Surfacing Ch. 12

"I've told them you have a foreign style and do not practice a form, but can give us a demonstration by trying to land a blow on me. I will only block."

"Really," I said. "And what will be their opinion if I cannot land a blow?"

"You are not expected to."

"You mean you do not expect me to."

He did not acknowledge that. "It will give them a view of what you can do."

"What about your tail?"

I saw a bit of a smirk on his face. "Avoid it."

"And landing a blow there does not count?"

"It does, but probably at the expense of becoming immobilized."

"Hmph." I glanced at the brothers. "Would one of them like to try his hand at landing a blow on me afterward, even if I 'lose'?"

"We will see. They are not accustomed to striking females. It depends on what you show them. Perhaps the more difficult you are to evade, the more likely their pride may be captured to try."

"So put on a good show."

"Yes. I will watch them for the desire to test themselves."

I nodded. Good enough. At least the hybrid was working with me, not against me. He seemed to understand this was meaningful to me as well, but in a different way.

I stood facing Mourn, both of us bare-foot and in our black pants—me wearing red once again with the extra support for my chest—and I caught the signal to bow to him as he bowed to me. Neither of us lowered our eyes, and Mourn's tail almost seemed to have a life of its own as it swished quietly across the floor.

Beginning with any game of patience was pointless here, I already knew, as I would not be able to goad him into acting first as I often could my Sisters. At the same time, a direct attack only to be anticipated and blocked hardly seemed entertaining. I did wish I had my tools—many more options for surprises with those—but I had to think of more stripped-down, essential moves now.

I did go for a feint, seeming to move in for a low kick or a sweep before jumping up and kicking out at his chest. He slipped backward out of reach and had his arms up ready to block any added strikes, and probably could have grabbed my ankle had he been on the offensive. My response would have been to grab the wrist and go for pressure points immediately and watch for that tail...but then we would both be on the ground within the first moments of the fight.

Like the first time he chased me and I punched him in the jaw.

Truthfully, that was the intent more often than not. The Red Sisters did not have to "display" and it was a bad idea to think that way. The longer a fight dragged out, the more tired one got, the more clumsy or sluggish the moves became. The struggle with Kain proved that to me, even if we weren't only fighting. Even my training with Moira and Panagan went in short bursts of action, the victor decided quickly, before we were to try again.

That was the nature of this performance. Mourn defended and blocked against moves which were designed to end a fight quickly, potentially lethally. If there was a succession of attacks that made it look anything like the smooth, unbroken dance of the Shi brothers, it was because one action led to another organically, based on the position and posture right then. We did not make any sound except for our breathing and the weight of our feet, knees, elbows, or hands striking the ground.

I wasn't looking at the audience—I was wholly focused on Mourn, because he was faster than any male I'd ever been up against—but in hindsight, it probably looked as though I was making real attempts to injure or maim him. Perhaps I was. I did not have the height or strength to throw him, couldn't likely trip him, and without tools or weapons, he was very hard to get close to.

Only an uninhibited strike got me even satisfyingly close, where he looked to be truly on his guard. That first sucker punch in the forest had probably been a rare moment when he'd underestimated a panicked Drow in physical and mental distress. He wouldn't make that mistake again anytime soon.

There was one moment when we all witnessed the half-Dragon's astonishing vertical spring, a standing jump I only saw coming because of the way his thigh muscles flexed and his aura seemed to compress along with his stance, as if one could feel the energy about to be released. I chose to somersault forward, fast, to get under him and hopefully out of the way of the lashing tail or raising spines.

There were exhalations and a soft exclamation from one of the females, as the jump was higher than any Human or Drow could jump, even with a running start and maybe even a pole vault for some. Good to know he could do that.

Mourn's horns had scraped the ceiling; I could see the two gouges in the wood as I rolled to my feet, looking up. I wanted to laugh. Well done, amusing me like that. It was distracting.

