Sword-Maker by Jennifer Roberson

Author:Jennifer Roberson [Roberson, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781101647424
Publisher: Penguin Group US
Published: 1989-10-02T16:00:00+00:00

Seven

“Why?” I asked, standing in the doorway. “What are you trying to prove?”

Del, inside her tiny room at the inn, barely glanced at me as she sat down on the edge of her slatted cot to pull off boot and fur gaiter. “Nothing,” she answered, unwrapping leather garters.

“Nothing? Nothing?” I glared. “You know as well as I do you don’t need Abbu Bensir to teach you anything.”

“No,” she agreed, peeling gaiter from boot.

“Then why—”

“I need the practice.”

I stood braced in the doorway, watching her tug off the boot. She dropped it to the floor, then turned to the other boot. Once again, she started with the gaiter. Her bare right foot was chafed at the edges; the rest of it was white.

“So,” I said, “you’re using him for a sparring partner.”

Del unlaced the garter. “Is he as good as he says he is?”

“Yes.”

“Better than you?”

“Different.”

“And was it you who put that scar on him?”

“No.”

She tilted her head slightly. “So, he is a liar.”

“Yes and no. I didn’t give him the scar itself, but I did provide the reason for making it necessary.”

Del looked up at me. “He doesn’t hate you for it. He could—another man might—but he doesn’t.”

I shrugged. “We’ve never been enemies. Just rivals.”

“I think he respects you. I think he knows you have your place in the South—in the pecking order of sword-dancers—and he has his.”

“He is an acknowledged master of the blade,” I said. “Abbu Bensir is a byword among sword-dancers. No one would be foolish enough to deny him that to his face.”

“Not even you?”

“I’ve never considered myself a fool.” I paused. “You’re really going to spar with him?”

“Yes.”

“You could have asked—”

“—you?” Del shook her head. “I did ask you. Several times.”

“I’ll spar,” I said defensively. “Just not with my jivatma. We’ll go find some wooden practice swords—”

“Steel,” Del said succinctly.

“Bascha, you know why I don’t want—”

“So you don’t have to.” She stripped gaiter free of boot. “So I’ll use Abbu Bensir instead.”

“But he thinks he’s teaching you.”

“He may think whatever he likes.” Del tugged at her boot. “When a man won’t do what you want him to in the way you want him to, you find new names for the same thing. If it satisfies Abbu Bensir’s pride to believe he is teaching the gullible Northern bascha, let him. I will still get my practice. I will still improve my fitness.” She looked at me squarely. “Which is something you need, too.”

I ignored that; we both knew it was true. “How long is this to go on?”

“Until I am fit.”

Frustration boiled up. “He only wants to get you into his bed.”

Del rose, began to unhook her harness. “I am having a bath brought for me. If you truly believe I would be the kind to tease you, you would do well to leave.”

On cue, one of the innkeeper’s sons rolled the cask from out of my room. It was empty, of course, which meant Del had paid extra for clean water. But she had no money.

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