Sword Maker-Sword Dancer 3 (39 page)

Del inspected the finger as best she could in poor light. "Hard enough to shred

the skin. You're bleeding."

"Blood washes off--ouch--"

"Sorry," she murmured.

Her head was bent. Pale hair obscured her face; fell softly over her shoulders;

lingered on her breasts. I couldn't see her expression. Only hear her voice.

Smell her familiar scent. Feel her hands on mine.

Arousal was abrupt.

Oh, hoolies, bascha--how long can this go on--?

"It's raining." Del glanced up, peering at the sky through the place where the

roof had been. Lips parted. Hair fell away from her face. A sculpted, flawless

face made brittle by years of obsession. By months of determined focus.

I thought suddenly of Adara, who'd be more than pleased to have me. But wasn't a

substitute; for Del, what woman could be?

"So it is," I said tightly.

Raindrops crawled through her hair, running with pinkish blood, the blood from

my bitten finger resting, like my hand, unquietly on her shoulder. Wanting to cup her jaw; wanting to touch her face; demanding to lock itself tightly in slick pale hair--

Del swallowed visibly. "We should get under cover."

I didn't even blink as water ran down my face. "Yes, we probably should."

Del looked at me. Neither of us moved.

Rain fell harder yet. Neither of us moved.

My voice was unsteady. "I can think of better places."

Del didn't say anything.

"I can think of dryer places."

Del didn't say anything.

Tension exploded between us. "You'd better go back," I said harshly. "I don't know how much longer I can respect your precious focus."

Del touched my face. Her sword hand trembled.

Oh, Delilah--don't--

In the darkness, her eyes were black. "To hoolies with my focus."

Five

By dawn, we were back in bedrolls. This time we shared one, spreading blankets

and pelts in the chill of a too-damp morning, trying to hide from the breeze curling down through dripping blankets.

"Too long," I murmured weakly. "Can we forget your focus more often?"

Del, pulling hair from beneath my shoulder, twisted her mouth a little.

"Sidetracked already; I told you men can't keep their minds on anything if a woman is at issue."

It didn't sting at all, because she didn't mean it to. I found it a welcome respite. "Have I destroyed your concentration?"

"Last night, certainly. But not today."

"No?"

"No," she answered lightly. "I'll ask my sword for it back."

For some strange reason, it disturbed me. "Bascha--you don't mean it."

"Of course I mean it."

I twisted sideways, putting room between us, so I could look at her clearly.

"Do

you mean to tell me you plan to shed all the humanity you just regained?"

Del's brows arched. "And do you mean to tell me I should forget who I am in the

name of a single night's bedding?"

I scraped at a stubbled cheek. "Well, I sort of thought it might lead to more than a single night's bedding. Like maybe lots of single night's bedding all strung together, until we can't tell them apart any more."

Del thought about it. "Possibly," she conceded.

I was moved to protest, but didn't. Couldn't. I saw the glint in her eyes.

"Hoolies, I think she's thawed!"

But the amusement faded away. "Tiger, I dismiss nothing about last night. But neither can I dismiss what I came here to do."

I sighed, stretched out again, scratched at an eyebrow. "I know. I wish I could

ask you to forget about Ajani, but I don't suppose it would be fair."

"I'd never ask it of you."

No, maybe not that. "But you did try to sell my soul to Staal-Ysta for a year."

Del stiffened beside me. "And how many years will you remind me?"

I lay there not breathing. Not because of her tone, which was a combination of

shame, distress, irritation. And not because of her posture, which bespoke the

deep-seated pain. But because of the words themselves.

"Years," I echoed softly.

"Yes." She was irritated. "Will you bring it up once a year? Twice? Even once a

week?"

I swallowed heavily. "Once a year, I think."

"Why?" The cry was instinctive. "Haven't I said I was wrong?"

"Once a year," I repeated, "because it means we have that year."

Del lay very still. She didn't breathe, either. "Oh," was all she said, after a

time of consideration. Of self-interpretation.

The prospect was frightening. But also strangely pleasing.

