Sword Singer-Sword Dancer 2 (46 page)

you would do, without even bothering to ask me."

"I had no choice!"

"That's goat dung, Del, and you know it." Bitterly, I paused. "Well, bascha, you

made your choice--and now you have to live with it. But I sure as hoolies don't."

"Tiger--"

"No." I reined in the fractious stud. "One moment more arguing this with you is

entirely too long, too... so I propose we end it."

"Tiger--wait?"

I reined back, swung the stud, looked down at her. Waited, as she'd asked.

"Tiger--" Del came across wind-wracked turf, leading the gray. She came up to the stud, to the stirrup, put a hand on my leg. "Tiger, I swear... I swear I didn't plan it. It's not why I rode with you, slept with you--I've used you, yes, and I don't blame you for being angry... but I swear I did none of those other things simply to buy myself time with Kalle. But when I saw her, saw what

she could be even without me, I couldn't bear it anymore. I had to do something

to find a way to buy some time with my daughter."

I shook my head. "But you did know, Del. Maybe not what seeing Kalle would do to

you, but you knew there was a chance you could buy your way back into the voca's

graces by offering them a new an-ishtoya." The Northern term came out bitterly.

"You asked me to come, to be your sponsor... and you did it knowing full well I

might wind up in exactly these circumstances." Del's face was ravaged.

"Tiger,

please--" I shook my head. "You told me once I loved you. Maybe so. Maybe I do.

But right now, with all of this, I find it very hard even to like you."

Del, too shocked, said nothing. I turned the stud loose and rode.

Forty

We met again at the dolmen, again after sundown. Stigand looked gloomier than ever, and Telek, who had spent most of the day with the voca, looked decidedly

weary. Also disgusted, which didn't augur well for the results of the meeting.

I folded my arms beneath the borrowed cloak. "The others said no, I take it, to

a special dispensation."

In uplander, Stigand muttered something beneath his breath. Then he muttered more loudly, this time in Borderer. "Fools, all of them. Why should they care about one Southron sword-dancer, who has no respect for our ways?"

It stung me more than I'd expected. "I have respect for your ways," I told him

defensively. Then I thought about my situation. "At least--those I can respect."

Telek's expression was serious. "Will you listen to what I must say?"

His tone chilled me. "Yes."

He turned slightly, staring at the dolmen. "Prospective students come to Staal-Ysta from all over the North. Most are turned away following a period of

probation because they do not measure up." He flicked a glance at Stigand, sucking teeth sourly. "Those who do pass probation are admitted to the rank of

ishtoya. After that, providing they prove themselves worthy, they become an-ishtoya."

He paused. I told him I understood, wishing he'd get on with it.

Telek continued as laboriously as before. "Once the an-ishtoya is judged worthy

by his or her an-kaidin, he or she is given a jivatma and gains the rank of kaidin. This may take as many as ten years, perhaps even longer. Many students

give up. Many fail to complete the training. Some decide to become sword-dancers, like Del, like Theron, therefore depleting the kaidin ranks even

more."

I frowned. "What are you trying to say?" .

Stigand glared at me. "Staal-Ysta survives for teaching. Without students, there

is no reason for being."

Telek's tone was solemn. "Of late, fewer and fewer students are worthy enough...

fewer and fewer of them make rank past an-ishtoya. We need good students. We need those who will make good teachers."

I nodded, comprehending all too well. "And so the voca doesn't want to lose a single student, not even a Southroner made one against his will."

Telek's tone was smooth. "You would bring honor to Staal-Ysta."

I wanted to say something rude. Instead I shook my head, scowling out at the dolmen. An alien sense of futility and despair welled up inside me. What in hoolies was I doing here? Why didn't I just leave? They couldn't keep me here.

Not against my will. Del had pledged me; I'd commited myself to nothing.

As if reading my feelings, Telek turned to his father. "Stigand--it's late, and

growing colder. It does old bones no good to stay out here when it's unnecessary. Why not go to bed and let the Southroner and me discuss this more

fully?"

