by David Duncan
At last the conference broke up, the seconds stalking over to their respective principals. Katanji gave Wallie an appraising, sympathetic glance. Nnanji merely looked cheerful.
Nnanji was flying with the angels. This was the meat and bone of romantic swordsmanship for him, a mere Fifth negotiating with Sevenths, arranging a trial by combat-which was almost as rare in the World as it would have been on Earth, the stuff of epics, not sutras-playing a part in the gods' mission. Nnanji could never be happier than he was right there.
"I think I got all you need, brother," he said. "Zoariyi wouldn't accept that your sword belonged to the Goddess, but he agreed to put 'coward' in, although he claims that his principal never used the word."
"Great! How about child abuse and nose-picking?" Wallie snapped. "Let's not leave any stone unthrown."
Nnanji smiled courteously and glanced around as if wanting to sit down and cross his legs. Then he straightened and proceeded to recite the draft proclamation, word for word, in a voice that shadowed the booming tones of the chief herald.
"Hear ye, my lords, your honors, masters, adepts, swordsmen, apprentices, novices, and all this good company assembled-whereas the valiant Lord Shonsu, swordsman of the seventh rank, has appeared before the council of the noble tryst of Casr, and whereas the said valiant lord has represented to the said council that the legendary seventh sword of Chioxin has been given into his hand by a god in order that he may drive the abomination of sorcery from the cities of Aus, Wal, Sen, Cha, Gor, Amb, and Ov, and whereas the said valiant lord represents that he is the best swordsman here present and ought therefore by right of prowess be liege lord of this exalted tryst, and whereas the valorous Lord Boariyi, swordsman of the seventh rank, liege lord of the noble tryst of Casr, has responded that the said valiant lord has previously failed in battle against the sorcerers, and whereas the said valorous lord has further represented that the said valiant lord was disgraced by sorcerers in Aus, thereby showing himself to be without honor and a coward, and whereas the said valorous lord has further represented that the said valiant lord frustrated and impeded a victorious group of swordsmen in battle at Ov, and whereas the said valorous lord has further represented that the said valiant lord is an imposter, being an agent of the sorcerers and enemy of the tryst, and whereas the said valorous lord represents that he is by prowess in combat by due form established rightful leader of this noble tryst, and whereas these two intrepid lords have agreed that the matter between them shall be settled by honorable passage of arms, according to the ancient rubrics and sutras of their craft, the said valorous lord having waived and negated onus of vengeance by his vassals, and the two audacious lords having agreed upon this time and place for their meeting, now therefore you are bid approach and witness this illustrious encounter, and may the Goddess judge between them and grant victory to the right!"
Wallie had him repeat it.
"I don't like that 'driving the abomination of sorcery' bit," he said. "The tryst was called to restore the honor of the craft; let's stick with that."
"Right!" Nnanji said. "Good point."
It was easy enough for him to treat all this lunacy as an exercise in heraldic pomp, Wallie thought.
"Another thing-I thought this was a naked match and I heard something in there about Boariyi waiving the onus of vengeance. How about you, brother?"
Nnanji smiled at him as if sharing a joke. "None of them seem to have thought of that! The fourth oath is pretty obscure, remember."
"So what happens if I lose?"
Nnanji laughed. "You soften him up, and I'll finish him off."
"Think you can take him, do you?"
Then Nnanji guessed what he was thinking and recoiled. "Of course not! I'm no Seventh. He'd spit me in a flicker, brother. You don't think I'd... that I want..."
"Then put it in the proclamation!" Wallie barked, feeling guilty for doubting him. "I also waive the onus of vengeance."
"You can't!" Nnanji said, recovering his good humor and chuckling. "Remember the words of the sutra: paramount, absolute, and irrevocable? You can't release me and I can't escape it. If he does you, then I'm up right after. Don't make me mention it, please, because then they might wriggle out of this somehow!"
So it was not hypothetical to Nnanji! It was a matter of life and death to him, also. It just happened to be fun, as well. Katanji was standing in silence, his eyes going from one face to the other, and it was not fun to Katanji.
