The Death of Nnanji: The Seventh Sword Book Four

by Dave Duncan

  “We got tipped off by a fishing boat,” Yoningu said. “Went close and scouted, but didn’t try to land. Could’ve been a trap. Up to you to make the call. Not even sure we can land. The water’s low, the bank’s high, at least twenty feet. You can still see where they had a long ramp for the horses, but the decking’s all gone from the dock, just the piles left. Those’ll rip the hull right out of a ship.”

  Wallie had at least eighteen hundred swordsmen heading for Soo. He had been chewing over as many problems as he could handle even before this news. Now what? Go in with a fleet of small boats, get men ashore, make certain there were no enemy sharpshooters skulking about, rebuild the dock, and only then start bringing in the rest of the army? It would take weeks. Fifteen years ago, he had outmaneuvered the sorcerers because they hadn’t been trained fighters, just well-armed civilians. That no longer seemed to be the case.

  “Our opponents have been studying tactics.”

  “They have help,” said Endrasti, one of the two masters at Yoningu’s back. He had been left behind at Gra to brief Yoningu on the whole story. “We’ve been hearing here about a man named Pollex, reeve of Plo. The king is a historical curiosity and Pollex runs the city like his personal cattle ranch. He’s the sort of filth that Lord Nnanji would challenge personally and dispose of.”

  Wallie stared bleakly into the face of failure. He had been outmaneuvered. His excuse was communications, of course. The sorcerers had known exactly what he was doing, and he had known nothing about them. More than ever, he saw that the Tryst could not survive without better communications.

  Passersby were starting to loiter, curious to see such a gathering of high ranks.

  “We’d better discuss it with…” He glanced at the other master swordsman, a stranger, who promptly drew his sword to introduce himself as the local reeve.“Let’s sit down somewhere and talk this over,” Wallie said.

  “There he goes,” Addis said, watching the port official lumber down the gangplank. “Permission to go ashore, mentor?”

  “Got any money?”

  “Three birds, one spade, a spider, a couple of anchors, several assorted fish, and something that is either a tree or a pregnant heron.” Every city on the River issued its own currency, stamped with a variety of symbols. Buying anything usually involved huge arguments about value.

  Vixini chuckled. “Sounds like plenty. I’d better come with you to make sure you don’t spend it all in the cat house.” In fact he had to go, because no First of any craft was legally allowed to own anything. Addis’s hoard was all copper mites, close to worthless.

  Master Filurz had already grudgingly granted them permission to disembark so that the novice could acquire new boots. Addis had outgrown the pair he had been given when he was sworn, and they would cripple him if he had to march for several days in them. Master Filurz had ordered Vixi to be as quick as possible.

  The rest of the army of Thirds lining the rail had not been let loose and raised a terrible chorus of boos as the two ran down the gangplank. Shouts of, “Daddy’s little pet!” made Vixi growl and turn red. He looked so like Shonsu that he couldn’t deny being his son. Addis sometimes wished they would pick on him the way they did on Vixi, because the only reason they didn’t was that he was too insignificant. Hassling someone Vixi’s size needed verve. Picking on Addis would be about as sporting as salting slugs.

  “This way!” Vixi said, heading to the nearest trader stall. The woman tending it looked understandably surprised that two young sword bangers would be interested in buying her jugs and plates. Cordwainer shops? Ah, if the noble swordsman would go along that way as far as the sausage stall, and then turn left…

  Ivo was bigger and hillier than it looked. Vixi had to ask several times before he reached a door marked with a sign in the shape of a shoe. It stood open, for the day was already stiflingly hot, and he ducked inside with Addis at his heels. The cobbler Third was at work, sitting cross-legged on a low table, tapping away at his last. He scrambled up and saluted Vixi.

  The news that the First was to be his customer disappointed him. Footwear was normally custom made to fit the buyer’s foot and all Firsts wore castoffs. And yet, surprisingly, the cordwainer found a brand new pair in stock that fit. They weren’t quite swordsman boots, but they would do until the right thing could be ordered and made. Of course these had been tailor-made for one of the elders of the town and were of superior workmanship, made of the very best Soo leather, and his honor was expecting them that very day. All that went without saying. It was said, but not believed. The boots had been very dusty when first produced.

