Waterdance (15 page)

He dropped several heavy bags in the corner; to Peri’s relief, there was a sword in his scabbard now, too.

“Here is your ale, the best I could find, and I fear it will not impress you,” he said rather grimly. “Conditions in the city are worse than I suspected. I am told there has been no rain for months, and many of the wells are dry. There is no water to be bought of better quality than what our hosts give us, and you are right, healers have linked bad water with several fevers rampant in the south.”

“In Bregond, the clans boil water they aren’t certain is safe,” Peri said slowly. “Supposedly boiling the water makes it so uncomfortable that any demons living in it are forced to flee. My father says that’s just superstition, but it’s true that the nomads never seem to get pond fevers or black squats from their water. If we can’t find anything else to drink, it’s worth trying. Are there any horses for sale?”

“Few,” Atheris said shortly. “And what there are, are of poor quality, even to my inexperienced eye. There is little grazing here, you see, with the drought, and feed is terribly expensive. But our host, Orren, recommended a merchant who was not in the market today. He should be there at midweek, tomorrow.”

Peri grimaced.

“Any good news?” she said.

“Yes,” Atheris said with a sigh. He pulled out a braided leather cord with what appeared to be metal and bone beads, incised with strange designs, knotted into it at regular intervals. “I was able to purchase spells that will protect us from any manner of magical detection. I put mine on immediately.” He pushed up his left sleeve, showing Peri the cord tied around his wrist. “Fortunately, being on the road to Rocarran, Darnalek at least attracts mages. The spells were not cheap, and I had to spin a lie of considerable complexity to explain their purchase. The curiosity of that mage troubles me, in fact, although it may have stemmed from my payment in gold rather than what I purchased. I changed some gold for coin later, though I got a miserable rate, so that we can prevent such notice in the future. But at least I can dissolve the blood spell on this building, and we have some money we can spend safely, and you can venture outside in your disguise if you are careful to remain silent.”

“Yes, and we can plan to ride south as soon as we find horses,” Peri said with relief. “I was afraid we’d have to buy
a wagon or a cart, something you could cast a spell on, and that’d slow us down too much—not to mention that I’m not sure we could even get a wagon across some of that terrain near the Barrier, much less across the plains in Bregond. Look, if we can find a couple of horses that are in even halfway decent health and a couple skins of something drinkable, I can get us back. You worry about those Bone Hunters, I’ll worry about the rest.”

Atheris smiled gravely and pulled a bundle out of one sack.

“These are for you,” he said rather awkwardly, handing her the bundle. Peri unrolled it and found, to her surprise and delight, a plain but sturdy tunic and trousers, a linen under-tunic, and a set of men’s smallclothes and hose. The cut of the garments was strange and the fabrics coarser than she usually wore, but Peri couldn’t have been more pleased if every piece had been of the finest, softest ikada wool.

“I looked at your tunic and trousers for size this morning, while you still slept,” Atheris said a little uncomfortably. “I dared not buy female garments, nor anything too fine, lest someone remark on it, but in those at least you can pass without attracting too much notice.”

“They’re fine, they’re fine,” Peri said happily, overwhelmed by the gesture. “Oh, Mahdha blow you the scent of your prey! I swear, if I never have to wear that filthy, stinking robe again—”

Without thinking she pulled off her tunic and trousers; it was not until Atheris gasped that she realized she was wearing nothing under it but a loincloth. Peri flushed, but the damage was done; there was nothing she could do but hurriedly pull on the linens and then the new tunic and trousers. When she finally forced herself to look up, she was startled and a little uneasy to see Atheris still staring at her, apparently not at all embarrassed. At last he made an apologetic gesture.

“Forgive me,” he said abashedly. “I have never seen a woman like you.”

“What, a Bregond, you mean?” Peri asked, concentrating on buckling her belt to cover her embarrassment. Bright Ones, breasts were breasts, and hers were nothing remarkable. Besides, he’d seen her the day before in the sweathouse, although with all the steam he’d probably not gotten much of a look.

“No, a warrior,” Atheris said, flushing slightly. “There are a few Sarkondish women who are warriors, I know, but I have only met women who serve in the temples, and they never learn the arts of death. I have never seen a woman muscled like a swordsman.”

