Sword Maker-Sword Dancer 3 (27 page)

her."

A man had. Men had, Northerners all, an-kaidin from Staal-Ysta. And a bandit named Ajani. But I said nothing of it to Abbu Bensir, who wouldn't understand.

"Oh, I don't know, Abbu--seems to me she's already learned a lot."

"She could be better. Faster, smoother ..." He flicked an expressive hand.

"She

is a woman, of course, with a woman's failings, but there is talent in her.

Promise. And she is tall enough and strong enough..." Then he shook his head.

"But it would be folly to teach a woman. To attempt to teach a woman."

"Why?"

He was very sure of himself. "She would cry the first time her shodo spoke to her harshly. She would give up the first time she was cut. Or she would meet a

man and lose all interest. She would cook his food, keep his hyort, bear his children. And she would set aside the sword."

I raised eyebrows in nonchalant challenge. "Isn't that what a woman's for?

Cooking food, keeping a hyort, having a man's children?"

Still frowning, Abbu glanced at me impatiently. "Yes, of course, all of those things--but have you no eye, Sandtiger? Or do you see nothing but the woman, instead of the woman's skill?" His gaze was very level. "When I saw you dance the first time--your first real dance, not when you nearly killed me--I knew what you would be. Even though you lost. And I knew there would be two names spoken in the Punja, instead of just mine." He hitched one shoulder. "I was willing to share, and so I do. Because I am not a blind fool. Because I acknowledge talent when I see it, even in a woman. So should you."

This was not the Abbu Bensir I remembered. He had always been supremely certain

of his talent, technique, presence. But then, he was an excellent sword-dancer.

He did have superb technique. And certainly he had presence, ruined nose and all; shorter than I, and slighter, with more distinctly Southron features, Abbu

Bensir nonetheless still claimed the unspoken ability to dominate those around

him.

But he'd never been known for his humility or fair-mindedness. Certainly not when it came to his dealings with women. He was, after all, Southron, and the women he knew were cantina girls, or silly-headed serving-girls in the employ of

various tanzeers or merchants.

He certainly didn't know any woman worth the time to instruct in the ways of handling a sword. I doubt the idea had ever occurred to him, any more than it had to me--prior to meeting Del. But I had met Del, and I'd changed. Would Abbu

Bensir do the same?

Not if I had anything to say about it. Better to let him remain the arrogant Southron male.

"I recognize talent when I see it," I told him. "I acknowledge it. Are you forgetting I wagered on her?"

"You did it to provoke me," Abbu declared. "We are oil and water, Sandtiger...

it will always be so between us." He stared past me, watching the crowd slowly

disperse. Then his eyes flickered back to me. "You have the nose-ring, Sandtiger. Now I will have the woman."

He brushed by me easily as he turned, black gauze underrobe rippling. He wore a

harness and blade, Southron blade, glinting in the sunlight. An old, honorable

sword, attended by many legends.

I watched him go, striding away in the fluid gait of a man well-content with his

life. A man who, I was certain, entertained no doubts of himself.

Or of the woman he followed.

Six

By the time I reached the cantina, Abbu Bensir had already cornered Del.

Well,

not cornered exactly; she was sitting in a corner, and he was sitting with her.

She sat with her back to the wall, just as I always did. This allowed her to see

me as I approached, although she gave no indication of it. It also allowed me to

approach without Abbu knowing, since his back was to me. So I took advantage of

it, pausing just behind him. Listening to his approach.

"--you could become much better," he said confidently. "With my help, of course."

Del didn't answer.

"You must admit," he went on, "it's unusual to find a woman with your potential

and dedication. Here in the South--"

"--women are treated as slaves." Del didn't smile. "Why should I be yours?"

"Not my slave, my student."

"I've already been an ishtoya. I've already been an-ishtoya."

Now he was confused. "I am Abbu Bensir. Any Southron sword-dancer can tell you

who I am, and what I am capable of. Any Southron sword-dancer... all of them know me."

For the first time since my arrival, Del looked at me. "Do you know him?"

