The Destiny of the Sword

by David Duncan

  What else? His head was spinning. He was nauseated. "Who is the best horseman on the council?"

  They exchanged glances of astonishment and-after a suitable pause for modesty-Tivanixi said that he had done some riding in his youth.

  "Then pray attend me an hour before sunset. Bring a saddler and a blacksmith."

  "But no minstrels," Nnanji said, appearing magically at Wallie's side with an extra-large grin.

  Gratefully Wallie draped an arm on his shoulder and almost fell. "Take me home," he whispered. He was dead on his feet.

  Nnanji staggered under the weight and then looked him over, appraising his condition.

  "Right!" He pointed impudently at two large Sixths. "You! And you! Up!" Then-even worse-he turned to the cluster of Sevenths. "You will follow, my lords!" Wallie found himself being hoisted, protesting, on the Sixths' shoulders, but Nnanji was not done yet. "Bandsmen? Minstrels? The Swordsmen in the Morning!"

  Tomiyano had been lingering offshore in one of Sapphire's dinghies lest anyone need make a fast escape. Nnanji had the choice of two jetties, so he chose the farther. The band started a march beat, a trumpeter began the tune, the minstrels picked up the words, and off went the tryst, the two brawny Sixths bearing the new liege shoulder-high to his boat, with the Sevenths following behind and then everyone else; all joyfully singing the song that was evermore to be not merely the march of the tryst of Casr, but the instilled marching song of the whole craft: The Swordsmen in the Morning. While out in front, leading the whole parade with drawn sword, singing as loudly as anyone and somehow grinning as well, stalked Nnanji of the Fifth.

  BOOK FOUR:

  HOW THE SWORDSMAN

  TOOK COMMAND

  †

  "What do I do now?"

  The question rang out so clearly that for a moment he thought it had been spoken aloud. It startled him. His eyes flicked open and stared unseeing at the bare planks above. If the words had been spoken, though, then his had been the voice saying them.

  He was in his cabin on Sapphire, his wounded arm throbbing dimly in its bandage. His skin had the all-over softness, the woolly feel that sleep can bring, but Jja had washed away the blood with hot water, an unthinkable luxury on a wooden ship. His fatigue had gone, also-which meant that his body had already replaced that lost blood. He felt good. Now his danger was over and his task began.

  Bare plank ceiling, bare plank walls-yet it felt like home. If Brota agreed, he would continue to live on board. A general should stay with his army, but he would never make a conventional leader. Probably Brota would keep her ship at Casr for a while, rather than lose Thana.

  Daylight still shone through the port, so he had not slept long. Life was simple in the World-no television sets or air conditioners or furnaces, no books or magazines. All they had in the cabin was a bedroll, covers, and a small chest to hold a few spare garments. Vixi's small bedding was tucked in a corner... few possessions.

  Then he saw another possession. She was sitting cross-legged, watching him. She might have been there all the time he was asleep, like a statue, a buddha, waiting for him with the timeless stoicism of a slave-smooth brown skin and two black sashes, dark eyes inscrutable, dark hair grown to a decent length at last. Her smile told peacefully of things that could not be adequately confined to words.

  "What do I do now?" he asked.

  In one graceful movement like the swoop of a bird, she moved from her position by the wall to lie alongside him. She laid a cool hand on his face and gazed into his eyes-amused, content.

  "Whatever you want. Are you hungry? Thirsty?" She paused. "Lonely?"

  He smiled and tried to reach for her, but her weight and warmth were against his good arm, and he abandoned an attempt to move the other. "None of those, my love. No... I have an army now. I am liege lord. I have more than a thousand men sworn to obey me, to die for me. What do I do now?"

  Jja slid fingers into his hair and steadied his head while her lips met his in a chaste, sisterly kiss. But her other hand slid down to stroke his chest. When the kiss ended she held her face only a few inches away from his and waited, expectant.

  "In a minute," he said. "What do I do then?"

  "I don't think a liege lord should ask his slave such things."

  He had taken the tryst away from Boariyi to stop him doing whatever it was he was going to do with it. But he had made no decisions on what he would do with it himself, once he had it.

  "But I do ask."

