Sword Maker-Sword Dancer 3 (8 page)

sickened I had been? How much in that moment I had wished myself in her place?

How could I tell her I was absolutely certain she would die--and I couldn't bear

to watch it?

And so I had left her. While she lived. So I could remember her alive.

For me, it was very important. It was necessary. It was required, as so many things have been required of me. Required by myself.

Silence, while I sat there waiting for her to say something about my cowardice.

My lack of empathy. My willingness to leave her on Staal-Ysta before her fate was known. I'd made her ask my forgiveness; now I needed hers.

And then, at last, a response. But her tone was oddly detached. "You should have

killed me. You should have finished it. Blooding and Keying in me would have made you invincible." Del sighed a little. "The magic of the North and all the

power of the South. Invincibility, Sandtiger. A man to be reckoned with."

I drew in a steadying breath. The worst, for me, was over. I think. "I'm already

that," I said dryly. "I'm everything I want to be right now, this minute, here.

I don't need magic for that. Certainly not the kind of magic that comes from killing people."

Del tightened wrappings, locking the cold away. Locking herself inside, as she

did so very often. "You should have killed me," she said. "Now I have no name.

A

blade without a name."

There was grief. Anguish. Bitterness. The painful yearning of an exile for a land no longer hers. For a world forever denied, except in memories.

I stared blindly into the dark. "And a song that never ends?"

Clearly, it stung. "I will end it," she declared. "I will end my song. Ajani will die by my hand."

I let a moment go by. "What then, Delilah?"

"There is Ajani. Only Ajani."

She was cold, hard, relentless. Focused on her task. Her sword had answered her

plea.

But how much of it was the sword? How much merely Del? How responsible are any

of us for what we do to survive, to make our way in the world?

How hard do we make ourselves to accomplish the hardest goal?

Quietly, I said, "I'm not going South."

Huddled in bedding, Del was little more than an indistinguishable lump of shadow

against the ground. But now she sat up.

The moonlight set her aglow as blankets fell back from her shoulders: pristine

white against dappled darkness. Her hair, unbraided, was tousled, tumbling over

her shoulders. Curtaining the sides of her face.

She stared at me, frowning. "I did wonder why they told me you were going to Ysaa-den. I thought at first perhaps they lied, merely to trouble me--it was far

out of my way, and yours, if I was to go to the South--but then I found your tracks, and it was true." She shook her head. "But I don't understand why.

You've been complaining about the snow and the cold ever since we crossed the border."

I listened to her tone, hearing echoes and nuances; her fight to maintain balance. "I don't like it," I agreed. "I didn't like it before we crossed the border. But there's something I have to do."

I also didn't like the look of her. The intensity. She was too thin, too drawn,

too obsessed with Ajani. The sword had cut her flesh, but the man had hurt her

more.

Del's tone was carefully modulated so as not to show too much. All the same, it

showed enough. "I thought you'd go south at once."

"No. Not this time."

"I thought the Sandtiger roamed wherever he wanted, unbound by other desires."

She paused. "At least, he used to."

I shut my eyes, waited a beat, answered her quietly. "It won't work, Del.

You've

pushed me this way and that way like an oracle bone for months, now. No more.

There are things I have to do."

"I have to go south."

"Who's stopping you? Weren't you the one who spent five years apprenticing on Staal-Ysta just so you could go south all by yourself? Weren't you the one who

went hunting the Sandtiger with only a storm-born sword for companionship?

Weren't you--"

"Enough, Tiger. Yes, I did all those things. And I have done this thing: I have

come to you asking your help in making me fit again. But if you are unwilling to

give it--"

"I'll give it," I interrupted. "I said that already, after you did your little

ritual. But I can't go south right away, which means if you really want my help,

you'll have to come along."

"Something has happened," she said suspiciously. "Did Telek and Stigand force you to swear oaths? Did they give you a task? Did you make promises to the voca

in exchange for tending me?"