  Addis walked up and down in them, politely asked if he might try them in the street, and did so. He came back—to the cordwainer’s obvious relief—and said they were perfect, the most comfortable footwear he had ever worn. That made Vixi grin, because that made them the best of two. Now came the haggling. Vixi pulled some coins from his pouch. The cobbler brought out his scales.

  Addis went back out again to look around. He had spent very little time ashore in the last half year, and all-male company was starting to feel inadequate. There was a grocer’s shop opposite, a draper’s, an apothecary’s, a grog shop, a couple of real-eye stopper girls—wow!—and a swordsman.

  “Novice, Lord Shonsu wants you.”

  Addis said, “Huh?” suspiciously. He didn’t recognize the man, but that could be because he was a local. He certainly looked like a swordsman: kilt, three swords tattooed on his forehead, sword on his back at the proper angle to draw, proper boots.

  “The liege is just around that corner and wants Novice Addis—right now!”

  Addis shrugged and went along to the corner to see.

  BOOK FOUR:

  HOW THE SWORDSMEN

  FOUGHT THE WAR

  Chapter 1

  Vixini emerged from the cordwainer shop with the usual certainty that he had just been rooked out of a year’s wages. Even Mom dickered better than he did, and most swordsmen considered their first offer binding. Addis? Left? Right? No Addis. He would murder the little turd! He stormed across to a booth where a buxom matron of the Third was selling beakers of watered wine.

  “Tapster, have you see my protégé in the last few moments? A First. He was standing right—”

  “I seed him,” said a customer. “He wend round the corner wit’ a Third, a swordsman Third.”

  “He what?” Oh Goddess! Vixi bulled back across the street, brutally jostling people out of his way. Hadn’t Dad told them, Trust nobody, not even swordsmen? The alley was narrow and crowded, but he could see over heads and there was no sign of Addis’s sword hilt anywhere. A group of women were chatting over the shopping baskets. “Any of you ladies seen a novice swordsman?”

  “I saw him,” said a bareass youth, one of a pair. “They banged him on the head with a sap; threw him on a cart; covered him with a rug.”

  “What sort of cart? Which way did they go? Come on!” Vixini grabbed them both and charged down the alley with a spindly arm in each hand. He promised them money, but they seemed eager to help. They might be part of the plot, of course, and be leading him into a trap, but they were the only lead he had. He began yelling at people to get out of his way, but his size did more good than anything else did.

  In a few moments the three of them emerged on the dock, back-pedaling to shed speed. The dock was even more crowded than the alley, with the people milling about between wagons, horses, and piles of goods. It was not the big-ship area, where Triumph had docked. He could see tall masts and yards there, farther upstream, but here he was at the shabby fishing port, the downstream end. There must be a hundred boats, but no sign of Addis.

  “There’s the cart!” one of the boys said, pointing with an arm that still bore the marks of Vixini’s fingers. All three of them ran. But the cart was empty.

  “There!” Vixini caught a glimpse of a sword hilt in a boat just pushing off.

  “Yes!” His helpers both shouted at once. “That’s them!”

>   And they had gotten clear away. Already the breeze had caught their sail and the sword hilt had disappeared. There were three men aboard, none of them Addis. Addis might be lying unconscious on the gratings, or might be dead already, but if murder had been the objective, then why bother carrying him off? His death wouldn’t help anyone except as an act of revenge, whereas he might be worth a lot on the ransom market.

  “Which is the fastest boat?” But that didn’t matter. It might take hours to settle that. The thing was to grab a boat, any boat, and get right after them. “Here! Share this.” Vixini handed a silver coin to one of his helpers and ran along the jetty, eyeing the boats. He saw one that looked cleaner and sleeker than the rest, with two men in it, doing whatever it was that sailors did in boats.

  They looked up in terror as a swordsman boarded.

