Sword Maker-Sword Dancer 3 (17 page)

I hadn't been in a circle since the one where I'd faced Del. I hadn't even sparred since the fight I'd danced with Del. Conditioning was a word that no longer applied to me.

But I'd been worse off before.

Of course, I'd also been younger--

A hound entered the bulb through the narrow neck.

At least, the hound tried to; I took its head with one blow.

There is something to be said for standing in an enclosed space while fighting

vicious beasts. Because while I'd sooner be out of the mountain, in bright, clean sunlight again, I discovered there were advantages to fighting just as I

was. Because each time I killed a hound, the body dropped to the floor. The pile

was forming a plug against the beasts still in the tunnel. And it gave me a chance to breathe. To hoard my dwindling strength.

To wet my thirsty jivatma.

Eventually, they stopped. When they did, so did I. And I realized there were no

more; at least, no more in the tunnel. The rest were somewhere else.

Winded, I stood sucking air, trying to clear my head. Sparks danced at the edges

of vision, bursting like tiny flamelets. I leaned over, bracing forearms across

bent knees, and tried to catch my breath. While beast-blood flowed over my boots.

When I could, I straightened, arched carefully backward, tried to unknot the kinks. Tried to stretch knurled scar tissue that threatened to crack with the strain.

Something echoed in the tunnel.

I snapped back into position, wincing, with jivatma at the ready. Before me was

a piled blockade of bleeding bodies. Through the gaps I heard a voice, distorted

by rock and distance; by the twists and turns of the dragon.

"--long I have waited?"

And Del's voice, softly: "Six hundred and forty-two years."

A pause, and surprise. "How can you know that?"

"They tell stories about you, Chosa."

Chosa. Chosa Dei? But he was only legend. A man made out of stories.

"What else do they say about me?"

"That you are an ambitious, vengeful man."

Uh-oh, bascha. Not the best thing to say.

"And what do they say about you?"

"That I am very like you."

I heard a hint of laughter. "But I am not a woman, and you are not a man; yes?"

"Sword-dancer," she answered quietly. "Sword-singer, as well. Staal-Ysta trained, Chosa... you do know of Staal-Ysta?"

"Oh, I know; yes, of course I know; I know many things, yes? I know Staal-Ysta--I know of jivatmas--I know many things, yes? As I know what you are,

yes? Exactly what you are. It's you I've been waiting for. I need you very badly, you and your jivatma--I've needed you for years--"

My cue, I thought. But my way was blocked by beasts.

Hastily I cleaned the blade on my dirty tunic and set the sword aside by the entrance. Without regard for the slime and putrid blood, I caught and dragged bodies aside, dumping them one on the other. Not all were in one piece; I kicked

the bits aside. As soon as I cleared an exit, I caught up the sword and ran.

Trouble was, the moment I moved the voices faded, stolen away by tunnels and crannies. I stopped short, crouching to save my head, and listened. Heard nothing but my own breathing. No more Del. No more Chosa Dei.

It couldn't be Chosa Dei.

I swore and went on awkwardly, hating the size of the tunnel. Hating myself for

my height. Wishing I had the kind of power that could blast the mountain apart,

taking Chosa with it. Chosa and his hounds.

"--so I had to have the whistle, yes? I had to have the wards. I have to have all the magic. It's what I do: collect. And I have to have it all; of course, all, what else? There's no point to it, otherwise; the purpose is defeated, yes?

There is no value to any magic if everyone has a little."

I stopped short, breathing hard, but Del made no answer. Or else I couldn't hear

it in the maze of the dragon's entrails. I sucked breath and ran on again, bootsteps echoing in the tunnel.

"--were a means, nothing more. I have no particular liking for beasts; I'm not a

man for pets. But I had to start somewhere, so I fashioned myself a--hound, I think you said, yes? Well, then, a hound. A good and loyal dog ready to die at

my command. Of course, then I needed more; harvesting jivatmas is difficult.

A

single beast wasn't up to the task, so I had it bring me another human. Who in

turn could bring me another. Villagers all, yes? Until I had enough, and sent them after jivatmas."

I took the left branch. Its ceiling was higher; I ran.

