by Dave Duncan
“Addis, Sire.”
“Adopt Novice Addis as our son, with the name of Arganari.”
Gods’ balls! Things were moving too fast for Addis. A free gift of a kingdom was a nice thought—especially such a gloriously rich city as Plo—but to agree to things like adoption he would need permission from his mentor and his father… Except that his father was half a world away and his mentor was dead. He should certainly play along to stay out of the hands of sorcerers and Reeve Pollex. In a few weeks he could sell a few gold plates and sneak away to buy passage on the River, back home to Casr…
“But Argair, my love?” the queen murmured.
The king cackled to indicate the arrival of another Good Idea. “Oh, why yes, of course! Tomorrow we shall adopt Novice Oddis as our heir with the name of Arganari, and we shall betroth our beloved daughter Argair to this Eddis son of Nnanji, as a token of the friendship between him and ourselves, and a pledge of our acceptance of the Tryst as guarantor of peace to our domain of Plo and Fex. You father will accept that?” he asked, peering up at what he must be seeing as the Addis Blur.
If you can ride a pony you can ride a horse, Mom always said.
“Truly, Sire, my father, Nnanji, swordsman of the Seventh, liege lord of the Tryst of Casr, will be overjoyed to hear of this joining of his house with that of the ancient lineage of the legendary Arganari I, leader of the tryst of Xo, and he will gladly guarantee to the people of the great domain of Plo and Fex, as he does to all peoples dwelling under the protection of the Tryst of Casr, honest government and all their historic liberties.”
How was that, Dad? Mom would shit sideways at the thought of any son of hers sitting on a real throne. Was it just possible that any of this might be real?
“Nobody,” Addis concluded, “need fear the Tryst except corrupt swordsmen.”
Apparently that was what they wanted to hear. The beloved subjects roared their approval. Who were all these people? Officials? Aristocratic parasites? Palace flunkies? Rich landowners or merchants? Whoever they were, there seemed to be a lot more of them than there had been at first, and they loved that last bit.
Were they going to be his beloved subjects, one day soon?
“The only part my father would not approve of, Sire,” the heir whispered, in his first attempt to influence government policy, “is that you say you welcome the Tryst, but you have deployed an army on the far bank to repel it. Perhaps that army could be disbanded—as a token of good faith, that is?”
The king mumbled and drooled. “Pollex wanted it,” he quavered.
“But, Majesty, if I may presume to make a personal comment, it may be that your subjects do not approve of Lord Pollex.”
The old relic looked up at him sharply, and for a horrible moment Addis thought he had overreached himself and burst the bubble.
“Are you sure of that?”
Swordsmen taking orders from sorcerers, poisoned wells, the massacre at Soo, and all the things he had been told by the swordsmen right here in the palace—Addis was utterly certain, but people who spoke up against corrupt reeves had a very short life expectancy. That was why Dad had been trying to stamp them out, and if he could risk his life day after day for years in the quest, how could Addis do less? “I believe that he is a very evil man, Sire.”
The king glanced the other way. “What do you say to that, my dear?”
The queen looked at Addis.
Addis looked at the queen. He wasn’t sure how to signal Which side are you on? with his eyebrows, but he did his best.
She said, “I think Prince Arganari is absolutely correct, love, and very brave to speak up. Pollex is a horror, a sub-human brute. He makes my flesh creep every time I look at him. If the prince were not a very clever and upright young man, the Goddess would not have sent him to you in your time of need.”
Addis couldn’t have said it better himself.
Tears welled up in the tired old eyes. “Oh, Argie, Argie! How I have missed you all these years! Long, long I have waited for someone I could trust to give me honest counsel. Where is that Fifth who brought you in?”
“Master Alacrimo… um, Sire.” Addis was horrified to realize that he was starting to talk like Dad already. He had spoken the name like a summons.
It was taken that way. The acting reeve marched in from the side and saluted the throne. But he was looking at Addis as he did so, and there was a gleam in his eyes that might mean… might mean several things.
“Sire?”
“Um, I am advised that Lord Pollex is not a good reeve. I hereby dismiss him. If he shows up, put him under arrest. Who is that fellow at Fex?”
