Sword-Maker(87)

I looked from him to Del. They wore identical expressions. “Why is it,” I began again, “that everyone knows these stories but me? Northerner, Southroner—it doesn’t seem to matter. Who told you these tales?”

“Everyone,” Del answered. “Mother, father, uncles, brothers … everyone just knew.”

I looked at Nabir. “What about you?”

“My mother,” he answered promptly. “Before—” But he cut it off abruptly.

I let it go. “No one ever told me.”

Del’s voice was soft. “No one tells stories to slaves.”

No. So they don’t.

Another thing I’d lost.

I pushed by Nabir and walked into the circle. “All right,” I said, “all right. If you want true steel so much, I’ll give you true steel. But you’re putting your life at stake.”

Nabir hesitated only a moment. Then he reached down, traded wooden blade for steel, straightened erect again. And walked into the circle.

His quiet faith was implicit. “You’re the Sandtiger.”

I’m a fool, I thought. An aging, sandsick fool.

Who doesn’t know any stories except the ones he makes up himself.





Ten




The sword knocked me to my knees. Not Nabir’s; mine.

“See?” I shouted at Del, who waited quietly by the circle.

Nabir, who had backed away instantly the moment my blade had delivered its somewhat dramatic message, stood at the very inner edge of the circle. That he wanted to step out was obvious; that he wouldn’t, equally so. Habits die too hard.

“I see,” Del observed. “I see also that you let it do that.”

“Let it! Let it? Are you sandsick?” I rose awkwardly, off-balance, muttering curses about sore knees, and stared at her belligerently. “I didn’t let it do anything, Del. One moment I was sparring with Nabir, the next I’m in the sand. I didn’t have a whole lot of choice.”

“Look at it,” she said.

I looked. It was a sword. The same old sword it had always been; at least, since I’d requenched it inside the mountain.

Then looked more closely. The sword was different. The black discoloration had moved up the blade. Nearly half of it was swallowed.

I didn’t want a black sword.

I shut hands more tightly around the grip. “No,” I said flatly, and sent every bit of strength I could muster flowing through arms, hands and fingers into the sword itself. I would make the sword change by forcing my will upon it.

I felt like a fool. What good would it do to envision myself overcoming a Southron sorcerer imprisoned in my sword? What kind of power was that? I couldn’t summon demons or create runes; couldn’t collect magic from men and things. All I could do was sword-dance.

“Sing,” Del said quietly.

“Sing,” I blurted in derision.

“Singing is the key. It’s always been the key. It’s how you defeated him.”

I had also thrust a blade into him. But things were different, now. I couldn’t very well stab a sword.

In my head, I muttered. But I also made up a little song; a stupid little song. Don’t ask me what it was. I can’t even remember. Just some silly little thing about a Southron sandtiger being fiercer than a Northern sorcerer … at any rate, it worked. The black receded a little. Now only the tip was charred.

“It’s something,” Del said, as I swayed on my feet. “For now, it should be enough.”

I squinted, rubbed at my eyes, tried to focus clearly. “I’m dizzy.”

“You invoked power.” Her tone was matter-of-fact. “You can’t just do it without expecting to pay some price. Do you come out of a circle as fresh as when you went in?”

Not hardly. I could smell myself. “Dizzy,” I repeated. “And thirsty, and hungry.”

Nabir still stood at the very edge of the circle. He was staring at the sword. “Can it do anything? Anything at all?”

I looked down at the blade. “One thing it can do is make you feel pretty sick. Hoolies, I need a drink!”

Del tossed me my harness. “You always need a drink.”

I sheathed, scowling at her, and hooked arms through the loops. The new leather was still stiff. I’d have to spend some time working oil into the straps. “Put some clothes on,” I told her crossly. “Let’s go get some food.”

Del looked past me to Nabir. “Are you coming?”

He shook his head. “I want to go see Xenobia.”

“His light o’ love,” I told her quietly, as Del looked blank.

She watched Nabir gathering his things as I gathered mine. “I didn’t know he had one.”

“Since two days ago. Cantina girl. He wants to marry her.”