'
I led him through the front door into the courtyard. 'Not on your life.' Well. Not on mine, at any rate.
'Where are we going?' he asked.
I headed for the gelding, waiting patiently with his reins in the hands of one of Umir's grooms. A harness was attached to the pommel; I shoved the sword home in the sheath. 'I am going to Julah. Aren't you going back to Lena and the girls?'
'Eventually. Right now I thought I'd ride with a friend who's in trouble.'
'Big of you, Alric.' I grabbed reins and swung up.
He grinned as he mounted his own horse. 'I thought so.'
I sank heels into the gelding. Together, at a gallop, the Northerner and I departed Umir's courtyard.
FIFTEEN
SOME DISTANCE from Umir's house Alric and I fell into the walk-trot-lope combination that transported us as far and as fast as possible without ruining the horses. I discovered the white gelding, for all he was a ridiculous mount for the desert, was indeed a comfortable ride in all his gaits. Too bad he needed black paint and fringe to make it practical. And just now he lacked both after his sojourn at Umir's; fortunately it was nearing sundown as we approached the big oasis a day's ride from Julah.
The oasis was a popular stopover for travelers, and thus five different routes met here. There were palm trees aplenty, plus water plants around the edges of the small artesian spring that had, over time and with human help, been widened into a pool. Desert folk honor such places by treating oases as sanctuary. Animals and humans are watered, then everyone retreats to their own patch of soil and sand to pass the night without fear of attack, Since it was early summer, more people were on the roads. The oasis was crowded.
Alric and I dismounted, led the horses to the pool, let them drink enough to cool their throats, then pulled them away and commenced the struggle of man against thirsty horse. Trouble was, they'd get sick if they drank too much too fast when they were hot. Alric and I walked them a bit as dusk approached, then led them to water again. We filled canvas horse buckets, gulped a few mouthfuls for ourselves, then made our wandering way, trailing tired horses, through the cluster of tiny campsites to find our own, settling finally for a single unclaimed palm tree on the outskirts. There we unsaddled, spent some time rubbing the horses down, then pegged them out—and carried botas back to the pool to tend our own thirst in earnest.
Kneeling at the water's edge, I sluiced my head and face, then squirted the contents of a bota down my bare torso, front and back. Once I'd refilled the waterskin, I released a gusty exhalation of relief.
Alric, squatting nearby, grinned. 'He will live?'
'He will live.' I used a forearm to wipe water from my brow. 'But he's getting too old for this.'
The Northerner grunted. 'Didn't look like it to me earlier today.'
I inspected the thin crusted slice along one of my ribs, dismissed it as unimportant. 'Trust me, I am.'
Alric stoppered his bota and rose. I splashed another handful of water through damp, spiky hair, then pressed myself up from the ground. At a more decorous pace we strolled through the oasis, exchanging nods of greeting with other travelers. I smelled sausage and spiced mutton and journey-loaf baking on a flat rock. Danjacs and oxen called to various brethren, while horses snorted disdainfully down haughty noses. I thought of the molahs of Skandi and the steep, zig-zagging trail up the caldera face.
'So,' Alric said, 'Just what was all of that about?'
'All of what?'
'All of everything.'
Back at our lone palm, we grained the horses sparingly and began to unpack our gear, unrolling and spreading blankets on the warm sand. 'Elaii-ali-ma.'
'Oh, I heard about that.' It didn't mean the same thing to him since he was a Northerner born and trained, but he understood what it was for me. 'I mean, where have you been, what's happened to you, how'd you lose your fingers and get those tattoos, and why did you want Umir's book?'
'Oh, that everything.' I sighed, shoved saddle pouches under one end of the blanket, stretched out with my head pillowed on wool and leather as I chewed idly at dried cumfa. I'd already told him briefly about Del's predicament and how I hoped to catch up to her in Julah, supposing Nayyib had taken her there. 'We've led rather interesting lives for the past several months.'
Alric flopped down on his blanket, thrusting a thick, blond-furred forearm beneath his head. 'I always like an entertaining story before I go to sleep.'
So I told him. Not everything. Nothing about magic, save to explain that Umir's book supposedly contained all manner of powerful spells. And nothing at all about my limited life expectancy, or my dreams of a dead woman and a sword. But I didn't need to. Even abbreviated, it was story enough for Alric.