"No. I have every intention of going home as soon as I've tracked them to their

lair. It has nothing to do with oaths to Telek and Stigand, or promises to the

voca. It's just something I want to do." I paused. "And if you don't like it, you don't have to come."

"Tracked who--?" She broke it off. "Those beasts? The hounds? Oh, Tiger, you don't mean--"

"I made a promise, Del. To myself. I intend to keep it."

Wide-eyed, she stared at me, which didn't make me feel any better. No man likes

having it thrown in his face that he's lacked responsibility throughout much of

his life; me making this promise exhibited a new side of the Sandtiger. Del didn't exactly say anything, but then she didn't have to. All she had to do was

stare at me in exactly the way she was.

"Tiger-"

"It's why I'm out here in the middle of a Northern nowhere, Del; why else?

I'm

tracking those hounds. To Ysaa-den or wherever. To whoever--I intend to find the

sorcerer who set them loose."

"And kill him," she clarified.

"I imagine so," I agreed. "Unless, of course, he's polite enough to stop on my

say-so."

She hooked hair behind her ears. "So. You're tracking the hounds in order to kill their master, and I'm tracking Ajani with much the same end in mind.

What

is the difference, Tiger? Why are you right and I'm wrong?"

"I don't want to argue about this--"

"I'm not arguing. I'm asking."

"My reasons are a bit different from yours," I said testily. "Aside from hounding us for more months than I care to remember, those beasts have also killed people. And some were children."

"Yes," Del agreed, "as Ajani killed my kin... including all the babies."

"Oh, hoolies, Del--" I shifted position, wished I hadn't. "What you're after is

revenge, pure and simple. I'm not saying it's wrong--what Ajani did was horrible--but I think you've lost sight of reality. What's driving you now is misplaced pride and utter obsession--and that's not healthy for anyone."

"You think I'd be better off in some man's bed, or in some man's house, bearing

him fourteen sons."

I blinked. "Fourteen might be a bit much. Hard on the woman, I'd think."

Del bit back a retort. "Tiger, do you deny it? Wouldn't you rather see me in some man's bed instead of in the circle?" She paused delicately. "In your bed,

maybe, instead of in your circle?"

"You've been in my bed," I answered bluntly, "and you've been in my circle. I don't know what the first one got you, but the second nearly killed you."

That she hurt was obvious; that I'd cut too deep equally so. "So it did," she sighed finally. "Yes, so it did. As for the first? I don't know. I don't know what it got me. I don't know what it should have--do we put a price on bedding?"

"I'm going north," I told her. "Or wherever it is the hounds go. You can come,

or not. It's up to you. But if you do, we'll put a price on nothing. No bedding,

Del. Will that make you happy?"

She stared back at me. "I thought that would be your price."

"For sparring with you?" I shook my head. "Once, yes. Back when we first met, and you promised me a bedding in place of coin you didn't have. And you paid, bascha. You paid very nicely, eventually... except by that time I wasn't exactly

counting. Neither, I think, were you--so that debt we'll call forgiven." I shrugged. "If you want to come along with me now to get your practice in so you

can face Ajani, that's fine with me. But things can't be the same, not after all

that's happened."

"You won't last," she predicted. "This could take weeks, and you don't do days

very well."

"Bet me," I said.

Slowly Del smiled. "I know you, Tiger. This isn't a fair wager. Not for you.

I

know you."

"Do you? Really? Then let me tell you why it is a fair wager." I held her eyes

with my own. "When a man's been made a fool of, he doesn't much feel like going

to bed with the woman who did it. When a man has been used--without his permission or knowledge--he doesn't much feel like going to bed with the woman

who did the using." With effort, I kept my tone uninflected. "And when that woman, faced with the truth of what she did, adamantly refuses to admit she was

wrong, he doesn't really care about the bedding any more. Because what he likes

in that woman is more than just her body and what it can do for him in bed.

What

he likes in that woman is her loyalty and honesty and honor."

Del said nothing. I don't think she could.