Abbu sat upright, then twisted his head around.

Saw me, scowled, sent me a silent message to leave, then turned back to Del.

"Ask anyone but him."

I grinned. "But I do know you. And what you're capable of."

"Which is?" Del asked coolly.

Abbu shook his head. "He will not give you a fair answer. He and I are old rivals in the circle. He will not bespeak me well."

"And you're a liar," I said pleasantly. "I'd tell her the truth, Abbu: that you're a superb sword-dancer with much to teach anyone." I paused. "But I'm more

superb than you."

Del very nearly smiled. Abbu merely glared. "This is a private table."

"The lady was here first. Why don't we ask her?"

Del made an impatient gesture; she has no tolerance for such things.

I hooked a stool over, sat down, smiled disarmingly at Abbu. "Have you told her

your scheme yet?"

"Scheme?" he echoed blankly.

I glanced at Del. "He plans on flattering your skill, since women are gullible

creatures... he'll tell you what he thinks you want to hear, even if he doesn't

agree... and then he'll take you into the circle, just to keep you interested--"

I grinned, "--and then take you straight to bed."

Abbu's pale eyes glittered.

"It won't work," I told him. "I already tried."

"And failed," Del declared.

Abbu, who is not stupid, frowned. He looked at Del. At me. Then demanded his nose-ring back.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because it was won under false pretenses. You and the woman know one another."

I shrugged. "I never said we didn't. It didn't come up, Abbu. I offered a wager.

You accepted a wager. The nose-ring was fairly won." I smiled. "And I need it to

pay my debts."

Del was staring at me. "You bet on the dance?"

"I bet on you."

"To win."

"Of course to win; do you think I'm a fool?"

Abbu swore under his breath. "I am the fool."

"For wanting to teach a woman?" Del's tone was cool again. "Or for betting on the wrong person?"

Kima arrived with a jug. "Aqivi," she announced, and smacked it down on the table.

Abbu Bensir stared across the lip of the jug at Del in obvious challenge. I have

seen it before--Abbu, much as I hate to admit it, has success with women--but I

didn't consider it much of a risk. He wasn't the type of man who would interest

Del. He was too arrogant, too abrupt, too certain of superiority based solely on

his gender.

He was, most of all, too Southron.

"What can you teach me?" Del asked.

I kicked her under the table.

Abbu considered it. "You are tall," he said, "and strong. You have as good a reach as any Southroner--except perhaps the Sandtiger. But you would do better

to make your patterns smaller. More subtle." He reached across the table, tapped

Del's left wrist. "You have the necessary strength here--I saw it--to support the smaller patterns, but you don't use it. You were much too open earlier.

It

slowed your response time and left opportunities to defeat you. That you won had

less to do with your better skill than with the boy's inexperience." He smiled

briefly. "I would not do the same."

It was an accurate summation of Del's dance. That he also suggested smaller blade patterns did not please me, because it showed me he'd judged her very well. Del usually does employ smaller, tighter patterns, but she was out of condition and hadn't employed her usual techniques.

And if anything would impress Del, it was a man judging her on her merits instead of by her gender.

"Here," I said abruptly, "no need to let good aqivi go to waste." I grabbed the

jug, started splashing liquor into the cups Kima put down.

Abbu watched me sidelong. In profile, his nose was a travesty--but it lent him

the cachet of hard-edged experience. Unlike Nabir, he was not a boy on the threshold of manhood; Abbu Bensir had stepped across many years before. He had

the lean, lethal look of a borjuni, though he was sword-dancer instead of bandit.

What he thought of me, I couldn't say. I was considerably taller and heavier, also younger--but Abbu Bensir was right. I hadn't quite recovered strength, stamina, or health from the wound Del had given me, and it showed. Certainly it

showed to an experienced sword-dancer who knew very well how to judge what counted.

He eased himself back on his stool and tipped aqivi down his throat. "So," he said idly to Del, "has this big desert cat told you of our adventures?"

"Adventures?" I echoed blankly; Abbu and I had not, to my knowledge, ever shared

much more than a cantina.