  She studied him gravely. "Do what feels right!"

  He was very conscious of her warm silk smoothness against him. That felt right.

  The other problem did not feel right. "The thought of a war horrifies me, my love-death and maiming, bereavement and suffering, cities burned... Yet the Goddess wants the sorcerers driven out, thrown back into their mountains-doesn't she? Isn't that my mission? It is Her army, Her tryst, Her swordsmen. She has put me in charge. What do I do now?"

  Jja laid her lips on his again and this time the kiss was less sisterly. Her hand continued its caressing, exploring. Inexplicably her bra sash had come loose.

  "I said 'in a minute'!" he insisted, when she let him speak. "Talk about this first-I can't think straight afterward. The gods are cruel, Jja! That little prince... A few thousand deaths don't worry them. They live forever. So what if a mortal dies-it must seem so unimportant."

  She shook her head gently, her hair sweeping his brow.

  Forestalling another kiss, he turned his head away and spoke to the wall. "I can do it... if I can ever make the swordsmen listen."

  "Do what seems right," she said again.

  "But if what I do is not what they want the gods will stop me."

  "No."

  He looked at her. "How can you tell?"

  "You really ask your slave this?"

  "Yes. You are saner than anyone else in the World, my darling. Tell me. Explain."

  She frowned. Jja did not communicate with speech unless she must. "The Goddess would not have given you Her tryst if She did not think you were the best man to have it." Her lips came closer again. "So you must do... what... feels... right."

  The kissing was growing more frequent, more insistent, more exploratory; and her hand continued its travels, also.

  He tried to resist and winced at a complaint from his other arm. "Yes! All right! We'll do that soon. But what do I do after?"

  "The same again," she whispered urgently from somewhere.

  "And after that?" His good arm was free now and his hand slid to the knot on her other sash.

  "More!"

  "Glutton!"

  She chuckled very quietly. "I must serve my master."

  Then her actions achieved her purpose. Suddenly it felt right.

  It felt very good indeed.

  * * *

  The deck was silvery with rain, RegiVul and the far bank hidden by misty nothing. Gray tendrils of cloud traveled the deserted streets of Casr. Few ships lay alongside the wide plaza since the Goddess had ceased Her sendings.

  Tomiyano was handing round wine in the deckhouse, and the whole family had gathered to honor Lord Shonsu, liege lord of the tryst. There had been toasts and congratulations, and now there was merriment and loud conversation. Wallie was more touched than he liked to show, but the difficult parts were over. With only the two wood chests to sit on in the big room, people usually sat on the floor. Today, because this was a special occasion, they were all standing, as if at a cocktail party. Then an unexpected gap in the talk brought silence, broken by the pattering of rain.

  "Who's missing?" he demanded, looking around.

  "The priest," Nnanji suggested. He was pink. It was unknown for Nnanji to drink too much; the pinkness had other causes. Thana was certainly merry and was continually whispering things in his ear. He would probably consent very soon.

  "Katanji?"

  Nnanji nodded glumly. "He stayed in town. I wonder what he'll get up to this time?"

  Katanji had his fortune with him. />
  Wallie chuckled. "I expect he'll buy the lodge and raise the rent. I know who's missing-our sorcerer! What did you do with him?"

  "Bolted him in a cabin," Nnanji said.

  "Bring him, brother, if you please."

  Nnanji freed himself from Thana and stalked off, pouting. In a few minutes he returned with drawn sword, driving Rotanxi. The old man's hands were tied and his feet bare. He wore the ill-fitting blue gown he had been given for his appearance in the temple. It had no cowl and his white hair was disheveled. Probably he had been asleep. After Griffon, Sapphire was restful.

  The conversation died as the sailors studied this awesome yet pathetic captive.

  "Untie him, please, Nnanji," Wallie said. "We are having a celebration, my lord. Do sorcerers drink wine, or does it muddle their spells?"

  The sorcerer straightened, striving for dignity. "I have nothing to celebrate."

  "But you do! Lord Boariyi is probably a fast man with pincers. You should celebrate the fact that I won."

  Rotanxi would never have been handsome, but he had probably always had presence, and in latter days power, even nobility of a sort. Now these were blurred, overlain by age, by defeat, and by bitterness. "For the sake of my craft, I wish that you had lost, Shonsu."

