Sword Singer-Sword Dancer 2 (43 page)

sword, as her mother's did. If the girl would ever step into a circle.

Fine pale hair spilled out into the fur of pelt-swathed pallets. Most of her face was hidden, but I saw the mouth--Del's mouth... the subtle cleft in her chin--Ajani's, I wondered? The curve of one cheek. And lashes curled against it.

I turned. Moved to rejoin Del in our compartment. Found her eyes open, looking

at me; saw the shine of tears in them. Saw the desperate tension in the line of

her mouth as she fought to keep from giving herself away.

I wanted to tell her it didn't matter, that I understood. That I comprehended the incredible tension she had been under, knowing she had left a child behind;

I even recalled our brief discussion of mothers and fathers, and children born

to sword-dancers; Del's pensive melancholy, the undertone of despair. I wanted

to tell her it all made sense now, that I understood, and didn't blame her for

it.

But as I lay down beside her, Del turned from me toward the wooden wall and shut

me out decisively.

I spent the remainder of the night wide awake. So, I knew, did Del.

Thirty-seven

Just before dawn, Del and I were separated. I wasn't happy about it, being more

than a bit concerned for her state of mind, but Telek assured me it was customary. His woman, Hana--with Kalle as a helper--took Del into a compartment

at the far end of the lodge. Telek himself took me into the one he shared with

his family and presented me with fresh clothing.

"Northern garb, not Southron," he apologized courteously. "But we are of a like

size, and there is none here other than our own."

I shrugged. "If I'd come north with only a dhoti, burnous and sandals, I'd have

frozen my gehetties off long ago--or so Del repeatedly told me." I smiled even

as Telek did. "I've gotten used to the weight."

He cast a glance down the way at Hana, busily aiding Del. "I won't ask what passed between you and Stigand last night--it's your business--but I will ask you to recall the agreement you made with me."

I was stripping out of garters, gaiters, boots. "Yes. I remember. I will abide

by the requirements of the trial." I tugged the tunic over my head. "I don't suppose you could give me an idea what to expect?"

Telek shook his head. "I am only one man. The voca is ruled by a majority.

Even

if I told you the sentence I might prefer, others may desire otherwise."

I scratched my chest, loosening hair bound up by close confinement. Hoolies, but

what I wouldn't give to wear the silks and gauzes of the South again, unfettered

by scratchy wool, heavy furs, stiff leather!

"And what you want, Telek, is to see Del gone from Staal-Ysta." Stigand as well,

though I didn't say it; I figured the trial's results would speak for themselves.

Telek's face was grim, eyes oddly hostile. "I am afraid," he said quietly.

"Afraid she will grow too attached, if she stays, and will lay claim to Kalle."

I lowered my voice, not wanting Del--or Kalle--to hear. "But she gave her to you, didn't she? Asked you to raise her daughter?"

Briefly, he nodded. "The day after Kalle's birth, she was given into our care.

We named her, not Del. I had been kaidin to Del's ishtoya before she was elevated to an-ishtoya and became Baldur's--she knew me, respected me, honored

me... and it was a joy to accept the girl. Hana is--barren." He flicked a glance

down the post-lined corridor; everyone else save Hana, the girl and Del was gone, including the dogs and cats. "It was a gift of the gods. But now--"

"Now you're afraid the gift will be rescinded." Grimly, I nodded, tugging on fresh woolen trews. "No more than I am, Telek. I think we have much in common."

He frowned, passing me the brushed wool undertunic. "What would you have to fear, Southroner? What is Kalle to you?"

"Change," I declared succinctly. "I happen to like my life. I like the freedom,

the challenge, the risks. And I like sharing it with Del... unencumbered, you might say, by anything as significant as a child."

"Significant," he echoed. "Indeed, a child has significance. And the man or woman who can't see that is without honor."

Honor, again. A familiar refrain. "It's not that I don't like children, or that

I think Kalle isn't a beautiful little girl--"

"--but you don't want the responsibility." Telek nodded. "Once, I felt the same.

But then once I swore never to take a woman to wife, preferring the ease of uncomplicated relationships." His smile was wry. "We all change, Southroner.

