The Reluctant Swordsman (19 page)

“Adept Briu, my liege,” he said. He dropped his eyes to his stew bowl and seemed to lose his appetite.

Yesterday Briu had performed a disgusting task with dignity. He had kept his head when the crowd began to turn vicious and he had refrained from using his whip when Wallie provoked him. Briu might be a useful recruit.
 
“Do you suppose that he might be willing to join our mission?” Wallie asked.
 
Nnanji gave him a momentary smile at the “our,” but then shook his head. “His wife is due to hatch soon, my liege.”

Pity, Wallie thought. “But he is a man of honor?”

“Of course, my liege.”

That answer had been a fraction slow.

“How about Adept Gorramini?” Wallie asked suspiciously.

Nnanji bit his lip, squirmed, and said, “Of course, my liege,” once more.
 
Tear up plan one! Clearly there was another part of the swordsmen’s code, which the demigod had not told him: “I shall not squeal.” Loyal vassal or not, Nnanji was not going to rat on anyone—admit to one foul bird and you label the whole hen house, including yourself for roosting in it. And if that rule was generally observed, the lad would not likely know who was up to what, anyway. Gorramini had been another of Hardduju’s three gorillas and certainly no man of honor in Wallie’s estimation. He had not shown up with Meliu on the courtyard, though, and did not seem to be present now in the hall.
 
Nnanji took another look at Briu. Then he pushed away his bowl and tankard, folded his arms, and sat staring straight ahead with a tense expression. Wallie regarded him curiously.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

Nnanji showed a flash of misery and then went wooden again. “It was too good to be true, my liege,” he said cryptically.

Wallie looked around warily. Firsts, Seconds, Thirds, Fourths . . . no Fifths.
 
There had been at least four red kilts in the hall when he came in. Almost everyone was sitting facing toward him. The hall was growing steadily quieter.
 
Something was certainly afoot, and the focus of it was Briu and his friend.

Wallie pushed his bowl and tankard aside also.

Briu and the Third rose, and conversation stopped altogether. The waiters and cooks had gathered in a line along the wall beside the door to the kitchen. Even Nnanji seemed to know what was pending, damn it! Wallie took his feet off the stool and stood up, prepared to repel boarders.
 
Briu arrived at the far side of the table and made the salute to a superior.

Wallie gave the reply.

“Lord Shonsu,” the Fourth said in a voice aimed at the audience, “will you graciously waive hospitality upon a matter of honor?” So that was how they were going to do it? In theory Wallie could refuse, but not in practice. He could not guess what the matter of honor might be, unless his actions yesterday had in some way compromised this Briu. Perhaps all that was required was a declaration from Lord Shonsu that he had not received that inexplicable sword from him.

“Honor must always take precedence,” Wallie said, equally loudly. Briu was tense, but certainly did not look as worried as he should be if he were planning to fight a Seventh.

He inclined his head slightly in agreement. “Then be so kind as to present to me your protégé, my lord.”

Damn! Nnanji’s former mentor, of course. But why was Briu not looking more worried? Wallie turned to glance at Nnanji, standing stiffly at his left, and Nnanji’s face bore the same drawn look it had shown the day before, when Wallie’s sword had been at his throat.

Wallie was about to start arguing, then decided that the formalities had better come first. “Adept Briu, may I have the honor . . . ” Nnanji made the salute.

Briu’s acknowledgment ran straight into the sign of challenge.

“Stop!” Wallie said. “I forbid you to answer that.” Nnanji’s mouth had already opened and for a moment it stayed that way. His face went as red as his hair, and he turned to stare at his liege in outrage.
 
“I wish to explore this matter of honor,” Wallie said, still loud. “You may not be aware, Adept Briu, that Apprentice Nnanji refused to swear the second oath to me—at swordpoint—on the grounds that he was already sworn to you. I trust that you are worthy of such loyalty?”

Briu colored. “That was his duty, my lord.”

“And your burden. You should also know that Apprentice Nnanji swore the second oath to me only when ordered to do so, when he was already my vassal and could refuse me nothing.”

The audience had to wait a moment for Briu’s reply.

“So I was informed by the witnesses, my lord.”

Tarru and the others on the steps—they would have known from the actions which oaths were being sworn.

“Then the fault was mine as his liege,” Wallie said. Go ahead and challenge!
 
