'And we will reach Umir's today, even if we leave after we eat.'
'We can eat on the way.' She had packed my things, leaving behind only my harness, sword, and knife. Ready to go.
I wasn't. I picked up the knife, went over to a spike-fronded plant, cut off a flat, wide, thorn-tipped leaf. 'You weren't in this much of a hurry last night.'
'Last night we couldn't do anything but sleep. This morning we can . . . Tiger, what are you doing?'
Methodically I trimmed the sharp tip from the leaf, then carefully slipped the knife blade into the plump edge and slit the leaf from top to bottom, peeling them apart. I now had two halves, turgid with pale green sap. I turned over one half of the leaf and began to smear the greasy sap over my shoulder. Once worked into skin, it was colorless.
'Tiger-'
'If you want to save time,' I interrupted, 'you might cut off some leaves and give me a hand.'
'What is it, and why are you doing that?'
'Alia oil,' I explained. 'The same stuff you put on your gelding's pink skin, remember? It protects it from sunburn.'
Del, who had only seen alia oil mixed with a paste in cork– or wax-stoppered pots, not in its pure form, was surprised. 'Oh. But why are you putting it on?'
'Because I'm fresh out of burnouses, and the last time I made this trek to Umir's, I arrived with at least one layer of skin peeling off. I'd just as soon skip the experience this time.' I dropped the depleted half of leaf, began to work with the other. 'Gee, bascha, I can think of a lot of women who'd just love to spread oil all over me. Have you grown immune to my charms? I did bathe yesterday.' I reconsidered. 'Well, half of me got bathed. I'll let you do the clean half. And you might want to put some on your face, even with the hood.'
Del shook herself out of her reverie and bent to cut off leaves. I watched her. Clearly the body was present, but the thoughts were not.
'Have you grown immune to my charms?'
With great concentration she slit the leaf open, frowning. 'What?'
'You're not listening to a word I say, are you?'
She flicked a glance at me, then walked around behind me and slapped the leaf sap-down on my back. 'I want to get going. We can talk on the way.' Strong fingers began to rub oil into my skin.
She wanted to eat on the way, talk on the way. I suppose I was lucky she hadn't insisted I piss on the way. 'Fine,' I said tersely.
After that we worked in silence, which seemed to suit Del. Me, I just got grumpy. It's a sad thing when a dead woman's bones are more talkative than a living woman's mouth.
I insisted we stop briefly at the big oasis at which Alric and I had spent the night. Del clearly wanted to continue, but she'd learned that in the desert one never passes up the chance to refill botas and rest the horses.
She did, however, protest as I pulled up at the outskirts of the oasis, taking time to mark the other travelers present. 'What are we waiting for?'
'Oh, I don't know—maybe checking to see if any sword-dancers are here,' I remarked pointedly. 'We ride straight in without looking and I could end up dead in very short order, and then where would your precious Neesha be?'
Del was annoyed, but she shut her mouth on further protest.
'There's a spring about halfway in. Follow the main path. Keep your eyes open. I'll take the perimeter, then come in from the other side. All right?'
She nodded, giving the gelding a touch of her heels. Sighing, I reined the stud aside and began to reconnointer as I rode the perimeter of the big oasis.
I did not see anyone lying in wait for me, but that didn't mean no one who might challenge me was absent. I aimed the stud down the center path leading toward the spring and remained mounted. Being ahorse gives a man an advantage, usually. Being atop the stud gives me a huge advantage always, as he doesn't take kindly to assailants rushing up at him, even if his rider is the target.
Of course, I didn't know any sword-dancers stupid enough to do such a thing. We—they—aren't assassins, though we will take on death-dances depending on circumstances; the goal is the rit-ual and the challenge, not out and out murder.
Then again, there were no guarantees all sword-dancers would adhere to that unspoken custom. Me killing Musa in a dance had proven to all witnesses that out and out murder might in fact be easier. Of course, supposedly Umir wanted me alive, but I suspected there'd be a few sword-dancers willing to forgo the reward simply for the pleasure of killing me.
I rode down the path, poised for attack. There was a scattering of wagons here and there, with unhitched dray animals resting quietly in such shade as palm trees offer; half-dressed children running around, heedless of the heat—why is it we notice it more when we're adults?—and burnous-clad men and women visiting in small groups, exchanging tales of their travels, describing plans for when they arrived at their destinations. Someone was playing a reed pipe; the thin, wailing melody cut the air. No fires, as there had been the evening Alric and I stayed, merely fire rings with quiet coals hoarded against the evening meal.
As I rode up, Del was at the spring watering the gelding. He had lost his brilliant red tassels at the Vashni encampment, where someone had presented Del with a browband of dangling leather thongs, ornamented with blue beads. He still looked rather silly, especially with the black paint around his eyes, but not as ridiculous as he had wearing Silk's crimson tassels.
She had watered herself as well as her horse and had braided her hair into a single thick plait. To tie it off she'd robbed the gelding of one thong; blue beads clacked quietly against each other when she moved her head. They matched her eyes.
'All right,' I said in answer to her expression, 'so we didn't run into any trouble. But we might have.' I dropped off the stud and let him nose his way in past the gelding, urging him aside with an absent nipping motion of his mouth.
Del handed me a dripping gourd ladle. 'I didn't say anything.'
I drank, swallowing heavily, not caring when water splashed down my bare torso to dampen my dhoti. I now wore a gritty layer of fine dust sticking to the alia oil from head to toe. So much for the half a bath in Julah.
'You didn't have to.' I handed the gourd back. 'I can read your expression: Hurry up; let's go; stop wasting time. And don't try to tell me none of those comments passed through your mind. I know better.'
Del did not attempt it, though clearly she was irritated. 'You said Umir's place wasn't far from here.'
'We'll make it well before sundown.'
'Then hand me your empty botas,' she said, 'and I can fill them.' Because, I knew, it would speed things up.
Shaking my head, I unhooked and handed her two flaccid botas. The others I unloaded and dipped down via tie-ropes into the water, soaking the rough sacking that formed an outer casing for the leather. While wet it helped cool the water, but it wouldn't stay that way for long beneath the sun. And since I doubted Umir would be much interested in replenishing our supplies, and Nayyib might have none as we departed, we needed to conserve.
'You're filthy,' Del commented, sounding somewhat conciliatory—if you want to call being told you're dirty a peace offering. 'You could wash off here, cool down a little.'
'It'll strip off too much of the oil.' I stood, botas dripping, and began to tie them back onto the stud's saddle. 'And I doubt you'd allow me the time to go bargain for a burnous.'
'If the oil is working . . .' Wisely, she let it trail off.
I took the refilled botas from her, tied them on. 'Let's go, basha. We're burning daylight.'
I suspect she knew I was not pleased. But she didn't ask why or suggest I shouldn't be; she simply mounted the gelding and allowed me to take the lead as we rode out of the oasis.
* * *
Umir's place wasn't far, and we did arrive well before sundown. There were no gates, merely an arched opening in the white-painted walls, and I pulled up in front. 'Whatever happens,' I said, 'you've got my back.'
'What are you planning to do?'
