Sword-Bound

by Jennifer Roberson

  Equally quietly, I murmured, “I don’t think so. Other sword-dancers are in town. I’d like to leave before this turns into a whole series of dances.”

  Darrion raised his voice. “Do you accept the challenge?”

  I sighed very heavily. “I guess.” I tossed the stud’s right rein to Del, shook my feet free of stirrups, swung a leg across the stud’s broad rump and jumped down. I began to strip out of belt, burnous, sandals, harness.

  “Well, if he doesn’t know who you are,” Neesha said. “Maybe the others don’t, either.”

  I looked up at him, sword in my hand. “All six of them—well, five, not counting Darrion? And we know from our escorts into town that they’ve talked of looking for me.”

  “That doesn’t mean they know who you are. No one expects you to be north of the border.”

  “If a man has heard of me, he’s also heard of these.” I tapped my scarred check, then lifted a hand with its missing little finger. “Rather easy to identify me.”

  “Well,” Neesha said, “just beat them all.”

  Ah, such faith my son had in me. I rolled my eyes, shook my head, stepped out into the street. The paved street. How in hoolies do you draw a circle in a paved street?

  “Not here,” Darrion said. “In the Marketfield.”

  I glared at him balefully, put my sandals back on, and set off in the direction Mahmood and his wagons had gone. Darrion, astonishingly enough, walked beside me, though not remotely close. Then I realized that he would give no ground that might lessen him in the eyes of others.

  Del and Neesha brought up the rear, Del leading the stud. I hoped clothes and harness wouldn’t fall off my saddle along the way. The sword, however, was in my right hand; it wasn’t going anywhere.

  I thought I’d make conversation as we walked. “Nice day.”

  Darrion said nothing.

  “Quite an attractive town, don’t you think? Walls strung with vines and flowers. Adds something.”

  No reply. But his expression was stony.

  “I’m actually impressed by this town. Very advanced. I’ve never seen a paved street.” I paused. “Do you live here or hail from somewhere else?”

  Finally, he looked at me. Glared at me. “No talking.”

  I feigned surprise. “Why no talking? I’m just being friendly.”

  “You are attempting to distract me.”

  I barked a blurted laugh. “No, no…and anyway, a sword-dancer won’t allow his opponent to upset his dance. It’s one of the rules.”

  It was no such thing. Just all part of the dance, if a man elected to distract his opponent. Concentration was all. Lack of it lost the dance. Lack of it killed if the dance were to the death.

  “I do think it’s an attractive town,” I said cheerfully. “The last time I came north, it was winter. Brrrrrr.” I shivered. “Too cold for me. All that snow and ice. I’m just a Southroner. I need warmth in my bones.” Darrion ground his teeth. A muscle leaped in his jaw. “It was especially cold at Staal-Ysta,” I continued. “I don’t see how anyone can live there.”

  That caught his attention. “You’ve been to Staal-Ysta?”

  I indicated Del behind me. “With her.”

  “Did they admit you to training?”

  “That’s not what I was there for.” And it wasn’t. “Besides, a seventh-level sword-dancer doesn’t really require more training.” Which was a lie, but all part of my arsenal. Modest, it wasn’t.

  Darrion’s head snapped toward me. “You’re seventh level? From Alimat?”

  “I have that honor, yes.”

  “Did you know the Sandtiger?”

  My brows shot up. I stared quizzically at the Northerner. “Um, yes. I mean, we met a few times.”

  “In the circle?”

  I supposed it could be said I met myself in the circle. “Sparring, only. Not a true dance. I knew better than to ask it of him.”

  Darrion nodded. I had him talking now. “I would like to meet him one day. Not to challenge him, you understand—that would be foolish—but to learn from him. He has much to teach.”

  I wanted very badly to turn around and see Del’s and Neesha’s expressions, but I didn’t. I could imagine them, anyway. Pure, unadulterated, and undoubtedly delighted amusement.

  “You seem to know your limitations,” I noted. “You wouldn’t challenge him, huh? Well, that’s wise. He’s quite good. The best in the South, in fact. Maybe you’ll meet him someday.”