  Wallie nodded thoughtfully. To have captured a Seventh was outside rational expectations. He had been sent this devious old villain for some purpose. "Will you swear an oath with me?"

  "What oath?" Rotanxi demanded, surprised and suspicious.

  "Your parole, my lord. I promised you no torture and I repeat that. Common sense says that I should lock you up in a dungeon-I suppose the lodge has dungeons. I should prefer to keep you here. Your friends may well seek to silence you, and Sapphire will be safer than a dungeon. Mistress, will you allow Lord Rotanxi to remain as my guest, if he behaves?"

  Brota scowled, but she nodded.

  Nnanji growled: "Urgh!"

  "The quarters are plain, but the food is superb," Wallie said. "You will be well treated." He offered a goblet of wine to the sorcerer, whose hands were now free. It was refused with a gesture. "But I need your oath. Swear that you will not leave this ship until I bid you leave, that you will not harm it or anyone aboard, and that you will not communicate with anyone ashore or in any other vessel."

  "For how long?" The tone was sharp, but the sorcerer was tempted.

  "Sixty days should do it," Wallie said. "At the end of that time, I shall return you unharmed to the left bank. Oh-and you must agree to wear a gown without a cowl."

  There was a pause while the sorcerer studied him and then glanced around the circle of sailors-men, women, children, all in turn studying him.

  "What commitments afterward? What other conditions?"

  "None," Wallie said. "The war will be won or lost by then."

  The old man waved his hands helplessly. "I have no choice. I so swear, my lord."

  "Good! I shall swear by my sword, of course. You will not object to coming with me now to the galley, so that you may swear over fire?"

  A flicker of hesitation, then Rotanxi said, "Of course not."

  He had not expected that, though.

  "Excellent!" Wallie said cheerfully. "Then you are our guest, my lord! I shall present your hosts to you as soon as we return, but perhaps you would give Captain Tomiyano back his dagger now?"

  In the ensuing chorus of oaths and exclamations, Tomiyano's were the loudest and most lurid. The sorcerer sent Wallie a thin smile that might easily have congealed blood, but he stretched out a hand, and the dagger appeared in it.

  "It was up his sleeve," Wallie said resignedly, but he thought that no one believed him, not even Nnanji.

  ††

  ".. .teak strakes but rarely in these parts," Tivanixi was saying as Tomiyano ushered into the deckhouse, "but the masts are fir, are they not?"

  Wallie suppressed a grin at the expression on the captain's face-he abhorred swordsmen, but the personable castellan had already won him over. Then Tivanixi saw the sorcerer and froze.

  "Good evening, vassal," Wallie said quickly. He received a startled glance and a courtesy, fist-on-heart salute-they had been through the full formalities earlier that day. "Lord Rotanxi has given me his parole, so he is being treated as our guest. Allow me to present you."

  Grim-faced, the two Sevenths exchanged ritual greetings, mouthing the words as if they were acid. Nnanji began edging toward the door and Wallie stopped him with a headshake.

  "And Mistress Brota, the swordsperson who held off the entire tryst of Casr."

  Tivanixi returned to charming. "Now I know where the beautiful Apprentice Thana gained her skill..." He melted Brota as rapidly as he had her son, but he had been disturbed by the presence of the sorcerer, his old suspicions twitching once more.

  Then Nnanji-fist on heart again.

  "I may swear the oath to you, now, my liege?" he inquired.

  Red and unhappy, Nnanji looked a plea toward Wallie.

  "Vassal," Wallie said, "the oath of brotherhood that Master Nnanji and I have sworn has produced a strange complication. It would indeed appear that he, also, is your liege. As we all know that you are thus pledged to him automatically, we do not feel that a formal public affirmation is required."

  Wallie had expected relief, but Tivanixi squared his shoulders and frowned. "With all respect, my liege, as I am bound, I should prefer to make open acknowledgment."

  "Very well. Shall we withdraw to a more private place?"

  Not that, either, apparently. "It is a matter of honor, my liege, not of shame."