I did my best to use his landing against him, kicking low and trying to force him to move his feet again before he was truly ready to do so. Sadly, he just kept jumping, two quick skips backward to gain distance, his tail acting as a fine counter-balance, though if I'd had any kind of throwing weapon, I might have had an opening just then as it was enough time facing him to pitch something stinging into his eyes and nose. Blinding wouldn't have been the truly crippling part, he could blind-fight as well as any Red Sister, but I could wonder how a half-breed who depended much on tasting the air might react to something that coated the sensitive linings of the nose, mouth and throat.

I was breathing hard now and starting to sweat; I had gotten a good feel for some of the half-breed's defensive movements. I had had enough; now to end it. I decided to go for that tail, just to see if I could get a strike and another demonstration of how he used it. Even if I didn't have a way back out of my attack... would I be able to land that final blow with an imaginary, poisoned dagger?

With a deceptively soft exhale, I went for another feint, as if to go for his low flank; he made ready to block, prepared to urge my body past him with a sweep of his arm, and his stance was very wide. I took a leap and tumble over his tree-trunk thighs, landing with my feet and ass close to the ground and I managed to smack the thicker part of his tail, closer to his backside, with the heel of my hand. I felt him flinch, but immediately the tail ensnared me around the ribs and squeezed hard.

I would have injected the poison before I died.

As it was, my ability to take in any air at all halted. Given how much I needed after this fight, breathing was non-negotiable and not anything I could delay without passing out. I couldn't tell him aloud that I yielded, so I slapped at his tail twice with an open palm and signed up high for him to see: *End.*

We hadn't worked out any signals of that nature ahead of time, I realized belatedly, but he accepted it and released me. I drew in as deep a breath as I could manage, no further attacks from me—though I noticed that he stepped away and was still very ready, in case "End" didn't mean the end of the fight to a Red Sister.

It probably didn't, in most cases. In my present company, however, it did, and I got to my feet and bowed first, a smile starting to spread onto my face. That was fun...and educational. I'd seen more of his offensive moves with the cult; now I knew some of his defense. Without weapons or tools, though, there would be plenty he was holding back.

It was only after I got a look at Mourn's expression, and those of the brothers and advisors and the Patriarch, that I realized they had all been quite unsettled in some way. They hadn't had as much fun as I had, apparently, although when the mercenary saw me smiling, he relaxed some in his shoulders.

"What?" I asked.

Mourn studied me for a few moments, then smirked. "I think you scared them. Your face as you fought was....hmm."

"Hostile?" I guessed.

"Murderous."

Oh.

"Well. I was just concentrating."

"Indeed. Impressive, and frightening. You focus your life aura as they do, as a warrior, and they felt its true menace."

Aw.

I frowned. "Does this mean the brothers won't fight me?"

"You are tired, are you not?"

"That means they won't fight."

"Nonetheless, you should rest a moment."

Mourn turned then to the Patriarch and they went through their little social rituals again. As I caught my breath, I did look at both the brothers and sisters to compare responses as the Dragon Spirit spoke.

Whatever he did, it was an excellent job of giving some kind of reasoning or insight into my "performance." I saw about half their faces shift from stark fear and wariness to either one of calculation and evaluation—as I saw in the Patriarch and most of the advisors—or to a cautious intrigue, as with Bohai and the whispering daughter. That was good. The other half remained discomforted by the "Black Ghost," including the two older brothers, the wife and other daughter, and one advisor.

The half-blood added something that caused all their eyes to widen and there were a few reflexive nods of respect in my direction, mostly from those who were still afraid.

"What did you say?" I asked, and Mourn finally shifted toward me again.

"The truth. That you are deadly where you come from, and for a hundred years you have been trained to protect your elders with your body and skills, against silent adversaries they cannot imagine."

"Slight exaggeration."

"Not really. They cannot imagine Illithids, and this tells them your training extends past the time of their grandfather. That is all they need to accept what you can do."

I nodded acceptance as well; his reasoning was good. "Well...thank you."

Mourn grunted. "With your skills, if you were not in loyal service to another, to them it would mean they had invited a haunting spirit into their home. That would not be good for me or them."

