The Destiny of the Sword (50 page)

But at last they were ready. Lord Nnanji raised his sword again.

“/, Nnanji, swordsman...”

There was sound of a major disaster in the anteroom.

Two Fourths came hurtling bodily through the door and rolled. Shonsu was right behind them, stumbling over them, drawing his sword, stopping behind Lord Nnanji, flashing it down on his shoulder—and staying it, steel just touching flesh.

Screams and cries of outrage were stifled. The onlookers froze in horror. Shonsu was scarlet with fury, eyes bulging, the veins on his face swollen, but the seventh sword did not waver, just hung there.

,Nor did Lord Nnanji’s sword waver. But his voice died away and his eyes moved to look at that deadly edge alongside his neck, so close to those so,vital tendons. The two Fourths scrambled up and fled, closing the door silently.

“Drop that sword!” the big man growled, in a voice like grinding millstones.

Jja cringed. It was Shonsu, not Wallie. But he should know that Lord Nnanji would never yield to a threat. She could re,

member Wallie teaching him that principle, and if she remembered...

Turning his eyes straight ahead again, toward the line of petrified priests, Lord Nnanji softly said: “No.”

“Drop it! Or I’ll make you drop it!”

“You’ll never lift that arm again!”

“... seventh rank, liege...”

“I shall count to three.”

Jja whispered a little prayer to the Goddess.

“... lord of the tryst ofCasr, do solemnly swear...”

Someone in the minstrels’ comer was whimpering quietly.

“... that the tryst of COST ...”

“Two!”

“... shall not be disbanded until...”

Lord Nnanji paused, as if daring his tormentor to act, as if waiting for the deadly “Three.” But Shonsu was silent now, staring at the back of Lord Nnanji’s head. His rage was fading, Jja thought. Her hands hurt. She had dug her nails into her palms.

“... it shall have completed the task for which it was called; and this I swear upon my honor, and in the name of the Goddess.”

Silence.

Lord Nnanji slowly lowered his sword and again he moved his eyes to study the Chioxin blade beside his neck.

Wallie? Jja dug her nails into her palms again. Was it Wallie? He had gone very pale. The rage had vanished; he seemed stunned. He was staring fixedly at Lord Nnanji’s ponytail. She thought it was Wallie.

Lord Nnanji ducked his shoulder a fraction, and the seventh sword did not move. He slid gently out from under it, then slowly turned to look at.... Yes, it was Wallie back again. What was wrong with him? He was rigid, every muscle knotted, and sweat shone on his face.

“I shall sheath my sword now,” Lord Nnanji said quietly. He did so, moving very slowly and deliberately, not taking his eyes off... off Wallie.

And Wallie lowered his sword until the point touched the floor. He stared down at it as if he had never seen it before, or did not know why it was there. The spectators began to relax, very slightly, but no one yet dared speak. He turned his head and gazed toward Jja. She tensed, wondering if he wanted her to go to him, dismayed at the inexplicable pain she could see in his face. Was he asking her something? Before she could move, though, he switched his gaze back down to his sword... to her briefly... to the sword again... almost as if he were comparing them.

Then he raised his head and looked at Nnanji. For a moment he seemed unable to find his voice. He licked his lips.

“You were wrong, brother!”

Obviously as puzzled as any, Lord Nnanji put his fists on his hips. “I waited. You could have stopped me.”

“Not the oath. You were wrong about returning the sword. I must return it, yes. But not to a place. Not to Quo. To a person —to the man who gave it to me.”

“A god gave it to you!”

Wallie shook his head. “Gods do not kneel to mortals. The god made the sword appear on a rock, and I picked it up. He did not dedicate it...”

Lord Nnanji said, “Then...” and was silent.