  Darrion’s attention shifted. He gestured. “Marketfield.”

  We left behind the buildings, the paved street. Marketfield was huge. An ocean of wagons filled the eye. Some folk would work from the back end of their wagons, setting out wares on a blanket. Others raised stalls with canvas sidewalls, awnings. Grass was beaten into a series of paths winding through and around the wagons, creating aisles. Mahmood was here somewhere. It might be a chore to track him down. Then again, there were three of us. And market folk we could ask.

  Darrion gestured again. “This way. There is a practice circle pegged out in the grass.”

  I strode next to him. “Hold frequent dances, do they?”

  “It’s part of Marketday. People enjoy watching. Some wager on the dances. Do you see? Already we are gaining an audience.”

  So we were. The residents knew what was up—they saw two tall, broad-built men carrying swords. I heard excited murmurs rising on the air and calls to summon others to the dance. As we approached the circle, more folk fell in.

  The circle was, as Darrion had said, pegged out. It was a proper one, though in packed dirt. Inside the circle, the grass had been worn away years before.

  At the closest edge, I set down my sword and unlaced my sandals. One at a time, I tossed them to Del. We shared crooked smiles. Neesha didn’t bother to hide his anticipation. I guess it no longer bothered him that his dance had become mine.

  Sandals banished for the moment, I walked to the center of the circle and set down my sword. Even as I did so, Darrion put down his, then retreated to the side opposite me. I shook out my arms, rolled my neck, hunched and lowered my shoulders a few times. Darrion stared at me as if baffled by my actions. As well he could be at his age; it was long before his body would encounter aches and pains.

  I raised my voice to call across the circle. “Who has the honor?” He was the challenger; he could name the person who would tell us to begin.

  He looked straight at Del, still mounted. “One of my own kind. A Northerner, trained on Staal-Ysta.”

  Del nodded matter-of-factly.

  My opponent looked around the mass of people surrounding the circle. “My name is Darrion, and I challenge this man.” It wasn’t necessary to challenge me again or to announce his name, but Darrion wished to be dramatic.

  Surprising everyone, I walked across the circle and stood very close to him, leaning in. In a low voice, I asked, “Are you certain you wish to do this? Are you absolutely sure?”

  Surprised, he stared at me, pulling his head back from my face.

  “You can pick up your sword and walk away,” I said. “I’ll do the same.”

  He spoke in a hissing undertone. “I will do no such thing!”

  “I’m not going to announce my name. But I will tell it to you.” I leaned in even closer, almost speaking into his ear. “You’ve got your wish, Darrion. You’ll dance against the Sandtiger.”

  It took a moment for him to comprehend. Eyes opened wide. His mouth loosened. Color fled his face. He stared and stared, hundreds of expressions kindling in his eyes, in his face. He looked very young, did Darrion. Young and stricken.

  As I backed away, I spread my hands, shrugging. “You never asked.”

  He breathed hard. He looked at paired swords in the middle of the circle. He looked at the crowd gathered to watch, to wager on, the sword-dance. He saw me complete my trip across the circle. He looked again at the spectators, moistened his lips. I recognized the expression on his face: Darrion simply didn’t know what to do.


  I took my place across from him. “Ready?”

  The crowd had fallen into silence. Darrion looked from one man to another to another. It was too much for him, I knew, to yield before he began. Too many people watching. Other sword-dancers in town. A Northern sword-singer, trained on Staal-Yista. The Sandtiger himself waiting patiently across the circle.

  He drew in a very deep breath. Shut his mouth. Firmed his jaw. Lifted his head proudly. “Say it.”

  And Del said it: “Dance.”

  Chapter 17

  THE BEGINNING IS ALWAYS THE SAME. Instead of the fierce beauty of the dance, there is merely the ability to get to your sword first, to take it up, to disarm your opponent if he’s slower than you; to defend, if you’re slower than he. A fair number of dances have been won and lost in the first few seconds of that charge across the circle, that first grasp and lift of the sword.

  We were of a size, Darrion and I. On another day, he might have won the race. But today he did not.

