might well have accomplished it had he kept himself to whores and unmarried women. But he did not. There was the Palomedi metri's daughter, you see-when the metri herself believed he was faithful to her. '
'Recall what he is!' Prima said sharply.
Herakleio filled it with scorn. 'Ikepra.'
I poured more wine. It was very good. Maybe it wouldn't be so difficult to remain here for a while. 'This is what I enjoy most in life,' I said lightly, 'good food, good wine, good friends.'
Del's expression was guileless. 'Pity Abbu Bensir isn't present.' Before I could say yea or nay, she served me with something from a common dish.
'Who?' Herakleio asked crossly, even as I scowled at Del.
I peered at the food, frowning. It looked like leaves all rolled up into miniature sleeping bundles.
'Abbu Bensir is a sword-dancer,' Del answered. 'A very good sword-dancer. In fact, he claims to be the best in the South.'
'Ah.' Prima shot a grin at me. 'Surely there are those who disagree.'
'Surely there are,' Del confirmed demurely.
'What is this?' I poked the rolled plant with a wary finger.
Prima leaned, plucked one bundle from my plate, paused long enough to say 'stuffed grape leaves' and bit it in half.
'Stuffed with what?'
'Kill-for-hires,' Herakleio said dismissively.
For one bizarre moment I thought he meant that's what was rolled up inside the grape leaves. But no.
Del turned at once to me. 'Is that true? That all sword-dancers are hired murderers?'
She could answer as well as I. For some reason she didn't want to. I bestowed upon her a look that promised we'd discuss this later, then glanced at Herakleio.
'I have killed,' I said. 'But then most men have, in the Punja, because there is often no choice. But that has little to do with being a sword-dancer.'
'How not?' Prima asked, having survived the leaf-bundle.
Herakleio snorted disdain, helping himself to the common bowl.
'I dance,' I pointed out. 'I am hired by tanzeers-our desert princes-to settle disputes in the circle so that men need not die.' I shrugged. 'Skirmishes, battles, and wars waste men in a hostile land that kills too many by itself. It's simply good sense to save lives by settling disputes in the circle.'
'But you say you've killed!'
I picked up one of the leaf-bundles Del had bestowed upon me. 'Bandits,' I answered. 'Borjuni. Slavers. Tanzeers.' I bit into the bundle, contemplated its flavor, swallowed. 'Sorcerers.'
That shocked Herakleio. 'Sorcerers!'
'Have you none here?' Del asked.
'loSkandi,' Prima said, avoiding Nihko's look.
'Who?' I asked. 'What are they, anyway? I've heard the term before.' I shot a glance at Nihko. 'Though it seems to be a secret.'
He smiled enigmatically. 'And so it shall remain.'
Herakleio turned the topic back upon itself. 'This Abbu Bensir,' he said. 'Is he better than you?'
I opened my mouth to answer, shut it. Was aware of Del's attention though she hid it, and the scrutiny of the others. In the South I might have immediately confirmed my status with dramatic bravado, but I was not in the South. And for some reason, here and now, I felt like telling the truth. 'I don't know.'
'Have you ever danced against him?'
'Many times.'
'Then you should know who is better. Or are you afraid to admit he is?'
'We were trained together, Abbu and I. We sparred many times then, and have since, to test skills and conditioning. But we have met only one time in a circle that would have determined who truly was better.'
'And the result?'
I shook my head. 'There was none. The dance was never finished.'
'Ah.' Herakleio smiled as if he knew why. 'And so the true answer must wait for another time, another circle, and another dance.'
'No,' I said.
'What, then? Is he dead?'
'He was very much alive the last time we saw him.'
'Then why will you never settle things?' Herakleio demanded. 'Are you afraid?'
The food was suddenly tasteless in my mouth. 'There are rituals. Honor codes, oaths, things that bind those of us who are trained by swordmasters such as I was, and Abbu. In the circle dishonor is not tolerated, nor broken oaths. Not among true sword-dancers; there are men who fancy themselves sword-dancers, who attempt to act the part, but they aren't. They just want the glory without the years, the work.'
'Or the oaths,' Del said softly.
I shrugged. 'Abbu and I might meet again someday, but it won't be to settle who is better. It will be a death-dance, to punish a man who broke all the codes and honor of Alimat.'
'Why?' Herakleio demanded.
'Elaii-ali-ma, ' I answered. Then phrased it in a word they'd understand, as I looked at Nihkolara. 'I'm ikepra, too.'
The muscles of his face stilled. His hands stopped moving. Even his eyes, fixed on me, were hard as stone.
Among dangerous men there are two kinds of quietude of the body: when he is at ease, and when he wishes to attack. The latter is not the same as being prepared to fight or to defend, though it can be mistaken as such by the inexperienced. The latter is neither bluster nor challenge, but the willingness and the wish to tear into pieces the offending party.
And not doing it.
Beside me, Del, too, stilled. Prima Rhannet had stopped breathing. Only Herakleio, blind to the tensions, was relaxed. And smiling, as if pleased by my answer. I had, after all, confessed my unworthiness in terms he understood.
Nihkolara rose. His hands at his side trembled minutely, as if he could not bear the demands of his body. He had not reacted when Herakleio disdained his manhood, but for some inexplicable reason, my casting myself into his place stirred in him some deep response.
'Nihko,' Prima said softly.
He did not look at her, but only at me. With effort he moved his jaws. 'A man living in darkness,' he said, 'has not known the light and thus may not repudiate it, nor hold common cause with one who has.'
With immense self-control and no little dignity, he walked from the chamber.
Prima was unsmiling as she looked at me. 'That was ill done.'
'Was it?' Del inquired with a softness I recognized. 'Tiger is what he is, and may confess it freely to anyone he wishes.'
Prima, who did not recognize such softness, began with some heat. 'Nihko is what he is-'
'And has the freedom to be so,' Del interrupted. 'So do we all: man, woman, renegada, sword-dancer. Skandic or Southron.'
'But is he a man?' Herakleio, of course, was focused on insults. 'Nihko no longer claims the part of-'
'Stop,' I said, so coldly that he obeyed me. 'There is more to manhood, as Captain Rhannet put it so eloquently, than that which dangles between our legs.'
Herakleio laughed. 'The willingness to use it?'
Prima ignored the comment, ignored Herakleio, and stared searchingly at me a long moment. Her expression was unfathomable. Then her mouth twisted, and she looked at Del. 'You do have him trained.'
Del neither smiled nor replied. This time, Prima recognized the softness in the Northern woman that had nothing to do with weakness of will, and everything to do with strength of purpose. And her eyes shied away.
'The metri,' I said as I picked up my wine, 'is a very wise woman.'
'For avoiding this?' Herakleio suggested.
