Seventh Sword - The Reluctant Swordsman Part 22

"You are a much better instructor than anyone in the guard, my liege," he said. "You show me all this wonderful technique, but I don't seem to be improving very much at all, not since the first day." He threw down his towel angrily.

Wallie laughed. "Yes you are! I keep raising the standard on you!"

"Oh!" Nnanji looked surprised. "You do?"

"I do. Let's go out to the exercise yard."

They stood on the little platform together and watched the action. At that time of day there were only a half-dozen couples fencing, some supervised and others merely practicing. Nnanji stared for a while, then turned to his mentor with an astonished grin.

"They are so _slow_!" he said. "So _obvious_!"

Wallie nodded. "You can't expect to be hit by lightning every day," he said. "It comes gradually. But you are a hundred times better than you were."

"Look at that thumb over there!" Nnanji muttered in contempt.

Then one of the pairs finished their practice. They pulled off their masks and were revealed as Gorramini and Ghaniri. Nnanji yelped, his eyes flas.h.i.+ng with delight. "I could beat _them_, my liege!"

"Possibly," said Wallie, who privately agreed. "Let's give it a few more days, though."

Each morning he visited Honakura in his little courtyard and learned more of the World. He also asked about Shonsu and was distressed to discover how little the priest knew about him. He had come a long way, but that did not mean a long journey. The Hand of the G.o.ddess would have brought him, Honakura insisted, and similarly Wallie could be transported to wherever She wished him to be. So all he needed to do was board a boat in Hann, and he might find his task -- or his mysterious brother -- in the next port.

"There is one thing you should know, my lord," the little man said. He seemed reluctant to continue. "Obviously the demon, had been sent by the G.o.ddess, as our exorcism was a failure."

Wallie found this subject confusing, having been the demon in question, and it always reminded him of the demiG.o.d's hints of Someone Having Made a Bad Lead. "So?" he asked.

"Your previous occupant..." Honakura said. "That is ... the original Lord Shonsu ... he thought that the demon had been sent by sorcerers."

"Sorcerers!" Wallie exclaimed in dismay. "I didn't know you had sorcerers in the World."

"Neither did I," the priest replied, surprisingly. "There are old legends of them, but I have never heard them mentioned by any pilgrim. They were supposedly a.s.sociated with the priests once."

Wallie did not enjoy the idea of sorcerers. How could a swordsman fight sorcerers? But a world of G.o.ds and miracles could presumably be a world of magic, also.

"It figures," he muttered, mostly to himself. "Where there are swordsmen there would have to be sorcerers, wouldn't there?"

"I don't see why." Honakura sniffed. "But I can't advise you about them. They were supposed to wors.h.i.+p the Fire G.o.d. Their facemarks are feathers."

Why feathers? No one knew, and Wallie discovered that no one else knew much about sorcerers either. Nnanji just scowled and complained that there would be no honor in fighting sorcerers. Nnanji's ideals ran to heroic single combat and epics. He probably dreamed of a great epic: _How Nnanji Slew Goliath_.

One day a junior priest, carefully selected by Honakura, carried a message to Nnanji's brother. Next morning the boy knelt at the temple arches with the pilgrims. A youth not apprenticed to a craft was of little interest to the priests, but this one was approached after a very short while and led in to pray ... and then spirited out through the back. He sat on a stool in Honakura's courtyard with that gentleman and Wallie and ate all the cakes.

He was very unlike Nnanji: short and dark, with curly black hair, and sharp, restless eyes, plus a bubbling impudence that seemed little impressed by the august company of two Sevenths. He did not look much like swordsman material to Wallie, but Wallie had accepted Honakura's belief that the G.o.ds were recruiting on his behalf, and if Nnanji wanted his brother as his first protege, then that was how it would be.

Katanji solemnly swore that he had told no one of his exploit with the sword. He was reminded how important that was to Nnanji, for if Tarru laid hands on the sword, he must then kill Wallie in self-defense, or from spite. Then he would have to plan on killing Nnanji, also.

Before Katanji left, he was awarded a contract for repairs to the rugs in one of the priests' dormitories. If he was needed for any more conspiring, then he would be informed when he made the deliveries. Honakura seemed perturbed by the price that the lad demanded. He glanced in rueful surprise at Wallie, but agreed that it would be paid. Katanji was skipping as he departed.

When Nnanji later heard the terms he almost exploded.

"Your father will be pleased, then," Wallie said.

Nnanji growled ominously. "If he finds out."