  I was of two minds. I could beat him swiftly so I could disappear as swiftly, or I could teach him a lesson more slowly. And I meant that literally: a lesson. As a shodo.

  So I compromised.

  He came in at me, swinging his sword in a roundhouse maneuver. It was never an effective offense if you’re slow, or unpracticed, or if your opponent knows a thorough defense. He was neither slow nor unpracticed, but I was an opponent who knew a thorough defense. I met his blade with mine, with power, with weight behind it. He did manage to hang on to his blade, though he staggered back a few steps. While he did that, I followed, stepped in too close for swordwork, and met him at the very edge of the circle. He glanced down at the pegs, realized that he was precariously near to stepping out of the circle and thus losing the sword-dance.

  “Duck down and sideways,” I said, holding my blow. “Go laterally. Not backwards or you step out of the circle. Not forward, because you’ll end up too close to your opponent. Laterally. Roll if necessary. Somersault if necessary. Just get the hoolies out of way of your opponent’s blade as you move away from the edge of the circle.”

  His balance was completely off. It’s difficult to remain in the circle when your feet are nearly on the line and your opponent is in your face. Before he could step outside the confines, I reached out with my left hand, closed it around his right wrist and jerked him toward me, away from the line so he wouldn’t forfeit.

  Darrion was astonished that I should do so. It kept him frozen.

  “Oh, for the gods’ sake,” I said, annoyed. “Don’t just stand there. Or I’ll push you to the pegs again, and this time all the way out. I won’t save you. You don’t learn anything that way. Dance!”

  He was not better than his friend Kirit, no matter what he claimed. But he was probably better than the dance he offered me. I’d completely undermined his confidence by telling him my identity, by pushing him so hard right at the beginning. Which had been precisely my intent.

  We danced a bit more, and Darrion recovered a portion of his composure. He was grimly determined to keep up with me. And as he became more confident, more determined, I guided him into a specific maneuver.

  I grinned as blades clashed, and mine went wheeling across the circle. I heard the huge gasp, the indrawn breaths of shock from the crowd. Even Darrion was astonished.

  His sword dipped. He hesitated a fraction. I leaped in, clamped my left hand around his wrist, closed my right hand over the hilt, and ripped the sword from his hand. Within a minute it sat in my hand the way it was supposed to.

  At arm’s length, I placed the tip against his chest, right where his heart beat. “Think ahead,” I said. “Think it through. See it in your head before you ever have to use it.”

  He stood unmoving; wise for a man with a sword tip at his chest. “You released it on purpose,” he accused. “Your sword. You planned that.”

  “That’s what you must do. Plan it. Think ahead. Think it through. See it, and when you must, you will use it. But you have to remember one thing.”

  He stared at me, asking with his eyes.

  “You have to be as skilled, or better, than your opponent. Because someone else who loses his sword and then takes yours may not be as forgiving as I am today.” I backed up, put out my left hand without looking, and my sword grip was slapped against my palm. I flipped both blades into the air, crossing one another in front of me. I caught them both, his in my left, mine in my right. “Think it through, Darrion. See it. Use it. But only when you’re ready.”

  I tossed him his sword and walked out of the circle.

  Mahmood found us, instead of the other way around. He waited politely as I laced up my sandals, dressed, then took the stud’s reins from Del. I’d have ridden, but Mahmood was on foot, and I thought it would be rude. He led us to his wagons so we could pick up Neesha’s horse, hand over the silks and spices, and get paid the second half of our fee.

  The crowd had thinned out, though for a bit I was trailed by kids as we walked through the aisles until one or both parents caught up and dragged them away. Del and Neesha had put Mahmood and me in between them as they rode and we walked, forming a human and equine shield. They knew very well I didn’t want to deal with anymore sword-dancers, but the other five would certainly look for me if told I was here. Word would be passed. Istamir’s inhabitants didn’t need to know my name; all they had to do was describe the claw marks in my face.

