The circles lay before us as we stood to the side, watching the sparring match. Del leaned against a tree, arms crossed under her breasts. Nayyib stood, his sword engaged with one of the newest students. Nayyib had reached seventh-level in seven years, same as I had. Del stood, watching with a detached interest. Since Sula had been born, Delilah had only taken up the sword for the training circle.

Exhausted, Treylan, the new student sparring with Nayyib, dropped the sword and sighed. "Treylan forfeits!" Alric called from the across the circle.

"You want this one?" I asked Del, glancing at her from the corner of my eye.

The chiseled face looked a bit less fierce then it did before Sula was born. Being a mother hadn't made her soft, just softer around the edges. "I'll take it," she replied, stepping away from my shoulder.

As she stepped toward the circle she began to speak. My heart fluttered as I watched her advance toward Treylan. "This was a simple case of defense," Del began pacing the circumference of the circle. "Nayyib played defense by preventing you from breaking his guard. Yet, he did not try to break yours. This conserves his strength while depleting yours. What you must do is back away after a few engagements. This puts your opponent in a position where he must play the offensive."

Treylan nodded, pushing brown hair from his eyes. He was Southron, and his opinion of women reflected it. But because she was Delilah, he shut up and listened. I was about to move into the circle, when I heard moccasin-clad feet running full speed across the gravel.

Turning, I caught Sula as she barreled into my arms. "Papa," she squealed, placing her soft hands on either side of my stubbled face. Del smiled at me as she saw the small girl in my big hands. "There are two people down at the aketni for you. Mehmet didn't want to send them up to the valley without your permission."

Del strolled over and stroked Sula's light brown hair out of green-blue eyes. "Did they give names, my little sandtiger?" Del asked, using the pet name Sula had adopted from me.

Her little head shook quickly, spraying my cheek with jasmine scented hair. "No Mama, but one of them had earrings like Papa, and a blue head."

Both of us froze in odd terror and apprehension. Without excusing ourselves, Del and I turned and started toward the lower valley, Sula still sitting in my arms.

When we rounded the bend to face the aketni we had a small legion of sword-dancers following us. Standing in the middle of Mehmet's little village were two people I never wanted to see again. Prima Rhannet stood, looking around with a mild disdain, and Nikho Blue-head seemed strangely uncomfortable.

Alric stood behind me as I stopped just a few feet short of Nikho. Sula still sat in my arms, her own arms wrapped around my neck. "How's those sea legs?" I retorted, glaring at him with angry green eyes. This man was responsible for my missing fingers.

"We've come bearing tidings," Prima Rhannet spoke, her gaze unwavering, "Of the metri."

My grandmother. I heard Del's sharp intake of breath. "Leave," I growled. "I have my own family, I don't need her."

"She needs you," Nikho interjected. I felt Del tense up. The metri had practically enslaved me, then allowed me to be turned into a mage.

I switched Sula to my other arm and glared at Nikho. "Shouldn't you be dead?" I growled.

"Shouldn't you?" Prima snapped, losing her patience.

Del clicked her tongue at the red-haired captain. "You shouldn't speak so harshly to five people holding swords. Especially when you have none." Prima Rhannet and Nikho Blue-head stared down at the sides. The small children from the aketni had removed their swords from their waistlines.

I smirked at the blue-headed mage and said, "I advise you both to follow silently, or you won't be able to return to the metri."

Alric swung his sword blade off his shoulder and brought it around to face Prima and Nikho. "I suggest you follow the Sandtiger, not to closely now," he said, his Northern blue eyes dancing with unholy fire.

"Papa," Sula asked me, placing her hands back on stubbily cheeks. "Who's the metri?"

Del frowned at me over our daughter's head, then she replied, "She's your great-grandmother, my little sandtiger cub." Sula nodded, even though I was sure she didn't understand. No one in the aketni was old enough to have grandchildren, let alone great-grandchildren.

Prima glanced from Sula to Del, then to me. Finally, she managed, "She's beautiful, Tiger."

Bile rose in my throat and I swung around to glare at her. "I swear to hoolies, Prima. You keep away from my daughter, and my son," I added quickly, glancing to Nayyib.

I saw Nikho's eyes widen, and he glanced from me to Nayyib. I shot the blue-headed first mate a nasty look; so much of me hated him.

Once we reached the house, carved into the mountain, Lena met us to remove Sula from my arms. Alric and Nayyib, now with his blade out, led our visitors into the house. Nikho and Prima sat at the table, both looking around with interest. I couldn't help but wonder is they were taking visual notes to report to the metri.

Which bought me around to her, again. "What, exactly, does she want me for?" I snapped, watching Lena carry Sula away. "If this has something to do with training that thrice cursed son of a god, she can bring him here, and let Alric deal with him." I displayed my mangled hands, "I don't really have the patience."

I saw them exchange glances, and Nikho spoke, "Herakleio is dead. He was murdered in a winehouse." Del's eyes flickered to me, her depths giving off something I'd only seen once, when she'd been told she couldn't keep her daughter, Kalle. "She needs you, Tiger. Someone strong enough to maintain her blood-line." He glared at me. "Even if it's you."

Laughter rang through the house, my charismatic laughter, as Del put it. "Tell the old woman to burn in hoolies, with her godling grand-nephew." Alric rested the tip of his sword on the floor. "I want nothing to do with her, ever. I have my wife, my son, my daughter. I know who my mother was, I don't need a manipulative, self-absorbed metri. I fought my ass off to establish myself as an eight-fingered sword-dancer. It took me seven years to kill or maim every sword-dancer on my trail, and now I've got a school, and a future. Whether I am slave, outlaw, Messiah, grandson, or mage, I am the Sandtiger, Punja-born and bred. It's sand and sun that pours through these veins, not Stessa blood." Alric's sword arched upwards, catching the rainbow gleam in a slant of sunlight. "Now, unless you have something better to offer, I suggest you get out of my house."

Prima Rhannet, her eyes flashing, snapped, "What! You can't protect yourself? You have to rely on some Northerner to do it for you?"

Before I could respond, Alric spoke up, spinning the sword in capable hands. "It is an honor and privilege to serve the Sandtiger. I will gladly die for him. Or kill for him, as the gods see fit." Del's cheek twitched, and I could see her hands twitching with the need to unsheathe her own blade. But she wouldn't do it with Sula so close.

Nikho reached out and placed his hand on Prima's arm. "Tiger," he began his voice low.

"Don't you dare call him that," Del growled, sounding more like me the I'd've thought possible. Nikho's ringed eyebrows arched. "You stole his identity, cleared his flesh of his legacy. You tried to erase that name and its meaning. You will never utter it again!"

In a whispered voice, Nikho replied, "Then how about his birthname, Broderick Stessa?" I didn't even blink. My mother had died giving birth to be. I hadn't had a birthname. I was the Sandtiger, and I said it. Nikholara shook his blue tattooed head. "Your mother was to name you after her father. Your grandfather, Broderick. The metri awaits you on her ship in the harbor. When you are ready, you will come."