Moving in fury at Chaldrin’s words did no more than cause Aysayn to hum with pleasure. His lips tasted me as his deep stroking brought the first moan to my throat; I lay upon the stone of the floor, beneath the sweat-covered body of the male, forced to feel pleasure as well as to give it. My fury did not abate, yet was it as useless as my attempt to take the male with a sword. Well used was I by Sigurr’s Shadow, and made to writhe with ease.
13
The Shining Sands—and an impostor is revealed
“See the manner in which he stands,” said Chaldrin, speaking of the male who faced two others like him to one side of the circle of black sand. Beyond the farthest male were daggers, beyond the daggers swords beyond the swords crescent spears. The three males fought a bout of elimination, the sort of battle I had already seen twice that fey.
“His balance allows him to move immediately in any direction, and his balance is due to his stance,” pursued Chaldrin. “He is the most promising of the nestlings, and will one fey have the skills to equal a warrior—should he live.”
Again I made no reply to his words, merely looking about at the city folk who shouted and screamed and stamped their feet high above the countless torches which lit the circle of sand. Fully half of the upper cavern beyond the circle of black sand had been stepped to look down upon the combatants, and upon these steps sat hand upon hand of Sigurri, male and female alike. At their front, surrounded by warriors, sat a male who wore a long black covering—and a golden mask.
“You have sulked about for two feyd now,” said Chaldrin, turning to look down upon me with faint impatience in his dark eyes. “My loss to you was of greater consequence than your loss to Aysayn; do you see me sulking about like a child, refusing to speak to those about me?”
“Your loss was not one of dignity,” I replied, beginning to turn from him. “Sooner would I have lost lifeblood.”
“Indeed,” said he, taking my arm in his great hand. “I am the foremost fighter in these Caverns, never having been bested by any since my arrival. What dignity is there in having been bested by a wench and one who would have taken my life had she not been halted by others?” He paused a moment to allow his question to hang between us then put another. “Do you mean to deny us your swordarm when we stand in defense of the Shadow? We know not what we will face, yet are we sure to require your aid. Do you mean to refuse to stand with us?”
“You dare to speak of requiring my sword?” I demanded, attempting to pull my arm from his grip. “Was it not you who first pointed out what small use a sword was against those of true skill? Was it not Aysayn himself who reached beyond my blade to defeat me? Do to those who come what was done to me, and victory will surely be yours.”
“Do not attempt to pull against my hand to free yourself,” said Chaldrin, frowning at my struggles. “Instead, swing away from the hand and through the fingers. Use your body weight and movement to assist you. And we cannot hope to defeat those who come with unarmed skills alone. Too few of the men in these precincts have chosen to stand with us, therefore will we require weapons of our own, as well as those to wield them. Will you fight at our side?”
“An excellent question,” came the voice of Aysayn, and then the male himself appeared out of the dimness of the corridor which led to the masked opening in the rock we stood at, one of more than two hands of such openings which led to the fighting sands. “As the battle of the Shining Sands is next,” said he as he halted before us, “and I am to fight in the following bout, a reply now would be most timely.”
“Perhaps she feels entitled to words of regret,” said Chaldrin, looking upon the other male with sobriety. “To use a free woman so—ah—freely, undoubtedly grates upon her sense of dignity. ”
“Is this so?” asked Aysayn, sending his dark-eyed gaze to me. He had surely been loosening his body in practice, for sweat covered him and his light hair reached for his eyes. “Perhaps it would be best to ask by whose pardon she was freed,” said he. “I have never heard of a single victory setting a male fighter free.”
“Aysayn, such caviling is not wise,” began Chaldrin, yet I held my hand up to halt his words.
“What he speaks is truth,” said I to Chaldrin, recalling my own thoughts upon the selfsame subject, then did I turn to Aysayn. “In these precincts a single victory does indeed mean naught, however I would have Sigurr’s Shadow recall the fact that Jalav was never slave—merely a captive. Under those circumstances, a pardon was unnecessary from any source.”
“Excellent,” said Aysayn, laughter in his eyes. “I do indeed recall the fact of your captivity rather than slavehood, and therefore stand corrected. And yet, I cannot speak words of regret for having used you. Ask of me words of pleasure and praise, and I will gladly speak them; words of regret would be lies, and I will not lie. You are more than worth the taking, wench, and this I will maintain whether you stand with me or no.”
“Honesty is to be admired,” said Chaldrin as I gazed silently upon Aysayn. “We must keep that truth firmly in mind when our handful go down before the warriors of the impostor.”
“Ah, Chaldrin, I find myself fond of you despite all,” laughed Aysayn, reaching past me to clap the other male upon the shoulder. “Your use of her was more extensive than mine; will you speak words of regret?”
“Certainly,” agreed the other male, folding his arms across his chest. “I deeply regret the need to have spent two feyd upon my furs unable to claim her again. As we are soon to die, I, too, shall indulge in honesty.”
The two males laughed together, sharing a common amusement, yet I had ceased giving them heed and had returned to examining the distant form of the male in the golden mask. He sat at ease upon his step, watching the doings of those upon the sand, seemingly pleased when Chaldrin’s nestling threw his dagger into the thigh of one of his opponents, then turned and made for the swords. Those others all about the masked male screamed out their delight, and when the furor faded to less than it had been, a hand came to my shoulder.
“Perhaps words of regret would not be out of place after all,” said Aysayn, his amusement apparently done. “It was not our intention to make sport of you, wench, and I would offer my apologies for any insult given. You do not merit insult.”
“Again you are mistaken,” said I, turning to look upon him. “I do indeed merit insult, for I have been inexpressibly foolish, sightless beyond words. So great was my pride in my ability with a sword, I thought myself undefeatable by cause of it. To have learned the truth was a bitter blow, and one I shall not forget. ”
I attempted to move past him into the corridor he had come from yet this time Chaldrin’s hand was upon my shoulder.
“So that was the dignity you spoke of,” said he, his voice returned to calm. “The dignity lost when one is defeated in the area one has the greatest pride in. It should not be necessary to speak of this to you, wench, yet you were not defeated sword to sword. Had you been, your bitterness would be understandable; as you were not you need only concern yourself with learning the discipline which was your bane. Should I survive the coming battle I will be pleased to school you in its tenets.”
“Yet what of the battle itself?” I stormed, turning upon him with the fury which had so twisted me about those past two feyd. “How might I presume to bare a blade against my enemies, when that blade may be so easily taken from me? Am I to continue in vanity, and allow those who fight at my side to fall through my failure? Am I to lead others into the final darkness, when only I so richly merit it?”
I twisted past him to stare again at the figure in the golden mask, my need for enemy blood so strong that I would have willingly taken it with my teeth. In what other way was I to spill the blood of my enemies, with the truth so achingly clear in my memory?