The Destiny of the Sword

by David Duncan

  Flags? Curious flags! Brown at the ends, then orange, red, a couple of greens, and a solitary blue in the middle? Not flags. Kilts! Some were torn, some burned, and the stains could only be blood. Wallie was sure his face had turned pale, which must be providing the onlookers with satisfaction.

  "Explain?" he stuttered.

  "They were returned to Casr by a sailor, acting on a request from a certain Lord Rotanxi, who calls himself wizard of Sen." Tivanixi's voice was grim. "The next day I called this tryst- which the Holiest has blessed."

  So these were the remains of Shonsu's ill-fated attack on Vul? To return the clothes and trappings of the fallen was a swordsmen courtesy. To send the kilts alone had probably been intended as an insult. Tivanixi had cleverly turned the insult into a challenge, shame into glory. Wallie had hardly taken in that thought, when he was struck by another-the sorcerers had deliberately provoked the tryst, or something like it. Did Tivanixi realize that he might be swallowing dangerous bait?

  And the blue kilt must have belonged to Shonsu. It did look marginally larger than those hanging nearby. Wallie would cheerfully have given his hairclip to be certain, but he would have to assume that there had been no other Sevenths on that ill-fated venture. Surely it would have been out of character for Shonsu to share command?

  The swordsmen were waiting for him. The ritual was clear. He was expected to go forward and make the salute to the dead-to his own kilt? He nodded to Nnanji, who had turned vaguely green, and then he started to march, the crowd parting for him. He passed between two stone benches, then through a gap in the first row of hurdles. He could hear Nnanji's boots behind him and he signed to him to stop.

  The line of kilts hung over the second row of hurdles. The blue kilt was the lowest, in the middle. Without breaking stride, Wallie jumped up on the bar, drew his sword, swung it overhead, leaped backward before he lost his balance, and had the blade sheathed as he reached the ground again. Not a bad feat of swordsman gymnastics at all! The blue kilt flopped down to the ground. He turned and retraced his steps to a proper distance, where Nnanji was waiting for him, wide-eyed but approving.

  They made the salute together, then headed back to Tivanixi and the silent circle of onlookers.

  "That one was a forgery, my lord," Wallie said. "The rest need be avenged, but not that." He had no idea what had happened to Shonsu-he might even have escaped without his kilt, for he had been a Nameless One when he had arrived at Hann. No one else seemed to know either, perhaps not even the sorcerers.

  Tivanixi's suspicion had not decreased-what sort of a leader is the only survivor?

  "I have minstrels here, Lord Shonsu. Will you list for us the names of the fallen, so that they may be revered?"

  How to handle that one? This was like fencing in the dark. Worse! Yet forty-nine names after half a year-even in this preliterate culture, that would be asking much.

  "No, my lord. Neither names nor ranks. Let them be equal in glory."

  "Then recount to us their heroism and the abomination of sorcery that slew them."

  Wallie was sweating now, and hoping it did not show too much. He had been so worried over his own blunders that he had forgotten he would be blamed for Shonsu's also. "Nor that, either."

  Hostility burned in silence around him. A general loses an army and then refuses to discuss the matter?

  No one argued with a swordsman of the Seventh, except possibly another. Tivanixi seemed to be on the point of doing so, but he was bound by the ways of honor-he could not call on assistance from the troops standing beside him. He could accept this refusal, or he could challenge.

  Or he could call for a denunciation.

  The castellan's face was granite hard. "And you will not join the tryst and seek vengeance, my lord?"

  Wallie shook his head. "I have an oath to fulfill, my lord."

  "But the Goddess brought you here?" Perhaps Tivanixi and the others were wondering to which god that oath had been sworn.

  "She did," Wallie said, and saw the suspicion relax a trifle, the bewilderment increase. "But about Plo?" he insisted. '"Call up your heralds, Lord Tivanixi."

  A voice said, "I am from Plo, my lords." A nervous-looking Third pushed his way to the front. He saluted the castellan and then Wallie. His harness was studded with topazes.

  Wallie turned to Tivanixi. "The minstrels?"

