The Destiny of the Sword

by David Duncan

"They won't," Wallie said firmly.

  "Three horses apiece?" Katanji said hopefully. "That would be two dozen of the thirty-odd, right there. I'll make it four for Olonimpi. He couldn't be any worse a swordsman than I was."

  The nerve of the kid! Wallie had no idea which candidate this inept Olonimpi had been, but obviously his family was rich.

  "No," he said. "I'm not going to lower our standards. How much just to buy the thirty-one horses?"

  "More than you can afford!"

  Wallie jumped up-and Katanji did not even flinch. Anyone else would flinch for Wallie nowadays, but Katanji had summed up Lord Shonsu a long time ago.

  "You know that Tivanixi wants to go and help himself? A cavalry outing?"

  Quietly Katanji said, "Pitch?"

  Wallie sat down again. Pitch? He had not even thought about pitch yet, but it would be essential for the catapults.

  The boy had read his face and was trying not to look smug. "There are two thousand, four hundred and eighty-one barrels of pitch in Casr, my lord. Brota has eight hundred and twelve of them. The rest are mine."

  "And barrels of pitch are easier to hide than horses?"

  Katanji smiled.

  "We have a torture chamber under this lodge."

  Katanji shrugged. "You promised the sorcerer... do you only torture your friends?" He turned his charm on again. "I didn't think you would stoop to stealing our horses, but Ingioli was nervous and wanted insurance. Just as well, because that was how we discovered what Brota was doing. We were too late on the leather, but she's going to burn her fingers on the pitch." He gloated.

  Now Wallie was apprehensive, as he was supposed to be. "How much are you going to charge us for pitch?"

  "I'll throw it in with the horses," Katanji said generously, "if you'll take those rejected candidates, and if the elders will grant a certain trader a ten-year monopoly on importing rugs into Casr. Thirty-one horses and sixteen hundred-odd barrels of pitch! And Brota can eat all of hers!"

  That was a tempting thought after the previous evening's battle, as Katanji had known it would be.

  "These rejected candidates?" Wallie said thoughtfully. "Would they make priests?"

  Katanji's pupils dilated. "I didn't know you could-"

  "Honakura might manage it. A monopoly on silk rugs for five years wouldn't hurt the poor."

  A frown came over Katanji's face as he calculated. Then he said, "The pitch, all forty-one horses, eight priests, six priestesses, all rugs for five years, and Olonimpi a swordsman."

  Honakura had said twelve-he would have to manage fourteen.

  "Done!" Wallie said. "Except for one other thing."

  Katanji raised a wary eyebrow.

  "You tell me-on your honor-how much Olonimpi's family will pay you."

  "We have a deal?"

  "Yes. I've already spoken to Honakura," Wallie admitted, "and I can certainly bully the elders."

  "You won't tell Nanj?"

  "Gods, no!" That would create a riot... or worse?

  "It's more than the others..."

  "How much?"

  It took longer to get that information than it had to get the horses, but eventually Katanji reluctantly muttered, "Twelve hundred."

  "Get out of here!" Wallie roared, trying not to laugh and not succeeding very well. "Arrange with Trookro to pick up the ponies-and this Olonimpi lunk had better go in the cavalry."

  Katanji understood, and chuckled. He paused at the door. "It would help if you would pull in your scouts, my lord. They drive up prices-the ranchers are whipsawing us."

  "Go! And tell your brother I want to see him."

  Wallie rose and followed Katanji out to the antechamber, feeling as if he'd been wrestling bulls. Twelve hundred! Olonimpi alone had covered the syndicate's expenses. All the rest would be profit-thousands! But forty-one mounts at no cost to the tryst...

  Linumino followed as the liege lord marched along to where a twitchy young herald of the Third was waiting beside the two captive Sixths.

  Two Sixths, wearing black eyes and swollen lips and surly expressions. It had very nearly been a murder charge for one or the other of them. Ukilio had led his own troop of frees, a large one. Unamani had been reeve of a big city. Good men both, yet they had reacted with hate at first sight, for no known reason.

  Wallie could sense their antagonism, when he looked at one, the other snarled.

