[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

wish is to present that which most closely resembles what this man, this
outcast, threw away. He
should know what he had, what he shared with you, and what he has lost. The
best of you will remind him, so that he dies comprehending the worthlessness
of his life." He paused. "Is there any among you who will draw the circle in
which this man will die?"
I heard a murmuring among them as they discussed it. Umir was asking a lot. I
had no business being in a circle of any kind, yet here I was. They could
accept the tanzeer's suggestion or repudiate it even as I had repudiated the
honor codes.
Then a man pushed out from behind the others, unsheathing his sword. A tall,
wide-shouldered, fair-haired man, bred of Northern climes. I knew those eyes.
Knew that face.
Had heard the voice, intentionally raised beyond the wall of my room so I
might hear and know he was present. Recognized the sword; I had met him before
many times, to drink with, to spar against, to share his food. He, his wife,
his two little girls now three, if I remembered correctly. They had cared for
me after injuries more than once.
Page 98
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Alric's eyes met mine, blue as Del's. I saw the faintest of flickers there, a
tautening in his jaw. Though not born to Southron customs, he had learned them
well. He lived among
Southroners, danced among Southroners, was married to a Southroner. His habits
were theirs.
He understood them.
He walked nearly to where I stood, set his blade tip into the sand and began
to pace out the circle, drawing the line.
Alric finished where he began. He turned to face me, studied me, seemed to
look inside my soul. I wondered what he saw.
Abruptly he pivoted. With long strides the tall Northerner walked into the
circle to the very center, bent, and set down his sword.
This time the murmuring became recognizable words of angry protest. The other
sword-dancers were not pleased that one of their own spit in their faces by
presenting me with his sword. Alric had just done his reputation among them
irreparable harm; but then, Alric had always gone his own way.
At least one man here would mourn my death.
His message was clear: I need not worry that the sword I would use had been
tampered with.
And the other message: he had not won his dance. It would not be Alric I'd
meet in the circle, who would, unlike the others, make no attempt to kill me.
He inclined his head briefly, acknowledging me, then left the circle. Alric
found a place to stand against the wall. He was alone, apart, as he had made
himself by declaring his loyalty.
Inwardly, I laughed. Already Umir's plan had gone slightly awry. Rafiq had
brought him the sword I'd bought in Haziz, which one of the servants nearest
the tanzeer held. But it would remain unused. Now I had another. One I could
trust implicitly, one that suited me in weight and balance; Alric and I were
very similar in build, and I had sparred with it before. It also was offered
by a friend to a man who supposedly had none among those who lived in the
circle.
Such intricacies of mind, such subtle subtexts, could do much for a man who
meant to kill another, or to preserve his own life.
"Musa," Umir called.
After a moment bodies parted. A pathway was opened. A man came forward,
walking toward the circle. I had half expected Abbu Bensir, but this man was
not he. Much younger than Abbu, perhaps twenty-six or -eight; taller, though
not as tall as I; heavier than Abbu,
though not a big man; slightly lighter in skin, hair, and eyes. But he had the
high-bridged nose and steep cheekbones present in so many of his countrymen.
Not Borderer, I didn't think. But a mix of something that gave him greater
size than most Southroners and, I decided, more power.
He moved with the lithe, coiled grace of the snow cats I'd seen high in
Northern mountains, up near Staal-Ysta.
Page 99
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
He wore only a dhoti, as I did. No harness, no sandals. He carried his sword.
His eyes were fixed on my own.
The others called out encouragement to him. He ignored them. There was a
tight-wound intensity in Umir's new hired sword. His eyes did not leave mine.
His expression was a predator's, fixed and unwavering. Not for him the
camaraderie before a dance, the jokes and wagers exchanged. He had come to
kill me. He wanted me to know it.
Musa, Umir had named him. I didn't know him. I'd never heard of him. But he
was here among the others and had obviously defeated those others; I
discounted nothing at all about him.
The tanzeer once again raised his voice. "As all of you have no doubt heard, [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]