The Destiny of the Sword (12 page)

Nnanji disengaged his arm from Thana and clasped his large hands on his knees. “Not much about Shonsu himself. The castellan before him was a Seventh named Narrinko. Shonsu came to town, fancied the job, and killed him.”

“Nasty! What did the elders say?”

Nnanji rubbed his chin—and Wallie knew where he had picked up mat gesture. “They don’t seem to have any say, brother. This is a lodge city; it seems they’re different. There is no garrison, no reeve. The castellan keeps order with whoever happens to be around.”

Then it was the present castellan’s fault mat the city was such a madhouse now.

“The lodge is independent?” Thana said. “That’s how the sorcerers’ towers are, isn’t it? At least I assume it is—the port officers always welcomed the ship on behalf of the elders and the wizard. In swordsmen towns they don’t mention reeve. Curious!”

That was the first time Wallie had ever heard anyone on the ship express an interest hi politics, and he was suddenly filled with admiration for Honakura’s acumen. Lady Macbeth!

“Shonsu was a collector,” Nnanji went on. He frowned in

disapproval—and that was a surprise from Nnanji. “What’s that, Nanj?” asked Katanji.

“A killer,” Nnanji said, too intent on his reporting to notice the informality. “Collects dead men’s swords. It seems he organized an expedition against the sorcerers. It wasn’t a tryst, of course. Fifty men, I heard, and somehow he did it in secret. One day they just vanished. None of them ever returned.” Startled silence.

The demigod had said mat Shonsu had failed disastrously. Wallie shivered at the thought of fifty young men running into armed sorcerers and being mowed down. “But what city? Why did we never hear of this on the other bank?”

Nnanji shrugged. “There are no swordsmen in town who knew Shonsu. He took diem all. The guess is that he landed at some village jetty and set off to attack Vul itself.”

“Gods!” Wallie exclaimed. “He went for a kill! I wonder if that’s what the tryst is planning?*

Nnanji said he did not know. He was beginning to look very uneasy again, and Thana, sensing it, was studying him carefully. “Tell me the bad news men,” Wallie said. Nnanji clenched his hands together once more and stared at them. “A few weeks later, early in summer, so I was told, the sorcerers in Aus paraded a swordsman through the streets.” He stopped talking, but they all knew the rest—the swordsman had been crawling naked on his belly. “And the name of the swordsman?” “They think it was Shonsu.”

Wallie nodded. “That’s not quite how I recall it,” he said. “I was captured and allowed to crawl back to the ship.”

“But that’s not what the rumors say!” Nnanji shouted angrily. “It sounds as if the sorcerers brought you out, showed you, and then put you back in a box somewhere.”

There was Wallie’s danger. The details did not matter. Trapped by the sorcerers, ashore and unarmed, he had felt that public humiliation was a small price to pay to save his life. He had not thought at the time what other swordsmen—real swordsmen—would think of his disgrace, or of what they would do to such a coward when they caught him.

“And the Ov story is worse, my lord brother! They say that a

band of swordsmen attacked the docks—I got asked, because of mis damned hair of mine.” He looked totally miserable. “The massacre is all right, but then the story goes that you... that a Seventh, probably Shonsu because of his size... appeared and ordered us all back to our ships. They make it sound like you were an their sider

Yes, that was bad. Misery filled the deckhouse. Wallie had been prepared to face an allegation of cowardice, but not treason. In the confusion of the fight at Ov, the facts could easily have become distorted. When (he wagon charge had reached the sorcerers, he had been with them. Evidently his earlier run along the jetty and his capture had not been noticed.

Still, he could produce witnesses for Ov. The mess he had made at Aus was an insoluble disaster.

“I’ve loused it up,” he said bitterly. “The Goddess gave me Her own sword, and I’ve thrown it all away. Now I’m going to be called a traitor.” And his sorcerer mothermark would not help.

“A zombie,” Nnanji growled. “That’s what they say. That the sorcerers have Shonsu’s body working for them.”

“Do I look like a zombie?”