I lifted a brow. "You could have cautioned me how hard to try to hit you."

"No. Holding back would not have convinced them of your true worth. This is better as a female; leave some fear of you, but they believe it controlled by an elder male elsewhere, that you answer to another. You are not a rogue spirit with nothing to lose in using your power against them."

I had to make the effort not to laugh. There was quite a lot wrong, and yet still something very right, about that misdirection.

I nodded once and finally felt my breath settle with a final exhale, and noticed that I felt a bit more tired than usual after something like this. My lower abdomen was definitely warm, though nothing had struck it. I almost felt hungry again.

The Patriarch actually stood up as he spoke, his advisors following his lead, and listening to a grander tone and watching his hands, it seemed a formal request to Mourn in particular. I soon learned that they wanted to have the honor of watching him "dance" with his sliders. Given what I had already seen against the cannibals...that would be a fine way to wrap up the performance. No one here would be able to match that in both difficulty level and exotic sight.

I could enjoy that as well.

The ceiling would not be high enough, apparently, so everyone relocated out through a sliding door that led outside and into part of the warm, fragrant garden. Only two lanterns were lit, throwing long shadows but making it enough for the Humans to see their performer, though it obstructed the detail somewhat for me.

The placement of the audience now was less strict, it seemed, as I had the opportunity to stand closer to Bohai. I liked the way I saw his pulse in his throat for a moment as he stoutly kept looking forward. His whispering sister also managed to get closer for a better view as well, standing just behind him and to his right, staying away from me, but still closer than she had ever been. I could sense her curiosity; she was bolder than her sister.

There were a lot of changed scents now that the Yungians were more clustered after our display. All of them were hotter but, as Mourn chose an area with enough space out on the shorter green grass, I began to slowly filter the scents through my mind, letting them tell me about relative health, cleanliness, and maturity of each. I thought I was beginning to tell an elder scent from a youth's scent, and more easily could tell male from female, despite needing to filter out the added topical fragrances on their skin, likely created from plants and spices. It was interesting.

Focusing on Mourn, I saw him begin in a practiced, choreographed routine similar to the brothers, but not imitating it. It was unique and appropriate to the weapons he displayed—the double-swords currently locked in position and the blades not moving but from the tilt of his hands. It was not much like the urgent, lethal use as when he'd killed Rithal and fought against the Warpstone cult; not quick and dirty, but smooth and stylized.

The Shi family watched carefully, and this did not seem like a first time. Perhaps it was a privileged, family "tradition."

Mourn began slowly, and simply; even I could see that it might have been a first lesson for how to hold and balance the sliders in their locked position. In his second and third movement, he unlocked them and demonstrated how quickly the weight shifted and responded to the tilt, the angle, and the downward pull of the world. He managed to "dance" through a basic turn and slash—which looked much stranger when the weapons were moving on their own, in addition to being moved by powerful arms—his feet remaining along that imaginary straight line that I'd noticed in the brothers.

Then the half-blood locked the sliders, drawing no attention to it except whether the observer either heard the soft double-click or just noticed that they seized in mid-swing. He'd gotten them back into position in the middle despite the movement—or maybe because of it. His yellow eyes did not seem to be focused on anything in particular, or he was staring hard at something invisible.

Mourn's swings slowly became more fluid, faster, rotating around him and above his head, and I was willing to bet that I was the first one to hear the soft hum the blades were making in the air. The rest of the family seemed hypnotized, transfixed, but as Mourn tilted the flared blades this way and that, still spinning, they as a group became more excited when they could finally hear the hum as well.

Was he making music? Maybe that was too generous for a vibrating buzz in the air. And yet...

It was a constant tone at first, trembling and with only a little variation, until he unlocked the blades again and gave them their full span. It was quite clear why we were standing outside in the nighttime garden beneath the clouds and filtered Moonlight; the destruction to the performance room would have been severe.

