“Who?”
“Chosa Dei,” she repeated. “He is a legendary sorcerer, Tiger; surely you must have heard of him, even in the South.”
“No.” Emphatically. “Del—”
“He has not been seen for hundreds of years, ever since a fight with his brother, Shaka Obre—who is also a sorcerer—but Halvar tells me Ysaa-den has lain in his shadow for nearly ninety years. They believe it is Chosa Dei who troubles them now, awakening; he is the ‘dragon,’ not this pile of stone.”
“Have you heard of this sorcerer?”
“Of course.” Del was dead serious. “He was one of my favorite stories when I was a child. I know all about Chosa Dei … and all his fights with his brother, and how they spent all their magic trying to kill one another—”
“Are you completely sandsick?” I gaped at her inelegantly. “You’re standing here telling me you believe a man out of childhood stories is living in that mountain, blowing smoke out stone tunnels just to pass the time?”
Del smiled. “No,” she said in Southron. “But it would be rude to tell Halvar so, and ruin the history of his village.”
I blinked. “Then why are we here?”
She slipped a thumb beneath a harness strap and resettled her sword. “Because a newly-named kaidin made a promise he’s sworn to keep.”
I opened my mouth to respond. Rudely, of course; she was throwing things I’d said back in my own face. But before I could say a word something interrupted.
A keening, rising howl, echoing eerily. And a gout of malodorous smoke, fanned by heated wind.
No matter who it was, someone—something—was killing people. And I was here to stop it.
“Come on,” I said curtly.
Del fell in behind me.
∗ ∗ ∗
Conditioning is important to a sword-dancer. Because if you lack stamina, speed and wind, you risk losing the dance. And, much of the time, if you risk losing the dance, you also risk losing your life.
Which means a sword-dancer worth his salt always stays in condition.
Unless he’s been recently wounded, which changes things altogether.
I suppose two months isn’t recent. But it felt like it. It felt like yesterday every step I took—no, let’s make it today. Like maybe a moment ago. All I know is, it hurt to climb the mountain.
I knew I was a fool to go charging up a rockpile where there wasn’t any air to breathe and I had no lungs to breathe it. I knew I was a fool to even consider taking on anything with my sword, be it human or animal. And certainly I was a fool to be doing it with Del, who was in no better shape than I. It’s nice to have backup—it’s great to have backup—but only if they’re healthy.
We huffed and puffed and coughed and swore and muttered all the way up the mountain. We also slid, staggered, fell down, gagged on the stink of the dragon’s breath. And wished we were somewhere else, doing something else; Del no doubt thought of Ajani, while I dreamed of a cantina. A cantina in the South, where the days are warm and bright. And there are no mountains to climb.
The dragon snorted smoke. A rumble accompanied it. And then a relentless hiss spitting wind into our faces. It ripped the hair from my eyes and inserted hot fingers into the weave of my heavy wool tunic.
I slipped, slid, climbed. Threw a question over my shoulder toward the woman who climbed behind me. “Who is this man again?”
“What man?—oh.” Del was breathing hard. She spoke in brief, clipped sentences, sparing no breath for more. “Chosa Dei. Sorcerer. Supposed to be very powerful—till he lost an argument.”
“With his brother.”
“Shaka Obre.” Del sucked in a breath. “There are stories about both of them … tales of great and powerful magic … also ambition. Chosa Dei is the example parents put up before greedy children. ‘Look, oh look, beware of wanting too much, or you will become like Chosa Dei, who dwells in Dragon Mountain.’” It faded into a cough.
“So now everyone in Ysaa-den thinks their mountain is Dragon Mountain, and that Chosa Dei dwells in it.”
“Yes.”
“Sounds like they’re taking after the old man and his taste for ambition. I mean, saying their village lies in the dragon’s shadow is an attempt to claim some fame, isn’t it? Just like Bellin the Cat.”
It was Del’s turn. “Who?”
“Bellin the Cat,” I repeated. “You know, that silly boy back in Harquhal who wants to be a panjandrum. Who wants to make a name.” I sucked more air. “The kid with all the axes.”
That, Del remembered. “Oh. Him.”
“So, it seems to me Ysaa-den’s a little like him—” I bit off a curse as a foot slipped and nearly deposited me on my face. “I mean, isn’t it a little silly to adopt a story as truth just to gain a little fame?” I brushed dirt from my clothes and went on.