hadn't gone in with Del. His hand came up; would a second gesture peel my fingers from the edge?
Not this time, you bastard.
I swung under, released, twisted and caught plank again, this time on the other side. Shoulder tensed briefly, then I thrust myself upward even as I swung a leg up and over. Toes caught, then the ball of my foot. I used the momentum. Came up, reached, grabbed the closest ankle, and jerked as hard as I could.
Nihko fell. He landed hard on the planking, rolled from his back to his side, then scrabbled wildly as he overbalanced. I thought briefly what might happen if he ended up dangling from his side of the plank while I dangled opposite him. Decided I didn't like that much.
So as he swung down, I dropped from the edge again and kicked him in the gut. His entire body spasmed as his lungs expelled air, and his hands released the plank. The impact of his body flat upon the water soaked me thoroughly. But it was the best bath I'd ever had.
I hung there a moment, enjoying the view of Nihko floundering his way to the surface, then became aware of Del's sea-slick head not so far away. 'You all right?' I called.
She waved an assenting hand, treading water.
Relief. I clenched my teeth, hoisted myself up to the edge of the plank again, and hooked the foot on wood. A kick with my free leg gave me a little added momentum, and I thrust myself up the rest of the way. It was an ungainly maneuver that left me sprawled facedown on the trembling plank, but at least I was above the water instead of in it.
Then I saw the foot all of inches from my nose. And the glinting tip of a swordblade gesturing me to rise.
I looked up. Saw the wide smile in the freckled face, the wind-tangled swath of red hair, the gold and glass in her ears and wrapped around her throat.
'Someday,' Prima Rhannet said, 'you will have to learn how to swim. It might save you some little trouble.'
Since she seemed to want it, I climbed to my feet. 'Maybe.'
The sword was lifted. I saw the flash of light on the blade, the tip brought up to skewer, knew what she meant to do. I would leap back, of course, to preserve my skin, and by doing it I'd take myself off the plank and into the water.
Not this time, you bitch.
I smashed the blade down with a forearm, stepped into her, tossed her over the edge, caught the sword as it flew from her grasp.
About damn time I had one of these suckers in my hands again.
TWENTY-FOUR
THEY CAME for me, of course, the members of Prima's crew. But I was ready for them. I waited at the head of the plank where it was lashed to the ship. It was steadier here, not so vulnerable to the motion of the ocean or the weight of men upon the wood. I'd chosen my ground, and now I stood it.
It felt gloriously invigorating to hold a sword in my hands again. 'Come on,' I invited, laughing for the sheer joy of empowerment and the promise of engagement. 'Come ahead.'
They did.
Maybe some day they'll write about it, how a lone man took on seven others. The advantage, it might be argued, was theirs; they knew the ship, knew one another, understood better the mechanics of planks between ships and docks. But they were none of them sword-dancers, none of them trained by the shodo of Alimat, none of them born to the sword.
I hope they do write about it, because from inside the engagement I couldn't see what happened. I knew only that I took them on one at a time, trapping guards, smashing blades, cutting into flesh that wandered too near my sword. It was Prima Rhannet's blade and thus the balance, for me, was decidedly off, but that's purely technical; the weapon was more than adequate to the purpose, to my needs of the moment.
By the time I'd disarmed three of them, the others drew back to reconsider options.
I laughed at them, still poised at the brink. 'Come on!' I exulted, inexpressibly relieved to be rid of the prickle of apprehension engendered by our presence at Akritara, and focus strictly on the physical fight. I'd needed this. 'I'm one man, right? I can't swim, this isn't my sword, I'm not really in proper condition-what's stopping you? Come ahead! '
It was enough to lure one of them in. Three of his crewmates bled upon the deck, though none of them would die of it. Within a matter of moments he had joined them, nursing a wounded wrist. His sword, like the others, had been slung by my own over the rail into the water.
'It's only me.' I was grinning like a sandsick fool. 'Of course, this is what I do for a living … in fact, what I've been doing for a living for nearly twenty years. Probably I'm a little better at it than you. Maybe. You think?' I gestured expansively. 'Why not find out? Three against one? Surely that's enough to take me. Isn't it?' I waggled fingers, inviting them closer. 'You're all strong men… you're enough, aren't you? Dreaded renegadas, cutting throats with the best-or worst-of 'em. What's to stop you? What's to keep you from taking me?' Another came in, came close. 'There, now, that's better!'
The remaining two fanned out, approached obliquely from the sides. I had hoped to entice them to rush me. Three against one can be a little tricky, but I did have the advantage. They could undoubtedly sail a ship far better than I, but there are not many, if any, better with a sword.
We danced. Oh, it wasn't a proper dance; there was no circle, no ritual, no comprehension of the beauty of the patterns, the movements, but the intent was the same: to defeat the opponent. In this case they had one and I had three, but the desired end was identical.
They came on. I took them one at a time, cutting, nicking, piercing, slashing, driving each of them back. They stumbled over themselves, one another, over their brethren already sprawled on the deck, discovering that a man born to the sword understands it implicitly, how it demands to be employed. A sword is not just a weapon, not just a means of killing a man, but has a soul and needs of its own. It isn't made to be looked at, nor to be used by incompetents. A sword is dead in the hands of an inferior wielder, it will hurt him as often as it will aid. But it comes alive in the hands of a man who understands it, who shares its desires.
I felt the plank thump and tremble beneath my feet. I'd expected it for a while; Nihko and his captain had had more than enough time to pull themselves from the water. So I completed my chore with alacrity, adding three more bleeding men to the pile upon the deck even as I disposed of their swords, and spun, poised and ready. Prima Rhannet stopped short, lurched backward out of range. She stood there, furious, two long paces away.
'He will kill her,' she promised.
I looked beyond her, as she intended. Nihkolara stood on the dock at the end of the plank. His left hand rested on the back of Del's neck. Pretty much as I'd expected; I'd known I could take the crew-well, believed I could-but was not foolish enough to assume victory would be all-encompassing. Not when Del was at risk. But it takes small things as well as large to win, outside the circle as much as within.
Del's clothing, soaked and dripping, was wrapped closely around her body, more like shroud than tunic. Fair hair, now unbraided, was slicked severely back from her face, baring the bones of her skull, the bitter acknowledgment that she was surety of my behavior once again. I thought of what his touch had done to me: set a weeping rash around my wrist, burned the flesh of my throat, stopped the heart in my chest. Thought of what else-and to whom-that touch might do.
I grounded the swordtip in the wood of the plank. 'All I wanted,' I told Prima truthfully, 'was an explanation.'
Sopping hair, stripped of coils and curls and darkened to the color of old blood, streamed over her shoulders. The thin fabric of her clothing, plastered against flesh, underscored how lush her compact body was. 'About what?'
'loSkandi, ioSkandic,' I said. 'What it is, what it means-and why the touch of his hand upon a person can