“I suppose I should have asked the first swordsman I met to dedicate it, to give it to me properly. I didn’t think of it. I didn’t ask you—you were the first swordsman I met. But when I went ashore in Aus, I left the sword in your care. And when I came back to the ship—“

“I know what you meant, brother.” Wallie swallowed hard, as if his throat hurt. “And so you gave it to me then—as swordsmen understand giving a sword. You gave me the seventh sword, Nnanji! You! Now I must return it.”

The other swordsmen muttered in amazement as he sank to one knee and held out the Chioxin sword in both hands. “Live by this. Wield it in Her service. Die holding it.”

The onlookers fell silent, and there was a long pause.

“But why, brother?” Nnanji whispered. “The Goddess wanted you to have Her sword!”

“Not anymore. Take it.”

“You’re leader of the tryst...”

“Not anymore. You are. Take it!”

Still Nnanji hesitated, staling as if hypnotized at the weapon being proffered to him.

“Damnation!” Wallie roared, suddenly loud. Everyone jumped. “Do you think this is easy for me? Boariyi! Upon your honor—who is the best swordsman in mis room?”

“My liege... Lord Nnanji.”

“Oh!” Nnanji smiled. “Well, in that case... say it again, brother!”

“Live by this! Wield it in Her service! Die holding it!”

Still Lord Nnanji wavered for a moment. Then he reached out his hand and softly said, “It... it shall be... my honor and my pride.” And took the seventh sword.

Then he looked at Thana and uttered a great whoop of joy.

ttttttt

Wallie leaned back against the wall with Jja leaning back against his chest. She had no choice, for his arms were tight around her. Her head was on his collarbone and he could smell the sweet, familiar scent of her hair. Perhaps he was trying to hide behind her, to hide from the consequences of what he had done. He had assured her that he was all right now, but in truth he was still confused and uncertain about his sudden decision.

He had been ready to cripple Nnanji, to prevent his oath by severing the tendons in his shoulder. Then he had seen the Ar,ganari hairclip, a silver griffon. Power wisely used! He had read it as a message—the gods wanted Nnanji to have the power. So Wallie had given him the tryst.

It is your kingdom that I covet... and Dtondorina agreed...

Honakura had said that he had made the right choice. Thana had rushed forward to hug Nnanji and congratulate him; then the swordsmen and priests had added their own congratulations, while casting sideways glances of wonder at Lord Shonsu, for any man who would voluntarily give up the sword of the Goddess

must seem strange to mem beyond imagining. But it was to Wallie that Honakura had gone to offer his congratulations, and tears of joy had trickled down his wrinkled old cheeks while he did so.

But why? Why would the Goddess turn over control of Her swordsmen to a bloody,minded juvenile like Nnanji? And not just the swordsmen—the World itself! He did not know that, of course, not yet. He was thinking only of reforming substandard city garrisons, he did not see what must follow.

Gradually order was being restored in the council chamber. The priests had been thanked and dismissed. Nnanji had presented his own sword to Wallie in exchange for the Chioxin.

Then, joyfully gathering confidence as he went along, he had issued a proclamation for the heralds and sent them off to tell the swordsmen about the truce—employee relations. He had dismissed the minstrels with a stern warning not to mention any transient disagreement between the two liege lords—press censorship. Tyrants were good at that, Wallie reflected.

That left only the swordsmen and the sorcerer. Nobody sat down in Nnanji’s tryst, apparently. The council chamber was an untidy jumble of chairs and stools, but everyone was standing. It stank of wine and woodsmoke and people; the rumpled silk rug had not been straightened. No one cared. There was a ship waiting, but Nnanji paced restlessly around among the furniture, every now and again glancing warily toward Wallie for signs of approval or disagreement. Whenever he turned his back, Wallie saw the sapphire of the seventh sword glittering beside the red ponytail, and then he wanted to weep.

Now Nnanji was shooting out orders to the Sevenths. He was good at delegating.

He had begun with gray,haired Zoariyi. “Honorable Milinoni is outside. He knows the identities of the spies we have been watching. I want them arrested!”

Rotanxi frowned. “Have we not a truce, Lord Nnanji?”

