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Sword-Maker(148)

By:Jennifer Roberson


She felt it in the swords. Tasted it in the air, in the acrid stink of magic. And jerked her blade from mine, falling back two steps. “Control it!” she cried. “Control it! You have the power; use it!”

I could feel it—feel him—trying to leave the sword. Trying to creep up the blade to the hilt, where he could make contact with my hands. Once it was made, I was lost, because the flesh is much too weak. He’d nearly taken Nabir—he had taken Nabir—he’d unmade Nabir’s feet—

What would he do to me?

I stood in the center of the alley clutching the blooding-blade, wondering how to fight it. How to beat it, before it beat me.

“Control it,” Del repeated. “You have the strength; use it!”

Power, she’d said. Strength.

The blade was turning black.

Use it, she’d said. Use it.

Do I know how to do that?

Hoolies, of course I do. I’m the Sandtiger.

No one defeats me.

Not even Chosa Dei.

“Yes!” Del shouted. “Yes!”

I must be doing it right.

Samiel, I whispered. But only inside my head. Nabir had said it aloud. Nabir had put me at risk.

Or was it Chosa Dei?

Samiel, I repeated. But only inside my head.

Del’s face swam into my vision. A sweat-glossed, laughing face. “I told you you could do it—but you never want to believe me!”

I was panting. Breathing like a bellows. I felt the twinge in my midriff: knurled scar tissue had been pulled. Hands still clenched the sword, clamped around the grip. Knuckles shone white.

“It’s—done?” I looked down at the sword in my hands. “Did I do it?”

She nodded, still grinning. “You drove him back down, Tiger. This time without the simoom. This time without the heat. This time with just yourself. With the strength from inside here.” She put a hand to my heart. “And you have it in abundance.”

I frowned, looking at the blade. “But it’s still black. The tip. Chosa Dei’s still in there.”

She nodded, withdrawing her hand. “He’s not banished. Only beaten. Banishment will take time. We have to discharge it properly.”

And for that, we needed more magic. We needed Shaka Obre.

“Tiger?” Alric’s voice. “Tiger—can you come? Something’s upset your stud. He’s trying to tear down the house.”

Now I could hear it. He was stomping and pawing and kicking, squealing his displeasure.

“It’s the magic,” I muttered resignedly. “He hates it as much as I do.”

I sheathed my defeated sword and went in to see the stud. He was indeed trying to tear down the house; he pawed chunks of crumbling brick and ancient mortar out of the wall, grinding it into the dirt.

“All right,” I said, “you can stop now. I’ve put the sword away.” I stepped in through the door, entering the “stable.” “You’re not going anywhere, so you may as well be qu—”

He let loose with both hind hooves. One of them caught my head.

Voices.

“Alric—get him out—”

“I can’t, Del—the stud’s broken his tie-rope … he won’t let me near him—”

A spate of unintelligible words in a language I didn’t know, or else I had forgotten.

The same male voice. “I know, Del—I know … but how can I drag him out if the stud won’t let me near him?”

A woman’s voice answering: frightened, angry, impatient.“— need a horse-speaker—” Then, abruptly, “Get Garrod—”

A boy’s voice: “I will!”

“Then hurry, Massou—hurry!”

I was flat on my back in the dirt.

Why am I in the dirt?

Tried to sit up. Couldn’t. All I could do was twitch.

The woman’s voice again. “Tiger—stay still! Don’t try to move.”

Eyes won’t open.

Everything sounds distorted.

“Tiger—don’t move … don’t give him a second chance.”

Give who what second chance?

“Is he bleeding?”

“I can’t tell.”

Why would I be bleeding?

Sharply: “Don’t try it, Del. I don’t need two of you down.”

“I can’t leave him there, Alric. The stud’s liable to stomp his head in.”

Someone was moving around me. No—something. It breathed heavily. Pawed. Moved around me again.

Now a new voice. “Where is—oh. Here, give me room.”

“Tiger, don’t move.”

Don’t worry, I don’t think I can.

“Talk to him, Garrod. Tell him to let us in so we can get Tiger out.”

Silence, except for nearby scraping. I tasted dust. Felt it. It feathered across my face. I tried to lift an arm to brush the dust away, but nothing did what I wanted. All I did was twitch.