"Poison . . ."

"Yes."

Dread was a blade in the vitals. "She's dying . . ."

"Maybe," he said.

Del's bones in the sand? "Don't let her die."

"It wants a healer," he said. "I need to go back to Julah."

Julah. "Fouad's," I told him. "Cantina."

"Later," he replied. "I'll stay awhile yet."

"I won't die," I said. "Not from a sandtiger."

I heard a breath of laughter. "I don't doubt it."

"Del?"

"Alive," he repeated.

"You swore."

"Yes. I'm not lying. She might die, but she's not dead yet."

It was something.

"Who are you?" I asked.

But before he could answer, the world winked out.

When next I roused, the weakness was less. I still lay on hardpan, itching from sand, but a light blanket was thrown over me and another, still rolled, pillowed my head. A bota lay at hand, as I had left one for Del. I shut fingers on it, brought to my mouth, drank and drank and drank.

"Del?"

No answer.

I opened my eyes. I had no idea what hour it was, or day. Merely that I was alive despite the best efforts of my body to die.

"Bascha?" My voice was hoa.r.s.e.

No answer.

I collected strength. h.o.a.rded it. Hitched myself up on an elbow. Saw the colorful Vashni blanket and the body beneath.

Shadow fell across me. I glanced up, staring blearily at the opening and the man squatting there. "You?" I croaked.

Stubble emphasized the hollows and angles of his face. He was dark as a Southroner, but with the faintest tint of copper to his tan. And those honey-brown eyes, liquid and melting, fringed in black lashes Del would claim too lush for a man, and infinitely unfair when women would kill for such.

"Me," he agreed.

I slumped back onto the ground, wanting to groan. Didn't, since we had company. "If you've come to challenge me-again- you picked a bad time."

"So I see. And no, I haven't. I've learned a little since you killed that sword-dancer in Julah."

When was that? I didn't remember. A day ago. A month. "Then what are you doing here?"

"I am," he said, with grave dignity entirely undermined by a glint of irony in his eyes, "looking after a man who has repudiated his honor. And the infamous Northern bascha who should be lacking in such, being merely a woman, but who appears to have it regardless. Or so some say." He crawled into the lean-to, sat down beside me. "I couldn't ask a dead man what elaii-ali-ma meant," he said, "but I asked another sword-dancer when he came into town."

"Oh, good." I managed my own irony despite the hoa.r.s.e voice. "Then you know. You don't have to challenge me to a dance, because there can be no dance. But you can kill me if you want to." I paused. "If you can."

The faintest of smiles twitched one corner of his mouth. "Well, that would at the moment be a simple thing."

"And where's the honor in that?"

"So I asked myself." He placed a hand against my forehead. "The worst of the fever has pa.s.sed, I think, but you're far from well."

I knew that without being told. "Who are you?"

"My mother named me Nayyib."

"This isn't the road from Julah. What are you doing here?"

"It's a road from Julah," he clarified, "now. And I came looking for you. Fortunate thing, yes?"

"I thought you said you weren't going to challenge me."

"I'm not. At least, not in that way."

That sounded suspicious. "In what way, then?"

"I wish to become a sword-dancer."

I grunted. "I figured that."

"I wish you to teach me."

"What, you just decided this?"

"I decided this in Julah, after you killed that sword-dancer."

"Khashi."

"After you killed Khashi."

"Why? Didn't you originally want to kill me?"

"No. I wanted to dance against you. I didn't know anything about this elaii-ali-ma. You were just-you. After I saw what happened to Khashi and learned what had happened to you, I decided to follow you."

I attempted to frown, which isn't easy when you're sick. "You followed us to Julah."

"Well, yes."

'And at that point you still wanted to challenge me."

"I did. At that point I thought I was good with a sword."

"You don't anymore?"

His mouth twitched. "Not good enough."

"So now you want to be taught by a man who has no honor?"

"A man who once was the greatest in all the South."

Once was. Once. What in hoolies was I now?

Well, sick. That's what.

"So you figure if you look after us while we're sick, you'll earn some lessons."

His tone was exquisitely bland. "I should think saving your lives might be worth one or two."

I shut my eyes. "You're a fool."

"Undoubtedly." He placed the bota under my hand again. "I've tended her, got more water down her, wet the cloth again. And I've watered your horse. Grained him. Tied him under a tree for what little shade there is, and the few blades of gra.s.s."

