The Death of Nnanji: The Seventh Sword Book Four

by Dave Duncan

  “Huh?”

  “I’m going to be leading the Tryst to war and I can’t take you with me while you’re still just a Second.”

  Vixini’s howl of joy sent the pigeons thundering upward.

  Chapter 4

  “Lord Nnanji is running a high fever. His condition is grave, but he is a strong man and very fit. We can only pray and wait. Lord Boariyi, as a former liege, you are the senior member of the council. Should both Nnanji and I ever be out of action at the same time, then you will wear the sapphire sword.”

  Five swordsmen of the seventh rank and one of third rank sat around the end of the long table in the council hall; no Endrasti now. For once Wallie had ordered pens, ink, and paper supplied, but so far no one had shown any interest in them.

  Now to business. He glanced around the faces: hard, determined faces, giving nothing away.

  “We have clear evidence of an external attack upon the Tryst at Cross Zek and in the murder of two heralds. We have clear evidence of internal rebellious conspiracy in that three courier squads have vanished, presumably eaten by the fish, and there have been two assassination attempts. We…” He paused at a distant chime.

  “Your sorcerer hasn’t come,” said Zoariyi. “Are you surprised?”

  “I’d have been very surprised if he’d been on time. Let’s start with you, Lord Boariyi. What action do you propose we should take?”

  “Heralds are sacred. Send the strongest force we can muster against Plo, Kra, and Nolar. Hang the rulers. Fine the cities heavily.”

  Would anyone expect subtlety from a man of his height, or compassion from a swordsman?

  “Lord Zoariyi?”

  “Raid the sorcerers’ tower here in Casr, and then Vul if necessary.”

  Better, because possible, but what would happen after that?

  “Lord Dorinkulu?”

  The old warhorse smiled. “You are asking what I would order, were I in your place. Well, I’d want more information, much more. I’m sure Master Endrasti is very able, but I’d question more of Rust… um, Lord Nnanji’s, men. We know Kra’s involved, because of the weapons used at Cross Zek. We suspect Plo and Nolar are, because of the heralds. That’s less certain, because those two murders could be the work of assassins. The rulers may not have been involved.” He turned and pointed his cane at the map. “Your drawing over there… The River flows from Plo to Rea and the Ulk Sector. How does it get to Plo? Lord Nnanji was arriving by the back door. Can we attack downstream, by the front door? Also, I’d certainly want to question that assassin you caught, my lord, tongue or no tongue.”

  Better still, but the Tryst wanted action now. So, probably, did the Goddess.

  “Thank you. Lord Joraskinta?”

  The youngest Seventh leaned forward, laying brawny forearms on the table. His heavy brows gave him an intense, aggressive stare, which must terrify his juniors. “Like Lord Dorinkulu, I want more information. I want to know what Lord Nnanji’s orders were as he withdrew downstream to Rea. He shared out most of his company between the local garrisons. That’s good. But I’d want to start farther downstream, and roll men forward, not back. To muster thousands of swordsmen here in Casr and then transport them all to the trouble zone would be… unnecessary.” He meant ridiculous, but he was smart enough not to say so before the liege had announced his own decision. “But we could set a snowball going, starting about fifty days’ sailing downstream from Plo. Order every garrison to send one quarter of its men forward. We’d have two thousand men long before the wave reached Nolar.”

  That was good thinking. “Keep talking,” Wallie said.

  Joraskinta gave him a questing look, as if wondering whether he was being praised or allowed to walk into quicksand. “Like Lord Dorinkulu, I’d certainly inquire where the other route to Plo is. I want to know where on their journeys these couriers disappeared. And I’d warn all our other forces in the field to slow down, perhaps have them join the Plo army, if they are close enough.”

  “Thank you, all of you,” Wallie said. “Lord Treasurer, do you wish to comment at this time?”

  Katanji smiled tolerantly at this childish talk of violence. “Finance should be no problem. The Tryst is already employing all its swordsmen, so the only extra cost will be board and transportation. Profits may be quite high, depending on how much damage you cause and what proportion of the population you auction off in the slave markets. Furthermore…” He rose and strolled over to the maps chalked on the slate walls. “Here is Plo, famous for its beautiful women.”