Sooner or later. Some of us more than others." His gaze was on Del's distant head bobbing above the privacy divider.

It sobered me. Too often I didn't bother to think about what would happen when I

got old--well, older, maybe not old--and was unable to earn my living as a sword-dancer. There weren't a whole lot of old or older sword-dancers around; age takes its toll, and we tend to kill ourselves off.

So I don't think about it much. I decided not to think about it now.

I finished dressing in silence. The borrowed clothing was of good wool dyed a deep blue-black: long-sleeved tunic with fringe depending from the neck, ornamented with silver beads that clattered as they collided; soft-combed trews,

silver-tipped fur gaiters cross-wrapped from ankles to knees; heavy leather bracers stretching from wrists to mid-forearm, weighted with round silver bosses.

Hoolies, such vanity!

More yet: a matching belt so wide it guarded nearly my entire midsection, also

elaborately bossed, and finally a heavy wool cloak dyed a rich, bright indigo-teal, to set off the darker color of tunic and trews.

Telek twisted it from shoulder to shoulder, folding it back, then pinned it in

place with massive silver brooches, one on each shoulder. The weight of the cloak spilled down my back, reaching to my boots.

I rolled shoulders unaccustomed to such weight. "If I fell into the lake, I'd drown in all this finery."

"You'd drown anyway; Del says you can't swim." Telek grinned. "Except for the sun-coppered skin and brown hair, you could be one of us."

"No thanks," I said politely. "Too many traditions attached... I'd rather just

be a Southron sword-dancer, whose only obligation is to survival in the circle."

"A worthy ambition," Telek said quietly, then nodded his head in Del's direction. "The an-ishtoya, Southroner--Baldur's greatest student... and his greatest failure."

I turned. For a moment all I could do was stare at Del--white-faced, stark-faced

Del--who wore the same color Bron had, in the circle: somber, unrelieved black,

as well as fur-sheathed, cord-wrapped braids. As I did, she wore bracers on her

forearms, but in place of leather they were silver. At her left shoulder rode the jivatma named Boreal.

She was magnificent. She was also hard and cold as death, whose color she wore

so well.

Her expression was implacable. "They are calling for us."

Telek nodded, preceded us out of the long lodge. His light brown hair had been

freshly braided and wrapped by Hana, and he wore subdued brown. The cloak was warm sienna, reminding me of the South.

As we passed, Hana reached out and caught Kalle by one shoulder, pulling her out

of the way. Del paused, abruptly knelt, brushed back the girl's fine hair. "I will make you proud of me today."

I saw the blossom of fear in Hana's face, though Kalle merely smiled, not comprehending the undercurrents of the moment.

I looked at Telek. His face was grim and hard, though I saw something else in his eyes. Apprehension, impatience, a tremendous tension struggling to show itself in spite of the iron grip he had on his emotions. He saw me looking at him, abruptly pushed open the door. "The circle awaits, Del."

She rose. Fingertips lingered briefly in Kalle's hair. Then she walked resolutely away from the girl.

As we stepped out, I was grateful for the voluminous cloak. Pinned back for effect and ease of movement, it lacked the freedom I needed for total warmth, but at least there was a little. The air was crisp and clear and cold; snow and

turf crunched under my boots.

The light, as yet, was newborn, filtering through bare-branched trees to paint

faint striped patterns on the ground. It lent everything an ethereal, blue-gray

tint, polishing the silver of the sword hilts strapped to so many backs.

Everyone was gathered, even the smallest of children.

In the center of the clearing stood nine men, among them Stigand. Each of them

bore a sword. Telek gestured me to stand aside, away from the center, though separate from the audience. Del he took to the very center, before the voca, and

commanded her to stand before those who would judge her.

She took her place. She was in profile to me, sharp as glass, rigidly correct.

Whatever sentence they would declare, she was ready for it.

Telek went first. He drew his sword, stepped close to Del, set its tip into the

ground. And pressed, thrusting it down, until the hilt and half the blade stood

upright in the dawn.

Nine men followed suit, until she was caged by a circle of swords. Her own she

wore on her back.