Hoolies, hoolies, bascha--what have you gotten yourself into?

The voice boomed by my side. "--no, no, not 'make'--I do better than that.

Making is very simple; I unmake, yes? That is my personal gift; the magic of Chosa Dei. I take what has been wrought and drain it of its power. I unmake it

most carefully, then reshape it to personal needs."

I stopped short as the voice died out, fading behind me gently like a candle carried away. I spun in place, sword tip scraping the wall. Nothing lay behind

me. Nothing but emptiness.

Oh, bascha. Bascha.

The voice echoed far down the tunnel, "--know what you are? Do you know what you

are?"

I listened as I ran, but heard nothing of Del's answer.

"--think you have denied yourself the awareness, afraid to admit the truth, yes?

I can smell that sword; I can taste it--I have tasted it all along. There is no

hiding it from me, in sheath or in a song. Nor can you hide it now; I can unsing

what you sing, unmake what you make."

This time I heard Del's voice: "Why?"

The sorcerer's tone was gentle. "So I may unmake the wards. So I may unmake my

prison." The tone abruptly altered; Chosa Dei was angry. "So I may unmake my brother, who put me in this place!"

The tunnel branched yet again. I started through it; stopped. It branched yet again. The dragon was full of tunnels, and Chosa was in them all.

Oh bascha, bascha. How in hoolies do I find you?

Fifteen

Rock bit into my knees. Blade clanged down. I realized I had fallen.

Behind me, the beast growled.

I lurched up, caught weapon, whirled. Spitted him as he leaped, then jerked the

blade free and struck again as a second hound appeared, lunging out of ruddy shadows. Behind him was a third.

Blood sprayed freely as I scythed through rib cage and spine, shearing the third

hound in half. I felt a flicker of pleasure; the jolt of victory.

And then I recalled Chosa's words: that the beasts had once been human.

Villagers from Ysaa-den. Sword-dancers from Staal-Ysta.

Bile rose. Briefly, only briefly, the hilt slipped in my hand. And then I smelled the stink. Felt the blood crusting on my face. And knew if I had hesitated the unmade men would have killed me.

Chosa Dei had Del. He no longer needed me. He no longer needed my sword; he had

the one he wanted. Had the one he required to set himself free of his prison so

he could find his brother and unmake Shaka Obre, who had had the abiding good sense to put Chosa away in a mountain where he could harm nothing and no one.

For six hundred and forty-two years.

Six hundred and forty-one; for the last six months or so, Chosa Dei had been busy.

And where, I wondered fleetingly, is Shaka Obre now?

Chosa Dei's voice slipped through cracks, "--and a woman is stronger, yes? A woman has greater needs. A woman has greater will. A woman, when she decides to

be, is much more dedicated. Much more determined, yes? More focused on her need."

Del's voice echoed oddly. "Some might say, more obsessed."

"But yes--yes, of course! Obsession is necessary. Obsession is required.

Obsession is the master when compassion undermines." I heard Chosa laugh. "Now I

understand. Now I comprehend. More than a jivatma. More than a blooding-blade.

More than a sword-dancer's weapon; it is your second soul. It is a second you--"

"No!" Del snapped. "I'm more than just a sword. More than just a weapon. More than a need for vengeance--"

Chosa sounded startled. "What is greater than vengeance when it has brought you

so far? It has shaped you; it has made you--"

"I made me! I made this jivatma. It didn't make me."

"It unmade you," Chosa answered, "to make you something else, yes? To make you

what you required; vengeance is powerful." The sorcerer's voice altered subtly.

"Tell me the sword's name."

One thing she's not, is stupid.

"Chosa Dei," Del answered promptly. "Now go unmake yourself--"

The voices faded again. Del and Chosa were gone.

Oh, hoolies, bascha--can't you sing out again? Just to give me a little clue?

Chosa's voice boomed loud; a trick of the tunnels again. "You will tell me the

name, yes? While you still have both feet, both hands? While you still have both

your breasts?"

I called him every name I could think of. But I did it silently.

Except for raspy breathing and echoing bootsteps as I ran.

Branch upon branch upon branch. But the light was growing brighter. The stench

even more offensive. And Chosa Dei's threats were imperative; I heard the whine

and snarl of gathering hounds. The wheezing of a bellows.