  “Quite,” Wallie said. Jja came from Plo. What was the foxy Katanji up to this time? If Nnanji was as clear as a ray of sunlight, his brother was a fogbank.

  “Now, over here,” Katanji said, walking several paces westward, “you find the prosperous and salubrious city of Soo, best known for exporting rubies of very high quality.” He wandered back to the table. “But the rubies from Soo are known in the jewel trade as Plo rubies.”

  Trust Katanji to upstage the entire council. The unmarked stretch of wall between Soo and Plo probably meant that the area had not been explored by the Tryst yet, but might mean that it did not exist on the ground.

  “You think that Soo and Plo are actually close together?”

  “I don’t think they’re on the same stretch of River,” Katanji said patiently, “because that would let Plo market its own rubies. Besides, the Soo Reach is well known to us. Plo is almost a backwater. But gems are easily carried, and overland trails are often overlooked or even kept secret. You may not need the front door, my lords. It may be faster to go in by the trading hatch.”

  Fortunately Wallie was relieved of the immediate need to comment as the doors at the far end swung open. “I will rise,” he said. “The rest of you remain seated.”

  Sorcerers were parading in, six of them. The dumpy blue-robed one in front was Woggan himself. Behind him came two Sixths in Green and three Fifths in Red. All of them had their hoods up and their hands hidden in their sleeves, so almost nothing of the men themselves was visible as they paced solemnly along the hall. Sorcerers were showmen; their gowns were bulky garments with many pockets filled with tricks they used to impress the gullible—lenses, acid, phosphorus, and many others. But if each of these men held two smoothbore pistols, the swordsmen’s council could be shot to pieces. Wallie had foreseen the threat, and fifty swordsmen trooped in behind the delegation, taking up position on either side of the doorway.

  The first sorcerer Seventh he had known had been old Rotanxi, and they had developed a grudging respect for each other. Since then he had worked with three successive wizards of Casr, each one worse than his predecessor. He especially disliked Woggan, who seemed more devious and obstructive than any.

  Wallie rose and saluted with a fist to the heart, while his companions remained on their stools. As a greeting to a visiting Seventh, this was outright insult. A swordsman would have challenged over it. The old sorcerer merely nodded and sat on the stool at the far end of the table. His companions remained standing at his back.

  For a moment there was silence, broken only by a few coughs from the swordsmen at the far end of the hall. Wallie had asked for some audible respiratory irritation so that his visitors would know the guards were present.

  He dispensed with polite preliminaries. “My lord Wizard, about a season and a half ago, twenty-six swordsmen were ambushed and slain by thunder weapons near the city of Nolar. The Treaty of Casr required that all such weapons be destroyed.”

  The old man’s pouched eyes stared at him for a while, as if waiting to hear if there was more. Then, “I am not familiar with Nolar.”

  “Near Plo.”

  “Ah, that would be in the Kra Sector. The Treaty of Casr binds the Tryst and the coven of Vul. We have no control over other covens.”

  “I understand that. But heralds have been murdered, swordsmen have been drugged and burned alive, couriers have disappeared. In all about three score of my craft brethren have been slain.”

 
; “Any of them in Vul’s sector?” The wizard’s voice was painfully husky. That, combined with his candle-wax pallor, suggested that he was chronically sick, possibly dying. His wits still seemed sharp enough to be dangerous.

  “Could be,” Wallis said. “We are still tracing the couriers’ movements. But you know about the attempted assassinations two nights ago in Casr and Quo. Those were certainly in your sector.”

  “But nothing to do with my coven. I suggest you question the woman you captured. Disabled or not, she can be forced to provide information.” He was well informed, but sorcerers could pick up gossip as well as anyone.

  “She is literate? You know this?”

  “I am not omnipotent. Literacy was once the most jealously guarded secret of my craft. You—you personally, Lord Shonsu—scattered it everywhere, like rain. Any beggar may turn up learned these days.”

  “And if she is unable to write her responses, sorcerers can communicate with signs, can they not?”