  He wasted no time on formalities. "Who's Ukilio? So you're Unamani? You've heard the sentence?" They nodded impassively. How could a man be impassive when facing that sort of demolition? "Do you know what twenty-one lashes will do to you?" Wallie did not, but he could guess. They nodded again.

  "I don't like it," he said. "You'll both be useless for a year, perhaps evermore. I'd rather have one whole Sixth than two half Sixths."

  There were still two dozen people waiting in the room. They all stiffened in apprehension.

  "What I want from a Sixth is leadership, so I'm going to give you a leadership test, a competition. The winner will get one lash from the loser. The winner may then lay as many strokes on the loser as he chooses, he can flog him to death if he wants."

  The victims were startled. Then they looked at each other. The puffed eyes narrowed, and the swollen lips curled in mirror image.

  "Lord Linumino," Wallie said, "will give you back your swords and two golds apiece as expenses. You're going to dig wells. Here are the rules. Herald, you will proclaim these at the next two meals. Lord Linumino will chose sites for digging and sites for dumping, all dirt must be removed from the courtyard. You may buy the tools you need and recruit no more than twelve men each. You may take any man below the rank of Sixth. You may not interfere with each other's teams or excavations, or you will be disqualified and declared the loser. One day's penalty for every injury. The holes must be shored all the way. I shall appoint one judge and you may appoint two each. The first team to recover a full barrel of water is the winner." He turned to Linumino, who was grinning-a horrible sight. "What other rules do we need?"

  "Incentives or threats?"

  "Right!" That was tricky, though. Free swords despised money; some were even refusing the daily pittance they were offered for entertainment. "We need more harlots. The winning team will be sent to Dri as talent scouts to recruit in the brothels and bring back the most enjoyable girls. All expenses paid. Do you think that will do it?"

  The adjutant chortled. "That ought to get the blood pounding, my liege! The waiting lines are bad, you know."

  So Wallie had been told. "And you must not threaten, or injure, or punish your men. You are to inspire them to dig for you. If you can do that, you have real leadership. Any questions?"

  "When do we start, my liege?" asked Ukilio, the larger.

  "Now."

  "At the end, my liege," Unamani said, "can we have a day off before the flogging? I'd like to be well tested so I can do a good job on him." The two exchanged glares.

  "That's fair enough. Add that, herald. Their swords, Lord Adjutant?"

  I am a god, Wallie thought. I play games with men's lives. Yet a sporting chance was better than no chance. Being flogged to death was little worse than twenty-one lashes with the cat, and maybe-please, gods!-just maybe, the winner would be merciful. It would entertain all those other bored men out there. The betting would be ferocious.

  Unamani and Ukilio took their swords and collided in the doorway with a duet of oaths. Then they were gone, almost running into Thana, who was accompanied by a tall and imposing woman in a richly embroidered blue gown. The two women stared in surprise after the departing Sixths.

  Wallie sighed. Obviously today was Family Night, but Thana must be accorded precedence, although other callers were now piling up. She was not a vassal, so she made a formal salute, and he responded. Then she presented the scraggy, white-haired matron... Olonanghi, weaver of the seventh rank. Curious, Wallie escorted them along to the office and bade them to be seated, giving Lady Olonanghi the chair.

  Thana still b
razenly continued to wear her riverfolk bikini, the two yellow sashes, but no male was going to complain about that. With her usual confidence she took charge of the conversation.

  "We shall not detain you long, my lord. I happened to hear from Nnanji that you were concerned over winter clothing. Wool cloaks, in particular, I think?"

  So now Thana was getting into the graft?

  "That is true."

  "Fifteen silvers, I think he mentioned?"

  Wallie nodded. Nnanji was his oath brother, so Thana was his oath sister-in-law and-Great Gods!-was Brota his oath mother-in-law?

  "Lady Olonanghi believes that she can make a better offer, my lord."

  But why to Thana?

  The dowager raised a finger to her right eye. "My father was a swordsman, my lord, so I have a special place in my heart for swordsmen."

  Wallie muttered a politeness, thinking that many women had, although not usually so late in life.

  Then revelation! "You are not, by chance, related to young Olonimpi, are you?"

