The Death of Nnanji (8 page)

Wallie chuckled, a rumble of Shonsu thunder. “I have known my oath brother longer than you have, master. I’ll bet he couldn’t resist the chance to locate another loop.”

“Yes, my lord. He considered sending Lord Mibullim inland to explore, but he wanted him to send him to Casr soon. So he decided to send Master Notukasmo, with a troop of twenty-five. But he was only to reconnoiter, and must be back at Cross Zek by Slaters’ Day. The liege himself would take the rest of us over to Zek and then Nolar, but no farther.”

“Tell me about Mibullim.”

Endrasti frowned at this mention of other trouble. “Mibullim of the Seventh was a free sword, who’d come to meet us in Obla about four weeks before. He had fifteen men in his troop, and they were a very impressive band, my lord. One of them, Master Notukasmo, helped examine me for my promotion and almost shredded my kilt! He gave me the fight of my life, my lord, and I’m fairly sure he threw me the final point out of pity. Lord Nnanji complimented Lord Mibullim on his own fencing. He was eager to enlist, and so were his men.”

“Valuable reinforcements.” Of course the troop could have been sorcerer agents, but swordsmen took their ferocious oaths seriously, and it would be very hard to assemble such a large group of traitors. The fact that at least two of them were first-class fencers for their ranks was almost certain proof that they were what they claimed to be.“Glad to see ‘em, we were, sir, because we’d picked up rumors about the king of Plo planning to cause trouble. We knew we might have to wet our blades there. Nolar, which we would come to first, was also large, but I was hoping we might win some support there against Plo. I’d heard of a long-time inter-city rivalry, you see. But we’d smelt blood in the air ever since Arbo.”

Over the years the Tryst’s expansion had not required as much bloody warfare as Wallie had feared when Nnanji had first suggested that its mission must be to reform the entire swordsman craft. Wallie had imagined the Tryst conquering like an empire, but in fact it had spread more like a religion, by conversion. Its forces had advanced city by city along the River, swearing in the garrisons as they went, collecting and organizing the nomadic free sword troops. Any swordsman who refused to swear allegiance was denounced as a disgrace of the craft and challenged. If he won that bout, he could be challenged again and again, but in practice he would usually accept the inevitable and swear the oath. Since duress was not an admissible excuse for a swordsman, he was just as effectively bound then as if he’d submitted right away. If he later reneged, then he would be challenged again, and this time to the death. The Tryst’s commander on the spot—Nnanji, Shonsu, Boariyi, or another—would appoint a new reeve, clean up the guard, and then move on.

In effect, the reeves were police chiefs, kept honest by regular moves to new postings and by Casr’s roving inspectors. The inspectors were basically the old free swords, but they now had defined domains and the whole resources of the Tryst behind them; they could investigate even the largest cities and depose rulers if necessary.

Exceptions prove rules, though, and there had been minor battles.

“Cross Zek was a trap?”

“Aye, that it was, my lord. And so was Zek, but we were lucky there. After the Cross Zek scouting party disembarked, the rest of us went over to Zek itself. Wind and current made us detour downstream, but we arrived the following day and were made welcome. The reeve and the mayor had gone goose hunting, we were told, but they’d heard we were coming and left word that we were to be billeted in the shearing barn. We weren’t green enough to be caught like that, my lord, so when they sprang their trap, we were ready. They tried to burn the barn down on top of us. That didn’t work, but there were a lot of them and there was a battle. We killed every man found with a weapon or seen fighting. We left the women and children in the shearing barn, burned the rest of the town, and scuttled their fishing fleet.”

Horrible as that revenge was, Wallie knew that in Nnanji’s place he might well have done the same thing, for such blatant treachery must not go unpunished. With thousands of swordsmen scattered over half the World, the Tryst could not allow any to be molested without reprisal. The blood oath that bound it together laid an obligation of vengeance on both parties, so it was now Nnanji’s job to see that the dead men were avenged, and any Nnanji oath was automatically Wallie’s.

“Did they use thunder weapons?”

“We did not hear or see any, my lord. We guessed then, of course, that the Cross Zek land road was another trap. As soon as possible, Lord Nnanji took us all back there. They’d been ambushed, slaughtered to the last man. Their bodies had been stripped and left for the rats and ravens. If Lord Nnanji had led us all that way, we’d likely all have died.”

Clearly Lord Shonsu would be visiting Zek and Cross Zek in the near future.