But Nnanji was right. The fourth oath was irrevocable, so Wallie could not release him. He was going to be fighting for two lives. He grunted that the proclamation was fine. Nnanji nodded, gave him a worried sort of look, and then went striding off back to the heralds, his ponytail wagging happily.
Was it possible? If Wallie died and Nnanji challenged Boariyi, and by some miracle won, would the tryst accept him as leader? This was not the formal combat for leadership. The onus of vengeance had not been waived for anyone, only for this match. Wallie puzzled it out and concluded with a curious relief that it would not work; the other Sevenths would counterchallenge one after the other, then the Sixths. Of course Nnanji could not beat Boariyi... except by a miracle. Nnanji was trustworthy, but the gods were not.
"Will you kill him, my lord?" Katanji had stayed behind.
Wallie snapped out of his gloomy thoughts to reply. "Not if I can help it. Why?"
"Nanj is worried. He says you'll try for a flesh wound, but Lord Boariyi will be going for a kill, to win the sword. He says it will be like the time you fought the captain with foil against blade."
"I don't need your advice on swordsmanship, novice."
Katanji dropped his eyes and was silent.
This time the conference was brief. The heralds and seconds all seemed to be nodding. The rain had stopped. The meeting broke up and Nnanji came striding over the windy court again.
"The Goddess be with you, my lord," Katanji whispered. He turned and headed for the perimeter.
"All agreed!" Nnanji announced. He fixed Wallie with a stern look. "You realize that he's got to kill you, don't you?"
"I don't need your advice on swordsmanship!"
Nnanji looked repentant. "I'm sorry, brother!" He studied Wallie carefully and put on an encouraging grin. "You're not seriously worried, are you? You have the seventh sword!"
"And he has the arms of a gorrilla!" Wallie said softly. "Nnanji, I've never fought anyone taller than me. Perhaps Shonsu never did, either!"
"He must have been smaller when he was little, mustn't he?"
"Yes, of course." Wallie managed a chuckle. "You're right. Thank you, Nnanji." He hesitated. "You did very well in the negotiations, brother!"
Nnanji grinned. "I smothered him in sagas! Precedents, you know? The epic of Xo, and the epic..." He reeled off a dozen, counting on his fingers.
Wallie laughed aloud, but before he could comment, the proceedings began. A roll of drums echoed off the temple and the bullfrog herald made his proclamation in a voice that the thunder god might have envied.
There was another roll of drums. "Good!" Wallie said. "Now maybe they'll let us get on with it."
No. The herald, having spoken in the direction of the River, now wheeled about and made the same proclamation, complete with drums, toward the temple; and when he had done that, he had to repeat it again both upstream and downstream. The final version was applauded by a peal of thunder. Even if the gods had forsworn miracles, Wallie thought, they were not giving up on dramatic effects. The rain started again.
The herald beckoned, and the two parties approached him to take up their stations. Wallie eyed his gangly opponent carefully. Boariyi was similarly eyeing him, his big jaw set tight in concentration, his continuous bar of eyebrow pulled down in a frown, no trace of a sneer. What was he-cautious or rash? Serious fights between unfamiliar adversaries usually began with a little careful testing. Wallie decided to try for a quick decision.
"You may proceed, my lords."
Wallie lunged recklessly. He
was parried instantly and jumped back with blood streaming from his upper arm.
The crowd roared.
In any normal match Zoariyi would have called "Yield?" at that point. He said nothing. Shonsu was not to be given that option.
It was a shallow cut, but a terrible beginning, and it must give the tall man more confidence, showing that the possible sorcerer or possible hero could bleed. It also hurt. Boariyi lunged. Parry, riposte, recover. Wallie felt a faint beginning of the bloodlust and suppressed it at once. Berserkers would not feel pain, would fight until chopped into cutlets. He had no wish to win and then discover that he had been mortally wounded in the process.
Lunge. Riposte. He was being driven steadily back. His opponent was grinning at him. How did one fight a human gorilla? He remembered Hardduju and tried dropping his guard a fraction, waiting for the outside cut to the wrist. It came instantly. He parried and tried a riposte, but Boariyi covered just as fast and it was Wallie who barely escaped.
