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"They are." Only her lips moved; her teeth were tightly locked.
"Well, then, we don't have anything to worry about," I smiled sweetly. "Do
we?"
Del swung around and walked.
It was the stud who warned us. Maybe by then Del and I both were sick of
walking, saying nothing but thinking a lot; we simply didn't notice. But the
stud did, luckily.
Ears snapped forward. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled noisly, as horses do
when they're unsure. And then he stopped dead in his tracks, popping the reins
taut in my hand.
I smelled them before I saw them. I remembered the smell well--the putrid,
musky stench of death--from brief captivity in the canyon. "I thought you said
the hounds were gone."
"They were." Steel sang as Del unsheathed her sword. "They went back through
the canyon after you, then simply disappeared."
"Well, they're back now."
We weren't following a path, exactly, just making our way on the strip of
ground between canyon and cliff wall. Trees hedged both sides thickly,
close-grown or more widely scattered, while rain dripped from bare branches.
There was little coverage, but the hounds knew how to use what of it there
was.
Wet leaves don't make as much noise as dry ones. Water muffles sound, glues
them together, provides a soggy carpet. But they aren't soundless, either, and
I
heard the hounds around us. Front and sides and back.
No trap-canyon, this time. This time they didn't need it.
It was, as always--at least to me--a day of grays: ash, iron, olive. And now
the hounds as well, dull slate and dappled silver, at one with the rain and at
one with the cliff, paying mind to neither. In silence they slipped through
the trees, heads dipped low, tails tucked, manes flopping on big shoulders.
One-handed, I drew my sword. "What in hoolies do they want?"
"Us," she said.
"You."
Del glanced at me sharply. "You don't mean--"
"I do. You went up that trap-canyon wall and they came in after you. It wasn't
me they wanted. They only chased me because you were already gone. Even then,
they were rather halfhearted about it. What are there--thirty? Forty? Fifty?
More than enough to pull the stud down, and yet they really did nothing at
all."
"Nothing," she echoed. "I've seen the stud, Tiger, and I've seen you. That's
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not all horse blood on your clothing."
Well, no, but I hadn't really taken the time to inspect it. I was stiff and
sore and maybe a bit ragged around the edges, but I was well enough.
"I'll say it again; it's you," I told her. "If they could speak, I'd ask
them."
Del said nothing, watching as the hounds spilled out to encircle us. They kept
their distance, giving us plenty of room, yet I had the feeling that if we
moved, they'd go right along with us. Once again, they worked us, like a dog
set on Southron goats.
"It doesn't make any sense," she said. "The voca would never rescind my year
of response."
"Who?"
"Voca. Those who gather in judgment."
"Theron came after you."
"Theron applied to collect the blood-debt. By voca law, he was required to
give me the choice between entering the circle or going home to accept the
judgment of my peers and teachers." Her face was stark. "As you know, he chose
to dance against me. He lost, because of you. It means no other may challenge
me, until the year is up."
"We're awfully close, bascha. With all the delays we've had, it's only a
matter of weeks."
"Yes, Tiger. I know. But they would never have sent the beasts. It isn't the
voca's way." Her expression was grim. "They would send men, Tiger, and maybe
women. All carefully trained sword-dancers."
"Then why do these hounds want you?"
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"Maybe it isn't me."
I frowned. "I know it's not me, Del."
"Not you, not me." She lifted the sword a little. "Maybe they want this."
I shook my head. "What would a pack of hounds want with a sword, Del? They
can't exactly use it."
"They've been herding us from the beginning."
"Well, yes--"
"They've never really attacked us, mostly driving us toward the north."
"Well, yes, it does seem--"
"She didn't hold them, Tiger. When I sang. They seemed to relish the power,
instead of fearing it."
I thought it over. They had. "Still, Del, I wonder--"
"They're escorting us to someone. Someone who wants this sword."
I sighed. "Seems a bit farfetched to me, Del. Why send a pack of nightmare
hounds when a man--or men--could do as well, if not better? After all, hounds
don't have hands to carry a sword."
"They don't need hands. They've got us."
I glanced out through the drizzle. Gray on gray, perfectly still, in a perfect
perimeter. Staring at Del and her sword. "It just doesn't make sense, bascha."
"Evil rarely does."
I glanced at her sharply. "What do you mean, 'evil'?"
"It depends on your definition," she said, "but evil is usually bad."
The stud still stood and stared, watching the beasts rigidly. Hot breath
warmed my shoulder. "Then you're saying there is a sorcerer--"
"Or loki," she said calmly. "Loki require power. And power lives in this
sword."
I recalled how she'd yelled at me not to use my borrowed sword in the loki
ring.
Could they have siphoned off whatever power remained and used it for
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themselves?
And now they required more.
"Loki," I said in disgust.
"A sword is a sword," Del said. "A jivatma is more than a sword. If I key her
fully, her power can be used against us."
"Well, then, let's not go keying her, shall we?"
Del smiled a little, wryly. "How many do you think we can kill before they
kill us?"
"You just said they don't mean to kill us."
"Probably not, if we cooperate. But I don't intend to go with them."
There comes a time when talk is exhausted and earns you nothing. There comes a
time when action is the only answer, regardless of the odds. Del and I had
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