The Death of Nnanji: The Seventh Sword Book Four

by Dave Duncan

  “I don’t think you were raped by swordsmen,” he said. “I think they were sorcerers, or men hired by sorcerers.” The girl was sitting with her back to him, but neither of them could leave, and he had nothing better to do than keep trying. He was not going to give up yet. “And I suppose the sorcerers promised you they could cure your tongue?”

  No reaction.

  “Well, I’m sure they can’t do things like that. If they could, they would set up shop and make money at it. They’re tricksters.”

  Still none.

  “You’re very lucky you got caught by Shonsu and not his guards. They would have roughed you up real bad. And if it weren't for Shonsu, you’d be in some awful torture dungeon. He’s the one who stopped torture. You can make anyone say anything, he says, so it’s useless.”

  A little later he tried again. “Shonsu’s sort of my uncle. He and my dad swore the fourth oath together, making them oath brothers, so he’s like an ‘oath uncle’. I used to call him Uncle, when I was a kid, with Dad being away so much. I’m real glad you didn’t manage to kill him.”

  Nothing.

  “And you should be, too. I suppose he’ll have to hang you; but that’s better than what would have happened to you if you’d succeeded and he weren't around to defend you.” What now? “I see I’m wasting my time with you. I never was any good at lying and you don’t believe me when I speak the truth, do you? I can get out of here anytime I want, you know. All I have to do is say the password and the men in the next cell will unlock the gate and let me out. Now you know I was put here to spy on you, you’re certainly not going to let anything slip.”

  Stupid, stupid slut, she was!

  “What I’d like to know more than anything is whether there are more of you snakes lurking around, and if they’re going to try to kill Shonsu again, and maybe finish off my dad if he doesn’t die anyway.”

  She wasn’t going to tell him that, not after all she’d done. He had nothing to bribe her with, no authority to try. Didn’t mean he couldn’t try.

  “I can’t promise this, because Shonsu didn’t say I could, but if you were to promise me that you would answer all his questions truthfully, then I think—this is just my guess, but I know him very well—I think he would agree to spare your life. He’s that sort of person.”

  The girl turned around and looked at him. Then she heaved herself closer without getting up. She started stroking her left palm with her right index finger.

  Addis felt a thrill of excitement. She could write! She was probably a sorcerer with her facemark removed. He’d discovered something and his ordeal hadn’t been wasted. He spelled out the signs she made: Addis!

  “Yes, Addis. That’s me. What’s your name?”

  Selina.

  “Pleased to meet you, Selina. Pity the surroundings aren’t a bit nicer. You want to ask me something?” More invisible scribbling, letter by letter. “Yes, I would trust him if he swore on his sword. No swordsman ever breaks that oath.”

  She stared at him with deep dark eyes. They were very big eyes, or perhaps just stretched by fear.

  “And I promise I’ll try to help if you’ll promise to play fair with me, Selina. You give me your word, and I’ll show you how I can get out of here. I may need an hour or so to track down Shonsu, but I promise I’ll come back and tell you what he says, yes or no.”

  She offered a hand to shake. He made her spell out the words I swear I will tell first, then he shook her hand. He rose and went to the gate, feeling very shaky inside. Suppose this didn’t work? Suppose nobody came? It would be like one of those nightmares where your feet won’t move.

  “Tomisolaan!”

  Nothing happened. Oh, horrors! He shouted again, louder, voice going squeaky.

  There was a clatter from a lock nearby. A dirty man in a dirty loincloth appeared in front of him, holding a key. Under the grime on his forehead, Addis could just make out three craftmarks, too smudged to be identified, but not swords.

  “Let me out, please. I need to report to Lord Shonsu. And you’d better keep a careful watch over this prisoner now, because she wants to talk, and she has dangerous friends.”