  The castellan waved a hand at a group of civilians jostling for access. The swordsmen reluctantly opened to let a dozen or so press through, then closed to shut out the rest. Minstrels came in all shapes and sexes. Wallie noted a fat, elderly woman of the Fourth, and two bony men in yellow loincloths, and a very tall youth at the back, peering over everyone. Minstrels wore their hair long and they all carried lutes on their backs. Lutes were their facemarks, also.

  Taking the bundle of kilts and harnesses from Jja, and the two swords from Katanji, Wallie began the story. He did not mention his advice to Polini, but he stressed the man's lonely day-long stand and he thought he told it rather well. Then he asked Nnanji if he had anything to add, and Nnanji gave the final, pathetic conversation, word for word.

  The swordsmen had forgotten any other business they might have had. This Shonsu was the day's event, and they had all clustered around to listen. As Nnanji was speaking, Wallie noticed more of them streaming in the gate. None were leaving. At the end of the tale the minstrels asked a couple of questions, then bowed and withdrew to compose the official version. Minstrels necessarily had Nnanji-type memories, of course, as well as good voices. They took with them-for background information, Wallie supposed-the Third from Plo, who was clutching the bundle and the swords, and not even trying to hold back his sobs.

  Tivanixi looked angry and puzzled. Lord Shonsu could apparently behave in a proper swordsman fashion when he chose to, but why honor two and not forty-nine?

  "Now your promotions, my lord," he said, "and then we shall call more minstrels to hear of the events at Ov." Wallie nodded.

  Tivanixi glanced at Thana's sailor costume and smiled knowingly. "Adept Nnanji, we have a wide selection of opponents to offer you, but space has become a problem. Promotions have been going through here like sheep pellets, We have been forced to limit fencing to these small areas, but if you wish to go outside in the plaza, we could arrange that."

  Nnanji grinned and said that he would try to do his best in the cramped conditions. Apparently this routine affair was going to receive the castellan's personal attention, which suited Wallie. He was aware of the murderous suspicion and resentment around him. He felt like a mouse in a snakepit and he knew that only the ways of honor were protecting him. Tivanixi doubtless wanted to keep an eye on Shonsu. Shonsu was happy to stay close to Tivanixi.

  There had to be more formalities, of course. A reluctant Sixth was selected as the second judge and presented. Wallie made sure that Jja was safely positioned between Thana and Katanji, behind one of the stone benches. Then he followed Nnanji and the judges into the fencing area. The crowd spread along the hurdles that formed one side, and along the roped benches and statues mat made the other three.

  Tivanixi glanced over the spectators and carefully selected a Fifth, who was naturally several years older man Nnanji, and who made a joke about infanticide, which raised a laugh. Nnanji smiled tolerantly and said nothing. There was no need to review the rules-promotions required two matches, best of three. Tivanixi called for the fencing to begin.

  Lunge!

  "One!" Nnanji called.

  "Agreed!" said the judges, somewhat startled. "Continue!"

  Lunge! Parry! Riposte!

  "Two!" Nnanji said. "Next one please."

  The Fifth departed in shocked humiliation. The crowd was stunned to silence, but it seemed to ripple, and suddenly Fifths were as rare as dinosaurs in the courtyard. Tivanixi sent Wallie a broad and quite genuine-looking smile. It suited him. For the moment, suspicions could be forgotten in the pleasure of good swordsmanship and the shared superiority of high rank.

  "Strang
e!" he said. "There were some here a moment ago." He sprang lightly up on a bench, glanced over the heads, and called a name. The crowd parted to admit a heavyset, swarthy Fifth, younger than the first, but obviously reluctant and angry at not having escaped in time.

  The second match lasted no longer. The courtyard erupted in cheers. When Nnanji's grin emerged from the mask, Wallie matched it and shook his hand.

  Now came the sutra test, which was dull, and the crowd indulged itself in discussion and muttering. The lodge standards were high. The judges called for sutra after sutra. Nnanji spouted them all at top speed, without a moment's hesitation. They shifted to tricky ones, and he never broke stride.

  Tivanixi threw up his hands and rose. "I had heard that Lord Shonsu was a great teacher," he said. "Master Nnanji, I congratulate you on the most impressive promotion I have ever seen."

