The rhythm of hours, of days, of sessions settled into a comforting discipline. Herakleio and I warmed up together, performed ritual exercises designed to train the body's reflexes and control, sparred briefly; then I set about showing him techniques and maneuvers; then Del came in to test his comprehension of what I'd explained and demonstrated while I stood apart to make suggestions and comments. We trained during the day, but also at night with the torches lighted, so the eye would not be prepared only for daylight.
Occasionally I'd step back in and correct Herakleio's grip on the leather-wrapped hilt, or show him a maneuver that might offset whatever it was Del had just done to disarm him, but most of the time I simply watched and critiqued as the young Northern woman and the young Skandic man moved closer to the dance.
Then, of course, I made the mistake of shouting out for Del to correct one of her maneuvers.
It was growing late in the evening and the torches fluttered in the breeze. She shot me such an outraged and venomous glance that I was moved to immediate defense. "Well, hey," I said, "there's no sense in letting you make mistakes either."
Herakleio, having learned one thing, held his stance and made no assumptions as to whether this incident was unplanned, or specifically designed to catch him off guard.
"Was it a mistake?" Del asked coolly. "Or merely a maneuver different from the one you might favor?"
As she lowered her sword to look at me, Herakleio realized it was a true disengagement. He stepped away warily, out of her reach, but did not relax completely.
"I favor whatever might help you win," I shot back. "You'd have lost with that maneuver. You left yourself wide open."
"To whom? You?"
"To anyone with wit enough to see the opening."
"Then come test me, Tiger."
"No."
"Come on, Tiger. Show me. Test me."
"No."
Herakleio asked, "Are you afraid?"
"Stay out of this," I said grimly, "or you'll end up with more bruises than you already have."
"But if she's right-if her maneuver is correct for her and merely different from one you might use …"
I glared at him. "Ten days have made you an expert, I see."
He didn't flinch; but then, he wouldn't. "Ten days have taught me that each opponent may have his-or her-own individual style, and one had better learn to adjust one's own style to it at any given moment."
Well, I couldn't argue with that. But I sure wanted to.
"Tiger," Del said with admirable self-restraint. "I'm not saying you were wrong. Only that I did it intentionally. With specific purpose."
"That's all very well and good," I returned, "but you'd have ended up dead. Unintentionally dead, perhaps, but dead. And without specific purpose."
"Then come show me."
I glared at Del, then included Herakleio in it. "I don't want to spar with you. Even with wooden swords."
"Tiger, we have sparred many times! Even after the dance on Staal-Ysta, where we nearly killed one another."
Herakleio, leaping head-first into stupidity again, said, "I'd like to hear about that."
I set my teeth and ignored him, speaking only to Del. "The last time we danced was in the big rockpile in the Punja, when you wanted to lure Chosa Dei out of my sword."
"Which I did."
"Del …" I shook my head. "We have danced two times with intent beyond conditioning one another. Once in the North on Staal-Ysta, because the voca tricked us into it-and both of us nearly died, as you pointed out. Then again a matter of two months ago, out in the desert, when Chosa Dei nearly ate me alive from the inside out."
"Yes," Del said.
"In both circumstances, it was far too dangerous for either of us. We're lucky we didn't die on Staal-Ysta-"
"Yes."
"-and lucky you weren't swallowed by Chosa Dei when he left my sword for yours-"
"Yes."
"-and each time the threat came to life only when we faced one another with blades."
"Yes," she said again.
I stared at her. "Well?"
Del smiled. "It means in each case that our skills have proved equal to luck."
"I would like to see it," Herakleio said seriously.
I rounded on him then, blistering him with every foul curse I could think of on the instant. I only stopped when I became aware of applause, and noticed both Del and Herakleio had turned away from me.
I shut up. There on the other side of the wall was the metri, being seated in a chair with Simonides' aid, and beside her two people: Prima Rhannet and her blue-headed first mate. The captain was applauding.
"Foul tongue," she said, grinning. "One might suggest it be cut out of your head."
"Care to try?" I asked sweetly.
"Oh, no," she returned, unperturbed. "I think not. But you will be tried, and by the woman Herakleio is so intent upon seeing dance against you. Which means he must believe she is better." Smiling, she gestured briefly at Nihko, who bent and lifted something from the ground at his feet.
Swords.
He set them lengthwise precisely atop the wall, then took a single step away as if to repudiate any link to them. The message was clear: these were the swords the metri had hired them to find, so Del and I could enter the circle to settle my term of employment.
I looked at the metri. There was little resemblance to the ill woman I had seen in bed. Her hair was pulled off her face and gathered into a variety of plaits and loops, secured with enamel-and-gold pins. She wore a tunic and heavy beaded necklace; also a loose robe that billowed in the breeze. She sat quietly in the chair, arms folded neatly across her lap, but her expression was severe.
"Now," the metri said, "let it be settled, this argument of service."
"Here and now," I said skeptically.
"Indeed."
I looked from her to her servant. "How is she?"
He seemed to understand I asked him because she would not give me the truth, even if she answered. "Well enough," he said.
"Much improved," the metri snapped, clearly annoyed. "Now, be about it. If you win, you may be excused from service beyond our original agreement. If she wins, you will stay on an additional length of time to be decided by me."
I shook my head.
The metri looked at Nihko. "Make him."
Nihko looked at me. "I can."
Del threw down her wooden blade. "I want no part of this. I agreed to dance with Tiger, but I will not do so if he is forced. It abrogates the honor codes and oaths."
"What 'honor codes and oaths'?" Prima asked scathingly. "He's his own kind of ikepra. He has no such thing."
"We make our own," Del declared, stung. "He and I, between us."
Herakleio hooked a foot beneath her wooden sword and scooped it into the air, where he caught it easily. "Then do so," he suggested. "The metri has hired you. You accepted. Is that not honor? And dishonor if you refuse?"
Prima's tone was sly. "You renounced your honor, Sandtiger; she has not. Do you expect her to break all of her oaths simply to be with you? Or has she none left because she is with you?"
The terrace was round, but we were cornered anyway. Del and I did not even bother to look at one another. They had found the holes in our individual defenses and exploited them perfectly.
I took up the blades from the wall and handed one to Del. Her eyes searched mine, asking the question.
In answer, I walked to the center point of the terrace. It wasn't a proper circle, but our minds would make it one. I leaned, set down the weapon with a faint metallic scrape, turned my back on it and paced to the wall farthest from the spectators. Torchlight filled my eyes; I half-lidded them against it.