The Reluctant Swordsman

by David Duncan

  Wallie did not. "That is all?"

  "That is the whole anecdote," Honakura replied carefully.

  "What else can you tell me about this Ikondorina, then?"

  The old man's expression was very guarded. "He is mentioned by name in a couple of other sutras, but there are no other tales about him." He knew something that he wasn't saying. The god had sent him a message that Wallie was not to share.

  Irritated but helpless, Wallie said, "May I ask if there is a moral attached to the story?"

  "Certainly. Great deeds honor the gods."

  He thought that over. "And great deeds are done by mortals?"

  "Of course. And miracles are done by gods, but being easy for them, bring no honor."

  Wallie wished that he, too, could lean back in a comfortable chair. "So the message for me is that I am to expect no help from the gods?"

  "Not quite that, I shouldn't think." Honakura frowned. "But whatever it is that the Goddess requires, She wishes it to be done by mortals-by you. She may help you, but you must not expect Her to do the work."

  "The god mentioned that I would be guided. But he also told me that this sword could be lost or broken, and that the gods do not do miracles upon demand. Do I have it right, do you think?"

  Honakura nodded, the folds on his neck flapping. "And whatever your task may be, my lord, it is obviously very important. Your reward will be great."

  "If I succeed," Wallie said grimly. He wished that the demigod had given him a few rainchecks for miracles.

  "The first problem, then," the priest said thoughtfully, "is to get you out of here alive. But I forget my duties... do try these cakes, Lord Shonsu. Those with pistachios are delicious, I recall, although beyond my own abilities these days." He held out the cake plate without brushing off the insects.

  Wallie declined. "Why should staying alive be a problem? I am protected by the code of the swordsmen as their guest. Who can harm me?"

  The little man shook his head sadly. "I wish I could advise you more exactly, my lord. There is only one way out, and it involves a long trail, much of it through jungle, and a ferry crossing of the River to Hann. It is sure that several highrank swordsmen, who might have been a threat to Hardduju, started out from Hann and never arrived. I do not know if the culprits were renegade swordsmen or assassins in his pay."

  Assassins were any civilians who killed swordsmen-and the worst criminals of all in the swordsmen's eyes.

  "How..." Wallie began and then answered his own question. "Archery?" Bows were an especial abhorrence to swordsmen.

  The priest nodded, nibbling cake. "I expect so. Or sheer weight of numbers. There have been many pilgrims waylaid on the trail over the centuries. It is the guard's duty to patrol it and keep it safe, but I fear that the dogs have been running with the wolves of late. There is a horse post maintained at the ferry, so that news of important arrivals can be brought quickly to the temple. We suspect that the messages have been going to the wrong persons, and the richest offerings have not arrived."

  Wallie had been expecting a discussion of his unknown task, and of the god's mysterious riddle, not of imminent danger. "But why me?" he asked. "I am leaving, not coming. Would these creatures of darkness seek to avenge Hardduju's death?"

  "Oh, I doubt that." Honakura poured more wine inattentively. "Their association was commercial, not sentimental. But you have told me what sword you bear; may I see it?"

  Wallie drew the seventh sword and held it out for the priest to study. Unlike the armorer and the swordsmen, he was little interested in the blade, but he fingered the hilt and murmured his appreciation. He touched the great sapphire and glanced up at his guest's hairclip.

  "Yes," he said at last, "I think that sword may possibly be the most valuable movable piece of property in the World."

  Wallie choked on a mouthful of the rank wine. "Who could afford to buy it?" he demanded. "Who would want it?"

  "The griffon is a royal symbol," Honakura said contemptuously. "There are dozens or hundreds of cities ruled by kings. Any of them would buy it, for almost any price-which they would plan to recover afterward, of course." His face darkened. "Certainly the temple would buy it, were it for sale. Some of my colleagues would feel very strongly that Her sword belongs here... And you must carry it along that trail."

  Wallie did not need to consult the sutras to know that here was a very nasty tactical situation. Air freight, he thought, would be a good solution. "Then I should request an escort from the guard?"