“Aha!” Nnanji wheeled round to him triumphantly. “Are you testifying that they are sorcerers, my lord? If so, then they are wearing the wrong facemarks and are felons! However, that was not what I had in mind. Lord vassal, you speak to them when they are brought in. Frighten them a little! Make then, teeth rattle!

Then tell them about the truce and Lord Rotanxi’s return—and let them go!”

Zoariyi looked puzzled, but thumped fist to heart in acknowledgment and headed for the door. Nnanji sneaked a glance at Wallie. He got a nod of approval and grinned. The spies, of course, would report by pigeon. Sen would be warned to prepare a reception, and Vul, also, but there was a hidden message there, too: “I understand your communications and will use them.” Clever! Nnanji was doing all right so far.

Then he beckoned to the wildly happy Thana and put an arm around her when she went to him. “Lord Rotanxi?” he demanded. “How many members of this council,of,thirteen are women?”

The sorcerer blinked. He was finding these violent swordsmen proceedings unnerving. “But two, Lord Nnanji.”

“Then, if you do not object to a second hostage, my wife wishes to accompany me.”

Sensation! Rotanxi choked in astonishment. The swordsmen gasped, and a couple of them looked to Wallie to see if he would move to prevent such an outrage.

But Wallie would not. He understood—and again he was impressed. He wondered whose idea it was. Probably Thana’s, but it might have come from Tomiyano, or even Nnanji himself. Thana could restrain Nnanji’s suicidal tongue. She could charm the eleven men, if not the two women. The council of frightened old people would not see a boy monster, they would see a storybook prince and princess. Nnanji and Thana together were an ideal of young love, handsome youth and beautiful maiden, and it would take a very embittered old sorcerer to send those two to the tormentors. Taking Thana along would be bravado, of course, but probably a very shrewd move. The pupil may indeed be greater than the teacher!

The other Sevenths did not comprehend mat and they disapproved. But Nnanji’s next innovation shocked them far more.

“Lord Linumino? Take the eight prisoners down to the dock and buy passage for them, also—on the same ship as myself if possible.”

Boariyi turned fiery red. “You are releasing them, my liege?”

Nnanji looked up at him coldly, unabashed. “You object?”

And of course his vassal could not object, although he had risked his own life and those of his men in collecting those prisoners, had even lost a man. Return the counterhostages: a generous gesture, a clever tactic to throw the enemy off balance, and also more bravado. Wallie had his doubt about this one, but he still stayed silent, hugging Jja tighter.

Undeterred by the reaction, Nnanji told Linumino to summon a sedan chair for Rotanxi, and pulled his sword for formal farewell as the two departed. Then he surveyed the dwindling company with glee, with the air of a man about to enjoy himself very much.

“Lord Boariyi? The next two cities downriver are Ki San and Dri. You have twenty days before I return. Take whatever force you deem necessary. Go and investigate the garrisons. Punish the guilty, if any, and put good men in their place.”

“Yes, my liege!” The tall swordsman’s scowl had already become a broad grin. That sounded like honorable work—better than sneaking around by night with clubs. Free swords rarely got the chance to meddle in the affairs of large cities.

“Swear the garrisons to die tryst and inform the King of Ki San and the elders of Dri that any swordsmen trouble they may have in future should be reported to me, or to Lord Shonsu, here in Casr.”

Boariyi nodded vigorously in approval.

“I do know,” Nnanji continued, baring his teeth, “that the reeve of Ki San, the Honorable Farandako, is a thief. He stole my slave. Depose him! Sell his possessions for the benefit of the tryst. Bring him back to Casr in chains. I will deal with him myself.”

No proper denunciation? No trial? Of course Nnanji would give the man a sword and issue a formal challenge, but it would be as much an execution as if the man’s bead were on a block. Wallie’s doubts began rattling the bars of their cage.

“Swordsmen who refuse to swear, my liege?” asked Boariyi.