“What of it?” Del returned. “It’s as much for you to learn control as for him to learn technique.”
Nabir cleared his throat. “I would like to face steel.”
“Then face me.” Del slipped the burnous easily and left it lying in a puddle at her feet. Beneath it she wore a soft cream-colored leather tunic, cap-sleeved and belted, that hit her mid-thigh. She’d worn something similar the first time I’d seen her. Though there was nothing indecent about the tunic—it was completely unrevealing—it was still considerably less than Southron women wore. Even in bed.
Nabir, who had seen her in Northern tunic and trews and boots, stared. There was a lot of limb showing, since she is long of legs and arms, and therefore a lot of flesh. A lot of creamy Northern flesh stretched over exquisite Northern bones.
I, who also had seen her in nothing less than tunic and trews and boots for longer than I cared to recall, stared, too. But with less shock than Nabir; she is very impressive, yes, but also exceedingly frustrating.
Nabir swallowed heavily. “I’ve already danced against you.”
“And lost,” she said. “Shall we see what Tiger has taught you?”
I watched her unhook her harness, preparing to add it to her pile once she’d unsheathed. I got up. “I don’t think so, Del.”
She was unsmiling. “His choice.”
“Yes,” Nabir said instantly
I ignored the boy, staring instead at Del. “You’re doing this to force my hand. To make me use my sword.”
“You can’t spend your life being afraid of it,” she said. “I don’t deny it’s worth your concern, but you have to learn to control it. Best to do it now rather than in a dance to the death, or in a dangerous situation where hesitation might kill you.”
Nabir frowned. “I don’t understand.”
“You shouldn’t,” I said curtly. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“Then what does it—”
“This.” I bent, scooped up harness, stripped the sheath from my sword. “This is what it has to do with, Nabir: Blooding-blade. Named blade. Jivatma. And one more thing: Chosa Dei. Whose soul is in this blade.”
“So is yours,” Del said steadily. “Do you think only Chosa Dei went into that sword when you requenched? You sang yourself into it, Tiger, as much as Chosa Dei. That, coupled with your determination and strength, will overcome any attempt he might make to steal the power from you.”
“Chosa Dei,” Nabir echoed.
I looked at him sharply. “Do you know Chosa Dei?”
“Of course.” He shrugged. “In stories about how the South became the South.”
My turn to frown. “What?”
Again he shrugged. “I heard as a child that once the North and the South were the same. That there was no desert, only grasslands and mountains. And then Chosa Dei grew jealous of his brother—I forget his name—and tried to steal what his brother had.”
“Shaka Obre,” I muttered.
Nabir, cut off, blinked. “What?”
“His brother.” I flapped a hand. “Go on.”
“Chosa Dei grew jealous. He wanted what his brother—Shaka Obre?—had. And when his brother would not give it up, Chosa tried to steal it.”
“What did he try to steal?”
Nabir shrugged. “The South. Chosa already held the North, but he wanted the South, too, because he always wanted whatever his brother had. He tried many magics, but none of them worked. Until he learned how to collect the power in things, and how to reshape it.” Nabir frowned. “It was a true threat. So Shaka Obre set wasting wards around the land, knowing Chosa wouldn’t dare destroy what he wanted so badly—only he was wrong. Chosa was willing to risk destroying the land. He thought if he couldn’t have it, his brother shouldn’t, either.”
“But it didn’t work.” Del, sounding reflective; did she know the ending, too?
I decided to forestall them both. “Oh,” I said, “I see. Chosa tried to take the South, and Shaka Obre’s wasting wards kicked in. Which laid waste to the land and turned it into a barren desert—most of it, anyway.” I didn’t believe a word of it. “But if that’s all true, why didn’t Shaka Obre transform the ruined South back into what it was?”
Nabir took up the tale again. “He wanted to. But Chosa was so angry that he put a spell on his brother and locked him away somewhere.”
“Chosa was the one locked away,” I declared, as if it refuted the story.
“I don’t know,” Nabir said testily. “I only know what I heard, which is that Chosa Dei’s brother built wards to imprison his brother inside a dragon. But that by the time the spell was tripped, Chosa’s magic finally succeeded. Shaka Obre was also imprisoned.”