“Lord Ozimshello, sire?”
“That one. Get him here and tell him he’s to be reeve of Plo as well until we can, um, think about it.”
Without doubt the king had just made a popular decision. The subjects roared louder than ever. The old man gaped for a moment, and then just sat there and grinned, once in a while glancing up at Addis as if to share the enjoyment. He wasn’t quite the dimwit Addis had first taken him for, apart from the weird obsession that his dead son had been returned to him, and perhaps a priest could believe in prayers being answered with miracles more easily than a swordsman could.
The queen caught her husband’s sleeve and whispered something. He nodded, and raised a hand for silence. “Announce her,” he said.
“Her Highness Princess Argair!” boomed the herald.
Oh, all gods! In all this busy governing business, Addis had forgotten that there was a marriage involved. There’s bound to be a hitch, Vixi would have said. But Old Drone, one of their tutors, had explained that royal marriages were usually diplomatic arrangements, and Addis was being treated as royalty in this madhouse. He did not want to get married yet, though, not for ten years at least. How old would she be, if she were ancient Arganari’s daughter? Old as Mom? Older?
But the girl who walked in and curtseyed to the king was about the same age as Nnadaro. That was better, especially when he recalled that his sister had no interest in boys at all. Rough, smelly, and loud, she called them. Argair was a lot prettier than Nnadaro and was going to be a beauty like the queen. Maybe even have, um, a bosom like hers! At the moment she looked terrified, listening to her father explain that she was to be betrothed to this novice swordsman, this one here…
Argair looked at the new Prince Arganari in horror.
Addis winked.
Her chin shot up indignantly, then she hastily lowered her gaze and seemed to fight back a smile. He stepped forward, took up her hand, and kissed it. She blushed scarlet, the courtiers applauded. Ten years might be a bit too long to wait for the real thing. Five, maybe?
“So I win the fairest jewel in the kingdom,” he exclaimed, hamming a little.
Even redder. “And I the handsomest swordsman.”
“It’s my eyelashes,” he whispered.
She liked that.
“You have no sword!” the king exclaimed. “We can’t have a swordsman without a sword! Where’s that reeve?”
Master Alacrimo came forward again.
“Fetch the sword!” the king demanded. “Get it down. And you give it to him.”
This was too much! First escape from death, then a mighty kingdom, a very promising fiancée, and now… What sword did he mean? Not…
Yes he did. Alacrimo was snapping orders to swordsmen: a gangling Third, a very brawny Second, and a wisp of a First. All three went behind the thrones. The two big ones hoisted the novice to sit on their shoulders, and then up to stand there, so he could lift the fourth sword of Chioxin free of its peg. A moment later, Master Alacrimo was down on one knee before Addis, proffering him the priceless fourth sword of Chioxin in the ritual that must be even older than Chioxin.
“Live by this. Wield it in her service. Die holding it.”
“It shall be my honor and my pride.” Addis took it, remembering Shonsu giving him his first sword at the assembly, half a year ago.
It was glorious
, as beautiful as Dad’s seventh. The guard was a gold basilisk holding a huge orange stone, but the decoration on the blade was very similar, monsters and heroes on one side, maidens and monsters on the other. There were only a couple of nicks on the edge, and the leather of the grip seemed as good as new. Stunned, he just held it and marveled for a moment.
Then Alacrimo said softly, “No honorable swordsman challenges a First, prince.”
Meaning: You can wear it safely as long as the palace guard is around.
“Thank you, Reeve.” Addis turned his back on the beloved subjects to face the thrones and salute his new adoptive parents and his fiancée.
This was turning out to be a very interesting day.
Chapter 3
As always, Yoningu had done what was required of him. By evening, six horses had been delivered at Soo, and two of them were already laden with water skins to supply a scouting expedition. Wallie was determined to lead it in person, so he would see the ground firsthand and establish whether there was any practical way to move his army over the Mule Hills. Taking Adept Sevolno and a couple of Thirds along, he set out as the sun was setting.