I'm not alone anymore.

You could argue I hadn't been, not really; not since Del and I had first joined

up, except for a couple of enforced separations. But we had not, until this moment, explored anything past the moment. Sword-dancers never do.

Men and women must.

Which led me to other things. "I wonder if he is ..." I let it trail off.

Del shifted beneath blankets. "Wonder what? About who?"

"If he really is my son."

She smiled. "Would it please you if he is?"

I thought about it. "I don't know."

"Tiger! A son."

"But what good is it to discover you have a grown son you never knew existed?

And that if he does exist, it's only because of a bedding you can't even remember."

Del's tone was dry. "Have you had so many as that?"

"Yes."

She eyed me askance a moment, then rolled her head straight again and stared up

at the lightening sky. "Well, a son is a son. It shouldn't matter how he was gotten, just that he was."

"How Kalle was gotten matters."

I thought she might snap at me, as she can. I thought she might swear at me, as

she can; I taught her most of the terms. I thought she might even withdraw altogether; she's very good at that, if she's of no mind to share. Del hides herself very well.

But this time she didn't try.

Del sighed heavily. "Kalle was never Kalle. Kalle was a cause. Kalle was an excuse. She justified the pain. She made it easier to hate."

"So you could give her up."

"Yes. So I could fulfill my oaths."

"Which were made before you even knew you were pregnant."

Del frowned. "Yes. I made them even as my kinfolk died; even as Jamail burned;

even as Ajani broke my maidenhead. Does it matter when? They were made. Well worth the doing. The honor is worth the strife."

Like Del, I stared at the sky. "You gave up a child. Why should I acknowledge mine?"

After a lengthy, painful silence, Del turned her head away. "I have no answer for you."

"There isn't one," I told her, and rolled over to pull her close.

I had fully expected, when Del discovered it, she would say something about the

new sword. But not that it was broken.

I turned from arranging bedding to dry in the sun. Except there wasn't any; clouds still choked the sky. "What?"

"It's broken," she repeated.

"It can't be!" I stepped across bedding and stopped dead by the new scabbard.

It

lay precisely where I had left it: on a blanket by Samiel.

The sword was spilled out of the scabbard. The blade was broken in half.

"Bad steel," she said.

I shook my head. "It wasn't. I'm sure of it. I examined it carefully."

Del shrugged; the weapon, being plain, unmagicked sword, held no interest for her. "When pressed too hard, it can break. Who did you dance against? Alric?"

"Del, I didn't dance. Not against anyone. All I did was buy this sword. I've never even sparred with it."

"Bad forging, then."

"I'd never buy a bad sword. You know that." Now I was irritated. It shouldn't matter that it wasn't a Northern jivatma, only that it was a sword I was entrusting my life to. Or would have, had it been whole. I inspected the sword

closely. "The hilt and this half look perfectly normal. Let's see the rest of it."

I picked up the scabbard, turned it upside down, shook the rest of the blade out. It landed on the hilt half with a dull, ugly clank.

Del's indrawn breath was loud.

"Black," I said blankly.

"Just like your jivatma."

We locked eyes for only an instant. And then I was grabbing harness, grabbing scabbard, closing a hand on the hilt. And jerking it from the sheath.

Samiel was whole. Samiel was unchanged. Steel shone bright and unblemished--except for black charring stretching fully a third of the blade.

"There's more," I said. "More discoloration."

Del didn't say a word.

I looked at the broken blade. "He unmade it," I said plainly.

She knelt down beside me, looking more closely at the jivatma. "He's trapped in

your sword."

"He unmakes things," I declared. "Don't you understand? The new sword was a threat. He wants me on his own terms, not risking a loss by default."

Del's tone was carefully modulated. "Tiger, I think you're--"

"--sandsick? No." Somehow, I was certain. Don't ask me how. I just knew, deep in

my gut, deep in my heart, deep in the part of me no one else could share.

"I'm

beginning to understand. I think I'm beginning to know him."

"Tiger--"

My look cut her off. "You said he'd come to know me. Why can't I come to know him?"