Nnanji managed to return the smile. “Not very.”

Wallie scowled in silent misery and self,reproach. He had no regrets about his decision at Ov. Yet, ironically, at Ov he had gained a bullethole in his scabbard. No one else would know what it was, but to be wounded in the scabbard was swordsman dang for cowardice.

A clatter out on deck proclaimed that lunch was being laid out.

“What word on the tryst, then?” he asked.

Nnanji cheered up slightly. “Over a thousand swordsmen, not counting lowranks! The tryst was called by the castellan, of course, Lord Tivanixi, and the high priest, Lord Kadywinsi. More swordsmen still coining.”

“And who is leader?”

‘That is to be decided by combat. The popular favorite is someone called Boariyi, but there are bets on Tivanixi, too.”

“Why not you, my lord?” asked Katanji, who was hugging his bony knees and listening intently.

Wallie sighed. “Nnanji, correct me if I’m wrong. The top

swordsmen, the Sevenths, decide by combat who is best, right? Then they all swear to be his vassals, swear the third oath to the leader. Then all die others swear the third oath to their mentors or a higher rank, in a pyramid. Am I right?”

Nnanji nodded.

“Do you know the third oath?” Wallie asked Katanji.

“No, my lord.”

“It’s a horror! The vassal is absolute slave to his liege. His own honor is of no account—he must obey any order whatsoever. That’s why it may only be sworn before batde.”

“But, my lord, it you’re the best swordsman...”

Wallie shook his head and glanced at Nnanji, who did not look as if he was going to argue.

“I am a zombie or a traitor or a coward or all three, novice. It’s a dead horse.”

Silence fell, then Thana said, “Dead horses have their uses. They’re better than live ones for skinning. And why is it a dead horse? You’re the greatest swordsman in the world, Nnanji says.”

“Perhaps!” said Wallie. “The god told me there were none better, but that one other might be as good. That’s not the point. I once made Nnanji swear the third oath to me. I put my sword at his throat and said I was going to kill him.” He did not need to tell her that a swordsman could never plead duress—Nnanji’s oath had been as binding as it would have been if given freely. “But that won’t work with a thousand men, Thana! I’d get the first one and a couple of die tat ones, but the other nine hundred and ninety,seven would be at Quo before I caught them. They would not swear to a traitor. They’d run.”

It was hopeless—and suddenly Wallie felt a surge of relief. He need not worry about seeking the leadership, because he could not. That option did not exist, so he need not concern himself with it.

Yet he had promised Nnanji that he could try for promotion. As Nnanji’s mentor, Wallie ought to accompany him. “Well, brother,” he said. “What happens if I go to the lodge? Give me your judgment.” Nnanji’s predictions of swordsmen’s behavior were usually better than his.

the ways of honor, brother. They know how Shonsu used metal —no one is going to challenge you. But...”

“But if they denounce me...” Wallie nodded. If they denounced him, the odds were a thousand to one. “Yet... Ov is all right. We have witnesses.” Brota, Honakura, or even Thana— swordsmen preferred swordsman witnesses. “And rney wouldn’t have witnesses for what happened in Aus!”

Thana frowned. “They could get them, my lord—sailors, water rats...”

“But not this afternoon, they couldn’t! Not right away! A quick visit, and then scamper? Let’s do it!”

He grinned mischievously at Nnanji, expecting him to welcome the thought of such bravado. But Nnanji went pale and shook his head vigorously. Wallie had never seen him display fear when in personal danger—indeed, he seemed to enjoy danger, and Nnanji’s acting skills were nonexistent. Apparently he just did not know what fear was. But he looked horrified at this risk to his oath brother. If even Nnanji thought it was too dangerous. ..

They all sat in silence for a while.

Then Katanji said, “Nanj? You said that all the great trysts were led by seven Sevenths? One Seventh called this tryst. Three Sevenths responded. Two Sixths have won promotion. I was told that they’re still waiting for the Goddess to send a seventh Seventh!”

Superstition! The World ran on it.

