'What, with you waiting to push me off?'
Mildly I suggested, 'So don't let me.'
He sucked in wind enough to blister me with all manner of vulgar commentary, but just then Del came around the corner into view and he shut his teeth with a click.
She carried two four-foot sticks in her hands-Simonides had donated precious broom handles-plus a couple of shorter, narrower pieces of wood, leather strips, a fruit knife, cloth, and a waterskin. She wore, as she had since arriving at Akritara, a long sleeveless linen tunic, very sheer, bound at the waist by a sash of crimson cloth. Flat rings of hammered brass were stitched into the fabric. They glinted in the sunlight.
She took in the sight of Herakleio straddling the wall, me waiting at ease very nearby, and chose to perch upon the wall at some distance from us both. She laid out the makings and without saying a word set about her task.
'Walk the wall,' I said.
Herakleio shot me a glance of smoldering fury. But Del was within earshot. Del could see what he did or did not do. Del was a woman; Del was a beautiful woman; Del was the kind of woman for whom a man would fall down and eat dirt until he choked if she so much as indicated an interest in seeing him do so.
He stepped up onto the wall and began to walk it.
EIGHTEEN
EVENTUALLY I let Herakleio off the wall to stand on the ground again. He was hot, dusty, sweaty, and immensely frustrated. From time to time he'd muttered to himself, but it was quietly done, and only when he had made certain Del's attention was focused on her work. When she did glance our way, he stood very straight, shoulders level, arms loose at his sides, head put up with a proud lift.
Oh, he was a good-looking young buck, no question. A veritable godling, as I'd noted before. He was gifted with the tools that could make an expert sword-dancer: the balance, the reach, the grace, the power, the explosive quickness. His body was not built for elegance, for litheness, but it nonetheless understood how to compensate. And it wanted badly to win. The reason it didn't win was because my body knew how to defeat it.
Looking at Herakleio, understanding completely the needs of a young and vital body hungry for activity and proper focus, I understood at last why the shodo of Alimat, petitioned weekly by anxious boys, had unaccountably accepted as student a former slave in the year he refused to accept anyone else.
Fifteen years, give or take, and the desire to learn. That was what lay between us, the metri's heir and me. A thin line, I thought, albeit built of tension.
I looked beyond him to Del, raising eyebrows in a silent question. In answer, she came to us and presented me with two practice swords cobbled together from broomsticks, vinewood, and leather. One I handed to Herakleio.
'Now's your chance,' I said. 'Have at it.'
He stared blankly at the sword, then looked at me. 'What?'
'Hit me,' I invited. 'Beat the hoolies out of me.'
'I would like to,' he said with cold viciousness, 'but-' And broke it off abruptly.
'But?' I prompted.
He slid a glance at Del, firmed his chin, glared back at me. 'I am not a fool. I know what you are. I know what you will do.'
'And what am I?-besides all the vulgar things you are no doubt calling me inside your head.'
'Sword-dancer,' he said bitterly.
'Ah.' I smiled. 'Is that an admission that I might know what I'm doing?'
'That you know how to kill people, yes.'
'But killing people, as I explained at dinner, is not what the dance is about.'
He sneered. 'What else might it be?'
Gently I shook my head. 'Some questions are better answered by the student, when he has learned them.'
He wanted very badly to throw down the wooden sword. He probably wanted worse to smash it across my face. But Del was with us-and his eyes told me he knew I would win the argument, be it verbal or physical.
'Try,' I suggested. 'You might get lucky.'
He tried for a long time.
He did not get lucky.
Later, much, much later, I soaked the sweat and grit and soreness-and the residual taint of wine-out of a filthy body. I'd excused Herakleio around midday, watched him consider breaking the broomstick 'sword' over his knee, watched him eventually decide to simply stomp away. But he took the sword, as I'd told him to.
Now, with Del sitting beside the pool resetting the leather wrappings on my wooden weapon, I dawdled in the water. It was warm, relaxing, and I felt the muscles ease themselves out of knots and stiffness.
Del, hearing my noisy sigh of satisfaction, glanced up from her work. 'Tired?'
'He's strong.'
'He never touched you.'
'Keeping him from touching me took some effort.' I sloshed arms through the water. 'And I'm out of shape. Out of practice.'
Del was startled. 'You admit it?'
'Hoolies, I'll admit a lot of things, bascha. You just have to make sure I'm either drunk, or wrung out like I am now.'
'I will remember that.' She paused. 'Why did you let him try you so early?'
'Everyone who ever wants to learn a skill wants to learn it yesterday,' I explained. 'They're not interested in what comes before. I remember how frustrated I was that I wasn't even allowed to hold a sword for so many weeks, while I learned footwork. Not even a practice sword.'
'So?'
'So I let him hold it. Let him try it, and me. Let him see it's not so easy as he might think.'
'I doubt he thinks it's easy.'
'Kids his age always think it's easy.'
Del averted her gaze. 'Sometimes, it is.'
'Sometimes. For some people. For specific reasons.' I knew what she meant. She'd been an apt pupil of the sword, surpassing most if not all of the ishtoya on Staal-Ysta who had begun before she had. Because she was gifted with the body to be so, but also because she had needed to be better so very badly, to achieve her goal-and to be considered good enough. 'Now he understands the fundamentals are imperative. You'd better know how to avoid a blade before you try to use one.'
'Defense is much more difficult to learn than offense,' Del agreed. 'And far more vital in the circle.'
I ducked beneath the surface of the water, came up with my head tilted back. Water ran down from my hair.
'So, bascha, who do you think is better? Me, or Abbu Bensir?'
She blinked in surprise. 'That is not something I can answer.'
'Why not? You know what I'm capable of. You've sparred and danced with Abbu. And you saw us dance in Sabra's circle.'
She shook her head. 'I can make no answer, Tiger. I think only a dance could settle this.'
'But there won't ever be a dance. Not a proper one.' I worked at a tight shoulder, schooling my voice into a bland matter-of-factness I didn't feel. 'No proper dances ever with anyone, only excuses for killing.'
She set the sword beside her and turned all her attention to me. 'It's what the metri expects of you, isn't it? Having to train Herakleio has put you in this mood.'
'He could be good.'