Witnesses in Ivo had reported that the trail to Cross Plo ran almost directly south. If he reached the River anywhere else, he could just follow the bank northward, because Plo lay at the extreme north of a very large loop. That was assuming he didn’t blunder into an opposing army first, of course.
They made good time, barely stopping, but by dawn it was obvious that there was no shade, no safe water, and virtually no cover anywhere. The Mule Hills, in fact, were not unlike the prairie of his boyhood, but they did not make him homesick for Weyback, Saskatchewan. As scenery, they suddenly became more interesting when a stray beam from the rising sun caught something shiny. Out came the telescopes. Southwest of him, three horsemen were riding northward, and the reflection had come from a sword hilt.
That was an easy decision.
After a while the Soo party’s approach was noted, and the others turned to meet them. To Wallie’s astonishment, their leader was Honorable Quarlaino, whom he had last seen half a year ago, going off with Lord Joraskinta to arrange for ferry boats to transport the army over to Plo. He was accompanied by a Fifth and a Fourth, both strangers to Wallie. Smiling, Quarlaino, made the salute to a superior, sadistically drawing it out as long as he could. Wallie responded at a dignified pace.
“Well met, your honor,” he said. “You have news for us?”
“Sad, sad news, my lord. I regret to inform you that you are too late. The war has been won; it is all over.”
“Won by Lord Joraskinta and his gallant companions?”
“Well, we did help, but the real hero was someone else. It might perhaps—” he glanced inquiringly at his companions. “Might perhaps be an exaggeration to say he won it singlehanded?”
They shook their heads. “It would be an injustice to say otherwise,” the Fifth remarked.
Wallie lowered his head like a threatening bull. “Some details, if you would be so kind?”
“I did not see personally.” Quarlaino gestured for the Fifth to take up the tale.
“One of your own men, my lord. He arrived yesterday morning in a condition of extreme physical distress, tracking a missing protégé. Lord Pollex, the late reeve of Plo, declared him a spy and sent a Fourth to challenge and kill him. It was manifestly unfair, considering your, um, man’s condition. Fortunately your man won in a fair fight, killing the Fourth in a memorable feat of arms.
“Pollex then sent a Fifth up against him. This was such a gross injustice that the Fifth faked a knockout rather than hurt the youngster. At that point Vi—your man, my lord, denounced Lord Pollex as unfit to shovel barracks night soil, and cut off the grand wizard’s head… my lord.”
“Is he alive?”
The Fifth grinned. “Oh, yes, my lord. Alive and well. He shamed us all! He showed us how a true, honorable swordsman should behave. A sorcerer tried to shoot him, so the swordsmen turned on the sorcerers and slaughtered them. Lord Ozimshello, reeve of Fex, then withdrew his men from Lord Pollex’s command and declared his allegiance to the Tryst of Casr, which your son accepted in your name, my lord.”
“The hell he did!”
“Yes, my lord. And the fight broke out. Lord Joraskinta arrived just in time to turn the tide, my lord, but the honor belongs entirely to Swordsman Vixini. Lord Joraskinta has promised to promote him to adept for his performance.”
Wallie looked around the circle of grinning faces but could not see them for tears. Vixi? “He was always such a polite, gentle, well-mannered boy… Is there any word of Novice Addis, his protégé?”
“Not yet, my lord. We believe the sorcerers took him on to Plo or Kra, but we have no details, as yet.”
Vixini a hero… But if anything bad had happened to Addis, how could Wallie ever face Thana and Nnanji?
Being summoned into the presence of two Sevenths when one had a murder charge hanging over one’s head was a disquieting start to a day, and Vixini had been feeling fragile even before the message came. He ached all over and his arm hurt, trying to swell under the bandages and showing nasty red patches outside it. He was led to where the high ranks were sitting on the grass, eating standard camp rations, with only the wide gap that the rest of the army left around them showing that they were in any way special. All they wanted, they said, was to have Vixini share their breakfast, forget about formality.
There was no doubt that Lord Joraskinta was in charge. The former ruler of Ashe who had sworn to the Tryst of Casr little over a year ago, had turned yesterday’s rout into victory by arriving with seven hundred fresh swordsmen. He was looking more than a little pleased with himself. Nobody else had much to be proud of. The death toll was going to be about eight hundred, when the seriously wounded died.
