The Destiny of the Sword (38 page)

For the second time that day Wallie lost Shonsu’s temper. With a roar that rattled the windows, he threw the swordsman and his food out of the way and went hurtling along the antechamber, bellowing for his bodyguard.

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A temple should be a hushed and pious place. This one was not. A small army of slaves was cleaning up glass and stone, the remains of the fallen window. Then, chattering and the screech of their shovels echoed along the nave toward the idol.

The brilliant mosaic floor before the dais was almost empty. Worshipers were being tactfully discouraged this day and mere were few, anyway, for the city was busy. The wide, tiled space held only one figure, a very small priest of the seventh rank. He had come for meditation and prayer and had stayed longer than he had expected. There had been no specific appeals in his head, only a deep longing for peace, a yearning that seemed to be filling him more and more now. The pains were stilled. Perhaps he would get his answer soon, his release. Kneeling before his Goddess, he had found the wordless comfort he had been seeking. He had remained there, savoring it, waiting without having anything to wait for; in no rush to go anywhere else, for he had nothing left to do, that he knew of. Shonsu was leader of the tryst and whatever else was going to happen would not need Honakura.

Eventually he discovered, to his amusement, that he was hungry. That raised a problem. His old carcass was a problem, and raising it another. He doubted that he could rise to his feet now without help, and there was no one nearby. He pushed himself up to sit on his heels and survey the surrounding emptiness with wry enjoyment of his helplessness. A little fasting would do him no harm, of course.

Two figures came out of one of the rear doors. The first was a priest; he stopped and pointed, then turned on his heel and fled. The other came striding over toward Honakura, a giant swordsman clothed in a black cloud of rage.

Interesting! Having no choice, Honakura stayed where he was. In a moment his view of the Goddess was blotted out by a blue kilt. On its hem was a white griffon, lovingly embroidered by Jja.

There were no preliminaries. The cavernous voice said, “You lied to me!”

It hurt to tilt his head back, so he left it where it was, studying Jja’s needlework. He said nothing.

Louder: “You lied to me!”

It was not a question. Why answer? “Tell me what has happened, my lord.”

After a moment the kilt moved. The young swordsman sank to his knees and folded huge arms across massive chest. Honakura did not look up at his eyes, he just waited and stared at the tooled leather harness.

“Nnanji has his seventh sword.” The voice was a very deep growl, even deeper than usual.

Now the priest looked up at the furious black eyes, seeing the fear and pain under the rage. “Did you ever doubt that he would?”

“It should have been impossible! Under the sutras there was seemingly no way that he could do that, not until the tryst was disbanded.”

Nothing was impossible to the Most High, but it would be better not to say so. Better just to wait. Shonsu was so agitated that he could not remain silent, and in a moment Honakura received the story of the spy, and the attempt on Shonsu’s life, and the very obscure sutra.

His confusion was pitiable, this enormous, gentle, well,meaning young man... Honakura felt a lump in his throat such as had

not known in years. Surely the gods would not test like tins unless the cause were vital?

“It is a miracle that Nnanji is a Seventh?” he asked quietly.

“Yes!”

“And a miracle that you are still alive?”

“I suppose so,” Shonsu hung his head.

“Then you have no cause for complaint, my lord. You each got one this time.”

The deadly dark eyes came up to skewer him. Had death been a dread to Honakura, that gaze would have softened every bone hi his body. “You lied to me.”

He signed. “Yes.”

“Tell me now, holy one! For the sake of your Goddess, tell me now!”

“If you wish, my friend. But it will not make you happier.”

‘Tell!”

Softly Honakura told him the real prohecy:

Ikondorina’s red,haired brother came to him and said, Brother you have wondrous skill with a sword; teach me, that like you I may wrest a kingdom. And he said, I will. So Ikondorina taught and his brother learned and men Ikondorina said, I can teach you no more, now go and find your kingdom. And he said, But brother, it is your kingdom that I covet, give me that. Ikondorina said, I will not, and his brother said, I am more worthy, and slew him and took his realm.

For a long time there was no sound except the scrape of the slaves’ shovels at the far end of the nave, the clash of glass as they filled their wheelbarrows. Doubtless the swordsman was pondering the story of Ikondorina’s red,haired brother, but Honakura was thinking of pride.

He had lied, mortal sin for a priest. All his lifetime of service and devotion had been wiped out by that, crashing down as the temple window had crashed down. Pride! He had been too proud of mat lifetime. He had been led by his arrogance into mentioning Ikondorina’s brothers to Shonsu, and that error had trapped him into telling the lie. Before that, puffed up by awareness of

his own sanctity, he had been sure that the Goddess would reward him, that his death would be a victory march, that She would weep tears of gratitude when he came before Her. Now he could only hope that She would be merciful and remember bis life’s work when She judged his awful sin, that She would in Her mercy allow him to remain on the ladder, according him some lowly place where he could start again, refraining from hurling him off, down into the Place of Demons.

He became aware that he was weeping, weeping for himself, when he should be weeping for mis tortured swordsman.

That same swordsman was speaking again. “... why you did not tell me before. You were right not to trust me.” He was bitter, understandably. “What happens now, holy one? I just wait for him to do it?”

Honakura forced his mind back to Shonsu. Sudden hope surged into his ragtag old frame. That wonderful sense of peace he had felt—would that have been sent to a damned soul? Was it possible that he had been directed to mat mortally destructive lie?

“Could it be another of the gods’ tests, my lord?” he whispered.

The swordsman recoiled, falling back on his heels. He blanched. “No!”
 
^

The two men stared at each other in silence.

At last Honakura said, “Is it possible?”