Briu was keeping his face expressionless, but he shook his head slightly. “As the third oath impinged upon the honor of his mentor, it should not have been sworn without permission, my lord.”

Wallie had not thought of that, and the spectators rustled slightly, as if it was causing some surprise among them, also. Had his Shonsu memory failed him? To give himself time to think he raised an eyebrow and inquired, “Indeed? In which sutra is that stipulated?”

Briu. hesitated. “In no sutra that I am aware of, my lord, and of course I yield to your superior knowledge of the sutras. It is an interpretation.” There was one way out, then. As senior swordsman in the valley, Wallie could simply tell him that his interpretation was wrong and Wallie’s opinion would prevail. That would be a humiliating solution, although it might be all that was expected.

“I confess that I have not heard of the matter ever being discussed,” Wallie said, meaning Shonsu had not.

“The fact that the sutras do not provide explicit directions would confirm that it is an extremely rare occurrence. A good topic for a cold beer on a hot day, perhaps. This is your own interpretation?”

Now Briu did not meet his eye. “I have discussed it with swordsmen of higher rank, my lord, and their opinion agreed with my own.” Tarru, of course! He had set this up or at least known of it. Obviously Briu would have referred the question to the highest rank he could find, and only Tarru could have stipulated that all the Fifths would leave the room. Insolence!
 
Obviously, then, the situation called for a small show of strength and—almost as a conscious act like pressing a switch—Wallie turned control over to Shonsu.
 
His voice rose threateningly. “So you challenge a Second to mortal combat over an interpretation, do you, Adept Briu? I think that is despicable, the act of a coward!”

Briu rocked back on his heels and went pale with shock, and the whole roomful of swordsmen seemed to draw breath at the same time.
 
Wallie raised a mocking eyebrow.

Woodenly, reluctantly—in the manner of a man going to his doom—Briu moved his hand in the sign of challenge.

“Now!” Wallie roared, and drew.

†††

Adept Briu’s hand stopped halfway to his sword hilt.

The point of Lord Shonsu’s sword was at his heart.
 
One of the dogs at the other side of the room was scratching a flea, and the steady beat of its leg on the floor was the only sound in the hall. There was no movement except the slow rippling of banners in a draft from the windows.
 
Wallie was leaning forward slightly with his left hand on the table, to leave room behind him for his elbow. There were stools and another table behind Briu, and he probably was not certain where. If he tried to move backward, that sword could advance the whole length of Wallie’s arm in an instant. Wallie could feel sorry for him, for he was obviously a proud professional in his smartly pleated kilt and shiny-oiled harness, yet now he was exposed to both danger and utter ridicule. The pause was probably only a few seconds, but it seemed an hour before the man on whom the drama waited suddenly awoke to take up his cue.
 
“Er . . . yield?” Nnanji said in a croak.

The Third was staring unbelievingly at Briu and the deadly length of steel that had appeared from nowhere. “Yield,” he agreed at once, looking as shocked as his principal.

Briu’s arm seemed to melt, and his hand sank down. The sword was still at his heart, and now he was Wallie’s, even to the ritual of abasement, if that was what the victor demanded. He must obey, or be put to death. His eyes showed horror and shame.

“Tell me, Adept Briu,” Wallie said, still speaking loudly enough for the audience to hear, “when you instructed your protégé in the second and third oaths, did you explain that the third must not be sworn without mentor’s permission?”

Of course Briu could say yes, but no one would believe him—the point was too hypothetical and abstruse. “No, my lord.” His voice was hoarse.
 
“Then the fault—if there was one—did not lie with Apprentice Nnanji, but with the inferior instruction he had received from his mentor?” Briu’s lips moved and no sound came. Then he swallowed twice and said, “It would seem so, my lord.”

Wallie pulled the sword back slightly. “I don’t think everyone heard that.

Proclaim your error.”

“Lord Shonsu,” Briu said, more loudly, “I see that I omitted to instruct my former protégé, Apprentice Nnanji, in the proper precautions for swearing the third oath, and if there was any flaw in his actions yesterday, then the fault was mine, and he acted in good faith.”

“Then you have no further grievance against either Apprentice Nnanji or myself in the matter?”

“No, my lord.”

Wallie sheathed his sword to show his acceptance. “I withdraw any allegation of cowardice, Adept Briu. You displayed exemplary courage in challenging a Seventh.
 