  Honakura's face became unreadable. "You could ask Honorable Tarru, certainly."

  Wallie raised a skeptical eyebrow, and the priest breathed an audible sigh of relief. Obviously they shared the same opinion of Tarru, but courtesy demanded that it not be spoken.

  "Who else would you suggest?" Wallie asked, and Honakura shook his head in frustration.

  "I wish I knew, my lord! Swordsmen will not discuss other swordsmen, for obvious reasons. Most, I am sure, are men of probity, at worst reluctant accomplices. They obeyed orders, so long as those orders were not too blatantly evil, assigning any breaches of honor to the account of the reeve. And what else could they do? For example, there are stories of condemned prisoners who did not reach the Place of Mercy."

  "Ransomed?" Wallie said, working it out. This tale of wholesale corruption was unnerving to him, and he could feel his Shonsu nature raging on some deep level. "But you can count the executions from the temple steps and you know how many..."

  "Bags of rocks, we believe," Honakura said patiently. "Not all bodies return to the pool. But some of the swordsmen must have been deeply implicated, and those are your danger now."

  "Guilty consciences?" Wallie said. "They will greatly fear a new reeve, a new broom. Past sins beget future crimes?"

  Honakura nodded and smiled, perhaps relieved-or even surprised-that this swordsman was not going to start blustering about the honor of his craft and throw caution to the wolves.

  The waters gabbled and bees hummed uninterrupted for a while...

  "The first question, then," Wallie said, "is timing." He glanced at his bandaged feet. "And that depends on when I become mobile again. At least a week and probably two-I would be crazy to leave before I am healed. The second question: do I announce that I am leaving, or do I let them think that I am Hardduju's successor?" He paused to consider. "I doubt that we could keep up such a pretense for very long, and I should prefer not to."

  The priest nodded. "It would not be honorable, my lord."

  Wallie shrugged. "Then we shall be honest. As a mere visitor I shall be less of a threat, and hence in less danger. That will come when I try to leave, will it not? So my best plan is to hobble around, being as lame as possible for as long as possible, to try to determine who among the guard may be trusted-and then perhaps to vanish overnight and without warning."

  The old man was beaming, a Cheshire bird in a wicker cage.

  "Meanwhile, I suppose," Wallie continued, "I keep my back to the wall, stay out of dark alleys, refrain from eating in private, and sleep with the door locked?"

  Honakura rubbed his hands in glee. "Excellent, my lord!" Obviously he had been regarding Wallie as a mere slab of muscle with quick reflexes and was pleased to see that this swordsman did not regard caution as cowardice. "It is just over two weeks until Swordsmen's Day. I should have hoped to have augmented the normal observance to induct you as reeve. As that may not be, perhaps we should announce a special service of blessing on your mission? That should keep you safe until then-as you say, the danger will come when you try to leave."

  He hesitated and then added, "If you will pardon my presumption, Lord Shonsu, it is a pleasure to meet a swordsman who does not mind being unconventional. I do not know what opponent the Goddess has in mind for you, but I think he may be very surprised." He chuckled.

  Wallie had been using common sense and a smattering of sutras-mostly common sense-and tactics were supposed to be his business, so he found the priest's surprise somewhat insul
ting, yet also amusing. You do not think like Shonsu...

  "I have a nephew who is a healer," Honakura said, "and can be relied upon for discretion. He will extend your convalescence as long as possible."

  "I shall pay him by the day," Wallie assured him solemnly and was rewarded with a noisy view of the old man's gums. "But, tell me, holy one, if the Goddess has gone to all this trouble over me, will She not stand by me when I am in danger?"

  Instantly the priest's joviality vanished. He shook a finger at the swordsman. "You have not comprehended the lesson on miracles, then! As a senior swordsman you are supposed to understand strategy. Put yourself in Her place. You have sent in your best man, and he has failed-disastrously, you said. What does that mean?"

  Wallie suppressed an angry retort. "Not knowing the task, I can't guess. Perhaps Shonsu lost an army? Or lost ground to the enemy-whoever or whatever the enemy is."