Peri grimaced. Somehow it had sounded rather more complimentary when Danber had told her she looked healthy and strong. Then she frowned again, not liking it that this Sarkond’s opinion even mattered to her. She quickly turned the conversation by asking a question that had nagged at her since the day before.

“You said you know the Ithuara,” she said. “I didn’t know it was practiced in Sarkond.” That was as polite a way to ask When did Sarkond steal it from us? as she could think of.

Atheris glanced at her rather narrowly.

“The Ithuara was first practiced in Sarkond,” he said. “Or at least by the clans that later became the Sarkondish people. They were a race of nomads, with no good lands of their own, so they lived by conquest of other peoples. They developed a style of swordsmanship that encompassed and countered each style of swordfighting they encountered, offensive or defensive, in a qiva of its own, and thus the Ithuara grew.”

Peri felt her back stiffen with anger.

“I was taught,” she said coolly, “that the Ithuara was born in Bregond in the same way—not because the clans were vicious murderers out to steal other people’s lands, but because nearly every race of people have tried, at some time or other, to take ours.”

Atheris’s lips thinned slightly, and Peri was almost gratified to see some hint of a warrior’s pride in him at last. Any Bregondish clansman worth his salt would have challenged her for that remark.

“If the Ithuara grew in Bregond,” he said between his teeth, “explain how it came to be known here, since no Bregond would ever teach it to us?”

Peri gave a bark of laughter.

“I could ask you the same question,” she said. “And I could ask you another one, too. If the Ithuara’s Sarkondish, tell me how it is that Sarkonds don’t even know the preparatory stretches and breathing patterns that even the youngest Bregondish warriors learn?”

“Your ritual preparations,” Atheris said slowly and patiently, as if to a child, “are obviously a Bregondish invention and no part of the Ithuara. You surely could not expect to work your way through all those exercises in combat.”

“And you can’t expect to be a proper swordsman if you don’t understand the importance of flexibility and focus,” Peri retorted scornfully.

“That sounds like a challenge,” Atheris said, scowling.

“Then take it as one.” Peri drew her sword. “Have a guard?”

Atheris flushed.

“I did not buy this sword to play with,” he said defensively. “And we cannot risk the injuries of even a guarded blade. Scabbards only.”

Peri sighed and shrugged, laying her sword carefully aside. She unbuckled her scabbard and raised it, sketching a halfhearted salute and assuming a neutral stance. Let Atheris choose offensive or defensive; she’d trounce him quickly enough either way.

You’ve done well, Peri, Danber had said. You have the steel in your blood—the strength, the reflexes, but more importantly, the gut.

Peri was surprised when Atheris fell easily into a tight offensive, not taking the obvious Charging Boar qiva but choosing the much more difficult Diving Hawk, forcing Peri into Shifting Gusts, an equally tricky defensive qiva. He was pushing himself hard and testing her just as adroitly, and she was impressed; she’d never known a mage, Agrondish or Bregondish, to have either time or opportunity to master swordplay to any degree of skill.

Damn all, Peri, learn to THINK! Danber scolded. You can’t expect to hammer every opponent into the ground with sheer boldness.

Differences of opinion and race forgotten, Peri looked at Atheris now as warrior to warrior and paid him the compliment of tacitly acknowledging his skill, pushing back just as hard, falling into patterns she’d never risk against a lesser opponent for fear of hurting them. She turned his attack and took the offensive, gave him Stalking Cat, and he responded with Leaping Flame, a daring and risky counteroffensive she’d never seen before, so unexpected that it nearly forced her back on the defensive.

I won’t be able to practice with you much longer, Danber told her, half in admonishment, half with pride. You want it too badly. You take it to a level I won’t, not in practice, Peri. If you don’t learn to discipline yourself, you’re going to burn up in that fire.

Heart pounding, full of a savage exhilaration, she barely recovered, transmuting Stalking Cat to Mahdha’s Fury, one of her best offensive qivashim, and at last Atheris’s defense began to show signs of weakness. It soon became apparent to Peri that while Atheris had a thorough acquaintance with the qivashim, he simply did not have the sword-in-hand practice hours to build stamina and train his reactions to the edge she had achieved.