The tone began changing with the way the tilt and slide of the blades and with his steps, turns, spins, in how he flexed his spine and moved his arms. My heart beat a little harder as I decided that a song was actually a reasonable description for what he was doing. I would have said it had its own magic, or affected—perhaps focused—his aura, or distracted or soothed those that heard it, giving him the edge. I wasn't sure. It could have been any or all of those things.

I had to remind myself not to get too comfortable, watching.

Was this something distinctly and uniquely To'vah, or did it have anything to do with the Drow with whom he'd lived for more than a century? Mourn had told Gavin that those Yungians North in Yong-ch'hai and mimicked his weapons but that he had indeed introduced it to them. Had it only been refined on the Surface, or was it truly from the Underdark?

I'd never heard of it. A blade style that made hypnotic music and potentially focused magic for use in spells... Yet another thing that I had to wonder, if we did not have it in the City, why not? Did the Valsharess already know about it, or not?

Ha, and he had called me "frightening" when I focused. I believed now that I definitely had the Surface mercenary necessary to free Jael and see Gavin's goal done...if I could afford him. How much would I have to give up to him to attain those services?

I noticed with my eyes as much as my sightless senses that Mourn had grown very hot again, his energy throbbing in the dim, that even with the two lanterns, my eyes no longer had any difficulty making him out. In the Underdark, his presence would have made almost anything short of an Illithid scatter and go for distance.

Yet Mourn said he wasn't yet powerful enough to go up against Brom, but he fully intended to. The half-blood had to mean in magical tactics only; he was already faster and superior in skill in any martial sense, from what I remembered when tussling with the Archmage. Even I had been able to jab the sorcerer in the throat, and could have crushed his windpipe if I hadn't pulled my punch.

Perhaps I should have, when I'd had that rare chance given no one else in recent memory. But I hadn't known enough about him at the time. I still didn't.

Mourn finished up his performance with a final sweep, locking his blades, his momentum slowing to a halt and he became still in a deliberate crouch for long enough for the music to slowly dissipate into the night air. No one moved until silence had truly fallen, and a few peeps of tiny frogs and chirps of insects had returned. Finally, the half-blood stood up straight and bowed forward to us.

"Weida du songyi!" Shi Mu Kuo said, seeming almost breathless. "Songyi!"

The following flutters and chatter of the male advisors and the brothers were growing a bit tiresome, if I was honest, so I looked more at the silent females and the silent guards. Their faces told me what words were being said, I thought.

So Mourn had outdone himself from previous visits, hm? Had he done that just for them, I wondered, or because I was here, too? What had been different, the song of the blades or something else?

I stood with my arms loosely crossed over my bare midriff as I watched—and missed—quite a bit of social intricacy and something of importance. None of the males were focused on me, except for the guards, so it was a good thing I wasn't there to stab anyone in the back. My eyes drifted a bit, and I caught when the whispering daughter was glancing my way again.

For the second time, we made eye contact, and she blushed as her brother did, her smooth, gilded eyes looking down again. She lacked the same small ticks of a smile or a shiver of lust. She wasn't thinking the same thing as Bohai, wasn't admiring the shape of my body in the same way. But she was looking. It was something else, some other desire.

What did she want as she watched me? It could easily be the same thing that I wanted: to do as I wished without restriction. Even skipping the banquet, it had been more than an hour already and I still did not know whether I would have an opportunity to get what I came for. Or who I would choose, given the freedom to pursue as I would.

Why was I holding back? Because it was not my homeland, and I did not know all the traps here. Because I wanted something from this otherland. I wanted Gaelan and Jael back. I wanted some other option besides imprisonment for my baby. And I still didn't know how I was going to get any of that.

The only thing, maybe, that I really needed to be worried about was being certain when *not* to hold back.

Not only the Patriarch's voice but some of the advisors had raised enough to draw my attention. The daughter nearest to me focused as well and I heard her gasp softly, somehow frightened at what they were saying. I refocused very quickly. Mourn was making an attempt to refuse something, he'd done so twice already, and yet he hesitated at refusing a third time. He seemed to accept.

Had he just made an error in judgment? Or was it something new, as he'd likely shown them something new?