  The anteroom was very large, but when the council was in session all the Sevenths’ escorts had to wait there, and Wallie had doubled every Seventh’s bodyguard. When he came hurtling out from the hall, he almost fell over swordsmen. They were everywhere, mostly kneeling on the floor playing dice, but some sitting cross-legged in twos or threes, muttering sutras. Immediately to his right was Master Horkoda in his wheelchair, studying papers he was taking from a basket on his lap. To his left stood Adept Filurz, talking with Swordsman Tilber. Wallie beckoned him and withdrew into the hall for privacy.

  Filurz followed. “My lord?”

  “Very urgent! Send word to my wife and Lady Thana that shipments of wine may be poisoned. Probably only the best quality, but I don’t know that for certain. Better warn the lodge commissariat also.”

  Before Wallie could turn away, Filurz said, “My lord?”

  “What?”

  “I’ve just been told that the boy Addis is downstairs and says he ‘must’ speak to you. He’s very excited and says it’s urgent, my lord.”

  Well at least the kid was alive, and maybe he had learned something important. That was what he was supposed to be doing, although Wallie had expected it to take much longer, if it happened at all. “If he’s clean, send him in. If not clean him up first.” Addis would certainly not have come to the lodge in his female disguise. “Oh, another thing. Tell Master Horkoda we need to question a swordsman, any swordsman, from a city named Soo.”

  Of course Nnanji, with his perfect memory, would have asked for the man or men he wanted by name. Wallie closed the door on Filurz and walked back to the meeting, still shivering with rage. Five faces watched him approach.

  “Well?” he said as he took his seat again. “If poisoned wine turns up, does that mean we can trust Wizard Woggan?”

  Boariyi and Dorinkulu nodded, Zoariyi and Joraskinta shook their heads. Katanji just smiled.

  “Perhaps,” Wallie conceded. “He may, as he says, disapprove of assassinations, either on ethical grounds or because they are counterproductive. He may be capable of poisoning some wine himself to win our trust. But he has given us what seems to be valid information about our missing couriers. What can we do about it?”

  The answer, of course, was nothing. Woggan had admitted that the sorcerers had murdered three parties of swordsmen, but he had given away nothing about the identity of the guilty parties.

  “Then let’s agree on what we do know,” Wallie said. “The thunder weapons used at Cross Zek came from Kra. Agreed?”

  The council agreed. Its deliberations were interrupted by the entry of a swordsman of the Third, who came limping along, looking much impressed by being in the presence of the Sevenths. He saluted, giving his name as Umbuti. His long service showed in his graying ponytail and weather-beaten hide, and Wallie could recall seeing him around many times in the past. That Horkoda had found him so quickly meant that he must have been present in the anteroom.

  “Master Horkoda says you wanted a man from Soo, my lord.”

  “We do, and you were one of the original Tryst.”

  Filurz showed a scant collection of teeth in a grin. “That I was, my lord. Born in Soo, I was, my dad being a horse breaker there. Always wanted to be one of Her swordsman, but Soo’s too small to have a reeve. Whenever a ship docked, I would look out for a water rat willing to swear me in and just I was getting desperate I found one—a woman she was, because even in those days there were female swordsmen, but just aboard ships. I didn’t care, and she took me on. I was still only a Second when the Goddess summoned her swordsmen to Casr. Me and my mentor was two of the very first to arrive, my lords. Lord Tivanixi himself welcomed us and told us about the sorcerers and all the evil they—”

  “Quite. Think back to Soo. How many rings of the Dream God can you see from there?”

  The ol
d campaigner had clearly not expected that question. “Why, seven, sir, that being the gods’ number, as the priests tell us. Looks just like he does from here, except he’s north, not south. Now, farther north from here, when I were up at Num…”

  Wallie let him drone for a moment. Although he had no accurate way of measuring longitude, the planetary ring system provided an easy estimate of latitude. At Hann, which was close to the equator, the rings were a single thin band of light across the sky. At Casr the rings were much wider, and a man with good eyes and some religious prejudice could distinguish seven of them. At even higher latitudes, the inner rings were below the horizon.

  Umbuti actually paused for breath.

  “How far,” Wallie asked, “from Soo to Plo?”