  “Follow that boat! The one with the patch on its sail. My protégé has been kidnapped. I have gold for you and I am on the Goddess’s business.” I also have a sword and I am bigger than both of you put together.

  The younger one said, “Aye, swordsman!” and jumped to cast off.

  “I’ll do that!” Vixini cut the rope with one slash, then the one at the stern. “I’ll pay you for them. Here!” He flipped a gold coin to the kid.

  The older man was silently pushing off with an oar. Vixini sat down on a thwart, removed his sword and harness so they wouldn’t be seen by his quarry, and resisted an urge to bang his head against the mast thirty-two times. What an idiot! Why had he ever let Nnanji’s son out of his sight? His protégé! He had sworn a solemn oath, to take him as protégé and pupil, to cherish, protect, and guide. And had failed him totally.

  Oh, Goddess, forgive me!

  The Goddess might, but would Dad? How could he ever face either liege lord again if anything happened to the kid?

  He wasn’t even certain that he was chasing the right boat, there were so many of them, but the one he had his eye on did have a patched sail and three men in it. He mustn’t even get too close. If they saw that they were being pursued, then Addis would go overboard right away. In moments there would be nothing left of him except bones, sinking down to feed the bone worms that lived in the ooze at the bottom. Bodies given to the Goddess could never be produced as evidence.

  “I am Ryad, fisherman, of the second rank, and it is….” With many awkward pauses, the older man mumbled his way through the salute to a superior. He was a skeleton packaged in a much-used hide. He looked, in short, as if he ate about once a week and had never owned anything in his life. His hair had been trimmed with a blunt knife; his entire wardrobe comprised a rag tied around his loins.

  “I am Vixini, swordsman of the third rank, and am honored to accept your gracious service. I mean you no harm, Ryad. As I said, my protégé has been kidnapped. I think they must be taking him to Soo. Can you take me there?”

  Terror, followed by a grudging nod. Vixini tried to restrain his temper while he worked out the currents flowing here. They feared swordsmen, but he had discovered in the last half year that fear of swordsmen was still much more common in the World outside Casr than it ought to be. He had already given them gold, worth more than they had ever seen in their lives, likely. Were they worried he would take it back? The boat was old and well used; it reeked of fish, but it was still seaworthy; the ropes and sails looked good. Ah! “Is this your boat, Ryad?”

  The fisherman shook his head vigorously. Apart from mumbling the words of the salute, he had not spoken. It might not be the swordsman who frightened him so much as whoever did own the boat.

  “What’s your name?” Vixini asked the boy.

  The boy was holding the tiller. He gabbled the words of the salute to a superior without attempting to rise, giving his name as Ryon son of Ryad the fisherman. He bore no facemark but he was no longer a boy. Although he had been naked earlier, he now had a rag draped over his loins for decency in the presence of a stranger Third. It might not go all the way around him if he tried to stand up in it. He was probably older than Vixini himself.

  So Ryon could not afford the entry fee that many crafts charged, perhaps not even the necessary payment to the facemarker, and his father had never been able to advance beyond Second. Having been raised in a palace, Vixini found such poverty hard to comprehend. The boat he was following was still in sight, so he had hours to kill yet. He started asking questions, as gently as he could.

  He discovered that Ryad was as short of wits as he was of material possessions. His son was a little smarter, but not much. No, the boat was not theirs. Their wages were room and board, meaning a share of the catch and permission to sleep aboard—in reality they were effectively serfs, required to stay aboard all the time, guarding the boat from piracy. The man who owned it would be so enraged when he found it gone that Vixini might well have ruined their lives already. He wondered how best he could handle this without doing even more damage. He wasn’t sure how much money he still had in his pouch and was reluctant to take it out to count it, for even what he had left over after paying for his protégé’s boots must seem a mighty fortune to these men.

