A very large circle, more expansive than a proper sword-dance required; I suspected the sword-dancers not fighting a given match would stand against the walls to watch. There was no danger in doing so; a man who stepped out of the circle drawn in the sand forfeited the match, and we all of us had learned to dance in close quarters. That was part of the beauty, the art, and the challenge.
Umir, I realized with a start of surprise, had had the house built with his sword-dancer contest in mind. If it were true he intended to hire the winner for life—or at least for the balance of his professional career—it was no surprise sword-dancers would come from all over the South. Likely at retirement Umir would settle some land and a dwelling on him; not a bad job at all. I'd even be interested myself, if I weren't scheduled to be the post-dance entertainment.
Waiting in the sun surrounded by white-painted walls wasn't my idea of fun, especially since I was tired enough my eyes kept trying to cross. I scrubbed with bound hands at the sweat and dust filming my face and considered plopping myself down in the sand, then eyed Ozmin and Mahmood and decided against it. But as Rafiq and his friends grew impatient enough to start complaining, the master of the house appeared.
Umir the Ruthless was a tall, slender, aristocratic man with high cheekbones, arched nose, and dark skin, all classic features of a Southroner save for his eyes, which were a pale gray. I'd always assumed Umir had some Borderer in him. As was habitual, he wore robes of the finest fabrics. The toes of soft, dyed-leather slippers peeked out from under the bullioned hems.
He spoke to Rafiq, but didn't look at him. His gaze was fastened on me. 'Well done.'
Rafiq had never claimed any subtlety. 'When do we get paid? Now, or after he's dead?'
Umir was unruffled. 'Oh, now, of course. I'll have my steward tend to it.' He assessed me with a faint smile. 'Well, Sandtiger . . . the last time we met, I wished to acquire your woman. Does it please you to know I now wish to acquire you?'
'Depends on what you want me for,' I answered. 'Now, if it was me you wanted to hire for lifetime employment, we could probably work something out. But if I'm meant to be dessert, probably not.'
One brow lifted delicately. 'Dessert?'
'I told him what you plan,' Rafiq offered. 'How he's to be the reward for the winner.'
'Oh, but you should have left that to me,' Umir murmured. 'You have deprived me of amusement.' Apparently he'd made some kind of signal, because two large men appeared from the house. Umir indicated them with a negligent gesture. 'Rafiq, you and your friends are free to avail yourselves of my hospitality with the other sword-dancers, in the visitor's wing. This particular guest is now the responsibility of my house.'
I just love the way a cultured man finds euphemisms for everything. Guest. Hah.
Ozmin and Mahmood were happy enough to hand over the leashes to Umir's large servants. The steward presented a coin pouch to Rafiq and led them back inside. Which left me outside with Umir, and my two keepers.
The tanzeer's expansive gesture encompassed his circle. 'Do you like it?'
He waited expectantly. I hitched one shoulder in a half-shrug. 'Rather attractive in a spare, unassuming sort of way.'
'Oh, yes. Very minimalist. No distractions that way. Merely the pure, elegant art of the sword-dance.'
He had not brought me out here to discuss the attractions of his architecture but to impress upon me this was to be where I died. I thought again of sitting down, or asking if I could go back out front and fall face-first into the fountain. Did neither, under Umir's examination.
The tanzeer's nostrils flared with distaste. 'Why is it whenever I see you, you are in a state of utter filth and dishabille?'
I smiled winningly. 'I lead an active life.'
He made a dismissive gesture. 'Well, for a short time, at least, you shall enjoy the best my poor house has to offer. Scented baths, oils, the finest of food and wine, comfortable lodgings; even women, if you like. I do not stint my guests.'
At this point, wobbly as I was, it all sounded wonderful– except for the women. Well, even they sounded wonderful in the abstract. (Once upon a time the women wouldn't have been abstract at all, but Del had reformed me.)
'I'm not a guest,' I said. 'I'm dessert.'
Umir smoothed the front of his figured silk overrobe with a slender hand weighted with rings. 'I would be remiss if I offered my other guests dessert lacking in piquancy. By the time you step into the circle, you will be well fed, rested, and fit.'
'Hasn't anyone told you?' I asked. 'I can't step into a circle anymore. That's the whole point of elaii-ali- ma.'
He waved that away. 'Call it what you wish. A square, if you like. But you will fight for me, Sandtiger. As only you can.'
I lifted brows. 'What's in it for me? What possible motivation would I have for meeting the winner of your little contest?'
Umir's eyes and tone were level. 'Until last year, you were a man of honor. An Alimat-trained, seventh- level sword-dancer of immense skill and repute. I saw what took place at Sabra's palace, how you stopped the dance against Abbu Bensir and declared elaii-ali-ma. It was for the woman, was it not? The Northern woman. Well, I understand her worth. Not for the same reason, perhaps, but that hardly matters. You made an outcast of yourself for her sake. It had nothing to do with disenchantment with the oaths you swore, the life you chose. You may deny it now, to me, but when you step into that circle—and it will be a circle—you will recall those oaths. They will once again rule your life. You will dance, Sandtiger—and yes, I do mean dance—because you will have no other choice. It is all you know. It is what you are. And you will die with whatever honor you may make of your last dance.'
Umir was right. With my life at stake, I would not refuse to dance. But. . . 'You know, I'm getting really, really tired of everyone assuming I'll lose.'
The tanzeer stared at me with the faintest of puzzled frowns.
I spelled it out for him. 'I might win, Umir. What happens then?'
He shook his head. 'I have been given to understand that it is an impossibility you might win.'
'Oh? Why? Did you ask Rafiq? Someone else? How can anyone be sure what will happen?' I took one step toward him, as much as I was willing to risk while on doubled leashes. 'What if I win, Umir? What happens then?'
He was baffled. 'But you have broken all your oaths. It was explained to me.'
I laughed. 'Yes, but broken oaths and loss of honor does not necessarily translate to loss of skill.'
Clearly Umir had never considered I might win. Clearly none of the sword-dancers he'd consulted considered I might win. Which is just the way I liked it.
'So,' I said, 'does the deal apply to me? I win, and you offer me employment?'
His face was very stiff. 'I find it highly unlikely you would win.
I lifted brows. 'Why? Do you intend to drug me?'
Color stained his cheeks. 'Of course not! I am not Sabra, who was interested only in punishing and killing you. I want a true dance. A true winner. There will be no trickery.'
'Your winner won't dance with me,' I said. 'He'll fight me. He'll attempt to kill me. And I will do my very best to kill him. And if I do, I expect some reward for it. Something more than dessert.'
There was only one thing worth having. And Umir knew it. 'The freedom to leave my domain unchallenged.'
I nodded. 'That'll do.'
His tone became aggressive. 'But anyone may challenge you outside my domain.'
'Of course. But that's not your concern. And I truly believe anyone who witnesses me killing the best of the best here in your homemade circle may think twice about challenging me anywhere.'
His lips thinned. 'You are overconfident.'
' 'Over'? Don't think so. Confident, yes.' I gifted him with a friendly smile. 'I am the Sandtiger.'
'You truly believe you can intimidate everyone?'
It wasn't false confidence or bluster. I'd done it before. Many times. It was one of my most effective weapons. I was bigger, quicker, stronger and more agile than anyone else I'd met in the South. I was simply better.
