Nabir, who had, out of his own sense of courtesy, remained in the circle and left the two experienced sword-dancers to their conversation, now came closer. He had, after all, met the bared steel of Del’s blade. I figured he had as much right to ask me about it as Abbu.
“Did you and Del spar with steel? With your own blades?”
Abbu frowned. “Of course.”
“Then you saw her jivatma.”
“Saw. Didn’t touch.” His smile was twisted. “Something about her—forbade it.”
I glanced sidelong at Nabir. His eyes were fixed on the hilt glinting brightly in the sunlight. The blade itself was hidden in rune-warded sheath.
Sighing, I walked the rest of the distance and dropped the wooden practice blade beside the puddle of silk and gauze. Scooped up the harness, beckoned Nabir closer, slid Northern steel out into Southron moonlight. Shed harness and sheath, then displayed the sword in its entirety, resting blade in left hand while the other balanced the hilt at the quillons.
Sunlight poured across runes like water. The pristine brilliance was blinding.
Except for one thing.
“What’s the matter with it?” Nabir asked. “Why is the tip all charred?”
Charred. I hadn’t put it like that. But it was true: the blade looked like about five inches of it had been thrust into a conflagration.
Well, in a way it had. Only the fire had been Chosa Dei.
“It’s like hers,” Abbu said intently. Then nodded slowly. “So, it’s true. There is magic in Northern swords.”
“Only some of them. Del’s, yes; trust me. But this one—well, this one isn’t quite sure what it wants to be yet. Trust me on that, too.”
“May I?” Abbu put out a hand.
I grinned. “He wouldn’t like it.”
Abbu frowned. “He who? Who wouldn’t like it?”
“Him. The sword.”
Abbu glared. “Are you telling me your sword has feelings?”
“Sort of.” I pulled the hilt away as Abbu’s hand threatened imminent capture. “Unh-unh—I didn’t give you permission.” Quickly I bent, scooped up the harness, resheathed the sword. Tucked it into the crook of my left arm. “Take my word for it, Abbu—you don’t want to know.”
He was red-faced. Pale brown eyes turned black as pupils dilated. “You offend me with this idiocy—”
“No offense intended,” I countered swiftly. “Believe me, Abbu, you don’t want to know.”
“I know too much,” he snapped. “I know you went to the North and got the sense frozen out of your head, along with the guts removed from your belly.” He flicked a disdainful glance at my still-naked midriff with its sword-born scar. “And I have better things to do than stand here listening to your babble.”
“So don’t,” I suggested mildly, which didn’t please him any more.
Abbu said something beneath his breath in Desert, which I understood—and spoke—as well as he, then turned on his heel and marched away, black underrobe flapping.
I sighed. “Ah, well, no harm done. We’re no less fond of each other than we were before.”
Nabir’s expression was unreadable as I reached down to gather up wooden blade, boots, underrobe, and belt. He waited until I was finished tucking things here and there.
“Is it true?” he asked.
“Is what true?”
“That.” He nodded toward my sword. “Is it alive?”
I didn’t laugh, because it would offend his dignity. And I tried very hard not to smile. “There’s a wizard in here,” I said solemnly.
After a long moment, he nodded. “I thought there might be.”
I opened my mouth. Shut it. Swallowed the hoot of laughter trying very hard to escape. Not because there wasn’t a wizard in my sword, but because of Nabir’s reaction.
Finally I managed an inoffensive smile as I turned away from the circle. Away from Nabir. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”
“I don’t have to,” he said. “I saw it.”
It stopped me dead in my tracks. Slowly I turned back. “Saw it?”
Nabir nodded. “You were making Abbu Bensir think you lied. You knew he would disbelieve you. And he did. He went away thinking you a fool, or sandsick … a man who says his sword is alive.” He shrugged. “I heard the words, too—but I saw what you did.” His youthful mouth twisted. “Or what you didn’t do.”
Now he had me intrigued. “What didn’t I do?”
Nabir’s tone was calm. “Let him touch the sword.”
I passed it off with a shrug. “I just don’t like others touching my sword.”