  Somewhere back in Ivo his furious father must soon abandon the hunt for the missing children and continue on with his mission, bringing the Tryst to Soo. That would not just be Triumph, but a whole fleet of vessels. Did the kidnapers hope they could turn back the invasion by threatening to kill Addis? That seemed utterly crazy. Shonsu would never yield to that sort of blackmail, although he would inflict a terrible vengeance later. And what could Vixini possibly do by himself to rescue his protégé? He was crazy, but madness was all he had left. By failing Addis he had failed a sacred trust, failed every test of manhood as a swordsman saw it.

  “Honorable swordsman?” Ryad ventured, greatly daring.

  Even his silence had alarmed them.

  “Call me Vixini. No, call me Vixi, like my protégé does.”

  Gulp. “Vixi, lord… the money you gave me… it was far too much. I do not even know what it would buy.”

  And if he tried to spend it, he would be accused of theft.

  “How much would be a fair fare to Soo?”

  Neither Ryon nor his half-wit father knew, but eventually they suggested two sevenths. What sort of coin was a seventh? Vixini took back the gold and fished out what other money he had.

  “How long until we arrive at Soo?”

  Ryon asked Ryad. Neither knew. Yes, they had been there and would recognize it, but time was what happened between meals and sleeping. Not today, maybe tomorrow. Mention of meals made Vixini realize that he was hungry.

  Wallie headed back to the dock. His next step must be to call a council of war of all the high ranks available in Ivo. Unless an unexpected Napoleon Bonaparte turned up to shine the spotlight of genius on the problem, the meeting would come to the same conclusion that he had reached with Yoningu and Endrasti: they must send a couple of ships down to Soo and put a landing party ashore to reconnoiter. It would be wise to take plenty of lumber and tools along to improvise a dock, and also some dinghies, so that the ships themselves could stand offshore, out of cannon range. Dinghies were rare on the River, probably because a ship was never far from the bank, either to beach or sit out a storm.

  Just when you think things cannot possibly get worse…

  Picking his way between the fencers, he came face to face with Master Filurz looking worried.

  “My lord, have you given any special instructions to Swordsman Vixini?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I let him go ashore to buy boots for his protégé. I told him to come right back.” Shrug. “They should be back by now, I think.”

  Devilspit! as Nnanji would say. “Organize a search of the entire town. There can’t be many Firsts with curly hair, and not one Third as big as Vixini. Have everyone return here to the ship in an hour, so we don’t have to search for the searchers. Check out all the cordwainers.”

  When the reports came in, they were much as he had guessed they would be. There could
be no value in killing either of the boys, and it would take a fair-sized squad of assassins to damage Vixini. There would be little more value in taking Addis hostage—Wallie had long ago warned them that he would pay no ransom—but a sorcerer might not think that way. And if Addis was taken, Vixini would inevitably follow to rescue him.

  A terrified cordwainer was questioned by eight different swordsmen and then brought down to the ship by a ninth to repeat his story to the liege. Stall keepers near his shop reported seeing the big Third hunting for his protégé. A couple of dockworkers had seen him commandeer a fishing boat.

  There was nothing more to be done. They were on their way to Soo—Addis probably, Vixini certainly, for he could have no reason to go anywhere else, unless he had managed to keep the kidnappers in view, which was unlikely. Their fate was in the hands of the Goddess.

  Wallie tried not to imagine returning to Casr without them.

  Chapter 2

  Concussion can take many forms.

  They kept throwing him around, hurting him. Hard boards. Head hurt, oh Goddess did it hurt! Rocking. Voices. His head, his head! What was happening? Spinning… why was the World spinning? Dark. Awful stink. Oh, his head! Spinning. Nausea, need to up-chuck. Voices. Creaking, splashing. Where was he? What had happened? Going to buy boots with Vixi. Wet. Pissed in his kilt? Dark.

  He was in a boat. They’d taken his sword. Lying on boards, smelly boards. Stinking cloth covering him. Voices. Head throbbing. World spinning, boat rocking. Going to barf.

  “I think it’s alive,” a man said.

  Sunlight exploded as the cover was hauled away. Addis cried out in protest, screwing his eyes tight shut. In a boat, rocking a bit. Water rushing.