Alric stepped into the doorway. "Do you want to spar?" He asked. "They're betting on matches at the circles... there are wagers to be won."

Del and I looked at him. Then we looked at the sword.

Thinking of Chosa Dei.

"When?" I asked aloud, of anyone who might know. "When is this jhihadi supposed

to arrive?"

Del and Alric were equally uncertain of the question, and why I would ask it.

They exchanged glances, then looked at me, shrugging.

"I know as much as you," Del said.

I shot a glance at Alric, still plugging the doorway between our two rooms.

"You've been here longer."

"The Oracle's coming," he answered. "I imagine he's supposed to get here first.

Since he's the one foretelling the coming of the jhihadi, I'd think he'd want to

do it from Iskandar instead of just tribal gatherings."

Something sounded odd. "Tribes," I said intently. "Are you saying this Oracle is

aiming his foretelling only at the tribes?"

Alric shrugged. "I imagine his foretelling includes everyone; wouldn't it have

to, since he's talking about the South? But all anyone knows for certain is he's

moving among the tribes." He paused. "Or else they're coming to him."

I thought back to the discussion Abbu Bensir and I had had with Del regarding tanzeers, jhihadi, tribes. "I don't know how much of this is real, or how much

of this is some ambitious man's attempt to gain himself a name," I said slowly.

"You'd think if he wanted the obvious kind of power, he'd go straight to the tanzeers. They rule the South... parts of it, anyway."

"But they're corrupt," Alric remarked. "Tanzeers are bought and sold all the time. Domains fall overnight."

"There are people who aren't corrupt," I said evenly. "Southron people whose only interest is in surviving, in keeping alive their own way of life. They owe

nothing at all to tanzeers, and they ignore the petty pacts and power struggles.

All they do is live, drawing strength from their homeland."

"The tribes," he agreed.

"I should know," I said. "I grew up with one."

Del shook her head. "I don't understand."

I frowned, trying to put it into words that meant something. "The tribes are all

little pieces of the South. Different races, different customs, different religious beliefs. It's why no one can really rule the Punja... the tribes are

too fragmented, too difficult to control. And so the tanzeers content themselves

with the pieces they can control, and the people... the tribes are left alone."

Del nodded. "You said something like this before, with Abbu."

"Now I'm wondering if this jhihadi nonsense has nothing whatsoever to do with the tanzeers--at least, directly--but is aimed instead at the tribes." I chewed

my bottom lip. "The tribes, put together, outnumber the rest of us. No one really knows how many there are--they live in all parts of the South, and almost

none of them stay put. Which makes it impossible for anyone to deal with them,

even if they wanted to."

Del nodded. "So?"

"So, if you were a man who wanted absolute power, what is the surest way of getting it once and for all without involving tanzeers?"

She didn't waste any time. "By uniting the tribes."

I nodded. "Which might explain why so many tanzeers are leaving their domains to

come to Iskandar. Not because of the jhihadi. Because of the tribes. They're hiring sword-dancers to mount a defense of the South."

Alric shook his head. "Impossible," he said. "I'm a Northerner, yes, but I've lived in the South for years. I don't think anyone could unite all the tribes,

for all the reasons you've given."

My turn to shake my head. "It's a matter of language," I said. "All you have to

do is find the sort of message that appeals to every individual tribe, and then

use the proper language."

"Religion," Del said flatly.

Now I nodded. "Religion, stripped of faith, of belief, is nothing more than a means to enforce the will of a few upon the many. Don't you see? Tell a man to

do something, and he may not like the idea. He refuses. But tell him his god requires it, and he'll rush to do the task."

"If he believes," Alric cautioned.

"I don't know about you," I said, "but I'm not a religious man. I don't think there's much use in worshiping a god or gods when we're responsible for our own

lives; relying on something--or someone--you don't know is a fool's game. But a

lot of people disagree. A lot of people arrange their lives around their gods.

They talk to them. Make offerings. Ask them for aid." I looked at Del. "They make oaths in the names of those gods, then live their lives by those oaths."