Stigand smiled slowly. " 'Said the fox to the hound of the hare.' Very well, I'll go... just remember yourself, Telek. Yourself and your kin."

The old man faded into the darkness quickly, more easily than I'd have imagined

for a man of his age, and with that obscure quote. I looked at Telek, frowning

my question.

He smiled, pulled his own cloak more closely, nodded. "Indeed, now we may talk

openly. Stigand is the oldest of the voca; he carries the most responsibility,

and appearances are important. I am the youngest and carry the least. But if it

can be made to appear as though Stigand knew nothing of my plan, his power may

have more value than ever. And he will approve."

"What plan?"

Telek shrugged. "Even though you are judged worthy of the an- honorific due to

your Southron ranking, it's mostly out of courtesy. For anything more, you'd have to prove yourself, just like all the others." He sighed. "This is the North, after all; we're not anxious to give a Southroner the rank Northerners must earn,"

My frown deepened. "No. Of course not."

"How good are you?" he asked. "I mean no disrespect, but the Southron style is

not well known here. When you say seventh-level, it has no meaning as we judge

things. But Stigand has heard of you because Stigand hears of everyone, and Del

has spoken for you."

Ordinarily I'm quick to claim my superiority in the circle. But Telek was so serious and the question sounded like there was more to it than just what showed

on the surface.

"I'm good," I said. "Very good. And if it's any help, Del and I have yet to prove which of us is better."

"And you did beat Theron." Telek's smile was thin, sharp as a knife.

"Why?" I asked. "Why is it so important?"

He looked directly at me. "For you, what would be the easiest way to earn your

freedom?"

"In the circle," I answered promptly. "Just tell me when and where."

Telek laughed, teeth gleaming in the moonlight. "I thought so. Well, perhaps we

have found the simplest solution of all. Southron... if I can get the voca to agree to a dance."

I shrugged. "Easy enough. Appeal to their pride. Appeal to their honor. Make it

Southroner against Northerner... style against style... technique against technique." I smiled. "Make the stakes high enough."

"I thought to," he agreed. "Perhaps something that makes it worth dancing for."

He rubbed his bottom lip thoughtfully. "Something simple... something elegant...

something obvious. We could make the voca as thirsty for it as a drunkard for wine."

A man after my own heart. "Have you any suggestions?"

Telek nodded. "Let me be very plain: if you were a kaidin, the voca would no longer have any say about your dispensation. Del couldn't offer you against her

year with Kalle. You would be a man who had earned rank as we do, following our

customs, and the voca would be made helpless by their own adherence to custom.

They would have to give you that dispensation."

"Fine," I agreed dryly. "How do I get to be a kaidin without spending five or ten years here?"

Telek didn't flick an eyelash. "By beating a chosen champion in the circle."

I stared. Then I laughed. "If it's that simple, why haven't other students tried

the same shortcut?"

"Others have. All have failed."

I nodded thoughtfully. "That's the trick, then? Defeating a champion selected by

the voca?"

Telek's expression gave nothing away. "But not just any champion. One who well

understands your position... one willing to lose a little face in the short run

if only to save some in the long one."

Hoolies, he wanted to throw the dance. "Not exactly the honorable thing to do,

is it, Telek?"

Quite abruptly, he was angry. "She threatens my family, Southron... she offends

my lodge and my woman. That is the dishonor; this is the means to expunge the taint."

The change in him shocked me. But only because I'd been blind. Telek was every

bit as dedicated to Kalle's welfare as Del, and maybe with more right. I should

have seen it sooner; he would help me get free, but only if I in turn helped him.

After a moment, I nodded. "So Del is the issue."

His voice was clipped. "Del is your price. Do you think I can't see it? You were

made for one another, you and the an-ishtoya... you are blades of the same temper, the same edge, quenched in the same blood, regardless of where it was spilled. And if I have to bring dishonor on myself to rid Staal-Ysta of her, I

will do it; it will be worth it. As for you? Take her with you. You want her.