  Nnanji beamed. "Thank you, my lord."

  The castellan glanced at Wallie and then back to the new Fifth. "You would not care to try for Sixth?"

  Nnanji gave his mentor a reproachful look. "Unfortunately I do not know all the sutras required for that rank, my lord."

  Tivanixi looked surprised, but he nodded sympathetically. "Many good swordsmen find them the hard part."

  "Very true," Wallie said sadly-and Nnanji glared at him furiously.

  "And now my wife?" Nnanji demanded.

  Tivanixi pulled a face and studied Wallie thoughtfully, perhaps wondering if this was some sort of trap to justify a challenge. He evidently decided it was not, and smiled once more. "I never heard of a female swordsman having the audacity even to approach a lodge, let alone seek promotion there. However, Master Nnanji, in your case I will allow an exception. Present her."

  The onlookers muttered, but Thana was presented and Tivanixi found himself being charmed against his will.

  "Two Thirds, I assume, apprentice?" he said, smiling.

  "Fourths!" Thana said.

  Wallie choked back an objection. Certainly Thana could make a good try at the fencing, for this confined space would suit her water-rat style admirably and confound her opponents, but he was almost certain that she did not know enough sutras even for Third.... He turned to question Nnanji and got a big grin. Nnanji must have been giving her more lessons than they had revealed. Wallie shrugged and the chance to intervene had passed. Then he decided that there had been something very strange about that grin of Nnanji's...

  Tivanixi rolled his eyes at some of the watching Sixths. He started a hunt for opponents. The first two Fourths he asked turned him down at once. He gave Wallie a what-do-you-expect look, but on the third attempt he found one. Word that the good-looking female was going to fence provoked much grumbling and talk of heresy. Nevertheless the crowd congealed once more around the site, and some juniors clambered into trees for a better view.

  Thana started with a big advantage: her opponent had surely never fought a woman before. He also badly underestimated her, then got rattled when he lost the first pass. She won the second point, also. By now bets were being placed at the back of the crowd and the old arguments about the legality of female swordsmen were being rehashed.

  It should have been hard to find another Fourth willing to risk his reputation, but Thana was accustomed to having her own way. She picked out a tall young man and smiled at him bewitchingly. He was about to refuse, but his companions pushed him forward, laughing. Wallie guessed at once, and his guess was very soon confirmed. Thana had stumbled on a sleeper-he was at least a good Fifth, and would likely have given even a Sixth a fair match. He was as good as Nnanji! Certainly he could have wiped Thana off the court as easily as Nnanji had disposed of his opponents, but he chose instead to toy with her. The crowd understood, and the laughter began. Thana leaped and lunged and cut, and the Fourth hardly shifted his feet, as if he could do this all day. He never let her foil come close to him... a wildcat fighting a rainbow.

  Nnanji turned blood-red with fury, growling about sleepers. Even the judges were grinning. Thana was young and fit, but she began to flag at last.

  By then calls for a draw had begun at the back of the crowd. They grew louder and more numerous. The candidate had demonstrated her swordsmanship, and an outright win was not required. The judges at last agreed. The mood had changed. Prejudice had been overcome by professional admiration-and some sympathy. Male enjoyment of watching a nubile female body in motion was probably not without influence, either.

  After a pause for the candidate to recover her breath-and for Wallie to persuade Nnanji that he need not challenge the smirking Fourth-it was time for the sutra test. The two judges sat opposite Thana, three swords crossed on the ground between them. The crowd lost interest and some wandered away. Tivanixi began six thirty-five, "On the Design of a Fortress," and Wallie groaned, for it was long, dull, hard, and not one he had ever heard her try. Thana smiled back at Wallie and chanted the words slowly and carefully. She stumbled twice, recovered, and reached the end safely. The Sixth began another, and she got that right, too. Wallie was bewildered-how did she do that? He turned to Nnanji beside him and received a triumphant super-grin. Yet there was something wrong with that grin, also. It did not seem to be conveying quite the right message.

  Nnanji went back to studying the examination-six thirteen, "On Long-distance Marching," smiling encouragingly. Wallie stared at him, then looked around, then back at Thana.

