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gaze was locked on the voca. "I am the Sandtiger," I said. "Born of the South, born of the Punja... I'm a sword-dancer, seventh-level." The declaration produced silence. After a moment, Stigand nodded. "This man is known to me. He is indeed the Sandtiger, bearing the scars of the cat he killed to gain a name, won in honor and dignity." Well, there hadn't been much dignity about it, really. The cat had nearly killed me. It had been sheer good fortune that I'd dodged the worst of his paw-swipes while managing to pin him against the rocks with my crude spear, until I pierced his vitals. Honor? Maybe. I'd just wanted my freedom; it had seemed the only way. Stigand droned on. "You have come to Staal-Ysta as sponsor to the an-ishtoya." I said I had. "Knowing what the responsibility entails." Well, more or less; I'd support Del's story and tell them I thought her actions had merit. I said so. "Willing to accept that responsibility in whatever form it takes." Inwardly, I sighed. Told him I'd agreed. Wished they'd hurry up-- "How well do you know the an-ishtoya?" Hoolies, at this rate it would take all day just to establish my credentials! Briefly, I told the voca I'd spent the last ten months riding with Del, and that I probably knew her as well or better than anyone, since we'd been bedmates as well as swordmates, and had sparred with her in the circle as well as dancing in exhibitions, and had accompanied her on missions of employment, easily verifiable if they wanted to take the time to track down our Southron employers. I thought that might shut him up; it would take a very long time. Stigand's expression was fierce. "And do you support everything the an-ishtoya has said? Do you support her reasons for killing Baldur?" It was a true test, and tricky. I'd have to choose my answer carefully. Cursing my lack of fluency in Borderer, I nonetheless embarked on what I hoped was an eloquent, impassioned defense of Del's actions. But halfway through I ran out of eloquence entirely, stopped, took another step forward. "It doesn't matter," I told them. "What matters is the voca's interpretation of her actions, not a decision based on wrongness or rightness. We all have been faced with doing things we'd rather not do. I doubt any of us enjoys killing people, but we do it when we have to. I say that have to is determined by the strength of the circumstances." I drew in a breath. "Del swore an oath on the souls of her murdered kin as well as her jivatma that she would avenge their deaths. That in itself has honor, as taught here at Staal-Ysta. But she knew her chances of succeeding were slight; a woman alone, no matter how good with a sword, can't overcome twenty or thirty men." I gestured briefly in Del's direction, indicating the sword. "She could count on no one but file:///D|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry...Sword%20Dancer%202%20-%20Sword%2 0Singer.txt (155 of 181) [2/4/2004 10:40:07 PM] file:///D|/Documents%20and%20Settings/harry/Desktop/Roberson,%20Jennifer%20-%2 0Sword%20Dancer%202%20-%20Sword%20Singer.txt herself--collecting a blood-debt is a thing left to kin, and she had none left--so she called upon the only man Page 178 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html she knew capable of giving her the strength, support and power she required--she called on her an-kaidin." "She kitted her an-kaidin!" Stigand's impassioned cry hung in the morning air. And I thought, looking at him, I'd been a fool to hope he would suggest as a just sentence anything but her death. I wet my lips. "But Baldur isn't dead. He lives on in her jivatma." "Not possible," Telek declared. I disagreed. "Don't Northerners believe that by blooding a jivatma in the body of an honored person, enemy or otherwise, that the sword takes on the attributes of that person?" Telek gestured. "There is more to it than that." "Broken down," I said distinctly, "that's basically what it means. And maybe what it is; I've seen jivatmas 'die,' when deprived of the sword-dancer's life. First Theron's sword, then Bron's... they became merely swords instead of remaining jivatmas." The voca exchanged glances. Clearly I'd unveiled nothing new, but maybe they'd hoped I wouldn't know so much about their customs. "So," I said quietly, "Del called on Baldur to help, and Baldur did. He stepped into the circle. He danced with his best an-ishtoya. And he died, so that Del's jivatma could live. So that she could collect the blood-debt, in true Northern style. With true Northern honor." The old man stared at me. I saw grief, anger, acknowledgment. But he said nothing. He merely swung around and walked away, while the other nine followed him. Hoolies, I hate waiting. But waiting is what we did, Del and I. While all the others stood and watched, waiting as much as we did. Eventually, Stigand came marching back with the voca. Took his place again before Del's cage of swords. Said nothing as the others fell in to flank him; Telek avoided my eyes, as did Stigand. Not a good sign. The old man looked straight at Del. "You have killed one of our number. That is unforgivable. But so are the deaths of others." Del didn't even blink. "You have agreed to pay swordgild to Baldur's kin; he has none. You will pay it instead to Staal-Ysta, to help in times of need." Del nodded once. "As to the sentence for the murder of your an-kaidin, we will be lenient. We offer you a choice: death, or life. Exile yourself and go, or stay here and be executed." Instantly there was an outbreak of conversation among all those watching. Some clearly felt the sentence was just, others argued against it. I looked at Stigand. So. The old man had upheld his end of the deal. I looked at Telek. His face was stony, but I saw satisfaction in his eyes. The honor of Staal-Ysta was upheld, Del was punished, they both got what they wanted: Staal-Ysta empty of painful reminders of deaths and births. I released a sigh of relief. Now we could go South. Now we could go home. "How long," Del asked, "is the exile?" "Forever," Stigand told her. Unsurprised, Del nodded. "I'd like to buy back a year." It stopped all the clamor dead. Everyone stared; some gaped. Stigand was clearly puzzled. "Buy back a year?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |