The Destiny of the Sword (21 page)

Near the evening of the third day, while the fencers were taking a break, drooping in the dim refectory on the two rickety wooden benches, the old priest came shuffling in and sat down to make conversation.

After a while he looked at Fiendori and remarked, “I understand that the minstrels have been singing new songs?”

“True, holy one,” the Sixth muttered with a worried glance at Wallie. “I heard some last night.”

“Ten Renegade Swordsmen?” Wallie asked, and got a nod. “What else about ‘blood,headed’ Nnanji?”

“How Adept Nnanji Fought the Pirates, my lord, and How Relief Came to Gi. There’s two or three versions of The Battle of v.”

It sounded, then, as if Nnanji was getting most of the publicity, as Wallie had feared.

“Nnanji’s Farewell to the Prince,” Forarfi said “Now there’s a sad one!”

“I should like to hear those,” Nnanji said eagerly. “Are they as well done as the RenegadesT

No, Fiendori said, he didn’t think so.

“What about the Katanji tiling?” Honakura inquired with great innocence. The two Sixths both scowled.

“What Katanji thing?” Wallie asked.

It seemed there was a song going round the town: Novice Katanji to the Dark Tower Came, a catchy jingle with a good bine and comic words. Juniors sang It when the seniors were not listening. The townsfolk had picked it up, and the street urchins chanted it behind marching swordsmen. Wallie demanded a sample and got one verse and the chorus from Fiendori, embarrassed and unsure of his key. A swordsman disguised as a slave was not funny in his eyes, and sorcerers were not figures of fun, either. Wallie made no excuses, for he knew of no way to fight ridicule, but obviously his popularity with the bighrank swordsmen would be lower than ever.

Honakura chuckled and went wandering off, humming the tune. Nnanji scowled hideously and deliberately changed the subject.

“Brother,” he said. “Explain: A tiger that looks like a mouse is as dangerous as a tiger; a mouse that looks tike a tiger is more so.”

Wallie turned to the two Sixths. They did not meet his eye.

“It is a mentor’s obligation and privilege to teach his prote’ge’ the sutras, your honors, is it not?” Wallie said.

They nodded in guilty silence.

“Then pray do not meddle!”

More fencing...

tt

On the fourth afternoon, while Wallie was fencing with Fiendori and Nnanji with Forarfi, two figures appeared in the doorway, dark against sunlight. Wallie noted through the grid of his mask mat one was a swordsman and thought that Boariyi had found him. Then he saw the visitors were the high priest and the castel,

lan. He removed the mask, gathered his sword from a bench, and advanced to make his salutes, still breathing hard. He felt grubby and scruffy in comparison with their cool elegance.

“Pray continue your match, my lord,” Tivanixi said. “I was enjoying it.”

Wallie declined and led mem over to the benches. The newcomers sat on one bench and he on the other. Nnanji and the two Sixths tactfully departed.

“From the little I saw,” the castellan remarked, “you have made good use of your time.”

“Care to judge form, then?” Wallie asked, smiling.

Tivanixi was not in a smiling mood. “I could not. I have never seen Boariyi fence against Fiendori. He is too uneven to use as a standard, anyway.”

MMy time is up?” Wallie asked.

“I fear so. No swordsmen have arrived for two days now. The other Sevenths are unanimous in interpreting this as a sign—the Goddess wishes the tryst to proceed. Lord Kadywinsi concurs.”

Wallie sighed. The ship would be ready by evening, alterations complete, stores loaded. The sewing and waterproofing and distilling were done. Now he must decide whether to use mem—to go ahead with the insane gamble he had planned, or to scrap it all and play by the swordsmen’s rules.

“Can you hold off a litile longer?”

“How long?” the castellan asked reluctantly.

“Six days, maybe seven?”

“Impossible! The town is ready to riot. We had eight challenges yesterday, and today already three. There will be no one left to swear if this goes on. I fear a duel may wax into pitched battle. No, my lord, we must proceed with the invocation of the tryst and selection of a leader.”

Wallie leaned his elbows on his knees and stared glumly at the floor. “Your judgment, then, please, my lord. Have the minstrels helped? If I can beat Boariyi, will the tryst accept me?”

Tivanixi hesitated, looked to the priest for aid, and got a useless bland smile. “Some will, some won’t. If you get enough, of course, you can force the rest at swordpoint.”

That would not do, and they both knew it. A reluctant tryst would obey orders, but grudgingly and sloppily, and any leader

would need much more than that. Wallie stared at Tivanixi thoughtfully.

“Would you?”

The castellan frowned. “Would I what?”

“Given a free choice between me and Boariyi, would you still choose me?”

For a long moment there was no answer. Then Wallie reached up and undipped his hair.

Tivanixi said, “No.”

Perhaps the impact of the seventh sword had worn off. Perhaps Boariyi had been charming Tivanixi as he had charmed Nnanji. But Wallie had a hunch that it was the ridicule of Novice Katanji to the Dark Tower Came that had tipped the scales. He would never know.

“Thank you,” he said, and replaced his hairclip. “I can only ask that you hold off the contest as long as you can, my lord. I am leaving town.”

Tivanixi’s face burned with sudden anger. He jumped to his feet.

“Then I do not know what you are doing, my lord, or what you have been doing these last four days. There is a very good Sixth who will be eligible to try again for promotion tomorrow. Perhaps he is destined to be our seventh Seventh. Perhaps you should be counted although you have spumed Her summons.” He bowed slightly. “May the Goddess be with you... and you with She.”

That ending could be grounds for challenge, but Wallie ignored it. The visitors left. He stayed slouched on the bench, staring morosely at the floor, pondering his best course of action. If he remained in Casr and tried to win the leadership, he would probably be denounced before he got the chance. If he succeeded in fighting Boariyi then he might be killed. If he won, then the swordsmen likely would not swear allegiance to him anyway.