Predictably, Del said no.

Of course it was what he wanted. With an adroit flick of fingers, Abbu slipped

the neck of his underrobe and let it fall open. His throat was now bared, showing the pale scar left by the shodo's knife. "My badge of honor," he said.

"Bestowed on me by none other than the Sandtiger."

Del's brows rose.

Abbu's tone was expansive. "It was quite early in his career, but it was a dramatic signal to the South that a new sword-dancer was about to be born."

"There was nothing 'about to be' about it," I said sourly. "It took me seven more years."

"Yes, but it served notice to those of us able to judge such things as talent and potential." He paused. "To those few of us."

"Did it?" Del asked coolly.

"Oh, yes," Abbu said. "He was a clumsy seventeen-year-old boy with hands and feet too big for his body--and his brain--but the potential was there. I knew what he would become... so long as his inborn submissiveness and all his years

as a chula didn't destroy him before he truly began."

Del's lids didn't flicker. "Abbu Bensir," she said softly, "be careful where you

walk."

He is not a stupid man; he changed tactics instantly. "But I am not here to talk

about the Sandtiger, whom you undoubtedly know much better than I do." There was

a glint in his eyes. "I came to offer my services as a shodo, even briefly. I think you could benefit."

"Perhaps I could," Del said. And then looked me dead in the eye. "If you kick me

one more time--"

I overrode her by raising my voice and talking to Abbu. "Won't you be going to

Iskandar like everyone else?"

"Eventually. Although I think it is nonsense, this talk of a jhihadi." Abbu shrugged, swallowed aqivi. "Iskandar himself, the stories say, promised he would

return to bring prosperity to the South, to turn the sand to grass. I see no signs of that." He shook his head. "I think it is nothing more than a foolish man who fancies himself an oracle... a zealot who requires attention before he

dies. He will rouse the tribes, undoubtedly--that, I hear, is begun--but no one

with any sense will pay mind to it."

"Except the tanzeers." I shrugged as Abbu frowned over his tankard. "They won't

believe the Oracle's foretellings, but if they have any intelligence at all they'll recognize that this Oracle--and the proclaimed jhihadi, if one ever appears--could siphon off some of their power."

"An uprising," Abbu said thoughtfully, "couched in the name of religion."

"People will do amazing things in the name of faith," I remarked. "Wrap it in the trappings of holy edict, and even assassination is revered."

"I don't understand," Del interjected. "What you say of religion, yes--that I have seen myself--but how would it affect the South?"

I shrugged. "The South is made up of hundreds of desert domains ruled by any man

strong enough to hold it. He comes in, establishes his dominance, names himself

tanzeer to gain a little glitter--and rules."

She blinked. "So easily?"

"So easily," Abbu confirmed in his broken voice. "Of course, any man who decided

to do it would require a large force of loyal men... or a large force of hired

men loyal to his coin." He grinned. "I myself have engaged in establishing several such new reigns."

Del's tone was bland. "But you yourself have never attempted to set up your own

domain."

He shrugged. "Easier to take the money and leave, then move on to the next desert bandit who has notions of naming himself tanzeer."

Del glanced at me. "Have you done it as well?"

"Never from the beginning," I told her. "I have hired on to protect the tanzeer

already in place, but I've never gone in and set up a brand-new domain."

She nodded thoughtfully. "So a tanzeer is not born... he becomes a prince only

through force of arms."

I shook my head. "A tanzeer is born if his family has held the domain long enough. And some of these desert 'princedoms' have been in existence for centuries, handed down to each heir--"

"--who must himself be strong enough to hold it," Del finished.

"Of course," Abbu rasped. "There have been many newly proclaimed tanzeers, inheriting at an untimely age, who simply could not muster the forces needed to

defend against usurpers." He smiled. "That is the easiest way of enlarging a domain."

"Stealing from someone else," she said.

"All of the domains were stolen," Abbu countered. "Once, surely, the South belonged to no one, it simply was--and then men strong enough to do so selected

for themselves the domains they wanted... and so on and so on until the land was