  Del, Neesha, and I came to a halt when Mahmood indicated that we should. Del and Neesha dismounted, and the three of us began pulling packets out of saddle pouches. Mahmood handled the muslin-wrapped silk rolls as if they were children, welcoming them back. With great care he unrolled the silks, shook them out, spread them across the tailgate of his wagon. Even I had to admit the panoply of colors with a spark of silver throughout was beautiful.

  He lifted the top length of silk, smelled it, then looked at me mournfully. “They smell of spice.”

  Del, standing near, went to look. She lifted a corner of silk to her face, then put it down again. “As I told you, scented silk is not necessarily a bad thing. Charge more for them.” Once again she ran a hand over the dark blue length of fabric. Silver thread glittered in the sunlight. “They’ll pay.”

  Mahmood nodded. “Yes, it’s possible; I have thought on it. We shall see. And now the spices?”

  We dug through the pouches and unearthed the small bags, handing them to Mahmood and two of his men. The scent of cinnamon wafted into the air. Once done packing them into modest wooden boxes, Mahmood handed a small leather bag to me.

  “The balance of your fee,” he said. “And now I have something else for you.” He gestured to his wagons. “You have done us a great service. I would like to return it, even though it is a modest service. My men and I discussed this, and we would like to offer our wagons to you for tonight’s sleeping.”

  I think all three of us were utterly astonished. I certainly was.

  “You will be sought,” Mahmood said to me directly. “You can’t risk an inn.”

  “Uh,” was about all I could manage.

  “Sleep the night in the wagons. My men offer to sleep on the ground.” His attitude became diffident as he looked first at me, then at Del. “Please, accept my apologies. There is room only for one in each wagon.”

  Del and I exchanged a glance. “I think we can manage one night sleeping alone,” I said dryly. “But—?”

  “As I said. You have already danced twice since we left Julah. You are going on in the morning, yes?”

  I nodded. “At first light.”

  “Well then, sleep this night in peace. They won’t think to look for you here. But there is one other thing.” He was diffident again. “I would advise you tie your horses at other wagons. I have spoken to three merchants I know, and they are willing to host your mounts for the night. If all are left here, it would draw attention. Especially the white horse.”

  “He’s right,” Del said. “Neesha’s got that sword-dancer’s roan, a colo
r not often seen, and I the white gelding, seen even less.”

  Neesha added, “And even a line-backed dun isn’t all that common. Plus he’s a stallion. If we tie them elsewhere, sleep in Mahmood’s wagons, we’ll be safer than anywhere else. However…” Neesha raised his brows at Mahmood. “I do have plans for the evening. And it might entail sleeping in someone else’s bed, so I wouldn’t need the wagon.”

  Mahmood was taken aback for one moment, and then he understood. He allowed himself a small smile. “Several beds, perhaps?”

  Neesha grinned at him. “That would work.” Then he caught my expression. “Nobody knows me. And I’ll walk to that wolf cantina so there’s no horse to draw attention. Though people probably don’t know my own horse anyway.”

  All he said was true. Remove Neesha from my presence—and Del’s, since she was well-known as the Sandtiger’s woman—and he probably could go anywhere without a second thought. “You might take your harness and sword off,” I suggested. “One less thing by which to identify you. Besides, I don’t think that’s the kind of dancing you mean to do.”

  Neesha laughed. “Not exactly, no.” He smiled at Mahmood. “Where should I take the roan and the bay?”

  “Leave the bay,” I said. “I think you’re right that he wouldn’t be recognized. Just take the roan. That way we’ll at least have one mount here.”

  Mahmood said, “My men will take them where they should go.”

  “Um,” I said. “That may not be such a good idea. The stud now and then isn’t friendly to strangers.”

  “I’ll take him,” Neesha said. “I can do that much before I go in search of lovely women.” Thus the stud went with my son while the roan and Del’s white gelding were taken elsewhere by two of the drivers.

  Del was not a sound sleeper. She woke up as the wagon creaked. “It’s me,” I said quietly, fighting briefly with the snugged and tied tailgate flap.

  There was no light, save from the moon, the stars, and the dying fires throughout the Marketfield. But with the back flap closing behind me, I couldn’t see her.