  Sudden understanding hit him like an earthquake.

  Thana was using sorcery.

  †† ††

  When Wallie had gone ashore at Aus, the sorcerers had known what he had said to Jja before he had left Sapphire's deck. The sorcerer who had come aboard in Wal had known Brota's name. The port officials were being kept honest in all the sorcerer cities except Ov-and at Ov there were no warehouses overlooking the moorings.

  When Katanji had infiltrated the tower at Sen he had seen a female sorcerer rubbing a plate on something-casting a spell, he had thought. Grinding a lens?

  Now Wallie looked again along the line of spectators beside him. At least half of them were moving their lips. Nnanji was-he always did. Wallie looked back at Thana, and her eyes were flickering to and fro along that gallery of faces. Then she glanced at him and in silence he mourned the words: "You are cheating, Thana."

  The candidate stuttered and stopped her chanting.

  "I cannot keep a secret from Nnanji," Wallie said, still silent. "He is my oath brother."

  She started up again and stumbled once more. The watchers held their breath, like an audience when an actor gets stage fright. The lip-moving became more obvious, but there was no sound.

  "He will kill you, Thana." That might be an exaggeration, but perhaps not much of one. Honakura and Wallie had worked very hard on Nnanji to soften his rigid, implacable standards. From them he had learned mercy and tolerance, until he had even been able to forgive the killing of swordsmen by civilians-under very exceptional circumstances. But there were no exceptional circumstances here. Thana was blatantly cheating. Nnanji's fury and shame would have no limit.

  "Start again," Tivanixi suggested helpfully.

  Thana flushed scarlet. "No, I think not, my lord."

  Nnanji ran forward to help her rise and give her a hug of condolence. The judges politely wished her better luck next time and congratulated her on her swordsmanship.

  Wallie was exultant. The last mystery solved! The final veil had been torn off the sorcerers for him and he owed it to Thana's ambition!

  Wallie brought his attention back to Tivanixi with a start. "I beg pardon, my lord?"

  The castellan had his hand on the shoulder of a young First, who held a rack of foils. "I asked if you would care for a pass or two yourself, Lord Shonsu? We both know how hard it is for Sevenths to find good practice."

  Wallie was about to refuse until he saw that Tivanixi was studying him very intently and with obvious suspicion. Perhaps the castellan was not quite at the point of suspecting a zombie, but he now wanted to check this mysterious strange
r's credentials. Nnanji had proved that he was a genuine swordsman-was his companion also one, or was he an imposter?

  Wallie, for his part, was curious about this graceful and gracious Seventh. And he dared not refuse, anyway. "Why not?" he said. "Best of five?" He selected a foil, the longest he could find.

  Tivanixi, wanting no burdens, removed his sword and handed it to a nearby Sixth. Wallie copied him, giving his to Nnanji. Then he slipped between the benches once more, onto the fencing ground.

  If the leadership was to be decided by combat, then the Sevenths would have been testing one another out with foils under the guise of practice. The final battle with real blades would likely be a pure formality, which the minstrels would adorn with blood and drama for the general public and future generations; swordsmen admired courage, but they were not utterly brainless.

  The word had gone out and the crowd reassembled yet again. The balconies filled up by some sort of telepathy, and the noise dwindled.

  The opponents faced off, took each other's foils cautiously, and feinted a few times. The castellan had the grace of a ballet dancer, smooth as a sunbeam. He was very good, indeed, and very fast, and he proceeded to give Wallie his first real test since the god had made him a swordsman. They leaped and bounded in landlubber style, very unlike the deadly, close-in fencing of the water rats. Tivanixi, of course, had several other Sevenths to play with now, whereas Shonsu had not had practice on this level since before Wallie took him over.

  The crowd muttered or cheered from time to time, but mostly just watched. Feint-thrust-parry-riposte-back and forth they clattered. "One!"

  Wallie learned a few things and taught a few more, but if there was another swordsman equal to Shonsu, this was not he. "Two!"

  They paused for a moment's panting, then went to guard again. Clatter... clatter... Then some loud voices, some disturbance among the spectators; Wallie's attention flickered momentarily from that shimmering silver haze that the castellan brandished.