The alternative was a madcap venture, risking bom his life and the lives of his friends. Even if it worked, he might not persuade the swordsmen to listen, or he might be too late. Of course, the Goddess could move his ship to Sen and back in a twinkling, but he did not expect that sort of help. Great deeds done by mortals were what the gods wanted, not their own mira,

cles. The People did not regard the geographical mutations as miracles—they were too frequent, Uke rainbows or lightning— but Wallie certainly did.

Goddess! There was no best course of action!

Tivanixi would have removed his Sixths, of course, so when a solitary shadow appeared in the puddle of light from the doorway he assumed it was Nnanji—a tall figure with a sword hilt beside the right ear.

Then he saw it was not Nnanji and jumped to his feet.

It was not Boariyi, either. It was a woman. She walked slowly forward, and he saw her clearly as she passed through the first shaft of dust,twinkling sunlight falling from one of the high windows. She was extraordinarily tall, almost as tall as he was—the tallest woman he had seen in the World. Her hair was long and hung loose. What had seemed to be a sword hilt was the peg,box of a lute on her back. She floated over the flagstones toward him, swathed in a long wrap reaching almost to the floor... a sapphire,blue wrap. She was a minstrel of die seventh rank.

Then she reached him and stopped. The etiquette was clear He was male and a swordsman, she was the newcomer. She must make the salute and he respond; but she merely stood and regarded him.

He had seen her in the lodge, peering over the heads of the other minstrels. He had assumed then that she was a young man, because of her height.

She was not conventionally beautiful. Her mouth was too large and her nose was high,prowed and bony, but cascades of shining brown hair flowed over bare shoulders, and the wrap was supported by firm breasts. Not overly conspicuous breasts, he thought, but she was so big overall that they were quite adequate. The face was plain, but her figure could not be faulted. A goddess! Her sheath was of gleaming silk, almost sheer... clinging. She had stature. She had aplomb. Suddenly Wallie was very conscious that this astonishing visitor was a maddeningly desirable woman. And she knew it.

The silence continued.

Tivanixi had mentioned some minstrel whom Sbonsu should have known. Wallie could not recall the name. Had the castellan brought her, or had she followed him?

“Did anyone else come with you?” be demanded.

She shook her head.

He wondered if he ought to kiss her. That might inform him of the relationship she expected. She might run or... or he might become even more disconcerted than he was already. He wished she would speak. Her arrogant poise was somehow inflammatory,

“Sing for me, if you do not wish to talk,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Since when have you cared for music?”

He knew the voice, a rich contralto. Nnanji had mimicked it when he sang the Ten Renegade Swordsmen.

“I appreciate a lot of things that I used not to,” he said, wondering what she would make of that.

“What are you going to do?” she demanded.

“Do about what?”

Impatiently she said, “About the tryst. Will you be leader?**

The lack of formal greeting proved that mis woman had been ultimate with Shonsu. How intimate? The idea of Shonsu having a platonic relationship lacked all conviction—which meant that his hands had stroked those splendid limbs, those breasts had crushed against his body, those lips...

Maybe not, though. This woman could have great resistance.

“The Ten Renegade SwordsmenT’ he asked. “That was yours?”

“Yes.”

“Then you have been to Hann?”

She shook her head. “We went over to Quo and down from there. I met a minstrel, who told me the story. Then I knew that you were still alive, so I came back. What about the tryst?”

“We?”

“I don’t think the swordsmen would accept me.”

She smiled. He was shocked to see satisfaction in that smile. “Wise of them.”

“So what are you going to do?” he asked, his mind whirling.

She was regarding him strangely now, her suspicions aroused. “What I always said I would do—sing at your funeral.”

That cleared the board a little.

Yet there was still provocation in her posture. Could the re,

mark have been some sort of humor? Which should he believe— her words or her eyes?

“I am reluctant to give you the opportunity, my lady,” he said. “I think I shall leave town again.”

“Going where?”

“I am not at liberty to say.”

She shook her head, frowning narrowly. “You don’t give up like that.”

He sat down on the bench and waved at the other. She remained standing. She was certainly wearing nothing under that filmy wrap. He was sweating.

“I told you,” he said. “I have changed. Whatever was between us is over.” That was comfortingly vague. “I would appreciate it if you did not mention to anyone that you saw me here.” He hoped that she would accept his words as dismissal.

“On the contrary.” She unslung her lute. “I feel a ballad coming on. Shonsu the Priest, perhaps, or In the Ruins of the Tern,pleT

She touched the strings and a ripple of music flowed through me bare stone hall.

“Katanji to the Dark Tower... was that yours, also?”

She laughed harshly and sat down, facing him. “Not bad, is it? But I think Shonsu the Priest will be better.”

“What I need,” he said, with sudden inspiration, “is Shonsu the Hero. If you would do for me what the minstrels have done for my prote’ge’, then I could be leader of the tryst!”

A smile of catlike pleasure crossed her face. She bent her head over the lute and strummed a chord. “Yes? Yes, I could do that. Why should I?” she demanded, looking up at him.

“For the sake of the Goddess, my lady,” he said. “I know much more about sorcerers than Lord Boariyi does, or any of the others. If I cannot somehow become leader, then the tryst is doomed.”

Her imperious stare was unnerving. “What subject would you recommend? Your visit to Aus? Shonsu the Snake? Shonsu the Worm?”

He sighed. She was an electrifying woman, and the battle of wits was a challenge, but he was wasting time, dreaming dreams, and her overpowering presence was making him fall apart.

‘Try Shonsu the Sailor, my lady,” he said and rose to his feet. “I must go and be about Her service. But I do beg of you not to speak of this meeting.”