Wallie had made no progress in planning his escape. Tarru had searched the whole barracks and failed to find the sword. He could hardly rummage the entire temple grounds, so he must wait until Wallie tried to leave. He had many guards on the gate. He had placed a roadblock at the foot of the hill and greatly increased the detachment at the ferry port.

All this Wallie learned from the slaves. His intelligence sources were now better even than Honakura's. The slaves knew everything, but normally they formed a self-contained society. They had no interest in, and played no part in, the affairs of the free. For Lord Shonsu they made exception, and Jja was given all the news to pa.s.s on to him.

Tarru was stalemated, but he was continuing to swear swordsmen by the blood oath. Unfortunately this was not done in the presence of slaves, and Wallie could not determine who might still be trustworthy -- probably not even lowranks now. There must have been some resistance, for three times slaves had been called in to clean up bloodstains. The guard was so large that the absences were not noticeable, and they were not discussed.

Wallie felt horrified and guilty at these needless deaths. Even Nnanji looked bleak when he heard, but he had to a.s.sume that the proprieties of challenge had been observed. Such ritual murder was not an abomination, merely an occupational hazard of being an honorable swordsman. Even the retired swordsmen of the barracks staff seemed to have been infected. The old commissary, Coningu, suddenly became bitter, snappish, and uncooperative. Wallie a.s.sumed that the old man was hinting that he was now unreliable, but could not openly say so.

So the slaves provided information on the present situation. For long-term strategy Wallie cross-examined Honakura. What happened if you sailed down the River forever? The priest had never thought of that and a.s.sumed that you would never stop -- how could there be an end to a River? Where would the water go? What happened if you walked away from the River? You would come back to it, for it was everywhere. The only qualification was that there were mountains, and here his knowledge was scanty. There might be other peoples, other customs, other G.o.ds, in the mountains.

Politics, it seemed, was rudimentary, each city ruling itself. Wallie had great trouble explaining warfare to the priest, for it was almost unknown. A city that wished to oppress a neighbor would have to hire swordsmen, because only swordsmen might use violence. But then the neighbor would also hire swordsmen, and why should swordsmen hurt or kill members of their own craft for others' benefit? Surely one side must be in the right, and one in the wrong? And honorable swordsmen would not fight for the wrong. It sounded too good to be true, and Nnanji told contrary stories with good guys and bad guys, but clearly the World was a more peaceful place than certain other planets.

Jja's skill with a needle flourished as fast as Nnanji's with a sword, although there Shonsu's expertise was of no help. She had been taught to sew in her childhood, but had never had a chance to use what she had learned. Now she could discover the joy of doing something purely for its own sake. She was astonished at the idea that she could have more than one garment, and even more than one evening gown, but she produced a second in white, and a third in cobalt, and each was better made and more cunningly provoking than the last. She embroidered a white griffon on the hem of Wallie's kilt -- and then on Nnanji's, to his great delight.

Now that the sword had been "mislaid," as Wallie put it, he need no longer fear a.s.sa.s.sination by dagger or poison, and some evenings he ate in private with his slave in the royal suite. On other nights they displayed her gowns in the saloon.

On one such occasion there was entertainment from a wandering minstrel, who sang an epic about the ma.s.sacre of seven brigands by three valorous free swords. The swordsmen listened more or less politely. At the end they applauded and awarded the minstrel two barracks girls for the night -- three was regarded as top dollar.

A tale such as this fell in the shadowy borderlands of Wallie's dual memories. As Shonsu he could regard it as something of interest, not to be taken too seriously -- swordsman sports news. As Wallie he found it a worrisome piece of job description, wondering if one day he, also, would find a Homer to record whatever feat he was expected to accomplish for the G.o.ddess.

He had a.s.sumed that the event was recent, but next day Nnanji informed him that the same story had come around two years before, and that the first version had been much better told. He demonstrated by reciting verbatim about a hundred lines of the earlier work. To avoid argument, Wallie agreed with this a.s.sessment; he could not have quoted one couplet of the poem he had heard the previous night.

So the days went, but the deeper conflict remained unresolved. Sooner or later Wallie must move and he could not see how. Swordsmen's Day was approaching, with Wallie scheduled to play a major part in the observance. How could he do that without the celebrated sword?

Nnanji seemed to have caught up with himself in fencing. He was still progressing, but at a more normal rate.

The Shonsu part of Wallie was feeling guilty about Nnanji, for now he was a sleeper, a man with ability above his rank. Sleepers were regarded with disfavor, and to create one was a sneaky trick.

