Jennifer Roberson - Sword Bound

After a moment, Khalid croaked an urgent “Go!”

I smiled down at him. “Good boy.”

Afterward, Fouad freshened my mug with aqivi to the rim. I started to tell him I’d only planned to finish off what I’d left behind prior to Khalid’s challenge but decided I would enjoy more than the few remaining swallows—especially since there was backwash in what I’d left.

My eyes adjusted to the dim interior as I blinked. High sun outside; cool in the cantina. I’d sheathed the sword after wiping it down, laced up my sandals but dropped the burnous across the bar top. I leaned casually on one elbow set against the plank, watching men file back in. All took note of me: sandals, harness, dhoti, and twinned silver rings in my ears. Bigger than Southroners. Oh, and claw marks on my face, a crater under my ribs, stumps where my little fingers had once been. Quite a picture, if I do say so myself. And it all served a purpose. You didn’t take me for granted.

Well, at least, you shouldn’t.

There was quiet talk about the dance as customers resumed their seats, but in my presence none of them raised their voices. I turned to the bar and smiled into my mug. Sometimes it was just plain amusing to see what effect I had on others. Of course Del would say that was me being egotistical, but hey— I was what I was. As Khalid had found out.

Fouad, on the other side of the bar, said quietly, “You may have made an enemy today.”

“No ‘may’ about it. I definitely made an enemy today.” I swallowed aqivi, set the mug down. “But they are all my enemies, Fouad. I broke every oath, flouted the codes, dishonored my shodo, dishonored Alimat, and therefore dishonored every sword-dancer in the South. I expect that kid to come after me again.”

That kid, once I permitted him to get up from the dirt, had noted that I stood with the hilt in my right hand, blade resting lightly across the crook of my left elbow. It would be a simple matter for me to swing the sword backhand and lop off a limb. Khalid briefly matched my stare but not my casual smile. He inclined his head to acknowledge my victory, a muscle twitching in his clamped jaw, then turned, gathered up his sword and sandals, and walked stiffly away. His friends fell in beside him, though I suspected he wanted no part of them at that moment. As he departed, wagerers gathered around Fouad as he paid out.

Now he asked, “But if it restores honor to kill you, how is it you have students who want to learn instead of kill?”

“It’s not guilt by association,” I explained. “Yes, learning from me will undoubtedly result—and maybe already has resulted—in an additional challenge or two, and probably some very bad words and nasty accusations, but my students haven’t dishonored anything or anyone. What I started at Beit al’Shahar isn’t Alimat; we swear no oaths. There are no rituals.” I shrugged. “I’m just a teacher, not a true shodo.”

“And others like Khalid?” Fouad asked. “Will they come, too, to challenge you?”

“Khalid didn’t challenge the Sandtiger. He challenged a man for no other reason than to show off. He’d already defeated Neesha, and he underestimated me.”

“But others will come.”

I shrugged. “A few already found their way to the canyon. Two I had to kill.” It was two years before, and one of the dead was Abbu Bensir. We’d finally laid to rest the question of who was better, though I damned near bled to death in the doing of it. “Three others I defeated badly and gifted them with cuts that required enough stitching so they’d have impressive scars to show other sword-dancers; an understated warning from me to others that I won’t go down easily. We haven’t been bothered of late.” One-handed, I turned the mug idly against the bar top. “Swearing elaii-ali-ma— the repudiation of all my oaths and commitments to the honor codes—did not erase any of my skills, you know. But I admit it will be easier for anyone bent on killing me to find me, now that we’re leaving.”

Fouad’s eyes widened. “Leaving?”

“Temporarily.” I sighed in resignation. “Neesha managed to convince Del and me that we should go out and have adventures .”

His brows arched high on his forehead. Then he observed dryly, “You had an adventure today.”

“Well, yes.”

“And your son believes it’s worth it to place you at risk?” Fouad shook his head. “There’s no need for you to go, Tiger. You are you—still. Everyone knows it. Such risk is not necessary.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you suggesting I can’t hold my own against other sword-dancers? Just against Khalid?”

“Oh, I believe you can hold your own against anyone,” Fouad answered promptly. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean you’d actually be alive at the end of the dance.”

I weighted it with irony. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Fouad shrugged. “We’ve been friends for how long? Ten years? I’ve been witnessing you dance in Julah for a decade. I know how good you are.”

Friends. Hunh. Interesting he would say so. Fouad once sold out Del and me to a lethal and lunatic female tanzeer a couple of years before. Admittedly he’d done it under pain of death—a very painful death—but still. I didn’t consider us friends. We were friend ly , but that’s different. When you’re the sellee, not the seller, you hold different opinions. And that was how Del and I had come to own one-third of the cantina each. Recompense. Reparation.

“So,” I continued, “you can give the two-thirds share of the profits to Alric. He and Lena will be looking after Sula, and there are no students at the moment. They’ll need the coin.”

Fouad nodded, looking everywhere else save at me. “And if something should happen to you?”

Hah. I figured we’d get around to that. “There’s Del.”

“And to Del as well?—though the gods forbid it should be so.”

He seemed a little happier to assign death to me, rather than to Del. I glared at him. “Then there’s Neesha.”

“And what—”

I cut him off. “If the gods see fit to wipe out all three of us, there’s still Sula. She inherits.”

His face fell. He’d forgotten about her. Ten years before, when I’d first come to Julah, eventually making Fouad’s cantina sort of my headquarters, I’d been traveling solo. Now I had a family of four.

I grinned at him, then drank more aqivi. “Sorry, Fouad. One way or another, you’re stuck with us.”

Gloomily he said, “I suppose it could be worse.”

“Yes,” I agreed cheerfully. “I might have killed you instead of merely taking shares of the cantina.”

That set him to coughing into his aqivi. When he could breathe normally again, he noted nervously that it was time for him to see to his customers.

“I’m a customer,” I reminded him. The aqivi was having an effect. Hot sun, sword-dance, hours past breakfast, meaning a mostly empty belly. “I need food…and water . And a bed.” I usually stayed overnight when I went into town. But generally I didn’t drink so much aqivi. It had been a long time. If anyone challenged—or came at—me now, I would probably lose.

Fouad was startled. “A bed? It’s only afternoon.”

“ Late afternoon,” I emphasized. “And since when is it disallowed for a man to take a nap? A man who just faced a much younger man in the circle? And won?”

He considered that a moment, couldn’t find an inoffensive response, and nodded. “I’ll fix a tray. The bed you can find yourself, since you’re in it often enough.” Fouad turned away, muttering in disgust, “The Sandtiger…drinking water. Going to bed in the daytime .”