Take her. Win the dance and take her--as an-kaidin, I can nominate you for ritual elevation gained through a sword-dance. One I will challenge you to; I understand the situation better than any, do I not? I comprehend the need for defeat. I will give you this victory, here and now, beforehand, if you will rid

me of Delilah."

"What I understand," I said softly, after a moment, "is that I killed your brother."

Telek's head came up sharply. "Do you think I want revenge for that?"

I laughed, though it held no humor. "It is a possibility. You trick me into a circle on the pretext of winning my freedom, and you kill me. Honorably. All in

Theron's name."

Telek's voice hissed. "This is not because I want revenge--that is Del's personal song." He shook his head, speaking more quietly, clamping down on his

emotions. "No. I want her gone. This is not a dance to the death, merely until

one of us yields. The loser, of course, will be me; if losing to you in the circle guarantees she'll go from here, I'd do it a thousand times."

"So," I said, "if I win--when I win--I become a kaidin on the spot and am therefore free to go where I wish, with no obligation to Staal-Ysta."

"And you take Del with you," Telek agreed. "Don't you see? With you elevated to

kaidin, you are no longer a bargaining stone. Del has nothing with which to buy

her year; the voca will deny her the year with Kalle."

Quietly, I said, "And then, of course, they reinstate her immediate exile."

Telek's eyes didn't waver. "Isn't that what you want? Isn't that your price?"

"Maybe," I said, "maybe. And maybe I don't have one."

The Northerner laughed. "You are a Southroner. A sword-for-hire. You sell your

soul to the highest bidder. In this case, the bidder is me... and my coin is the

an-ishtoya."

I took a deep breath to calm myself, found it difficult. "So much offered for honor," I said. "And yet I think you've thoroughly compromised your own."

It struck home. "What of you?" Telek demanded angrily. "What does it say of your

honor when you accept the terms?"

And I would. I wanted out of here that badly. Del wouldn't thank me, I knew, but

I hoped one day she'd understand. And I'd tell her the truth, too: I believed it

would be better for Kalle. As I believed it would be better for Del, no matter

what she felt. Besides, she'd used me for coin before; two can play her game.

And I'm a fast learner. "When and where?" I asked curtly. Telek's smile was delicately contemptuous. "First, there is the matter of a sword."

"I'm listening."

"Are you? Then listen well: I have a jivatma." In my head, a tocsin rang. "I don't want a jivatma," I said pointedly. "I want a sword, just a sword--a hilt

with a blade attached. Can that be arranged? Can you just loan me a sword?"

Telek's smile was slow. "Go and see Kem." A ripple ran down my back. "I don't want ajivatma." Telek nodded, still smiling. "Go and see Kem. Tell him what you

need."

Forty-one

He looked me dead in the eye, saying nothing. He read me, I knew, with a look--and then peeled back all the layers and looked deeper, deeper, until I shifted uncomfortably.

He didn't smile. "Let me see your hands."

Sighing, I held them out, palm down, showing him the sunburned backs all pitted

with ore flecks and other assorted scars, courtesy of slavery.

He caught them before I could protest. His own were huge, but his grasp was gentle. He did nothing other than hold them. Oddly, it was as if he weighed me

as a man by their feel.

"Over," he said, loosening his grip.

Accordingly, I turned them. The palms were tough, callused, more like hide than

hands. Once again he held them, studying them, and then once again looked me dead in the eyes.

"You should believe," he told me flatly. "You of all people. Haven't you felt the essence ever since you crossed the border? Haven't you smelled it?"

I blinked. "What?"

"The essence," he repeated. "Magic has a smell, a taste, a feel all its own.

Some of us feel it more than others. Some of us are more deeply troubled."

Slowly, he nodded. "I think you are one of them."

I started to protest, to ask him what in hoolies he was talking about, but he ignored me altogether, releasing my hands and moving on to another subject.

"I can give you a sword," he said, " 'just' a sword, as you want... but it won't

stay that way. None of them do. But this one, matched to you..." he shrugged.

"You will have to learn quickly, if you are to control it."

I looked at him through a gauze of acrid coalsmoke. "Telek said--"