'It is true.'
'But now I am back,' he said, wondering why she showed him only her face and did not ask him to enter.
'I am very happy for you,' she said.
It was time to face facts. He knew, but he just wasn't ready to admit that it was true. He bent, entered the house. She moved away, her back to him. In the light of the fire and the light vents left by the think vines she seemed different, more mature, but that was natural, for she would have filled out, especially during the time of long light when food was plentiful.
'Two cycles is a long time, Duwan,' she said.
'True.'
She turned slowly. In profile her stomach protruded mightily, suggesting that, perhaps, she carried twins. She had not even waited until the
'Who?' he asked, his voice a croak.
'Noo,' she said.
'A good match. Son of Manoo the Predictor.'
'Oh, Duwan—' She took one step toward him, her legs wide to balance the front-heavy bulk of her body. She halted when there was movement behind them and a well built young male entered.
'Greetings, Duwan,' said Noo, son of the Predictor. 'I was moved by the recitation of your adventures.'
'I have given my greeting to an old friend, a female that I tended in the young house,' Duwan said. 'I ask your understanding and forgiveness for entering your house in your absence.'
Noo made a gesture of negation. 'You are welcome as a friend of the family, and as our most famous warrior.'
'May they be twins,' Duwan said, nodding at Alning.
'The midwife thinks so,' Noo said. He smiled. 'A good way to start a family, is it not?'
Duwan walked north, skirted springs, found himself under the cliffs where, at a time that seemed both far distant and most recent, he had climbed into the rays of Du to thrust his left arm into the concealed maw of the rock sucker. He started climbing, soon felt the weak light as he clambered recklessly to the very top of the cliffs. At the top, with a cold wind sweeping across the barrens, he looked down on the steam and green of the valley and wept.
'Du,' he said, 'if this is punishment for my errant ways when I was among the enemy, then it is deserved.' But, ah, it hurt. It hurt more than he had hurt when he'd lopped off his left arm to save his own life. It hurt so much that he remembered the story his grandmother had told him about the son who had leaped, or fallen, from the cliffs. It was tempting, for a moment. Then he looked again at the valley, saw the villages, the movement of Drinkers in the squares, remembered the intoxicating heat of Du in the far south. He had his duty.
He found Belran at the forge of a metal worker, stripped to the waist, wielding a hammer himself, forming a sweetly designed blade. He watched. That blade would taste enemy blood and help to return the stolen heritage of his people. Why, then, did he not exult?
'The fires of the forges will burn all winter,' Belran said, as he dipped the glowing blade to the accompaniment of a hissing and metallic smelling steam. 'There, that is all for today. We will let the spirit of the metal rest for a time.' He wiped his hands on his garment and buckled on his weapons. 'This royal guardsman you fought,' he said. 'Did you note well his technique?'
'Quite well,' Duwan said. 'He was the best I'd seen.'
'Show me.'
There was no audience. Longswords were padded. Duwan played the part of Captain Hata. His sword hissed and thudded against Belran's padded weapon. He felt the sweat begin to form, and the closest thing he would ever know to joy—or so, at least, did he think at the time—filled him as he faced a sword as skilled, possibly more skilled, than his own and demonstrated Hata's offensive techniques. Then he stepped back.
'I shifted to the left hand,' he said, 'after studying all his techniques. He was susceptible to a low, rising sweep, but he managed to counter it.' Belran came at him, and he found it more difficult to counter the left-handed blows. It ended, oddly enough, as his duel with Hata had ended. He felt the impact of Belran's sword on his head, was dazed, but felt the solid impact of his padded blade on Belran's toughened stomach at the same instant. He rose, shaking his head, and helped Belran to his feet. The older warrior was panting.