  “So can swordsmen.”

  This had all been preliminary warm-up. Now Wallie cut to the chase.

  “Wizard Woggan, the Tryst has been attacked with thunder weapons in an act of war. We shall retaliate against Kra and any cities allied with it. To do this effectively, we need equivalent weapons. I demand that you supply us with them.”

  Woggan’s doughy face writhed into what might have been intended as a smile. “Impossible. We have none. The Treaty of Casr required that all thunder weapons be destroyed and no more made.”

  Wallie glanced at the greens and reds behind the Seventh. They were all males, all younger than Woggan. The faces within their hoods, so far as they could be seen at all, were outcrops of granite.

  “I have fifty swordsmen behind you, my lord. If I order them to come forward and start strip-searching your retinue, one by one, will I find no thunder weapons in their pockets?”

  “You will break the treaty, my lord.”

  “No, it is you who will break the treaty, by refusing to cooperate. The swordsmen have been attacked. Are you with us or against us?”

  “Whatever other covens or secular cities may have done does not concern Vul.”

  “Yes, it does.” Wallie rose and beckoned. With a muffled pad of swordsmen boots, the guard marched forward and surrounded the sorcerers. “Lord Woggan, I asked you if you are with us or against us. You have no other option. Decide now.”

  “I cannot make that decision. I must refer it to my coven in Vul.”

  “No time. Decide.”

  The sorcerer sighed faintly, like an adult dealing with stupid children. “Your terms are too vague. What do you really want?”

  “That Vul and other friendly covens force Kra and any allies it has, to sign the Treaty of Casr and abide by it. You will supply us with whatever thunder weapons you have and more as may be agreed later. You will aid us in the war and not aid our enemies.”

  “Or?”

  “Or you and your companions will be held here while my men take over your tower. I have four hundred standing by, waiting for the order. All of you will then be hostage for Vul’s cooperation. I have also ordered planning to begin for a full-scale assault on Vul itself.” Wallie was bluffing. There were no such attacks pending, and he knew he was violating the treaty he had sworn fifteen years ago. But he was also certain that he would find firearms if he had these men searched.

  “You would make war on the whole sorcerers’ craft? Just how many swordsman will that take?”

  “I cannot tell you how big the Tryst is, because I do not know. The total must change by the hour. Judging by the number of Sevenths we have listed, and excluding the too old and too young, I must command well over 100,000 fighting personnel.”

  “And how many of those can you assemble in one place and keep fed?”

  “Enough. Enough for anything. Your decision, please.”

  Pause for staring match…

  “I will go this far,” the wizard said. “We may have a few of the weapons you want in storage in Vul, but the black powder they require to function will certainly have rotted away by now. It will need at least a year to retool to produce more weapons and even longer to supply adequate powder. I will also admit, Lord Shonsu, that I personally agree with your argument that the peace cannot endure unless it applies everywhere, and I am disgusted by what was done the night before last. It had nothing to do with me or Vul coven.

  “But it is nothing compared to what will happen if you try any of the mass brutality you are threatening. Go and bluster at Kra. I confirm that Kra is the source of your problems. Further than that I cannot go.”

  He stood up and turned as if to leave. Fifty swords hissed from their scabbards.

  Wallie shouted, “Let them go!”

  Fifty swords were sheathed. The sorcerers pushed through the cordon and headed for the door; the swordsmen trailed them out.

  Only after the door closed did Wallie utter a quiet, “Holy shit!”

  “You gave up far too easily!” Zoariyi said. “Sutra Twenty-seven, On Credibility.”

  None of the others was willing to say so, but they were nodding.

  “I disagree,” Wallie snapped. “Pass it along here, please Katanji.”

  “Pass what? Where did that come from?”

  At the far end of the table, where the sorcerers had been, lay a small roll of paper, no larger than a man’s index finger.

  “Out of Woggan’s sleeve,” Wallie said. “He dropped it when he stood up and all the swords came out. Everyone else was distracted. He didn’t want his companions to see it.”

  “Be careful how you open it,” Katanji said, reaching for the scroll and passing it along. “It probably contains poison spiders.”

