“I didn’t have a whole lot of choice, now, did I?”
“No, no—I am not blaming you.” But still she frowned. “I am thinking of the reason why requenching is forbidden. I am thinking about a sword-dancer who, whenever he desires, requenches his jivatma. And how he himself can ‘collect’ the enemy’s personal power, just as Chosa Dei collected magic by unmaking things.” Del looked at my sword. “I am thinking about a man—or a woman—who forgets honor and promises and becomes addicted to power. Addicted to requenching.”
“Are you saying nothing stronger than custom keeps sword-dancers with jivatmas from requenching each time they kill?”
“Custom,” she answered, “and honor.”
I made a sound of derision. “That’s some kind of control! What you’re telling me is a sword-dancer sick and tired of all these customs and honor codes could become a renegade. Ride all over the North and South requenching as he goes.”
“No one would do—”
“Why not?” I interrupted. “What’s to keep him from it? What’s really to keep him from it, if habit isn’t enough?”
“A sword-dancer who did such a thing would be formally denounced by the voca and declared outlaw,” she said. “A blade without a name. He would owe swordgild to Staal-Ysta and be subject to discipline by any sword-dancer who challenged him.”
I triple-clucked my tongue at her in mock sorrow. “Such a frightening prospect, bascha. Enough to make me go to bed and pull the covers over my head.”
Color bloomed in her face. “Just because no one in the South has any honor at all, or assumes responsibility—”
“That’s not it,” I told her. “That’s not my point. What I’m saying is, these swords are dangerous. Whatever magic turns a normal sword into a thing laden with the power to suck a soul from a person is nothing to take lightly. In the wrong hands a jivatma could become a devastating weapon.” I smiled sardonically. “And yet the an-kaidin on Staal-Ysta continue to hand them out.” I shifted in the saddle. “Don’t know as how that’s very wise, Delilah.”
“No one except a kaidin is gifted with a jivatma. Or the one who chooses instead to be a sword-dancer.” She shrugged, spreading a hand. “By the time of choice, the an-ishtoya has proven his or her honor; that is what rank is for. It is a selection process, a way of enforcing the honor codes of Staal-Ysta. It isn’t undertaken lightly, Tiger; they don’t give a blooding-blade to anyone unless it’s quite certain he—or she—knows how to invoke the magic properly, and that he is fully committed to upholding the honor systems.”
“Del,” I said patiently, “I have a jivatma.”
It sank in. Del stared at me wide-eyed. And then waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, of course, but it’s because you were worthy of one.”
“Was I? Haven’t I requenched?”
She opened her mouth to reply, then closed it slowly. Frowned more deeply, pulling smooth, creamy forehead into lines of tension and concern. It’s never easy to come face-to-face with the weakness in lifelong beliefs. I know; I used to disbelieve in magic altogether.
“Del,” I said quietly, “I’m not intending to requench again, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’d just as soon never key this thing again—I’m sword-dancer, not sorcerer. All I’m saying is, it seems kind of odd that this kind of power is given away freely with very few restraints. Honor is one thing, bascha—and I don’t doubt it counts for something on Staal-Ysta—but not everyone in the world understands the value in such a thing. Certainly most people—everyone I know—would be more than willing to use any advantage at hand, if it meant the difference between living and dying.”
Del stared up at me from the ground. “Are you telling me you believe I will cast off my honor and defeat Ajani unfairly?”
I grinned. “I believe you will do whatever it takes to kill him. Because what you’re doing is in the name of honor, which sort of balances out the effort.”
She shrugged one shoulder slightly. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. But how I kill Ajani has nothing to do with your unwillingness to meet me in a circle.”
I sighed. “It does, but I guess you can’t see it right now. So let’s just say that I, being a Southroner and entirely lacking in honor or scruples, don’t have the slightest understanding of what this sword is capable of. And that’s why, in addition to other things, I don’t want to dance with you.”