The Destiny of the Sword (40 page)

Now he got a long, hard stare. “I wonder if you intend to let me go home, my lord. You are volunteering a great deal of information.”

Wallie smiled innocently. ‘Trust me,” he said.

Rotanxi shook his head. “There is a hook in your bait. What is it?”

Wallie shrugged. For a few minutes he stared across the blue water to the golden city spread along the River’s edge, vastly older than the pyramids. He tried to imagine one of the sorcerers’ black towers there and mused on what Nnanji had said—sacked and burned many times. If he could win peace with the sorcerers, men he might save many cities from being sacked in the future. If history was only a string of battles, then honor belonged not to those who made history, but to those who prevented it.

“I might trade a few secrets with you. For example, and just out of curiosity, on my world the thunderpower was known for centuries before anyone thought of using it to make weapons. Was that the case here?”

The old man pondered carefully. Finding no trap in the question, he nodded.

Wallie said, “Another question, then: When Katanji managed to sneak into your tower, he reported seeing a big gold ball on a pillar. That sounds to me like something we called...” He could not say electrostatic generator. It would come out as grunts. “Damn! It sort of collects lightning when you turn a handle and make a belt move. Now, I am guessing that you connect this thing to the metal grid in front of the doors, so any uninvited guest gets zapped. Would you care to comment?”

The sorceer said nothing at all.

“Come on!” Wallie coaxed. “I can’t think it would stop an army, because it would take too long to collect more of the lightning between zaps. But it would make a good burglar trap. All right—you tell me that, and I’ll give you a secret from my world on the same subject.”

Rotanxi glared, but finally admitted that at night the gold ball was connected by a metal rope to the door handles, for the purpose Wallie had guessed. It was a very small concession, but the start of trust.

Wallie told him of the lightning rod—useful to anyone who stored gunpowder in a tall tower.

“You make me nervous,” Rotanxi said. “You tell me these

things and all about your plans. I fear that you do not intend to let me go, in spite of your oath.”

Wallie said, “We have many days left on the oath. My army will be ready long before then. Boariyi would have been smashed, I admit, but I shall do the smashing now.”

Cautiously the old man said, “And what will you do if your fancy catapults and horsemen do not succeed?”

Wallie shook his head. “Hope that they do! Else I must tell the swordsmen how to make thunderpowder. I have been very careful, Lord Rotanxi. I have kept many of your secrets from them— the signs you use to send messages, for example.” He did not know the word for writing. “I have made no inquiries about sulfur or saltpeter. Were I to do that, then you are a dead man as soon as your friends catch you. I hope very strongly that I do not have to go to that.

“You see, hi my other world the sorcerers invent weapons, but the swordsmen control them; weapons so horrible that I shall not even try to describe them. I am certain that the same thing will happen here. When the first horror wears off, the swordsmen will want those thunderbolt weapons. If I do not give them the secret, then they will get it by other means. Even sorcerers can be overpowered and tortured. You will not long keep the thunderpowder to yourselves, and, when it gets out, men the sorcerers will be servants of the swordsmen, as they were on my world. Think on that, my lord!”

Leaving the sorcerer frowning, Wallie rose and paced away.

His head was still thumping and his eyes still gritty. There was no sign of Jja. Perhaps she had obeyed his peevish command and gone to the cabin. He ought to make up to her—make love to her, even. The tryst would not collapse if he stole a couple of hours* rest. He trotted down the companionway and went to their cabin.

She was waiting there. When he entered she rose to stand before him in silence, eyes downcast, being a well,trained slave.

He lifted her chin with one finger. “Jja!” he whispered.

Her eyes would not meet his. “Master?”

His temper flared again. Damn her! He was carrying too many

burdens to accept another. He needed comfort, companionship,

and reassurance; not this stubborn, uninformed reproach. He tried again. He put his arms around her. “Jja?” “Master?”