  Umbuti looked blank. “Plo, my lord? Dunnoit, my lord. Never heard of anyone sailing from Soo to Plo. O’ course the Goddess used to move—”

  “Well, tell me this, then. Are there mountains near Soo?”

  “No, lord. Can’t see mountains from Soo. A few hills to the south, the Mule Hills, they’re called, where men like my dad and later, I suppose, my brothers catch the horses. Wouldn’t call the Mule Hills mountains, though. Not like Snowholme.”

  “Snowholme?”

  “Farther south, my lord. Can’t see it from Soo itsel’ because of Mule Hills in the way, but an hour’s walk inland you get a sight of it, all icy points.”

  “Is there a trading road across the Mule Hills?”

  No there wasn’t. By this time Wallie had learned the knack of getting information out of this willing, but not too discerning, witness. Oh, yes, there was a trail the horsemen used, but no traders. Where did it lead? To the other side. And on the other side was the River, at Cross Plo.

  Thanked and dismissed, Umbuti, limped away to silent hand clapping by Katanji. The Sevenths frowned at this levity.

  “I know some jewel traders in town,” the treasurer said. “I’ll find out for you. But it sounds like Snowholme must be RegiKra.”

  Wallie rose and went over to the map. If the journey from Casr to Soo were shorter than the journey to Plo was, then it might be a better jumping-off point for an attack on Kra, but the map could not answer his question, for the River there was just too twisted and too inadequately surveyed. What mattered was travel time. The traders might know, and Horkoda might be able to work it out from the records. The sorcerers would certainly know, but it might be best not to advertise interest in Soo.

  He went back to his stool. It was close to noon.

  “I suggest we break for the day,” he said. “Tomorrow, let’s meet again at the same time and draw up plans we can announce the day after at the assembly. Meanwhile, stay vigilant and watch out for poison.”

  The door of the hall opened and closed, having admitted one boy. Wallie gestured for him to approach. He was less than a third of Umbuti’s age, but looked much less overawed by being summoned before the most powerful committee in the World. Most youngsters would be tongue-tied and nervous; not Addis. He had grown up in such company, and even his nudity did not disconcert him, for it was his normal condition. His hair was still wet and his bruises were multicolored, but there was a mischievous glint in his eyes as he drew near, and perhaps a hint of a wink at his uncle. He stopped at the end of the table and proceeded to give the civilian salute to a company: Addis, son of Nnanji the swordsman. Wallie was relieved to see that his eyes were bright with excitement. He was very pleased with himself.

  “How’s your father?” Katanji snapped.

  “Don’t know, Uncle. Haven’t been home.”

  “Who’s been beating you up?”

  “A woman.”

  Wallie moved to retrieve control of the meeting before the stripling took it over completely. “Many years ago, my lords, on the first day I came before the Tryst of Casr, I presented a boy very little older than Addis to the swordsmen. His name was Novice Katanji. I described him, rightly, as the bravest man in the courtyard. I am happy now to introduce that boy’s nephew to you now with the same honor. Addis has spent the night locked up with a murderer. He is worthy of his father. Report, Boy Addis.”

  “Her name is Selina, my lord. She can write. She swears she will tell all if you will spare her life. I did not promise that you would, my lord,” he added quickly, “only that I thought you would and I would pass on her offer.”

  Boariyi rose and drew his sword to make the salute to a hero. The rest of the Sevenths, including Wallie, quickly followed suit. Addis knew what the gestures meant, for he blushed. “Thank you, my lords.”

  “Very well done,” Wallie said. “Go home and comfort your mother, who must be going crazy worrying about you.”

  “I promised Selina I would go back and tell her what—”

  “No need for that. I’ll have her moved to better quarters immediately. Let no one know where you have been or what you have been doing!”

  “Not even my dad?”

  For a moment Wallie had a nightmare vision of Nnanji blazing into the room, sword in hand, seeking vengeance on whoever had subjected his son to such a beating, such mortal danger, and such indignity as a night in jail dressed as a woman. But Nnanji was in a sickbed or even on his deathbed, so that wouldn’t happen. A boy of Addis’s age might be tempted to brag, but the shame of having dressed up as a woman would discourage that.