Tivanixi had been correct. Shonsu had met his match.
Forward and back they danced, but it was more back than forward for Wallie. How far was he from the River?
Dimly he could hear a continuous roar from the spectators. His right arm was streaming blood. He must rest it to stop the flow. Lunge. Recover. Taking a dreadful risk, he whipped his feet around and transferred the sword to his left hand. Boariyi flashed an instant attack, countering his left-hand riposte as easily as before, then mockingly performed the same tactic, so they were southpaw to southpaw. The crowd noise exploded-that was one for the legends.
Lunge. Parry. Riposte.
Wallie tried every trick in his book, even some he had not thought to teach Nnanji. Boariyi countered them all and responded with some that were new to Wallie. They were evenly matched.
The swords rang like a smithy. It was an endurance test. The spindly Boariyi had the build of a marathon runner. The man's reach was incredible. Wallie could not get near him. His sword must be a fingerlength longer than even the seventh sword. Parry. Parry. Parry...
Long swords could be weak. The seventh sword? If Shonsu could not win this, then perhaps Wallie Smith could? Perhaps Chioxin could? Riposte. He had the better blade. Dare he try something so unorthodox against such a supreme opponent?
How long could flesh keep this up? He was tiring. Lunge. Slowing down. Parry. Boariyi had noticed. He switched on his sneer-and again Wallie's temper flared up at the sight of it.
He changed tactics, turned his attack from the man to the sword, hacking as hard as he could at Boariyi's blade. Just maybe Wallie could treat it as Tomiyano had treated Wallie's foil, so very long ago. Parry. Cut. Parry. Cut...
The tall man was surprised at the unorthodox assault and yielded a little before the brute force. Then he began to react and Wallie found he was being led off balance. Again and again that deadly blade whipped within a hairsbreadth of his skin. He persisted. Clash, clash, clash. Boariyi had guessed his purpose. He was parrying more carefully, turning Wallie's blade at an angle. Parry. Wallie saw with despair that he had been driven back almost to the water's edge. The crowd was screaming continuously at this spectacular display of swordsmanship.
Clash. Clash.
Snap.
The seventh sword sliced through the other blade and swept on past Boariyi's face. For a moment it seemed to have missed him, but the razor tip had slit along the line of swordmarks on his forehead, and a curtain of blood fell over his eyes. He dropped his sword hilt-beaten!
"Yield?" Nnanji screamed, his voice cracking with excitement.
"Yield!" Zoariyi agreed. His nephew fell to his knees, gasping and panting, blinded by the blood pouring over his face.
Wallie himself was in little better shape; his chest heaving with its fight for air, breath rasping, heart hammering like a woodpecker inside his skull. For a moment he was incapable of thinking, wrapped in drapes of nauseous black fog. He had come very close to his limit. The heralds came running forward, followed by healers and minstrels, and the council of Sevenths. Then the ranks broke, and the whole assembly flooded in to form a tight circle around the combatants, cheering, jostling, and finally falling silent once more in some sort of order.
Slowly Wallie's head began to quieten. He wondered why no one was assisting the wounded Boariyi, then remembered that the fight was still incomplete-the victor must state his terms and sheath his sword before anyone else could intervene. Now he could demand the third oath: Blood needs be shed; declare your allegiance.
He hesitated, puzzled by something, fuzzily studying Boariyi. The kid was on his knees, his bony rib cage pumping like bellows, soaked with mingled blood and rain and sweat, eyes shut against the sheen of blood covering his face and streaming down his chest to soak into his kilt. Yet... there was something wrong. Nnanji? Something like Nnanji? Wallie looked helplessly around for his second, but he had disappeared. Boariyi's expression was unreadable through that red mask, but the corners of his jaw were knotted, his arms were locked into vertical rods above clenched fists-his head was back, blind face upturned, every sinew in his neck tensed. Normally a panting man held his head down.
Boariyi was waiting for the victor's demand. Then he was going to refuse. And when he did that, Wallie would have no choice at all except to execute him.