“You’re trembling! What are you afraid of?” He had to wait for her whisper. “You, master.” “Me? My darling, I have said I am sorry! I need love, Jja!” “Of course, master!” She slipped hurriedly from his grasp and

began to pull off her wrap.

anger him. It was the only weapon she had. It was a good one. He left, slamming the door behind him.

tt

Midmorning, warm sunshine; Wallie had been inspecting catapult construction and was marching back to the lodge with his bodyguard.

It was day eight of the reign of Shonsu I—or should mat be Shonsu II?—and five days since Boariyi had departed in Griffon. He should be at Wal by now. The expedition had seemed well outfitted, with water,rat swordsmen to run the ship, with enough supplies for two or three weeks, with a plentiful collection of chains and shackles. Boariyi had been disappointed when Wallie had amended his instructions to kidnapping instead of killing, but he had seen the advantage of being able to parade captives through the streets when he returned. “Kill if you must,” Wallie had told him, “but a live captive is more valuable than dead meat, and the more sorcerer gowns you can steal the better.” Wal and Aus were the targets this time. He wished he had another ship to send upriver to Sen and on to Cha.

He had grown to like Boariyi. There was something of Nnanji in the beanpole, plus a certain wry cynicism. Wallie approved of all his Sevenths. The Goddess had chosen well.

Money was still pouring in, but it was also pouring out. Horses were absurdly expensive to buy and equip and maintain.

Catapults were going to be worse, and he had to think ahead to the cost of mounting the actual attack. He could sell Griffon, of course—if Boariyi did not lose her. It was crazy to send a Seventh into such danger, but at least he had an equivalent prisoner to exchange if necessary.

Then his parade turned into the wide plaza before the lodge, and he called a halt so that he could stand and watch the cavalry at work. The stirrup had been a glorious success. Now all the swordsmen wanted to join the cavalry—was it not always so? Riding hi fencing masks was impossible, and thus foil practice too dangerous, so he had invented polo. Of course polo on a paved court was not quite five card stud either, but these were urban fighters he was training. The swordsmen had decided that polo was the greatest breakthrough since the invention of puberty. It had become the tryst’s biggest entertainment, after wenching, and most of the pay seemed to go into betting on polo matches.

Even to Wa)lie’s unskilled eye, both men and horses were improving. Now he must think ahead to the next step—mallets were not the best weapons against sorcerers. Polo was good training in horsemanship, but he must start the carpenters making lances. He sent a Fust off with a luncheon invitation for Tivanixi, and resumed his march.

Closer to the lodge a group of swordsmen was fencing. Wallie did not need to see the green flashes on the shoulder straps to know that they would be Nnanji’s men. And there was Nnanji himself, blue kilt and red ponytail, engaging one of Boariyi’s Sixths, No one else of his rank ever had time for fencing. Wallie watched for a while. Nnanji was improving—of course. He sighed, trying to ignore his apprehension and doubts. Then he gave the order to move again.

The blank stone face of the lodge, which had once worn only a bronze sword, now bore additional decoration. No one but sorcerers could read, but everyone could use an abacus. On either side of the bronze sword, therefore, there now hung a giant abacus of ropes and straw bundles. One read three hundred and thirty; the other sixteen—one captured and fifteen dead, counting Chinarama. The message was obvious, and so was the motivation it provided. Its construction had kept ten men busy for two days. That was the first rule for running an army: keep it busy. Once

Wallie Smith had run a petrochemical plant efficiently by matching the workforce to the work. Now his manpower was fixed, so he must find things for it to do.

As he reached the archway a troop of men came out carrying foul,smelling buckets—the losers hi the daily inspection, those whose dormitory had been the least acceptable. The lodge sparkled now, inside and out, but each day there had to be losers to carry the nightsoil, and the orange flashes showed mat these were some of Zoariyi’s men. The color coding became complicated on a low rank, for each Seventh had his own color, and each of his proteges, also. A Third wore five flashes. Nnanji knew what every combination meant. Wallie did not care.