“Who were these foes, though? Swordsmen or sorcerers?”

“Sorcerers, without a doubt, my lord, so Lord Nnanji said. Or civilians using sorcerers’ thunder weapons. No sword cuts, no arrow wounds. They had holes in them, that was all.”

So Wallie’s old nightmare of swordsmen trying to fight sorcerers armed with guns had come true at last. Even if the Kra coven had nothing better than the Vul coven’s smoothbore, short-barrel pistols, this was going to be very ugly.

He reined in and dismounted. “Show me,” he said, taking Endrasti’s reins. “Pace it out. How far apart were the bodies?”

They were not quite into the vineyards, still in the upland area of dairy farms, where cows slumped on the grass chewing their cud incuriously. Endrasti recreated the scene for him, using fences and even particular cows as landmarks. He conjured up a narrow, steep-sided valley, a deep cut winding through forested hills, with poor visibility ahead and none at all to the sides. Anything, he said, might be hidden in the trees and bushes above. Most of the bodies lay in order of march, as if they had died in a single volley, but a few had tried to storm up the crumbling sides and been shot down from above. Wallie questioned him hard on distance. How far from their victims had the bushwhackers been hiding? The most significant fact that he deduced was that the range had been too great for smoothbore handguns. The bushwhackers had been armed with long guns, so the Kra sorcerers, if they were the culprits, had invented the musket.

“How many wounds per body, could you tell?”

“Well… The crows had been at them, my lord. One or two, was most I saw.”

“Were any of them ripped to pieces?” Back when Vul coven had conquered the RegiVul Loop, they had progressed to cannon loaded with grapeshot. The entire garrison of Gor had been wiped out with one such “thunderbolt”.

“No, my lord. Lord Nnanji commented on that.”

“Our losses?”

“At Cross Zek twenty-six swordsmen, three porters, and a herald; worse than Arbo.”

Thirty musket balls could not mow down thirty men. At least twice that many shots would be needed, and that meant either a far greater rate of fire than could be achieved with primitive muskets, or a much larger force. Considering that the enemy could not have known how many swordsmen they would have to deal with, the much larger force theory seemed more likely.

The two men remounted and continued their ride.

“Twice you mentioned somewhere called Arbo.”

Endrasti looked at Wallie with dismay. “The massacre at Arbo, on Swordsmen’s Day. Honorable Rudere… You didn’t receive that dispatch, either?”

The Tryst maintained a picket post at the edge of town. Wallie and Endrasti stopped there to change horses, so they were able to make good speed on the last leg of their journey to the lodge. He went straight to the Executive Block, tossed his reins to a waiting junior, and took the steps at the double. As was to be expected, Master Horkoda was still at his desk.

Wallie barked out the news. “Lord Nnanji was seriously wounded in an assassination attempt last night, in Quo. Have his palace searched from turret to cellar and post double guards. He is coming home with an escort of around four hundred, led by lord Boariyi. His usual quarters must be made ready, and the rest of them will need billeting, feeding, stabling. Inform the lords of the council that we’ll meet this evening as soon as Lord Boariyi has had a chance to freshen up. Master Endrasti, here, will attend. Meanwhile, he needs billeting and looking after also.”

His aide had heard all this without taking a single note. He could read and write, but still preferred to rely on his childhood memory training.

“You wish a recorder present?”

“Certainly not.” Most recorders were sorcerers. “Where can I find the boy Addis?”

Horkoda permitted himself a very faint smile. “In Swordsman Helbringr’s quarters in your palace, my lord. Master Filurz arrived less than an hour ago and doubled your guards. Apprentice Vixini is being force-fed sutras as if his life depended on it.”

Wallie felt a twist of guilt. The opposite might be closer to the truth. By pushing his stepson into third rank, he would make him eligible for battle, and the war had already started.

Accompanied by a pickup escort, Wallie rode back to his palace, where he found Adept Filurz newly cleaned up after his ride in, still slightly damp. Addis, he reported, was downstairs, demonstrating his new-found skills.

Sure enough, the swordsmen of Wallie’s night watch, and many of his daytime bodyguard as well, were sitting around in the guards’ mess, deriding a gladiatorial show. In the center, Addis, son of Nnanji, and Novice Gwiddle, who was shorter but broader, were circling each other warily. Both wore very dirty kilts, originally of first-rank white. Unsworn youths were forbidden clothing except in cold weather, but some protection would be a wise precaution when engaged in Addis’s current activity. Swordsman Helbringr was on her feet, being referee and instructor.