I shall congratulate your mentor the next time I see him.”

“Thank you, my lord,” said the humiliated Fourth.

“Now perhaps, as guests, we may finish our breakfast?” Wallie sat down and pulled his stew bowl back toward him, paying no further attention to the rest of the room. Nnanji reluctantly did the same. Briu’s companion put an arm on his shoulders and led him away.
 
However, the matter was not closed for Wallie. He had known that the theft of a protégé must be followed by challenge, but he had truly expected that the challenge would be directed at him, for that seemed only fair. Obviously he had misjudged the swordsmen’s view. The sutras did not recognize duress as an excuse—a forced oath was binding, no danger ever excused reneging. So they blamed Nnanji, not him. A merciless creed, but he should have known.
 
The problem lay in that shadowy region between his Shonsu self and his Wallie self. You do not think like Shonsu, and that pleases me, the demigod had said.
 
But when his sword was in his hand, he must think like Shonsu. It was a divided rule, strategy from Wallie and tactics from Shonsu, and a bothersome and potentially serious problem if he were to make errors of judgment like that very often. There was more to being a swordsman than manual skill and a list of sutras—values, for example.

Much whispered argument was going on all over the room. Nnanji was toying with his stew and frowning furiously at it.

“What’s wrong?” Wallie demanded. Nnanji did not look like a man who had just escaped maiming.

“I should have refused that oath to you, my liege.”

“And died?”

“Yes,” Nnanji said bitterly.

“I should not have killed you,” Wallie said and got an astonished look. “I rarely kill unless I must.” He hoped he was keeping a straight face.
 
“Well, what would you have done if I had refused?” asked Nnanji, amazed and perhaps resentful.

Wallie was wondering the same. “I’m not sure. I suppose I’d have asked you to go and bring me a coward. I’m very glad you didn’t. Do you want me to release you?” Nnanji could not find an answer to that.

His mentor resisted an impulse to pick him up and shake him. Obviously Nnanji’s standards were totally unrealistic and might therefore become a serious nuisance some time in the future. However, now that he had time to think, Wallie could see that a Seventh, with more than eleven hundred sutras available to him, could justify almost anything.

“I certainly would not want a man of doubtful honor along on my mission,” he said—and Nnanji paled. “And you did make an error.” Nnanji blanched.
 
“You ought to have asked,” Wallie continued, “why blood need be shed. I should have told you, of course, that I had a mission from the Goddess . . . ” Nnanji’s eyes widened, perhaps at the thought of cross-examining a Seventh.
 
“And of course loyalty to the Goddess takes precedence over everything, even duty to a mentor.”

Nnanji gasped. Relief and gratitude flooded over his astonishingly legible face.

“I am a man of honor, my liege . . . I think.”

“So do I,” Wallie said firmly. “And the matter is now closed! However, we have just had lesson two. What did you learn from the duel, if I may call it that?” At the mention of swordsmanship, Nnanji recovered his good spirits and snickered. “He had his thumb up his nose, my liege.” “True,” Wallie said with a smile. “But why? A Fourth shouldn’t be that easy, even for me.”

Nnanji thought, counting on his fingers, then said, “You insulted him so that he must challenge, and that gave you the choice of time and place, right? Then he had seen your bandages and probably he thought you would want to put it off for a day or two. Three: dueling isn’t allowed inside the barracks. He forgot that you wouldn’t know that rule, or be bound by it.” He laughed aloud. “And who ever heard of anyone trying to fight a duel across a table?” He grinned happily.
 
“Very good!” Wallie said. He thought it over himself for a minute. “I wouldn’t recommend that technique for everyday, though. If he’d been a fraction quicker, he’d have nailed me back against the wall.” Shonsu might be the fastest draw in the World, but swords were not pistols. This was not Dodge City.
 
Unobtrusively, a couple of Fifths slipped back into the room, and other men departed on their duties. After a short interval—just long enough to suggest that he had not been waiting nearby—Honorable Tarru came hurrying in, overflowing with remorse. Wallie rose for the formal greetings. Nnanji moved as though to leave, but Wallie waved him back to his place.
 
Tarru apologized profusely for the breach of hospitality, which of course would not have occurred had there been any seniors around, and which would certainly not happen again.