He wheeled in through the courtyard, filled now with canvas bathhouses and latrines. At the door to the antechamber he dismissed his entourage and sent them off hi search of Forarfi, who could be counted on to keep them busy doing something. Then he went in.

The chamber was full of people, as always. At the far end Linumino the adjutant sat at a table because be counted the money. Although Wallie always felt that this room should be full of desks and typewriters and telephones, only Linumino had as much as a table. The money itself stayed in the chest hi Wallie’s office, which doubled as the council room, and most nights also his bedroom. Everyone else was sitting on a stool or standing. The sitters rose as he entered and all thumped fists to heart in salute. He had abolished formal saluting within the tryst as a waste of time.

He walked on through, nodding and smiling to faces he recognized, making guesses at their business, giving Katanji a wink, frowning at the sight of two sullen, battered,faced Sixths who stood swordless and guarded. When he reached the adjutant’s table, Linumino smiled also and gestured toward a group of six. He did not need to speak—three young Thirds with Tivanixi shoulder flashes, each accompanied by a naked boy hi bis early teens, all six looking nervous.

“How many will that make?” Wallie asked.

“Thirteen, my liege.”

Wallie looked over the boys. They all trembled. The Thirds

were almost as jumpy, probably all recent promotions. He turned back to the adjutant. “You’ve tested them?”

“Honorable Hiokillino has, my liege. He says they’ll pass. He turned down four others who couldn’t catch a ball if you pushed it in their mouths, he said. Didn’t know their right hand from their feet!”

Wallie laughed. “All right.” He grudged the time, but this justified some ceremony, so he added, “Present them.” Linumino solemnly presented each Third in turn.

“I am Genotei, swordsman of the third rank, and it is my deepest and most humble wish...”

“I am Shonsu... Present your candidate, swordsman.”

“My lord, I have the honor...”

“I am Jiulyuio, son of Kiryuio the goldsmith, and it is my deepest...”

All three boys were on the young side, Wallie thought, but he solemnly responded to their salutes. He had to listen as each repeated the swordsmen’s code and then swore the second oath to one of the swordsmen. The liege lord knelt to give them their swords; for the rest of their lives they would brag about that. Finally he shook each by the hand and welcomed him to the craft. Wallie went into his office, and the recruits rushed away with their new mentors in great excitement.

He threw his sword on the bed and flopped down hi the chair, releasing a cloud of dust and more feathers. Linumino closed the door and stood waiting. The pudgy, scar,faced swordsman had proved to be a superb adjutant, with endless patience for detail and an excellent memory. Long hours he sat at his table, seeming to increase in girth daily. Soon he would be too absurdly fat to carry a sword, but that would not matter as long as the tryst lasted, and perhaps he planned to retire at the end of it. Meanwhile he made Wallie’s world sane and relatively orderly, not the mad chaos it could so easily have become without him.

‘Take a stool,” Wallie said. “Something wrong?”

Linumino was frowning. “My liege, am I right in my suspicions? It always seems to be Lord Tivanixi’s men who find these promising recruits.”

Wallie laughed. “I had noticed. I assumed that you had. And that neither of us had.”

‘Ten, I believe. Unless four of them are unusually good.”

Linumino smiled and said no more. Bribery to induct a recruit was not honorable, but the tryst was desperate for good horses. Their asking price had gone from three golds to twenty or thirty, and finances just could not stand those costs. Yet rich families would pay to have a son become a swordsman. As long as the boys had promise, Wallie turned two blind eyes, and Tivanixi got more of his men mounted, more stablehands, more mouths to feed, more horses.

“All right, let’s have it!”

Sitting rigidly on his stool, Linumino closed his eyes as he always did when recalling data. It was an unnerving sight, for the left one did not shut properly, showing a sliver of white. “The holy Lord Honakura replies that what you asked will be possible, up to twelve, and hopes to see you at the masons’ dinner mis evening. You have been invited to the traders’ banquet tomorrow night, the butchers’ on the night after, and two balls the following evening, by—“