Stigand stood in the middle of the line of men, side by side, framed by those who were younger and stronger than he. But none, I knew, with his power; I hoped

it would be enough.

For the sake of the an-ishtoya's sponsor, he spoke in Borderer. "Declare yourself before us."

"Delilah," she answered quietly, "daughter of Staal-Ysta."

"Why are you come before us?"

"To stand trial for the death of the an-kaidin Baldur, whose life I took last year." Del drew in a breath. "To expiate the blood-guilt and to pay swordgild for his loss."

The silence was heavy. Unobtrusively I glanced around, trying to judge the others. I saw stiff Northern faces; heard crisp Northern comments in the tongue

I didn't know. They were not disposed to give her leniency for the death of the

old an-kaidin.

"Tell us why," Stigand said.

"I needed to blood my jivatma."

"But why blood it in Baldur? He was not an honored enemy--he was an honored friend!"

Oh, hoolies. Now Stigand was angry.

"I needed him," Del said. "I needed him in my sword."

Stigand's voice shook. "Tell us why, then. Tell us why it was worth his life."

Del told him. She spoke to Stigand, not to the others, though they could hear as

well. So could everyone else. Quietly, unemotionally, she related what had happened to her family. How Ajani and the raiders had destroyed everything she

knew. The dry factuality of her report stripped the impact completely from it,

and made me fear for the result.

At last she finished her explanation. It wasn't really a defense, being little

more than a tale related, and I was afraid the icy control she exerted over herself would prejudice them against her.

Now it was my turn.

Stigand's eyes were sharp. "Will the an-ishtoya's sponsor step forward and declare himself?"

It wasn't really a question, though he phrased it as one. I stepped forward a little, heard murmured comments, tried to catch Del's eyes and failed. Her gaze

was locked on the voca.

"I am the Sandtiger," I said. "Born of the South, born of the Punja... I'm a sword-dancer, seventh-level."

The declaration produced silence.

After a moment, Stigand nodded. "This man is known to me. He is indeed the Sandtiger, bearing the scars of the cat he killed to gain a name, won in honor

and dignity."

Well, there hadn't been much dignity about it, really. The cat had nearly killed

me. It had been sheer good fortune that I'd dodged the worst of his paw-swipes

while managing to pin him against the rocks with my crude spear, until I pierced

his vitals.

Honor? Maybe. I'd just wanted my freedom; it had seemed the only way.

Stigand droned on. "You have come to Staal-Ysta as sponsor to the an-ishtoya."

I said I had.

"Knowing what the responsibility entails."

Well, more or less; I'd support Del's story and tell them I thought her actions

had merit. I said so.

"Willing to accept that responsibility in whatever form it takes."

Inwardly, I sighed. Told him I'd agreed. Wished they'd hurry up--

"How well do you know the an-ishtoya?"

Hoolies, at this rate it would take all day just to establish my credentials!

Briefly, I told the voca I'd spent the last ten months riding with Del, and that

I probably knew her as well or better than anyone, since we'd been bedmates as

well as swordmates, and had sparred with her in the circle as well as dancing in

exhibitions, and had accompanied her on missions of employment, easily verifiable if they wanted to take the time to track down our Southron employers.

I thought that might shut him up; it would take a very long time.

Stigand's expression was fierce. "And do you support everything the an-ishtoya

has said? Do you support her reasons for killing Baldur?"

It was a true test, and tricky. I'd have to choose my answer carefully.

Cursing my lack of fluency in Borderer, I nonetheless embarked on what I hoped

was an eloquent, impassioned defense of Del's actions. But halfway through I ran

out of eloquence entirely, stopped, took another step forward.

"It doesn't matter," I told them. "What matters is the voca's interpretation of

her actions, not a decision based on wrongness or rightness. We all have been faced with doing things we'd rather not do. I doubt any of us enjoys killing people, but we do it when we have to. I say that have to is determined by the strength of the circumstances." I drew in a breath. "Del swore an oath on the souls of her murdered kin as well as her jivatma that she would avenge their deaths. That in itself has honor, as taught here at Staal-Ysta. But she knew her