“Turtles!” she yelled. “Wake up! Make a fight of it.” The rest of her remarks were drowned out in a general chorus of booing, intended as agreement.

Shamed into action, Gwiddle leaped forward, grabbing for his opponent’s throat. Addis caught his wrist, extended a leg, and flipped Gwiddle over it, to land face-down on the floor. He dropped his knees on his victim’s back and got an arm lock on him.

Yelp of pain from Gwiddle, loud cheers from everyone else.

Addis sprang to his feet, grinning triumphantly.

“Better,” Helbringr shouted. “Up! Now, novice, let’s see you go for a—my lord!”

Thirty boots hit the floor as the guards sprang upright.

Wallie raised a hand to forestall formal saluting. “I have come to rescue your victim, swordsman. If he can still walk, that is.”

Addis was hastily removing his borrowed kilt, a mark of respect that Wallie was still alien enough to find amusing and contradictory. The boy was filthy from top to toe, and well decorated with scrapes and bruises. But his grin looked genuine, as if an all-over beating was a first-rate treat. He had a notable black eye, and so did Swordsman Helbringr.

“I kept trying to call it a day, my lord,” she said, “and he insisted on continuing. He wanted to learn every dirty trick you’d mentioned.”

“Adept Filurz will demand an explanation of that eye, swordsman.”

She smiled, knowing he was joking. “Line of duty, my lord. Boy Addis has put three men in the infirmary and practically ruined Novice Gwiddle.” This outrageous statement drew hoots of laughter from the audience and a howl of protest from Gwiddle. Addis’s grin grew even wider. He still hadn’t realized that he’d been tricked into demonstrating that he had the agility and reflexes a swordsman needed.

Alas, merriment was out of order now.

“Well done, both of you. Addis, come with me, please. Adept Filurz will brief the rest of you.”

Wallie took the boy upstairs, to his private quarters. There, amid all the grandeur of silk rugs, travertine paneling, and gilded ceilings, he found his wife spooning mush into Budol, their youngest. Jja, who had once been a slave herself, had innumerable slaves and servants to do that for her if she wished, but insisted that she enjoyed being a mother. She knew at once that Wallie had brought bad news, but her first concern was his companion. She did not even let him finish his salute.

“Gods love us, Addis, what happened to you? We must send for a healer, and a litter to get you home.”

“I’m well, Aunt, thank you.” He was eyeing Shonsu anxiously.

“Sit,” Wallie said. “No, never mind the furniture. Addis, I have grave news for you. Your father has been badly hurt. I’m sure Vixini told you how an assassin tried to kill me last night. I was lucky. Another one went after your dad. He’s not dead, but he didn’t escape as lightly as I did. I won’t lie to you. His wound is very serious.”

The childish face paled, making the swellings seem even worse. Budol, who was a very loud baby and knew her rights, bellowed at the interruption in her feeding. Jja obeyed orders.

Addis whispered, “Who did this, Uncle?” Why would anyone want to kill
his
father?

“We don’t know. And she can’t tell us, because Lord Boariyi killed her. Yes, it was another woman. Your father’s on his way back; your mother’s with him. They should be home very shortly. I’ll take you there.”

The boy whispered, “Thank you,” but it was a reflex. He had shrunk into a knot of misery and horror. For any child to lose a parent must be Armageddon, but Addis’s father was a god. The sun rose and set at his command. Conversely, without him the World would at once become a place of fearful danger. Palaces got sacked. Unwanted heirs could disappear like morning dew.

Jja was staring very hard at Wallie. “Did you have to be so brutal?”

“Addis is not a child any longer, dear. He’s about to chose a craft and be sworn. He deserves the truth and he’ll get nothing less from me.”

After a moment Addis looked up. “They tried to kill you, too. So it’s a plot? Who, my lord? Who wants you and Dad both dead?”

“We do not know.” Wallie glanced briefly at Jja and then quickly away. “But I just leaned that sorcerers have started killing swordsmen again. About forty men have died in ambushes, somewhere in the far south, near Plo, and most of them were killed by sorcerers’ weapons. Jja comes from Plo. I remember her telling me, ages ago, that there was a coven at somewhere called Kra, in the mountains near Plo. It’s war. Your father was on his way back to Casr to enlist an army.” But today he might have come home to die.