by David Duncan
"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 this 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 side!"
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 the 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 slang 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 the 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 battle."
"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 the fat 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.
Nnanji looked startled. "Of course, you would be safe under 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 they 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, protégé; 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!" Wallie 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!"
†††
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 sutra sessions, but he was sure that she had only just developed this feverish desire to leant sutras. 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 co
nsented.
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 the 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 mouths-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.
"My name will suffice, my lord herald." The herald bowed and led the way through a dark tunnel that emerged into a courtyard. The lodge, it seemed, was a shoe box, a hollow rectangle whose outside walls were bare and whose interior was lined with balconies, layer upon layer of them overlooking the open space in the center. Wallie found himself at the top of a short flight of steps, surveying what in normal times was probably a charming and peaceful place. But these were not normal times, and now it was not charming and certainly not peaceful.
The courtyard was huge. At each end stood venerable and gnarled oak trees, bate now of leaves, symbols of strength and endurance. Between these a central rectangle was marked off by stone benches and plinths bearing statues of marble or bronze, weathered and corroded by age to travesties of the warriors they had once represented. Probably this smaller central area was intended for fencing. It was larger than all of Sapphire.
Far from peaceful! The court seemed with noisy swordsmen, busy as a fairground. The center space had been divided into four sections by wooden hurdles, and each of these smaller spaces contained a fencing match. Around the outside, and in many of the lower balconies, crowds of spectators heckled and cheered as their favorites performed. Seniors with entourages were pushing through, around, and over the tops of cross-legged sutra sessions. Discussions and arguments were being shouted everywhere in total disregard for everything else. At least two minstrels were trying to sing above the noise of hawkers shouting their wares. Swordsmen were sharpening swords on treadle grindstones, eating, arguing, playing dice, cooking food on braziers, and even wrestling. A line of colored flags hung like washing across the center of the court, dropping almost to head height in the middle. Real washing or bedding being aired hung from half the balconies.
Nor were there only swordsmen. Wallie saw slaves and cooks and dozens of other civilians he could not identify at a distance. Many of them were women. Fairground! He disapproved, and he thought Shonsu's instincts did, also.
The herald was not the only one to have been alerted, for a Seventh and some Sixths were waiting at the base of the steps, and as Wallie came through the archway a blaring fanfare exploded from a balcony directly above his head. It raised a cloud of pigeons from the roof, reverberated off the walls, drowned the racket completely, and then was itself swallowed by a roll of drums that left his ears ringing. The dueling stopped. A last chanted sutra faded into a respectful and merciful silence. At least a thousand eyes turned to examine the long-awaited seventh Seventh and his companions.
The Seventh at the bottom of the steps had to be the castellan, Tivanixi. He was little older than Shonsu-probably about thirty-slim and poised and handsome. His ponytail was longer than most, wavy, and the same golden-brown shade as his skin. His kilt and harness were an unusual cobalt blue, his boots the same, and everything he wore looked expensive and elegant-except his sword hilt, which was starkly plain. That was obviously a calculated effect and quite impressive-in fact he was an impressive sight altogether.
Even before the herald spoke, while the trumpets were still screaming, the smile of welcome faded from his face. Speed was more valuable than strength to swordsmen. Big men were rare. Giant, black-haired Sevenths were... unique. This could only be his predecessor, and Tivanixi would not be human were he not then wondering whether Shonsu had returned to reclaim his job. Shonsu, who collected dead men's swords? Shonsu, rumored to be a tool of the sorcerers? Then his eyes switched to Nnanji, stepping into place on Wallie's left, and surprise showed, also. A red-haired Fourth? That mysterious hero from the battle of Ov must have been the subject of much discussion, and here was such a man at the side of Shonsu. The Sixths behind him were still smiling. Tivanixi, Wallie concluded, was a fast thinker.
The human bullfrog took a leisurely breath and then raised the birds again, outdoing the trumpets in volume. "My lords... in the name of the Goddess... and in the ways and traditions of your honorable and ancient craft... give welcome to the valiant Lord... SHONSU... swordsman of the seventh rank."
Shock!
Disgust!
Incredulity!
Superstitious creepy feelings?
For a moment Wallie stood and enjoyed the drama, then he drew his sword and made the salute to a company. A buzz of conversation like a plague of bees began and grew steadily louder. All smiles had vanished except one-Tivanixi's was now back in place.
Wallie walked down the steps and silence fell once more, as if the onlookers had not believed their ears and wanted to hear that name spoken again. And again Wallie drew, to make the salute to an equal.
The castellan responded, confirming his identity, maintaining a wary smile of greeting and displaying a confident and easy grace in his sword movements. To an experienced eye like Shonsu's, even those were revealing, "I am Tivanixi, swordsman of the seventh rank, castellan of the lodge in Casr; I am honored by your courtesy and do most humbly extend the same felicitations to your noble self-and-welcome-to-the-lodge-and-to-the-tryst-my-lord."
That very fast addition had perhaps made him host, therefore immune to challenge. It was debatable, for the visitor had not requested hospitality.
The Sixths were edging gently backward. They did not wish to be presented. The crowd was silent, intent, frowning. "I did not come to join the tryst."
More shock from the onlookers, increased wariness from the castellan. "It is a holy cause to which the Goddess has summoned Her swordsman,
my lord."
Wallie bowed his head slightly. "Certainly! I stop here only in passing, though. I have two items of business to attend to."
That might be a threat? "What other business is more important than a tryst?" Tivanixi demanded. The onlookers at the limit of hearing were shushing those farther away, but most of the swordsmen present were listening intently.
"An oath."
For a moment Wallie thought that Tivanixi was going to point out that a quick visit to the temple could dispose of an inconvenient oath... but discretion prevailed.
"In what way may we be of assistance, then?" Wallie raised his voice until the echoes rolled. "A sad duty and a pleasant one. Sadly I bring news of two honorable and valorous swordsmen slain by pirates on their way here. I performed justice upon the guilty."
The news was digested in silence.
"The happier task is to seek promotion for two swordsmen. Lord castellan, may I have the honor..." Wallie presented Nnanji of the Fourth, protégé and oath brother. Thana he omitted for the time being.
Tivanixi, sheathing his sword after the response, could not restrain his curiosity. "We have heard of a red-haired Fourth who led a battle against the ungodly in Ov, adept."
Nnanji looked boyish and ungainly compared to the suave Tivanixi, but he smiled triumphantly and said, almost shouting, "That battle was led by Lord Shonsu, my lord. I helped, but the honor is his."
More surprise and whispers. Tivanixi beamed. "That is good news, my lord! We must summon minstrels and have that noble encounter recorded. The facts may have not been correctly reported here."
Wallie released a trace of a smile to show that he knew what had been reported.
"Before that, let us honor the fallen, my lord," he said. "I believe that there are swordsmen here from the Kingdom of Plo and Fex?"
"Let us honor the greater dead first," replied the castellan with a curious expression on his face now. "Newcomers are shown our memorial, the cause that led to the calling of this tryst." He half turned, pointed to the row of limp flags hanging across the center of the court, and then studied Lord Shonsu's expression.