  The wrinkled face beamed. "My grandson!"

  Now Wallie understood and hastily coughed to cover a smile. "A most promising lad. He is close to the front of our list of recruits, but of course we do have constraints on numbers..,"

  "Perhaps we should discuss the cloaks, my lord," Thana said in a cold voice-the intrigue was slipping out of her hands.

  "We might be able to go as low as ten silvers per item," Lady Olonanghi suggested.

  "I was hoping to find a place in the cavalry for him," Wallie mused. "Of course the competition there is outrageous-that is the prestige division, you understand... I beg your pardon, my lady, my mind was wandering. Did you say six?"

  Lady Olonanghi bit her lip. "Eight, I said, my lord."

  "Then the contract is yours! And I do think we can find a spot for a lad of such obvious ability."

  "In the prestige division?" Lady Olonanghi purred.

  "Certainly, I am told that he is well qualified for the work."

  He took them out to Linumino to arrange details, while he wondered who was going to come out best in the resulting confusion. Thana and Katanji had both sold Olonimpi. Probably Katanji. Thana was not in his class when it came to money.

  And tomorrow Wallie would meet this maladroit Olonimpi and kneel to the boy to give him his sword. For a First in the prestige division, he ought to make it a shovel.

  More petitioners had now arrived, but again there was no doubt who took precedence. He forgot all about Thana as he watched Doa's stately approach. He followed her into the office and closed the door carefully.

  Then she smiled. As usual his loins almost burst into flame.

  Today was the long hemline again; it varied. But the neckline fell audaciously low, and the pale-blue silk was as close to transparent as any fabric he had ever seen, clinging like lacquer. She was not wearing her lute, and her only adornment was the sapphire he had given her, dangling on its silver chain.

  The finances of the tryst desperately needed that gem now.

  Doa sauntered across to close the drapes, and his eyes hung on every movement of that superlative body. Time and failure had not blunted his craving. Almost every night be squired her to some function or other, and always she would be asked to sing during the evening. Her dancing was superb, but intimate encounters like the waltz were unknown, so he rarely had a chance to touch more than her hand. They were a striking couple, he knew, towering over everyone else. She was the recognized prima donna, the star of Casr, a figure of awe to the epic-loving swordsmen. Even the liege lord could boost his prestige by being seen with such a companion.

  He told her of the invitations he had accepted earlier.

  "Fine," she said, the first word she had spoken. She went to lean against the fireplace, her favorite spot, to regard him with languorous amusement, her favorite occupation.

  "What did you think of Mistress Sola's exhibition the other night?" Doa said. "Did you notice what her husband..."

  She was a scurrilous gossip, and a merciless mimic. Each day she came calling at about this time. She would review the most recent festivities, savaging the high society of Casr and the senior swordsmen. Wallie had very little interest in the topic, but he admired the skill of the performance. Sometimes he was moved to genuine laughter-Doa's impersonation of Nnanji was unbearably funny-but usually he just sat in silence, smiling politely and dreaming lecherous thoughts.

  And her real purpose in coming was to enjoy taunting him, teasing and luring like a hungry harlot.

  She was mad, and so was he.

  Today he felt no desire to indulge in the usual pretense. Last night he had visited Jja, in their cabin. The encounter had been a disaster, as his visits with Jja always were now. Oh, she had submitted, a slave had no choice. She had even pretended that she was trying to please, but her efforts had been those of a well-trained and skillful night slave. The woman he had known, the friend and lover, had vanished, and his attempts to call her back merely reduced Jja to tears and him to fury. He had no patience with her stubborn, silent recrimination. Doa, now-Doa knew how a senior swordsman must behave.

  So he had Doa for social companionship and status, Jja for his physical needs. Why should he complain? Most men would have been more than satisfied with either.

  He moved toward Doa, and her voice died away. She regarded him warily, and he stopped, knowing that any closer approach would bring on flashing eyes and claws, threats of violence and of screaming. Screams from Doa would be audible all the way to Vul.

  "Why do you come here?' he said.

  "I thought you enjoyed our little chats, my lord."

  He shook his head. "Be honest for once."