Lord Ozimshello, reeve of Fex, seemed older than he had the previous day. He must be worrying about his change of allegiance and how King Arganari would react to the news. His honor might be called into question, and that could mean death for a swordsman. After the battle he had formally sworn the third oath to Joraskinta on behalf of the Tryst, so Vixini’s outrageous presumption in accepting it earlier could be quietly forgotten. The survivors of the Plo contingent had waived their onus of vengeance and sworn loyalty to the Tryst instead. None of them could be held guilty for crimes they might have committed, because they had been acting under orders, but something would have to be done about their broken oaths. The priests would find a way.
Nobody need care what Lord Pollex would say to all this, because Lord Pollex was extremely dead, and just who had put so many holes in him would never be known, or even discussed. Grand Wizard Krandrak was no longer a problem either, thanks to Vixini, but that had been murder in front of thousands of witnesses.
“Between mouthfuls,” Joraskinta told Vixini, “tell us where Lord Shonsu is and what happened at Soo.”
Soo was not a good topic for mealtime conversation, but Vixini told his story. He was certain that Dad would be at Soo by now, and had been saved from a sorcerer ambush there by the actions of Vixini’s own strong right arm. He described his journey briefly, and how he was concerned about the lack of water in the Mule Hills.
“I heard that the springs were being poisoned,” Ozimshello said. “It was a despicable crime. I don’t think he can risk bringing his army across the hills on foot in midsummer.”
“Last night I sent Honorable Quarlaino to tell him our news,” Joraskinta said. “I wanted someone he knows and will trust. He will explain that the war is won.” Under his ferocious brows he actually smirked.
“What will you do about Kra?” the reeve asked.
“How serious a fight will they put up?”
“I don’t know, my lord. No outsiders are ever allowed in Kra or even within sight of it. We don’t know what manpower it has or what defenses.”
“I haven’t seen a single sorcerer since I got here.”
Vixini, too, had been wondering whe
re the sorcerers had all gone. Possibly they had been favored targets and killed out of hand, but the army had included civilians. He risked offering an unsolicited opinion.
“You could look among those priests, my lord, or the healers. All the civilians, in fact.”
“Brilliant!” Joraskinta thumped a fist approvingly on his own knee. Then he explained to Ozimshello, who was looking blank, how Lord Shonsu had found facemark transfers in the assassins’ gear back in Casr. “You have your father’s insight as well as his fencing skills, swordsman… I should say ‘Adept’ because Lord Ozimshello and I have agreed to promote you one rank under Sutra 1139. Congratulations.”
“Well deserved,” Ozimshello agreed. “Something wrong?”
“My lords, my—I am five years too young to be even a Third. A Fourth? The men will think my father has favored me obscenely.”
“Not when the minstrels have done with you, they won’t!”
Oh, no! “Minstrels?”
“How Swordsman Vixini Smote the Sorcerers in Soo,” Ozimshello suggested.
Joraskinta chuckled ominously. “How Vixini of the Third Avenged the Ambush at Cross Zek!”
“How Swordsman Vixini Ended the War of Plo with One Stroke of his Sword! The whole gang of minstrels has been hunting for you, so we said they could have you on the boat. You do want to come across to Plo with us?”
Vixini shuddered. How in the World was he going to hold his head up in Casr if all this got around? “My lords, I murdered Krandrak!”
“What you did was justice for the massacres at Cross Zek and Soo. The Tryst needs a hero after this, and you are he, Adept Vixini. Lord Pollex thought to bring a facemarker. You will see her and find an orange kilt before we leave. That’s an order. ”
“You ended the war, Lord Joraskinta, not me!”
“That’s not true,” Ozimshello said. “It was your courage and honor in facing up to Pollex that shamed us all. I realized, and so did almost everyone watching, that you were being true to the code and the rest of us were not. And yet we were standing there watching Pollex torture you. That was why I switched, and why the Fex garrison followed my lead. Many of the Plo men did, too.”