"Busy boy," I muttered.

He ignored that. "But he'll need more water later. So will she. Can you manage it?" "I'll manage it." How, I didn't know. But I wouldn't admit it to a kid. Especially not this kid, who had a mouth on him.

He seemed to know it anyway. "I'll go to Fouad's and ask him for help. I'll bring a healer, food, and more water. There isn't much left. Ration it, if you want to live. I put wood by the fire."

He had indeed been a busy boy-and it just might save us. "Wait." I levered myself up on an elbow, "You say there's a road to Julah from here?"

"Such as it is. Paired ruts, nothing more."

"We didn't come that way."

"I crossed your tracks."

But Del and I had spent the night with the Vashni, and the kid-Nayyib-had only just reached us. "There's a shorter way. Follow our tracks back to the streambed, and go from there."

Black brows drew together. "Vashni territory. Or is that your way of getting me killed?"

"Oh, I'd do that myself. No-here." With a trembling hand- hoolies, I hate being weak!-I pulled the Vashni necklet over my head, fingerbones clacking. "Wear this. It's safe pa.s.sage."

He stared at the necklet, then flicked a glance back at me. "You're sure?"

"Well, I suppose they might kill you for sheer hard-headedness, but it ought to get you safely through."

He took the necklet, eyed it in distaste, then hooked it over his head. My elbow gave out and I thumped back to the ground. Shut my eyes. "Do it for Del," I said wearily, "not for me."

Against my lids his shadow shifted. Retreated. "I will try," he told me, "to make certain she doesn't die."

When I opened my eyes, the sun was down. And he was gone.

Wind blows. Sand shifts. It creeps upon the bones, begins to swallow them. Legs. Arms.

The collapsed cage of ribs. The jewels that are spine. All that is left is skull. And the sword.

"Find me," she says. Could the bones belong to Del? Could she be dead?

I awoke with a start. "Auuggh," I croaked. "Stop with the dreams, already!"

Sweat drenched me. It stank of sandtiger venom. I rolled to my right side, started to use my elbow, thought better of it as the wounds in my back protested. After a moment I made the attempt to sit upright without the a.s.sistance of arms. Aching abdominal muscles warned me it wasn't such a good idea, but I managed to stay there. Eventually the world settled back into place.

The dream faded. Reality was bad enough.

I turned my head and spat, disliking the aftertaste of fever and poison. Dry-mouthed, nothing was expelled. I found the bota, rinsed my mouth, tried again. Much better. Then I drank sparingly, recalling the boy's warning regarding how much water was left.

I looked across at the blanketed form. Del did not appear to have roused. I set down the bota, took a deep breath, and made my body move.

Well, such as it could. In the end I flopped down on my belly, head near Del's pallet, and hitched myself up on a forearm.

"Bascha?" I peeled back the blanket with my free hand. Del's face remained slightly blotched, a network of red overlaying extreme pallor. Her swollen lips had cracked and bled. I rested a hand on her abdomen, waited in frozen silence, then felt the slight rising and falling.

She breathed.

With effort, I pulled myself upright. Found her bota, shook it, heard the diminished sloshing. I had no idea when Nayyib had been here, when he'd left, or when he might return.

For all I knew it was a week after he'd gone. I thought it more likely a matter of hours, though possibly it was the next day.

I hooked my left hand under Del's head and lifted it, placing the bota at her lips. I squeezed and dribbled water into her mouth. This time she swallowed without choking. I settled her head once more again the bedding.

The cloth across her forehead was dry. I wet it yet again, replaced it, cleared away the trickles that threatened her eyes and ears. "I'm here," I told her. "A little the worse for wear, but still here, bascha."

I did not know when Nayyib had changed her bandages. A torn burnous sat in a pile on her bedding, but I didn't recognize it. The boy's, apparently; and the fabric matched that now wrapping Del's forearm, so he had done that much. I peeled back the cloth to bare the bite wound. I bent, sniffed; did not yet smell infection or putrefaction.

So far.

I searched for and found the bota of Vashni liquor. Once again I poured it into the wound.

And for the first time in-hoolies, I didn't know how many days it was since the attack!-Del opened her eyes. They were hazy and unfocused.

"Bascha?"