The realization apparently occurred to Atheris at the same time; the thought flickered in his eyes and he raised one eyebrow; Peri dipped her chin briefly in acknowledgment and abruptly the contest became the daring and cooperative dance of practice.

You take too many chances, Peri, Danber said. Too many risks. You overextend yourself—

She dropped her offensive and Atheris took it, Peri almost giddy with the ability to trust her opponent and test her defensive limitations, hone the rough edges of her skill against a partner who knew when to draw her out and when to back off, and let her work out a problem on her own. She reciprocated when she took the offensive again, pacing their dance so that Atheris could keep up with her, playing to his range rather than to raw strength and endurance. He acknowledged the gift with a half-smile, and in a sudden burst of confidence, heart pounding, blood pumping hotly, Peri dropped her attack, leaving Atheris an opening, and flowed as easily as breathing into Waterdance—

Enough, Peri. Danber meeting her eyes coolly.

Defiantly: Maybe you don’t want it badly enough, Danber.

Maybe, Peri, you want it too much.

And for one single, breathless instant, it almost worked.

Atheris’s eyes widened with surprise, his pattern faltered, breaking—

Then Peri stumbled and, to her complete disgust, fell heavily, her teeth clicking shut on her tongue in sudden exquisite pain, so hard that she faintly tasted blood.

An extended hand appeared in her field of vision and she glanced up, flushing with utter humiliation. To her surprise (and relief), Atheris’s expression held none of the ridicule that she had expected; his gray eyes were sparkling excitedly, and as he helped her up, his smile was encouraging, not mocking.

“That was marvelous,” he said. “I can barely remember the last time I had the opportunity to spar with a true master of the art. But what was that last qiva? Some Bregondish invention? I would swear I never saw it before.”

Peri grimaced.

“I’ve been working on a new offensive qiva,” she said with a sigh. “For a moment there I thought I finally had it. It’s a water qiva, meant to throw an opponent off balance, like when you step onto the deck of a boat on rolling water.”

“You—are creating a new qiva?” Atheris murmured, his eyes widening again.

Peri shrugged self-consciously.

“I know,” she said. “Pretty presumptuous of me, isn’t it?”

He chuckled.

“Given my level of achievement, I am scarcely qualified to judge,” he said. “It is an ambitious idea, true. But someone, after all, must invent the qivashim, and perhaps only those who are truly gifted are inspired to do so.”

Peri took a deep breath.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

Atheris raised his eyebrows questioningly, saying nothing.

“For not telling me I was jumping blind off a cliff for the sake of ambition,” she said a little abashedly.

Atheris grinned ruefully.

“I am scarcely one to make such an accusation,” he said. “But I believe sometimes that a leap is the only sane path to take.” He touched her shoulder. “And you are strengthened, are you not?”

“Strengthened?” Peri chuckled. “I feel—”

Then she met Atheris’s eyes and there was that flicker of recognition again, acknowledgment, and without thought Peri found his lips crushing hers, her fingers digging hard into his shoulders, not to push him away but to pull him closer. The hot coppery taste of blood from her bitten tongue was in both their mouths, and Atheris smelled of sweat and the slightly grimy leather of his tunic; then the tunic was gone and there was the heat of his skin against hers and the hardness of the wood floor against her back, then his, then hers, then his as they rolled heedlessly in combat no gentler than the dance of steel.

Peri’s blood boiled in her veins, pounded in her ears; this was no play now, no tentative experimentation. This was an Ithuara in flesh and blood, two warriors meeting on the battleground, the fierce ring of steel kissing steel, testing each other’s limits and then drawing back only to begin anew, asking no quarter and giving none. Atheris’s long, sweaty hair was in her eyes and mouth, his chest crushing her breasts and making her bruised ribs twinge; then Peri’s braids hung down around her face and the scar running down Atheris’s chest was smooth and strange under her tongue and his nails bit into the skin of her shoulders.

And at the end came a qiva against which there was no defense, and with that a surrender that was still victory, or perhaps just the opposite; and afterward, lying half on and half off one of their pallets in a sweaty tangle of hair and limbs and half-shed clothes, Peri admitted to herself with a sigh of something less than regret that the battle had, without a doubt, ended in a draw.