  “Of course you may tell your father. And your mother. But in strict confidence. Warn her you might be put in danger if the killers learn what you’ve done. On your way out, tell Adept Filurz I need him.”

  As he watched that skinny figure hurrying back along the hall, almost skipping, understanding came to Wallie like a thunderclap. Suddenly he saw what his instincts had been trying to tell him: why he had subjected the kid to such an ordeal and what the gods were demanding of him.

  That boy was the future, the Chosen One.

  What Wallie Smith had been to Nnanji, so must he now be to his son.

  Chapter 6

  With a maze as huge as the liege’s palace, you would think a mere boy could slip in without his mother seeing him. But no, the Goddess gave mothers some sort of special noses, to sniff out their offspring. Addis just nodded to the guards on the doors—twice as many as usual—and they saluted him. No hassle! Then he went scampering upstairs, anxious to see how Dad was. At the top stood swordsman of the third rank, Thana, arms akimbo, eyes hot as a furnace.

  “And just where have you been?” she demanded.

  “Um, how’s Dad?”

  “He’s very sick. Answer my question.”

  “I was helping out Uncle Shonsu.”

  “Helping out how?”

  He didn’t like her attitude. The most important men in the whole World had just saluted him as a hero and she was still shouting at him like he was a kid. Why did he have to have the Mother from Vul instead of someone more understanding, like Aunt Jja?

  “Better not say, Mom. Lord Shonsu says that if the killers find out what I’ve been doing, they might retali… reti… try to get back at me.” He really wanted to tell Dad, though, and watch him light up like a sunrise, make him feel better.

  “Well you just listen to me, Addis, son of Nnanji the swordsman. Shonsu may be a very important man in the Tryst, but he’s not your father, and while your father is so sick, you have to obey your mother first. Understand?”

  “No.” Addis dodged past her and headed for Dad’s room. “Shonsu and Dad are oath brothers, right? So they’re equals in everything and—”

  He was at the door when she grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t you backtalk me, boy! Time enough for slippery priest talk after you’re sworn in, and we’re going to do that right away, understand? I’ve made arrangements with High Priest Shamoza, and the ceremony will take place first thing tomorrow morning at the temple.”

  No, not all right. “I promised Dad I’d be a swordsman. You heard me!”

  “But he didn’t, and promises from unsworn children don’t count. Tomorrow morning, Addis! And until then you’r
e staying here. The house guards have strict orders not to let you out of their sight for one minute, understand?”

  “Yes, Mother, I understand.”

  He understood that stern measures would be required. Shivering with anger, he stalked into the sickroom, where his rage melted instantly to sorrow. The shutters were drawn on two windows, leaving the room half dark. Near the bed sat a couple of women in red robes, keeping watch, but he couldn’t make out their facemarks and ignored them. All he noticed was Dad, lying there like a corpse. And a horrible smell, like rotting meat or a badly kept latrine.

  “Dad? Dad? It’s me, Addis.”

  There was no response, and when he laid his hand on the bigger hand lying on the sheet, he was appalled by the heat of it. His father was burning away. His skin was wet, his face beaded.

  He wheeled around to the two women. “Can’t you cool him down? Wipe him with wet cloths or something?”

  “Bad idea,” said the elder one. “The healers recommend letting the fever burn itself out. They think he will improve in a couple of days, if the Goddess wills.”

  Addis choked down an angry response and gave his father’s hand a squeeze. “I haven’t forgotten my promise, Dad,” he whispered. “I’ll get them for you, I promise.”

  He strode out of the room.

  She was still there. “You listen to me, Addis—”

  Still trying to mother him! “No!” he said. “You listen to me. When Dad wakes up, tell him I’ve just come from making my report to the council. And they stood up and gave me the salute to a hero. Tell him that, swordsman!” He raced off down the grand staircase as she yelled after him.

  “Oh, Goddess! What is Shonsu doing to you? Now where are you going?”

  “To the kitchens,” he said without stopping. “I’m real hungry.”