  "In either case," the priest said, "it is not something you wish to happen very often, is it? So what do you do? You send in your next man and if he fails then the next one? Then the next? Of course the gods have infinite resources..."

  "You are right, holy one," Wallie said repentantly. He should have seen that. "You pick the next man-and then you train him so that he is better than the first."

  "Or at least you test him," the priest agreed. "And if he can't even escape from the temple..."

  He did not need to finish the thought.

  "And even if he can," Wallie said glumly, "there may be other tests in store in the future? I see now-no miracles."

  Miracles, he decided, were readily addictive.

  Honakura again held out the plate of cakes and offered to top up Wallie's glass. Wallie refused both, fearing that much of this rich living would fatten him like Hardduju. He must remember to think of himself now as a professional athlete and stay in training, for his life would depend on it.

  "And your first task is obviously to pick some followers," Honakura said, settling back in his chair to enjoy a cream roll.

  Wallie chuckled. "Well, I found one. You saw him yesterday." He told of Nnanji, his courage and absurdly romantic ideas of duty and honor, and he described the scene with Briu that morning.

  The shrewd old eyes twinkled. "That may be the way you are to be guided, my lord."

  "A miracle? That boy?" Wallie said, scoffing.

  "That is just the way She works miracles-unobtrusively! You found him near the water-the powers of the Goddess are always most evident near the River, and this is a branch of the River. I am not surprised to hear that he is an unusual young man."

  Wallie was courteously doubtful. "I shall have to test his swordsmanship, then," he said.

  "His swordsmanship is bad, but he has a very good memory," Honakura said, concentrating on a last fragment of cake. After a moment he glanced up to study the effect he had produced.

  "He is the only redhead in the guard?" Wallie was not sure whether he was reacting as Wallie, amused, or Shonsu, furious.

  The priest nodded. "You do not take offense? That also is unusual of you, Lord Shonsu."

  Wallie ignored the needling. "What else did you learn about Nnanji?"

  "I know nothing about his honesty. His former mentor raged about his swordsmanship, but could not seem to do much to improve it. He was not going to be promoted to Third until it did improve. He is not very popular with the other men-although that may be to his credit, of course."

  The old man was looking smug. Swordsmen did not talk about one another, and the barracks staff seemed to be all retired swordsmen, likely bound by the same rule, although perhaps not as strongly. That meant that Honakura's spies gained their information from another source.

  "Is he popular with the women, then?" Wallie asked and saw a flash of appreciation to indicate that he had scored.

  "They give him high marks for enthusiasm and persistence, low marks for finesse," the priest retorted, eyes shining with amusement.

  "Just like his table manners!" Wallie said. Mention of women reminded him of Jja. "Holy one, you recall the slave woman who attended me in the cottage?"

  Honakura's smile vanished at once. "Ah, yes. I have been meaning to do something about that girl-she deserves better-but I have been too busy to get around to it. Do you want her?"

  So he had thrown away a precious sapphire buying a slave he could have had for the asking.

  "I think she is already mine," Wallie replied. "I sent Nnanji to buy her this morning." Now he could see that he had been more stupid than he had realized. He had displayed wealth in front of Tarru, who would surely suspect that there were more jewels where those two had come from so readily, and who now knew that Wallie had casually given away Hardduju's valuable sword.

  The old priest was studying him thoughtfully. "I hope you did not pay too much," he said.

  Wallie was thunderstruck. "Yes, I did," he admitted. "But how did you guess?"

  Honakura looked smug. "You told me that your master was generous. I can guess how he pays."

  "You can?"

  "He is the god of jewels."

  "Jewels?" Wallie had not mentioned those.

  "Yes indeed." Honakura paused, looking puzzled and oddly uneasy. "He is usually associated with the Fire God, not the Goddess. Now why should that be, I wonder? Jewels are found in the sands of the River."

  Wallie said, "In my world, we believed that most jewels were formed by fire and then spread by water."

