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challenge to prove him wrong. To allow my childish obstinance to sentence him
to death.
But I really couldn't remember that I'd dreamed. "Wait " I began, then broke
into a paroxysm of coughing, which succeeded in drawing even more smoke into
my lungs. The world coalesced into a tiny pinpoint of existence, then burst
into a vast array of fragmented awareness. I felt parts of my body, my mind
breaking apart, spinning away.
"Wait
 "
Oziri laughed. "The gods are not gentle to unbelievers, especially those who
repudiate their gifts."
I could barely see, could barely hang onto my senses. "You told me to trust
you."
His eyes were like a dagger. His words opened my vitals. "I said I would see
you safely through. I did not say it would be a painless journey."
I reached toward the sword. Then memory stirred. Stopped me.
Oziri was right: I
had dreamed last night.
"I remember," I blurted, startled. "I "

remember.
And then forgot everything, including my name.
* * *
Del's face, when she dances or even when she spars wears one of two
expressions:
fierce determination or an oddly relaxed focus. The former comes from a true
challenge, to prove herself and win; the latter from the knowledge that she
will win, so the point is to refine her skill. Opponents and enemies have
witnessed both. So have I.
But this time, for the first time, I saw fear.
We were yet again in the common area of the Vashni encampment, pretending a
portion of it was a circle. After two more hard engagements Del stumbled back,
regained her footing and balance, blocked my blow. Steel clashed. She was
breathing hard. "Let's stop."
I repeated the series of maneuvers, pushing her harder. Waiting for her body
to fail.
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She blocked me again and again, frowning. "Stop."
I tried a new angle. Blades met, scraped, screeched.
Her teeth were bared in a brief rictus of sheer effort. The exhaustion was
obvious, and oddly exhilarating. " stop "
Over the locked blades I looked into her widening eyes. I shook my head, on
the verge of laughing joyously. "You can't win by quitting."
This time there was no determination. No relaxation. Not even fear. Just
astonishment.
"Come on," I jeered. "We haven't even begun."
Something flickered in her eyes. Then her mouth went flat and hard.
Laughing, I expected her to renew the match. Instead, Del pushed forward
briefly, released her sword entirely, threw both splayed hands into the air
and took three strides backward as the blade fell. The expression now was
anger.
It wasn't surrender. She didn't yield. It was cessation. And it left me
standing in the middle of a circle I'd drawn in the Vashni common, clutching
my sword while hers lay at my feet.
I arched my brows. "Afraid, bascha?"
She was sucking air audibly. The single braid had loosened itself, strands
straggling around her face. She was ice and sunlight, and much too tough to
melt. "What," she panted, "is wrong with you?"
"You asked me to spar with you."
She managed one word.
"Spar."
I shrugged. "You've always preferred a challenge to mere practice. Let's not
waste our time."
Hands went to her hips and rested there as her breathing slowed. "That wasn't
sparring.
That was anger, Tiger."
I shook my head. "I'm not angry."
"Angry," she declared. "And bitter."
"You're imagining things." I bent, picked up her sword. "Let's go again."
Del shook her head with slow deliberation.
"Afraid, bascha?" I smiled, tossed the blade. "Catch."
She made no attempt to do so. She merely stepped back and let it fall into the
sand.
Sunlight flashed.
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"That," I said severely, "is no way to treat a good blade."
Winter descended. "Nor is your behavior any way to treat me."
"Oh, come on, Del! This is how it is. You work your body, work your mind,
challenge everything about yourself, until the weakness is gone. It isn't
easy, no, but it's the best way. I've spent months doing it can't you at least
invest a few days?"
Del bent, retrieved her sword, turned on her heel and walked away.
"Hey. Hey!" In several long strides I reached her. Reached for her. "Don't
turn your back on me "
Del spun. I saw the blade flash even as my own came up. They met at neck
level. My blade was against steel. Hers was against my throat.
She tilted her head slightly in an odd, slow, sideways movement almost like a
cat preparing to leap. But there was no leap. She stood her ground. "Angry,"
she said very softly. "Bitter.
And vicious."
I blurted a laugh of incredulity. "Vicious!"
"And afraid."
Laughter stopped. "I'm not "
"What did he do to you?"
"No one has " [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]