  “Very likely.” Wallie untied the thread. Paper was precious in the World, and the outermost sheet was smaller than a postcard. It contained four even smaller scraps, none bigger than a large postage stamp. He began with the big one.

  “This appears to be a letter, but the absence of a seal at the bottom shows that it is a copy made for our benefit. Or a total fake, I suppose. ‘From the Voice of Zan… ’ Anyone know who or what the Voice of Zan is?”

  After a moment, Joraskinta said, “I would take it to mean that it is an official edict from the Zan coven’s ruling council of thirteen, my lord.”

  Wallie nodded agreement. “From the Voice of Zan to the cryptic Wizard Woggan of Casr… A date that I do not understand.” He drew a deep breath as his eyes ran ahead of his voice. “Oh, listen to this! ‘… introducing Honorable Yarrix from Kra, who journeys to your domain with a covey of four specialists who, er, have cause to hate swordsman. You are required to, um, foster his purpose and eschew hindrance, as mandated by Precept 205 of our conformation.’ What say you to that, gentlemen?”

  “I’d say you still have two assassins after you,” Zoariyi growled.

  Certainly. But the language of the People did not always translate exactly into the English of Wallie’s thinking. Have cause wasn’t quite right. An equally valid meaning would be have been given cause.

  “So much,” Katanji said, “for all the crap about the covens being independent. Here you have a sorcerer lord of the Vul coven being ordered by the Zan coven to assist a killer squad from Kra!”

  “But Woggan’s tipping us off,” Joraskinta said. “The sorcerers are split, my lords. We must try to use that.”

  Cooperation from sorcerers? A sorcerer with principles? Truly the World was changing! Wallie unfolded the second sheet. The brevity of the message suggested that the original had been written on a scrap of bird skin and delivered by pigeon. He read it out.

  “It begins, ‘Warning.’ A number that looks like a date, and then, ‘Thoy, Arra, 1, 2, 2, 3. Black-white-cat.” He glanced around the puzzled faces and explained. “Thoy and Arra are cities on the River. The numbers are written in colored inks. It actually says, ‘One blue, two orange, two brown, three yellow.’ Either they had no novices with them, or sorcerers don’t bother to count those. Bla
ck-white-cat must be a coded signature. So what we have here,” he added for the benefit of Boariyi and Dorinkulu, who were still lost, “is the obituary of Lord Mibullim. Master Endrasti told us that he was sent off with two Fourths and two Thirds? And three apprentices, I assume, unless those yellows were locals escorting the visitors. The enemy murders boys, too.”

  The killers had sent a warning to their victims’ destination, Casr, to warn the wizard of that city that the Tryst might be asking questions.

  “They are efficient,” Wallie muttered. “Oh, so efficient!” His hand shook with rage as he picked up the next two sheets. As he expected, they were similar warnings, recording the deaths of the other two missing courier parties, led by Honorable Hazenhik and Adept Rudere respectively. The Black-white-cat signature was the same in each case. It might be a file name.

  “I am impressed,” Joraskinta said. “These are confessions of murder, my lord. I cannot see why the wizard would forge such documents, and the tally of the dead is apparently genuine. He is trying to win your confidence, whether honestly or falsely.”

  “And he did not want his subordinates to know what he was doing,” Wallie said. He peered at the fifth scrap of paper, whose writing was so crabbed that it was hard to read in the dim light. He expected it to tell him of more swordsmen murdered, disappearances that he had not yet heard about. But it didn’t. With a mighty roar, he leaped up so fast that his stool tipped over. He was halfway along the hall before it hit the floor.

  The others stared after him in astonishment. It was Joraskinta who picked up the fifth message and read it out: “Men in high places should avoid sweet wine.”

  Chapter 5

  Visitors were bringing in edible food and other comforts for some of the prisoners. Slime escorted them in and examined everything to make sure there were no knives in the soup or files in the blankets. The slime were probably paid almost nothing for doing their horrible job, but they would live comfortably off what they stole and the bribes they collected. Addis had never been so hungry and cold and scared in his life. The weather had turned. Fall was coming.