Nnanji agreed. He would be happy to make his try for promotion. "I am a Fourth, now, my liege?"

"You're a Fourth by my standards," Wallie said. "And that means a Fifth by the guard's. Honorable Tarru could peel and core you, but anyone else I've seen, you could serve up as cat food."

Nnanji, of course, grinned. "Tomorrow, then?"

"Tomorrow," Wallie agreed.

Tomorrow...

*5*

Wallie wore his boots for the first time in public the next morning, in honor of the expected promotion. Yet, as he sat at breakfast with his back to the wall as usual, he looked around the hall uneasily. He had watched almost all the Fifths fence at one time or another, and not one of them was any better than Nnanji was now. Tarru was going to receive a considerable shock when he realized that he was opposing not only the best swordsman in the valley, but also possibly the third best. That realization might spur him to some dangerous rashness. Wallie was having second thoughts about pulling the covers off his sleeper.

Then the issue was forced anyway.

"I am Janghiuki, swordsman of the third rank..." said the caller across the table. He was a young Third, a contemporary of Nnanji's, short and skinny and eager, but nervous at introducing himself to a Seventh.

"I am Shonsu, swordsman..." The formalities were a nuisance in that Wallie never seemed to be able to stay seated for very long in public, but the guard did not use them among themselves, so they were also an important reminder that he was a guest, and hence sacrosanct.

"May I have the honor..." Janghiuki said, and presented his companion, a First by the official name of Ephorinzu. Wallie had noticed him before. Nnanji referred to him as Ears, for two obvious reasons, and so, probably, did everyone else. He was a large, resentful-looking man, absurdly old to be a First, probably older than Shonsu, and certainly older than his fresh-faced mentor.

"And may I have the honor..." Now Wallie had to present Nnanji to Janghiuki, who had known him for years.

"My Lord," the Third said, getting down to business, "my protege is a candidate for promotion to the rank of Second and he has expressed a wish that Apprentice Nnanji might consent to be one of those who examine him in swordsmans.h.i.+p."

Wallie had already guessed. The swordsmen talked fencing like bankers talk money, and Nnanji's secret progress must be a great source of curiosity to them. He knew that Nnanji got asked, and made noncommittal replies, but Nnanji's face was as transparent as air.

"Sit down a moment, Swordsman Janghiuki," he said, and seated himself. "Now, I have some advice. If you are truly anxious to see your protege promoted, then ask elsewhere. It so happens that Apprentice Nnanji is planning to seek advancement himself this morning. If, on the other hand, you have been instructed to seek this match so that his abilities can be a.s.sessed by certain other people, then I am sure that he will be happy to oblige Novice Ephorinzu. But I warn you, Nnanji will shred him."

The unfortunate Janghiuki turned crimson and squirmed and did not know what to say. "My protege is well above average in fencing for his rank, my lord," he managed at last.

If Wallie had still had any doubts that most of the guard was now bound by the third oath, then this incident would have removed them. The kid had his orders. He was being forced to sacrifice his protege's best interests and he was unhappy about the implications for his own honor.

So Wallie agreed that he would instruct his va.s.sal to meet with the novice after breakfast and sadly watched the two men depart. He turned to the amused Nnanji, who was busy again with his stewed horsemeat and black bread.

"Novice Ears has trouble remembering sutras?"

"On bad days he can't remember his name, either," Nnanji said scornfully, chewing. "He's about a Third with metal, though." He frowned. "This is his ninth attempt, I think, but his last one was on Fletchers' Day last year, so he's not due to try again yet." The famous memory at work.

"No, this is a put-up," Wallie said. "Tarru will be watching, never fear. You've got him worried, va.s.sal!"

Nnanji was flattered. "Shall I play cripple, then, my liege?" he asked.

Wallie shook his head. "You wouldn't fool Tarru. Better to be as quick as you can and not give him time to judge you -- a fast win can always be mere luck. But we were going to promote you, too, so it doesn't matter now anyway. Who do you fancy in the duckpond?"

"Them!" Nnanji said firmly, nodding at Gorramini and Ghaniri across the room.

"I don't think you can have them, I'm afraid," Wallie said. "They have no mentors -- I should have to ask them personally and I'm d.a.m.ned if I will. They would only refuse. And as a guest you can't challenge another guest. Sorry, Nnanji, but you'll have to pick two other victims."

Grumpily Nnanji suggested two Fourths, then admitted that they were probably the best two of their rank. Most candidates naturally chose easy marks.

"Let's leave it for the moment," Wallie said, having had an idea. "Box Ears as fast as you can, then maybe I can talk Tarru into something for you." Nnanji was not the only one with a score to settle.