The big man shook his head as if to clear it of crawling horrors. “If the gods will not intervene—yes! He is not a Seventh in fencing—yet! But any match may be an upset, holy one. It is not uncommon—a better man being beaten by a poorer—not uncommon. They would not let me, would they? They would send a miracle?”

Honakura stared over the swordsman’s shoulder at the face of the Goddess, but seeing it as it was revealed at Hann, not in mis shoddy facsimile; seeing the majesty. The temple was very cold. He was freezing. Why had he not noticed that sooner?

“I am no prophet, my lord. I do not know the answer. But it may be that She wants a... that you...”

That I am not enough of a killer for Her needs? Say it, man! Another test? I may be too soft,hearted and Nnanji is a bom killer? But if I were to drain him now...” His voice tailed off, and agony drove the fear from his eyes.

After a while he whispered, “Kill Nnanji?”

“Would the swordsmen accept you afterward?”

Shonsu jerked, as if he had been lost in hell and had forgotten that Honakura was there. “Yes!” he said. “I went mad this morning. I sold two men into slavery. They are all terrified of me now; they have realized what that oath of theirs means.” He laughed without benefit of mirth. “I knew and they didn’t! Yes, they will obey.”

After another long silence he muttered, “But Jja.. .** and did not say more about that.

“I may be horribly wrong, my lord,” Honakura said. “He is an honorable young man. He admires and adores you! He worships you next to the Goddess. It is hard to see him harming you.”

“He trusts me!” me big man snarled.

“Then live up to his trust, my lord! Serve the Goddess and She will see that all is well between you.”

Shonsu ground his teem. “I can’t!”

“Can’t what?”

“Can’t beat the sorcerers.”

“But you have been telling...”

Shonsu stared down at clenched fists and corded forearms. “Yes. What I have been saying is true. I can storm the cities and overthrow the towers and drive out the sorcerers and put the swordsmen back. I believe it and Nnanji believes it and the tryst probably believes it now, or will soon. The sorcerers believe it, or will soon.”

“I don’t understand.”

The deep voice became a whisper, although there was no one near. “They will go away, holy one! If we take the first tower easily, they will depart, abandon the cities, and fade back into their hills.”

“Then you will have won!” Honakura said, perplexed at the despair before him.

Shonsu shook his head. “No! I can’t take Vul. Not in winter. We don’t know where it is. The first Shonsu might have been able to do it—he made a surprise attack. But now they have had half a year to prepare. One tower at a time, yes. At odds of fifty to one, yes. A fortified city, no! Many days’ march away from the River? Take catapults into the mountains? Impossible!”

“No! V»fe can’t wait for spring; we have no money. The tryst must be disbanded! So the sorcerers will come back. In five years, or ten...” Hie whisper became so faint that Honakura could barely hear it. “I can’t beat the sorcerers! No one else knows that, holy one!”

Honakura struggled to adjust. This made nonsense of everything. It was incomprehensible.

“Then what are you doing?”

Shonsu groaned. “I am bluffing!”

“Bluffing, my lord?”

“Bluffing both sides.”

More confusion. “But why?”

A pause and men another whisper “To force a treaty!”

Honakura gasped. “Of course! Yes! Yes! That must be the meaning of your parentmarks—swordsman and sorcerer, my lord! It may be mat that is Her purpose! That is why She chose you! No other swordsmen would ever mink of that! None ever consider it! Can you?”

“Can I what?” die big man snapped. “Force the swordsmen? Yes! They have to obey, right? The sorcerers... I don’t know! But I was allowed to capture one of their Sevenths. He is proBa,bly one of the leaders, perhaps the highest of them all, for he provoked the calling of the tryst. So I must work on him—while I prepare the swordsmen for war.”

The priest sighed deeply. “It is a holy cause, my lord! I think you are right!” To patch the ancient quarrel between swordsman and sorcerer—that made sense.

Then be saw the deathly glance on Shonsu’s face and stopped. Had he missed something?

“Am I right? I told Jja... if I try to do me wrong thing with the tryst, then the Goddess will stop me. I mink your Dcondorina story is a warning, holy one! She wants a killer. She will block me.”

“How so, my lord?”

“I may convince the sorcerers,” Shonsu growled. “They will listen to reason, I think. But swordsmen do not know reason from cowardice. You can’t argue with a swordsman.”

“But you can command them, you said!”

He bared his teeth. “All except one—he is not my vassal. We are

equals. Both liege lords, both Sevenths now. He is not even my prote’ge’ anymore! Do you think that Nnanji will accept a treaty?”

Silence.

“Well, do you?”

Now it was the priest who whispered. “No.”

“Neither do I! You once said he had a head like a coconut. He will have to choose, won’t he? I am his brother because we swore the fourth oath—but that is only a sutra. He will say that sorcerers are swordsman killers, and always have been. He will say that a treaty betrays the tryst, and the will of the Goddess. He will say that a treaty is cowardice and shame. We taught him, old man! You and I taught him well—the will of the Goddess takes precedence over the sutras! That story of yours gives the answer —Slew him and took his realm? It fits him perfectly! I can hear him saying it: / am more worthy.T

Shonsu sprang to his feet. “Maybe he is! Maybe the Goddess thinks so. She has certainly promoted him fast enough!”

Then he was gone, striding away long,legged across the whorls of color in the shiny tiles.

Honakura stayed where he was, staring up at the Most High, haloed now in a rainbow of tears.

It was the middle of the following morning before WalUe clambered glumly up the rope ladder to Sapphire’s deck. Bare,masted and peaceful, the little blue ship lay at anchor on sunlit water, a haven of sanity after the frenzy of tie tryst. Yet he was returning only because he had work to do even there, work on fee one problem that he could not possibly delegate—Rotanxi, And it would take more than sparkling ripples and wheeling white birds to soften his nagging black mood mis morning.