  She regained confidence and chuckled mockingly. "Because your bodyguard knows where you sleep at night, darling. And whom you sleep with. Or should I say 'without'? Right now, they believe, you are making up for it. Would you prefer that they knew the truth? The other boys would laugh at you!"

  "They might laugh at you, also?"

  She smiled. "I think not."

  He thought not, as well. Suddenly his hands were shaking, but how much from anger and how much from frustrated lust, he did not know. "What is the price, my lady? What does it take to buy a kiss? Or more than a kiss?"

  "You know your promise, Shonsu."

  She had referred to that before. She had always refused to explain.

  "I recall no promise."

  Now the eyes flashed, but before she could speak, he said, "I told you to be honest! You are an acute observer of people, Doa. Even if you won't admit it, you do know that I am not the other Shonsu."

  She stared at him in angry silence.

  "You do know! And I do not know what the other Shonsu promised you. So enlighten me."

  Reluctantly she said, "To make me a queen."

  "A what?"

  "A queen, Shonsu! Queen of Vul! You swore upon your sword! That was what you promised, and I expect you to deliver."

  Wallie went back to his chair and sat down, stunned. Queen of Vul? Had that been why Shonsu had attacked the sorcerers? Not to avenge the swordsmen, but to bed this woman? Forty-nine dead?

  "Vul is a tall order, my lady. How about a smaller kingdom to start with? Tau, say?"

  She smiled her feline smile. "That might suffice, at least for openers..." Then she saw that he was not serious and she flared in rage. "But I think I need a lesser present, to hold my interest in the meantime."

  He had showered her with gifts. "You own half the gems in Casr, Doa. What more?"

  "A slave."

  "What slave?"

  She stalked to the window and threw open the drapes. "It is well known that Shonsu owns the most beautiful concubine in the city. I saw her on the ship, briefly."

  He jumped up. "Never! You would mutilate her!"

  "Maybe a little!" Doa swept to the door. "But I want her. Very soon!" She paused, as if to recover her poise. He had never seen her lose it so obviously. "I must go and practice some new so
ngs. They will think you have been exceptionally speedy today, my lord. A new record!"

  And then she was gone.

  Wallie stared at the closed door. Queen of Vul? She must have been lying... And yet, whatever Shonsu's motives had been in attacking the sorcerers, he would certainly have thought about making himself king of Vul. What else could he have done with a captured sorcerer city, except just raze it? So he might very well have offered Doa a place on his future throne.

  The promise itself would not have got him very far, though. New songs, she had said-a threat. Wallie had fallen into the same trap as Shonsu had. One thing was now certain: Shonsu had never raped Doa. She undoubtedly derived a great, perverted pleasure from skirting the edge of violence with her constant invitations, but any man who attempted further intimacy would be immortalized at once in one of her satirical masterpieces, his reputation ruined forever, a public laughingstock.

  He could not even jilt her, or the same thing would happen.

  Give her Jja? The idea was unthinkable. But many married men kept concubines. It was one of the advantages of a slave-owning society. Perhaps Doa would settle for being queen of Tau?

  And tonight, the masons' dinner... business as usual.

  Yes, back to business. Forcing thoughts of Doa to the back of his mind, he stepped forward and opened the door. Outside there was loud laughter. Nnanji was perched on the edge of Linumino's table, doubled over with mirth. He rose, saluted without losing his grin, and then started laughing again. "Flogged to death by the Winner? Our liege knows how to motivate a man, doesn't he, Lord Adjutant?"

  He stepped past Wallie into the office, pausing to inspect his healing facemarks in the mirror. "What can I do for you, brother?" As usual, he was in very good spirits.

  Ever since Honakura had told him the true prophecy, Wallie had felt uneasy in Nnanji's presence. On the face of it, he was a soft-spoken, likable youth, as honorable as his brother was devious, totally without guile. He was good company and an incomparable subordinate. Yet he was also-as Wallie well knew-a completely unscrupulous killer. With the tale of Ikondorina's brother hanging between them, the combination was disturbing in the extreme.

  Closing the door, Wallie pointed to the bruises and scrapes on his ribs. "How does a Seventh get so battered?" he asked.