Promotions were matters of great interest, and all the swordsmen not on duty had gathered in the fencing area. Mostly they stood in a circle around the match, but some were on the platform, and a couple of Firsts had climbed onto the whipping post. At the far side of the parade ground the morning sacrifices were emerging from the jail, and Wallie hastily turned his back on that activity. The new roof was completed and resplendent, and the victims no longer need be dragged out screaming, crippled by complete immobility, but he still hated the thought of that jail and the primitive culture it represented.

In the center of the ring of swordsmen stood Ears and a very young and worried Second, presumably the worst fencer of his rank. It was almost an insult to be asked to examine, which was why requests were made to mentors whenever possible. This one's ordeal did not last long. Ears won the best of three in two very fast points. The junior slunk away, scalded by hisses from the crowd.

Wallie stayed back, watching easily over the circle of onlookers. Tarru and Trasingji were the judges and now they called for the second examiner. A slim, tall Second stepped forward, foil in hand, a red ponytail waving behind his mask. Tarru's eyes sought out Wallie briefly and then looked away.

"Fence!" said Tarru.

Nnanji lunged. "Hit!" he called.

The judges agreed in surprise.

"Fence!"

"Hit!" Nnanji said again, and turned on his heel. Wallie could not have won faster himself.

Roaring in fury. Ears flung his foil to the ground -- another year to wait before he could try again, and he had lost in the fencing, which he must have expected to win, not in the sutra tests that he found difficult.

There were no cheers, no boos. The swordsmen knew how Nnanji of the Second had fenced two weeks ago. They turned to stare at the Seventh who had worked this miracle. Wallie stalked forward, enjoying the sensation he had caused.

"While we are here, Honorable Tarru," he said, "I have a protege, Apprentice Nnanji, who would also like to try for promotion. He has expressed a choice, but I need an interpretation from you."

Tarru frowned. The onlookers registered surprise, for there was nothing ambiguous about the rules for promotion.

"I defer to your rank on interpretations, my lord," Tarru said cautiously.

"But you are host," Wallie said innocently, "and this concerns a matter between guests." All eyes swung to Ghaniri and Gorramini, standing nearby. "Would you take it as a breach of the rules of hospitality if he were to make the minor challenge to other guests?"

Suspicion floated around Tarru like a swarm of gnats. "Promotions do not need challenges, my lord!"

Wallie smiled disarmingly -- he had been practicing with Shonsu's face before a mirror. "No, but he will be jumping two ranks, which is unusual, and he is reluctant to ask the men in question. There is wood on the hearth, you understand."

Tarru understood very well. He seemed to look for a trap and not find one. If he had set up Ears in order to evaluate Nnanji, then here was the opportunity he wanted. He shrugged. "As the minor challenge allows the choice of foils, I do not think that it violates hospitality," he agreed. A jubilant Nnanji marched over to Ghaniri, who happened to be closest.

Ghaniri's bruiser face darkened with anger -- a Second challenging a Fourth was asking for as much trouble as the Fourth could deliver. Tarru and Trasingji graciously consented to be judges again.

The two men faced off, then took each other's foils cautiously upon the signal. They lunged and parried a couple of times. Then Ghaniri tried a cut to the head, Nnanji parried, and landed a superb riposte on his opponent's ribs.

"Hit!" he said. The judges agreed.

Now even Tarru sent Wallie a glance that conceded the swordsmans.h.i.+p. Nnanji was making Ghaniri look as easy as Ears.

The second point took much longer, but Wallie saw right away that Nnanji was holding back. Tarru could possibly tell, although he did not know Nnanji's style, but most of the other onlookers were probably deceived. Nnanji, having satisfied himself that he was the better man, was perhaps worried that he might somehow be cheated out of his second victim if he beat the first too easily. Or perhaps he was just enjoying himself. Then, after a few minutes of stamping and clas.h.i.+ng metal and sweating and panting, he moved in again.

"Hit!" he said triumphantly, lowering his foil.

"No hit!" Tarru snapped.

It was a flagrant miscall; Ghaniri's fingers were already rubbing the point of impact. Nnanji's face was invisible behind the mask, but he directed it rigidly toward Tarru as though sending him a fierce glare.

"No hit!" Trasingji agreed reluctantly.

"Fence!" Tarru called.

Nnanji streaked. His foil struck the metal rim of Ghaniri's mask with a loud crack. "Hit this time?" he shouted, and even Tarru could not deny that crack.