  So the unhappy Nnanji had to stand for a Seventh prostrating himself on the floor, swearing unquestioning obedience to the death, and kissing his boot. The sailors watched open-mouthed. The sorcerer sneered. Wallie decided he would never understand swordsmen. The demigod had warned him that they were addicted to fearsome oaths, but why this unnecessary humiliation?

  He could well remember a day in early summer when Apprentice Nnanji of the Second had sworn that oath to him on the shingle by the temple. How very much younger he had seemed then! And who could have foreseen that before winter Nnanji himself would accept that oath from a Seventh? Miracle!

  He looked up in time to see a tigerish joy in Thana's eye.

  Eventually all the formalities were cleared away, and then the castellan produced the blacksmith and saddler whom Wallie had ordered. Both Fourths, stolid artisans, they stood in the doorway, biting lips and shuffling feet at being in the presence of three Sevenths.

  "How many complete sets of tack could we locate in the lodge, do you suppose?" Wallie inquired of the castellan.

  Tivanixi had foreseen the question. "I located a dozen, my liege. There are undoubtedly more somewhere, but most will be as old as the sutras and probably rife with rats."

  "Twelve will do to start with." Wallie produced a piece of wood, one of those he had spent so many hours whittling-a loop, flattened on one side. He began to explain to the smith.

  "My liege!" Tivanixi was shocked. "There are civilians-"

  "You mean there is a sorcerer present?" Wallie smiled. "What I am about to show you, lord vassal, is a World-shaking device, one of those inventions that are absurdly hard to make and yet seem ridiculously simple and obvious afterward. But it will be absolutely impossible to keep it a secret. So let him listen! Adept, can you make me twenty-four of these by morning?"

  He explained it. He described the leathers he would need, and how they must be attached to the saddles. The two men nodded, although they had probably never in their lives made anything without a guiding sutra. Then he promised them a gold apiece and sent them off to the waiting boat. He must just hope for the best. He must also hope that the gods would permit this innovation. The stirrup would turn the World on its ear. If the Roman Empire had known of the stirrup, and used it, it need never have fallen to the barbarians.

  The sailors were starting to sit down, which was a signal that the evening meal was on its way. Wallie invited Tivanixi
to join them and offered him some wine. An air of puzzled frustration remained in the deckhouse-Nnanji put it into words.

  "That thing will help fight sorcerers, brother?"

  Wallie nodded, amused. He turned to Tivanixi. "A horse is a good way to get to a battle, of course. But did you ever try to wield your sword while on horseback, vassal?"

  "Only once! When I was a First." He chuckled.

  "What happened?"

  "I fell off and almost ruined my evenings ever after."

  "With those you would not have fallen off," Wallie assured him. "We are going to create a cavalry, and I hereby put you in charge. You will need practice, of course, but with stirrups a man can strike at an enemy, wheel his horse, shoot a bow-all those things and more without falling off. Man and horse together become a six-limbed fighting animal."

  Tivanixi pondered for a moment, and then his eyes began to gleam. Rotanxi frowned; he was not stupid, either. Nnanji wrinkled his nose in disgust-not a proper swordsman way to fight.

  Now the food was being brought in by some of the youngsters-sturgeon in batter, steaming haunch of auroch that filled the room with its savory scent, foamy fresh bread, and bright-hued, high-piled vegetables. How old Lina produced such daily marvels from her tiny galley was a miracle to baffle the gods.

  Wallie was annoyed to notice Rotanxi and Tivanixi drifting away in opposite directions. One was a prisoner of war and the other sworn to unlimited obedience. He decided to impose his authority, set them against each other, and see what resulted. It might be entertaining, even informative. Thus he carefully summoned the sorcerer to his left and the swordsman to his right, placing himself in a corner so that their backs were against different walls and they could not ignore each other completely. Rotanxi seated himself with the calculated movements of age. The graceful castellan settled like a snowflake, although he had to make the additional maneuver of drawing his sword, no easy task under the low ceiling. Jja, interpreting her master's wink correctly, became waitress for the evening.

  While the rest of the company gathered around the food there was tense silence in the corner. Wallie pointed at Tivanixi's bandage, matching his own. "Lord Boariyi favors shoulder cuts, I see."