Sword Sworn-Sword Dancer 6 Read Online Free PDF Page B

saddle,
    walked him out enough to know he was done with the battle.
    Applause, whistles, and cheering rang out. Coin changed hands as wagers were paid off. But I knew
    better than to count it a victory, no matter what the crowd believed. The stud had merely gotten bored.
    I dismounted and walked back over to Del with said stud in tow, supressing a limp. Her expression
    was sublimely noncom-mital.
    In a pinched voice, I said, "Remember how just the other day I said I felt younger?"
    Del raised brows.
    "Add about two hundred years to the total."
    One of the horse-boys came up, offering to strip down the stud and walk him. It was a warm day
    and all the excitement and exertion had resulted in sweat and lather. He needed cooling. I needed
    cooling. I wanted water, ale, and a bath. In that particular order.
    Oh, and a new spine.
    But of course under the eyes of the audience, many of whom had wandered in from the street when
    they heard the commotion, I stood straight and tall, saluted them, and strolled casually toward the
    alleyway leading to the street, pausing only to ask Del if she were coming, since she showed no signs of
    it.
    "And stop laughing," I admonished.
    "I'm not laughing. I'm smiling."
    "You're laughing inside."
    "My insides are mine," she observed, "to do with as I please."
    "Are you coming?"
    "I'll stay here and buy a horse, I think. And tack for both mounts. I'll meet you back at the inn."
    I opened my mouth to oppose Del's foray into shopping without my presence, then thought better of
    it. She was a woman, and it was the South, but Del had proved many times over that only the rare man
    got the better of her.
    That rare man being me, of course.
    I gathered up harness and sword and took myself off to the inn. And ale. And a hot bath.
    THREE
    FLESH has turned to leather beneath the merciless sun. Eye sockets are scoured clean. Teeth
    shine in an ivory rictus. Wind, sand, and time have stripped away the clothing. She wears bone,
    now, little more, scrubbed to match the Punja's crystalline pallor. Modesty lies in rills of sand
    blown in drifts across her torso —
    I woke up with a start as Del came into the room, creaking the door. Completely disoriented from
    the dream fragment, I stared at her blankly, slowly piecing back awareness, the recognition that I was
    still in the half-cask I'd ordered brought up and filled with hot water. That the water had cooled. That
    there was a real possibility I might never move again.
    Del's expression was quizzical as she shut the door. Her arms were full of bundles. "I can think of
    more comfortable places to sleep—and positions to sleep in."
    With care I pulled myself upright, spine scraping against rough wood. In an hour or so I might
    manage to stand. Scowling, asked if she'd spent every last coin we claimed.
    Del was piling bundles on the bed. "Supplies," she replied crisply. "I assume we're leaving tomorrow,
    yes?"
    I rearranged stiff legs with effort and hauled myself dripping out of the cask, swearing under my
    breath. "Yes."
    Del tossed me the length of thin fabric doubling as a towel, examined my expression and movements,
    then frowned. "Your hands are hurting."
    "Yes." I wrapped the cloth around my waist.
    "Tiger-"
    "Leave it, Del. I just banged them around on the stud, that's all." I bent, carefully grasped the jar of
    ale I'd set on the floor beside the cask, and upended the remaining contents into my mouth.
    She clearly wanted to say more, but did not. Instead she turned back to the bed and began sorting
    through bundles. "Food," she announced, "suitable for travel. New botas; we can fill them in the morning.
    Medicaments. Blankets for bedding. A griddle. Flint and steel." There was more, but she left off
    anounc-ing everything.
    "What about a mount for you, and tack?"
    "Arranged. We can collect the stud and my horse first thing tomorrow morning."
    "Do we have any money left?"
    "Not much," she admitted. "Refitting is costly."
    I could not get the memory of the