  "Indeed?" The priest found that interesting. "That would explain it, then. He is normally seen in the form of a small boy. A prospector who finds a good gem will say, 'The god has shed a tooth for me."'

  Wallie laughed and emptied his wineglass. "I like that. As I like the nightingale. You are a poetic people, holy one. Explain to me the god's stick with the leaves?"

  Honakura snorted and lowered his voice. "Dramatic effect, I should think. Gods have their little vanities, too. I hardly expect that he needed a mnemonic."

  "A who?"

  Again the old man sighed and shook his head. "You care a babe in arms, my lord! I should not doubt the wisdom of the Goddess, but I cannot see how She expects you to survive here when you seem to know nothing at all! A mnemonic-an aid to memory. Don't you have public speakers in your dream world? They take a twig and make a mark on each leaf to remind them of a point they want to make, then they tear off each leaf as they go. It can be very effective when it is well done. And what else do you use if you want to memorize a long sutra?"

  "We have other devices, holy one. But about Jja... how does one go about freeing a slave?"

  Honakura was more astonished by that than anything he had heard yet. "Freeing a slave? One doesn't."

  "You mean that slavery is for life?" asked Wallie, aghast. "There is no escape?"

  The priest shook his head. "A slave is marked at birth. If he serves well in this life, he may be born higher on the ladder next time. You were planning to free this girl?"

  Wallie had confided so much to the old man that he could hardly hold back now. So he told how he had lost his temper.

  "If I had any thoughts in my head at all," he said, "then I was thinking that I would buy the girl and free her. She was kind to me," he protested. "And of course she may have saved my life when the priestess came hunting for me."

  "She was also a damned good lay?" the priest asked and cackled loudly. "No, do not glare at me, swordsman! I saw her. Were she of free birth, her brideprice might be many gems, but you have bought her, and she is your slave. You can give her away, you can sell her, you can kill her, but you cannot free her. Indeed, if it amuses you to burn her with red-hot irons, no one will stop you, except perhaps the Goddess, or a stronger swordsman if it offends his sense of honor. Which it probably wouldn't. You should realize, Walliesmith, that a swordsman of the Seventh can do almost anything he wants. But he cannot make a slave into a free lady, and he cannot marry her. Not unless he wishes to become a slave himself, of course."

  Wallie regarded him glumly. "I suppose
you think this is another miracle?"

  The priest nodded thoughtfully. "It could be. Her action to protect you in the cottage was very unusual. The Goddess has perhaps chosen some companions for your journey, and that girl may have some small part to play, apart from providing you with enjoyable exercise. Never underestimate joy, it is the wages of mortality!" He was still astonished. "You can free slaves in your dream world?"

  "Where I come from we have no slaves," Wallie retorted hotly. "We regard the owning of slaves as an abomination."

  "Then of course you will send her to the auction block?" the priest asked, chuckling. "I hardly think that Priestess Kikarani will give you back your gem."

  For a moment the Shonsu temper stirred, and Wallie stamped it down. Anger against the gods was futile. He had been tricked.

  Honakura was studying him. "May I offer a morsel of advice, my lord? Do you know the secret of success in owning slaves?"

  "Tell me," the swordsman growled.

  "Work them hard!" Honakura sniggered, and then cackled loudly at his own wit.

  †††††

  In the marble splendor of the barracks entrance Wallie met the old commissary and asked if Nnanji had returned.

  "Oh yes, my lord," Coningu said, with a look affirming some secret amusement, too precious to spoil by telling.

  Wallie, therefore, must not show undignified haste, so he took his time mounting the great staircase. But he hurried up the second stairs and raced along the passage. Silent on his bandages, he crossed the first room to the door of the second, whence came the sound of laughter.

  There were three people there, and they were all on the floor, on a sunlit rug. On the right was Jja, posed like a Copenhagen mermaid, as graceful and desirable as he remembered, and it was she who was doing the laughing. On the left was Nnanji, down on knees and elbows with his scabbard sticking up behind him like a tail, generally resembling a dog trying to dig out a rabbit. He was tickling the belly of the third person, a brown, naked, giggling baby.