"But then you've sort of set aside all those useless attributes in the last year, haven't you, Delilah? So I guess what I feel doesn't matter so much any more."

Del's face was colorless. "Tiger--"

"Think about it," I said. "And think about me for a change, instead of your oaths of honor. Instead of your obsession."

Shock receded slowly. I'd struck a number of chords within her, but clearly she

was unprepared to deal with what I'd said. And so she returned to the original

topic. "I still say--I still say--the bet is a waste of time."

I shrugged. "So let's test it."

Her eyes were assessive. "How much are you willing to wager?"

I stared hard at her for a moment. Then pulled my sword from its sheath.

It felt right. Warm and good and right, like a woman hugging your neck.

Like a fully quenched jivatma making promises to protect you.

All the hairs stood up on my arms. It took all the strength I had to put the sword down. In fitful, tarnished moonlight, the new-made jivatma gleamed.

Color drained from her face. I nodded confirmation of the question she wouldn't

ask. "Now you know how serious I am."

"But--you can't. You can't wager your sword."

"I just did."

She stared at the weapon lying mutely in front of my knees. "What would I do with it?"

"If you won--and you won't--anything you want. He'd be your sword."

"I have a sword." Her left hand went out to touch the harness and sheath lying

at her side. "I have a sword, Tiger."

"Then sell it. Give it away. Break it. Melt it down." I shrugged. "I don't care,

Del. If you win, you can do whatever you want."

Slowly she shook her head. "You have no respect for things you don't understand."

I cut her off. "Respect must be earned, bascha, not bought. Not even trained, as

it is in Staal-Ysta. Because until tested, respect is nothing but a word.

Emptiness, Del. Nothing more than that."

Still she shook her head. "That sword was made for you--made by you--"

"It's a piece of steel," I said curtly.

"You completed the rituals, asked the blessing--"

"--and stuck it into you." I shocked her into silence. "Do you really think I want a sword that tried to kill you?"

Del looked at Boreal, sheathed by her side. Remembering the circle.

Remembering

the dance.

Her tone was oddly hollow. "I would have killed you."

"You tried. I made you mad, and you tried. Fair enough--it was what I meant to

do, to throw you out of your pattern." I shrugged. "But I didn't want to kill you. I didn't intend to do it. The sword wanted to do it... that bloodthirsty,

angry sword."

"Angry," she echoed.

"It was," I told her. "I could feel it. Taste it. I could hear it in my head."

She heard something in my tone. "But--now it isn't angry?"

I smiled grimly. "Not so much anymore. Just like that hound, it got what it came

for."

Del nodded slowly. "You killed someone, then. After all. You've quenched your jivatma."

I squinted thoughtfully. "Not--exactly. Killed something, yes, but not what you

might expect. And not in the way you told me."

Del, frowning, was very intent. "What have you done, Tiger?"

"Killed something," I repeated. "Cat. White, dappled silver." For some reason I

said nothing about the pelt, which I'd tucked away into saddle-pouches. "But I

didn't sing."

"Snow lion," Del said. "You didn't sing at all?"

"I'm a sword-dancer, Del. Not a sword-singer, or whatever it is you claim. I kill people with my sword. I don't sing to it."

Del shook her head thoughtfully. "It doesn't really matter if you didn't sing aloud. Even a mute can earn a jivatma. Even a mute can sing a song."

I scowled. "How?"

She smiled. "A song can be sung in silence. A song can be of the soul, whether

anyone hears it or not. Only the sword counts, and it only requires the soul and

all the feelings in it."

I thought of the song I'd heard on the overlook by the lakeshore. The song I'd

heard in my head ever since I'd named the blade. Thanks to the Canteada, I'd been unable to forget it.

And now it was my sword.

"I don't need it," I declared. "I don't want it, Del."

"No. But it wants you." She pointed to my sword. "To find you, I used my jivatma. I painted the sky with my sword--you saw all the colors. You saw all the lights. All from a song, Tiger--and you could do the same."

The questions boiled up. "Why did you do it? And how did you find me so fast?