Bellows?

Light slashed briefly through a crack in the tunnel wall, glinting off my blade.

I stopped short, muttered a curse as sore muscles complained, put out my hand toward the crack. Warm air and smoke wisped through; that, and ruddy light.

I pressed myself against the wall, jamming my face into the crack. I saw light

and fire and smoke; all three made my eye water. Tears ran down my face.

I swore, changed eyes, tried to see specifics.

Saw men tending a fire. Men tending a forge; Chosa Dei was playing at smith.

Rock bit into my forehead as I slumped against the wall. I couldn't believe what

I'd seen. Couldn't trust my eyes. But a second look confirmed it: Chosa Dei had

a forge. Men were tending a bellows. He had been stealing jivatmas, and now he

wanted Del's. So he could break free of the wards set by Shaka Obre.

Chosa Dei had more than a forge. He had a crucible. He was melting down jivatmas. Unmaking them, for their magic; to use for his own designs.

And now he wanted Boreal. Now he needed a banshee-storm and all the wild magic

of the North in order to burst his bonds. To bring the mountain down so the dragon could fly again.

The voice came through the crack. "--was powerful, once. I can be again. But I

need the wild magic. I have to restore myself; to banish diminishment, yes?

To

make myself whole again, so I can unmake my brother."

Del's answer was lost in the roar of newborn flame fanned into life by the bellows. I saw it sucked up, then out; saw it pass through the curtain that Del

and I had faced. And at last I had my bearings.

Now all I had to do was find a way out of the tunnels and into the second chamber on the far side of the curtain.

Where I would do--what?

Hoolies, I don't know. Cut Chosa's gehetties off--if sorcerers have gehetties--and give them to Del as a trophy.

If she was alive to receive them.

If she was in one piece.

Hang on, Delilah. The Sandtiger's on his w--

The hounds began to chorus.

Chosa Dei's voice rose above it. "--can unsing any song. I can unmake any sword.

Shall we try it, yes?"

--don't let her die again--

Running. Stumbling. Swearing. Coughing in the smoke. Squinting against the light--light... hoolies, the tunnel floor was broken. The cracks were open fissures leading straight down into the chamber behind Shaka Obre's wards.

I threw myself to the tunnel floor and stuck my head into one of the fissures.

Held my breath against odor and smoke as tears sprang into my eyes. Blinked my

vision clear; saw, in the instant before tears returned, the glint of Del's jivatma. Saw the circle of beasts pressing close.

And Chosa Dei below me.

If I could drop my sword straight down, I could split his head like a melon.

Then again, I might miss. And give him another jivatma.

You can't tell much about a man when all you can see of him is the top of his head and shoulders. Eyes will tell you a lot; so will expression and posture.

I

could see none of those things. Only dark hair and dark-swathed shoulders.

But I could see Del clearly.

She was completely ringed by beasts. Within the circle, she stood unmoving; carefully, utterly still. In her arms was Boreal: diagonal slash from left to right, cutting across her breasts. Forgeglow lighted the steel. Wardglow turned

it red.

Del could change the color. She only had to sing.

But Chosa Dei could unsing her songs. Del had no weapon to use.

Leaving me with mine.

Hoolies, what do I do?

Chosa Dei spoke again. "Shall I show you how I unmake a man? How I remake him into a beast?"

Del said nothing.

"Yes, I think I shall."

Transfixed, I stared in disbelief. Del stood imprisoned by hounds, helpless to

stop the sorcerer. Thus free to do as he wanted, Chosa Dei called over one of the men who tended the forge and dismissed the other three. The fourth one knelt, and Chosa put hands on his head.

Part of me screamed at the man to escape, to pull away, to get free of Chosa Dei. But he did none of those things. He just knelt in silence, staring blankly,

as Chosa put hands on him.

"No," Del said quietly.

Chosa's voice was as quiet. "Oh, I think yes."

He unmade the man. Don't ask me how. All I know is the shape of the man altered

somehow, was altered somehow, slowly and subtly, until the nose was thrust outward, the jaw pushed backward, the shoulders folded inward, hips re-bent into