Wallie laughed. “Well! That changes things! Then they won’t throw me in the cesspool without a hearing, will they? Don’t eat too much lunch, protege”; you have some fencing to do this afternoon.”

Still Nnanji looked sick. “Brother! he warned. “If they denounce you as a traitor... or a coward...”

“No!” WalUe thumped his fist on the oak chest. “I’m tired of hiding on this ship! It’s time to do something! They can’t prove I’m a traitor... and I can certainly prove that I’m not a coward!”

Nnanji’s eyes widened. “By going to the lodge?” He gulped, and then grinned admiringly. “Right!”

ttt

Wearing a trim new ultramarine kilt that Jja had made for him, Wallie led his army down the gangplank. His sword hilt flashed in the sunlight, and his blood pumped eagerly at the prospect of action at last.

Next came Nnanji of the Fourth, his grin firmly anchored to his ears and his head in the stars. Nnanji of the Fifth? He was having trouble not marching straight up his mentor’s back in his impatience to reach the lodge. He also wore his best, but his hairclip was the usual orange stone. Arganari’s silver griffon had neither appeared nor been mentioned, which was unusual tact for Nnanji.

And after him was Thana, defiantly dressed in riverfolk breechclout and bra sash of buttercup yellow, her only concession to land life being a pair of shoes. Wallie had been hesitant when she had appeared with her sword on, announcing that she also was a candidate for promotion. The tryst would be quite antagonistic enough toward him without a female water rat at his side. True, she could handle the fencing for third rank with her eyes closed, and she had repeatedly astonished him in the surra sessions, but he was sure mat she had only just developed this feverish desire to leant surras. There must be many that she had never even heard. Then Nnanji had put on his ill,treated,spaniel expression. Thinking that she would be company for Jja, Wallie had consented.

Behind Thana came Novice Katanji, attempting to maintain a man,of,the,World cynicism about this swordsman childishness, but not succeeding very well in hiding his excitement at the prospect of seeing the lodge and of being brother to a Fifth. Tucked under his cast, steadied by his good hand, he carried two sheathed swords.

Finally came Jja, bearing a bundle—a swordsman might carry nothing except a foil or a spare sword, because that would diminish his honor. She wore sandals and the usual slave’s black wrap, but it had been skillfully tailored by herself from the finest linen

her owner had been able to purchase and have appropriately dyed.

They had barely started across the wind,whipped, eye,watering plaza, the sailors’ good wishes had scarcely died away behind them, when they were spotted by some juniors, whose reaction was obvious. Here was the expected seventh Seventh! The juniors turned and headed for the lodge. Other swordsmen, including die press,gangs, saw the activity and gave chase.

Nnanji was calling directions, but soon Wallie did not need them, for an increasing crowd of swordsmen was preceding him, gathering newcomers like a snowball, and all he had to do was follow. The citizens noticed the excitement, also, pausing in their business to stare. Several times Wallie thought he saw recognition, or heard his name being spoken. Shonsu was returning from the dead.

Their way led toward the center of town, then through a narrow alley and out into an open space too irregular ever to be called a square. Most of the flanking buildings seemed to be deserted ruins. At the far side was a huge block, set at an odd angle, and the mob of swordsmen was pouring into it through a single arched doorway.

All that showed from the outside was a blank stone wall like the side of a cube, with the archway and a single balcony high above it. A bronze sword hung on the wall above that. There were no windows. As Wallie and his followers approached, the tail end of his unofficial vanguard was streaming in to be present when he arrived.

By the time he had crossed the court, the crowd had vanished inside. Two guards of the third rank flashed their swords in salute and a solitary figure came marching out to greet him. He was a Seventh, but no swordsman. He was built like a blue bullfrog, a bald head perching on the shoulders of his robe without intervention of neck. Wallie eyed the unfamiliar facemarks doubtfully— they looked like mourns—and waited for the salute.

He was a herald, and he reacted to Wallie’s name with obvious shock.

“Lord Shonsu!” he repeated, and then recovered himself. “By what titles does your lordship wish to be proclaimed?” He had a voice like falling rocks.