'The rock formation we brought down when you broke your sword. When Chosa Dei fought Shaka Obre.' Oziri had called it Beit al'Shahar.
Del pointed. 'That way.'
'West.'
She nodded. So did Nayyib.
The stud and I were facing west. Del's gelding and Nayyib's bay faced south, toward Julah, with the oasis not terribly far behind them. East lay behind me, and that was the way I—or my bones—wanted to go.
Well, we don't always get what we want. I clucked to the stud and headed him toward the road. Once there, I stopped. Shuddered from head to toe.
Del's expression was concerned. 'What is it?'
'I don't know. Something …' I shook my head, knowing how it sounded. 'Something keeps telling me we need to go east. Or I do, at least.'
'What's east?' she asked.
A dead woman, apparently. A scattering of bones: pearls of the desert.
'The Punja,' I said.
A line appeared between her brows. 'It makes no sense.'
'And I agree with you wholeheartedly,' I said. 'All I know is, something in me wants to go east.'
Nayyib, wisely keeping out of the conversation, looked past me and changed the subject. 'Someone's coming.'
I turned in the saddle, looking in the direction of the oasis. A cloud of dust accompanied the ride, obscuring the horizon. I noticed then that one arm was waving. A man's voice was raised over the hoofbeats of his horse.
'Wait!'he cried. 'Wait!'
'Someone from the oasis?' Nayyib wondered.
'Wait!' He sounded frantic; had something happened at the oasis that required help?
'Guess we'll find out,' I said. At least the distraction kept me from heading east.
The stud snorted, pawed, shifted sideways restlessly, not happy to be standing in one spot. I reined him in, had a brief discussion with him when he protested, and glanced up as the rider grew closer. I could make out his features, but I recognized none of them.
'Wait!' he called.
Then I saw the flash of steel.
I twisted, gesturing at Del and Nayyib with a sweeping left arm. 'Move! Out of the way!'
As I swung back, yanking blade free of sheath, everything around me slowed. Swearing, I reined the stud back sharply, off the road, but by then it was too late. The rider neither reined in nor reined aside. With sword raised above his head, he crashed his dun horse into the stud.
Perception fragmented into shards of images, impressions. I felt the impact rock the stud, knocking him sideways. Was aware of the dun's head smashing into my left elbow, of rolling eyes and hot breath. The stud staggered, nearly went down. A flash of steel blinded me even as I tried to yank the stud's head up into the air, trying to keep him on his feet, to pivot left so I would have a clean line for my own blade. But we were too cursed close, my assailant and I, with our horses jammed together.
I dropped the reins and, cursing, hammered a fist into the dun's nose, trying to get him off me, off the stud. I saw the flash of a blade, brought up my own. In the mass of tangled horseflesh it was impossible to parry properly, but I did block the worst of the blow's impetus. Then the stud was trying to fight the dun, mouth agape, neck snaking, head swinging sideways, teeth snapping.
The dun reared, screaming. My stirrups were gone anyway; I pushed off, diving sideways, and lost my sword on the way down. I landed hard, tasted sand and blood, saw stars; I tried to scramble up, to get out of the way, but my momentum was off, and I tripped over my sword and fell. Escape was now impossible in the midst of the equine battle; I couldn't tell which way was up or down, in or out. I just rolled myself up in a tight ball, arms hooked over my head, and prayed no hoof would land on any part of my anatomy.
Dimly I was aware of shouting. Del's voice. Nayyib's. And a stranger's. The screaming was terrible, the frenzied trumpeting of an enraged stallion. I focused on it, sorted out which direction it came from, and decided to take the chance. I lunched upward from the ground, ran two steps, fell again, rolled, came up into a crouch. In the midst of the battle I saw Nayyib dart in on foot and bend, sword bared. He sliced at something, and nearly got his head smashed for his trouble. But I saw the dun go down as Nayyib leaped back out of the way, and realized what he'd done.
The rider flung himself off as his mount, hamstrung and pressured by the stud, crashed to the ground. He rolled away, scrambling even as I had, and lunged upward—only to come face to face with Del. He had lost his sword in the melee, but grabbed for his knife. Del, who still claimed her blade, used it with fierce efficiency, driving it through his belly.
The stud reared, trumpeted again, came down with both front hooves striking. I heard the sickening crunch as he smashed the dun's skull. He spun then, took two leaps away, whirled back and stood trembling, front legs twitching, tail slashing. Ribbons of sweat rolled down his flanks.
And blood.
Nayyib was there immediately. Not everyone will approach a horse in the stud's condition; probably no one should. He could easily strike again, or bite. But Nayyib caught the cheekstrap of his bridle, quickly looped the rein around his nose, then through bit shanks, and pulled it taut. He was done so quickly the stud had no chance to react. Nayyib held him there, soothing him with his voice, using the looped rein as a makeshift stud-chain.
Del was with me. 'Are you all right?'
I spat blood and sand, felt grit in my teeth. Wiped a hand across my mouth and managed only to smear things around. 'Fine.' I tried to get up. My left leg protested vociferously. I sat back down. 'Well, maybe not so fine.' I inspected the sore leg. The side of my knee was scraped and sore. But what—? Oh. Yes. I recalled the dun's shoulder slamming into the stud, with my leg trapped between.
Del knelt, putting one hand on the reddened, abraded area. 'Is it broken?'
'I don't think so. But I'm betting it'll color up nicely by morning.' I tried again, arrived on my feet. The leg was very sore but whole. I was lucky it hadn't been crushed. 'I've got to see the stud.'
'Nayyib has him. He'll be fine.'
I limped over anyway, talking to the stud as I approached so I wouldn't startle him. 'He's cut,' I said sharply.
Nayyib, still holding the stud's head, nodded. 'Sword blade. Just a slash, I think, but painful.'
It was in the fleshy part of the stud's left haunch, about six inches long. It wasn't deep enough to sever muscle, but it had laid the flesh back. Blood bathed his left hind.
'Oh, son,' I murmured, 'the bastard got you.'
'It'll need stitches.' Nayyib stroked the stud's nose gently even as he worked the rein. 'I have silk thread in my pouches, and a needle.'
The stud, bothered by dripping blood and sweat, kicked out sideways with his left hind. I shook my head. 'He's not about to put up with that right now.'
Nayyib nodded. 'We'll need to get him down, have someone sit on his head. And tie his legs—and probably his tail—so he can't kick or blind me.'
I looked at him sharply. 'You?'
'I've done it before.' He smiled crookedly. 'When I was no longer a child playing with sticks, I dreamed of being a sword-dancer in my head. What I did outside of it was work with stock; my father has a small horse farm near Iskandar.'
'Then why aren't you there?' I asked. 'Or do you have so many brothers he doesn't need you?'
'Oh, no, there is only me and my sister. But we had a disagreement, he and I.'
'Don't tell me. You told him you wanted to be a sword-dancer.'
Nayyib soothed the stud with his hands and voice. 'He did not approve.'
I sighed, winced as I put too much weight on my aching leg. 'I think about all I'm good for is sitting on his head. But he'll go down if I give him the signal; I trained him to that for sandstorms.'
Nayyib looked doubtful. 'After a fight?'