That rigidity he had seen before: Nnanji, facing death before dishonor. Well, give him a minute to brood on it, take a moment more to recover. Still gasping, Wallie glanced at Zoariyi. His evident dismay as he stared at his nephew was all the confirmation anyone could need. The three of them, one kneeling, two standing, were walled in by a silent circle of onlookers. Fearfully the sun uncovered its face, and the blood shone more brilliant red.
"Healer!" Wallie croaked. "Give me a cloth."
It was scruffy but he took it in his free hand, wadded it, and tossed it to the blinded Boariyi, who flinched when it hit his chest and fell on his knees. He made no move to pick it up-more confirmation.
Where the hell had Nnanji gone?
Now the silence was too old. He had to speak, and he was almost capable of it.
"Lord Boariyi..." Louder: "Lord Boariyi, you did not lose. My sword won, yours lost. I have not met a swordsman like you before. In a best of ten, I should be proud to get five on you."
The tall man's face twitched, but he did not speak.
Wallie continued. "Now you will order the council to swear the third oath to me. But not you. From you I require only the first."
There was a pause while the words sank in. Then Boariyi fumbled to find the cloth, raise it to wipe his face and then press it one-handed over his forehead. He opened his eyes-startling eyes in a bloody mask-and stared up unbelievingly at Wallie.
"The first oath?" he mumbled.
"I need you to fight sorcerers," Wallie whispered.
"But I ordered them to kill you."
"I need you," Wallie repeated. "The tryst needs you!"
The loser took a deep breath. Life won over honor. "So be it!"
Wallie sheathed his sword and held out a hand to help him rise, then lifted their joined hands high. The spectators roared.
"Bravely fought, my lords!" That was Tivanixi, beaming. "A legendary feat of arms! Never have I seen such a match!"
"And you won't again-not from me, anyway," Wallie said with feeling. He thumped Boariyi on the back. "You?"
"Never, my lord!"
The healers were flocking to his wound like blowflies, but Wallie pushed them away. His arm had almost stopped bleeding and another bout of blood poisoning, he did not desire.
"My lords..." The bullfrog herald was trumpeting the outcome of the match. Big raindrops began to fall in the sunshine. Wallie began to shiver as the inevitable reaction rushed in on him.
Boariyi had been fitted with a bandage and now he, too, waved the healers away. "My lord vassals, you will swear the blood oath to Lord Shonsu. Lord Shonsu, may I have the honor..."
He presented Tivanixi, and Wallie responded, feeling about a t
housand years old and afraid he might be swaying on his feet. "Where the hell is Nnanji?" he demanded, looking around.
Tivanixi smiled and said softly, "Eleven forty-four."
There were puzzled frowns as the Sevenths worked it out, and annoyed glares from most of the Sixths who formed the front rank of spectators-although a few of them nodded wisely to show that they knew all the sutras, even the last. A couple of the Sevenths remained puzzled, not understanding.
But Wallie understood and felt shock. Your oaths are my oaths! Nnanji was going to be liege lord, too! Wallie had not thought of that implication of the fourth oath, but Nnanji had. If he was present, then the Sevenths would have to kiss his boot, also, but he was only a Fifth. Nnanji would find that as outrageous as they would, so he had tactfully migrated elsewhere.
The five Sevenths were presented, prostrating themselves to swear the terrible blood oath and kiss Wallie's foot. The sun died away, and the rain grew serious. Then Boariyi borrowed a sword and swore the trivial first, promising to obey Lord Shonsu's commands-but reserving his honor, which could mean anything at all.
"You will address the company, my lord?" the chief herald inquired.
The rain was excuse enough. Wallie shook his head wearily. "Tomorrow I shall meet with the council and the Sixths to explain how to fight sorcerers. Lord Zoariyi, your nephew proclaimed certain rules of discipline regarding behavior toward civilians. Pray have those reissued in my name. Lord Tivanixi? Two ships were seized?"
The castellan nodded uneasily.
"Release them and compensate the crew. Five golds apiece." For a moment Wallie thought he was going to get an argument, which probably meant that the treasury was almost empty. "Proclaim to the sailors and traders that the tryst will not commandeer any vessels in future and will charter any shipping required at negotiated rates. I swear this on my sword."