Neq the Sword (12 page)

"You come to challenge me?" Tyl demanded incredulously. "Have you forgotten the code of empire: the sub-chiefs of the Weaponless may not war against each other?"

"They may not war for mastery," Neq answered. "No, I have not forgotten. But the empire is dead, and so are its conventions."

"It is not dead until we know the Weaponless is dead--and he is a difficult man to kill, as you would know had you ever met him in the circle. And the circle code is not dead where my tribe travels."

"It is dead wherever your tribe departs, however." But Neq approved the fine order Tyl maintained. "I did not say I came to challenge you with weapon, for I may not use my sword on this mission. Were any man to question my competence in the circle, I should be glad to show him my blade--but not for mastery, not for death, only for demonstration, no blood shed. I challenge you only to do a service for me, and perhaps for the nomad society."

Tyl smiled. "I would do you a service without inducement in the circle, however circumspectly hinted, for we were comrades in better days. And I would aid the nomad society if I only knew how. What is it you wish?"

"Go to the crazies."

Tyl laughed.

"Nevertheless," Neq said, remembering how Sol had reacted to disbelief, so many years ago. More than half Neq's life had passed since his conquest by Sol of All Weapons.

Tyl lookeu at him more closely, responsive to the tone. "I have heard--this is merely rumor--that you were injured in a conflict with outlaws."

"Many times."

"The first time. That they overcame you by means of the advantage of fifty men and a gun, and cut off your hands."

Neq glanced down at his cloth-wrapped extremities, nodding.

"And that you achieved some semblance of vengeance... nevertheless."

"They slew my wife."

"And she was a crazy?"

"She was."

"Yet now you espouse another crazy cause?"

Neq's sword-arm twitched under the cloth. "Do you slight my wife?"

"By no means," Tyl said quickly. "I merely remark that you have had adventures I have not, and must have strong motive for your mission."

Neq shrugged.

"I will go to the crazies," Tyl said. "If I do not find reason to stay, I will return to my tribe."

"That suffices."

"Any other favor I can do you?" Tyl inquired dryly.

"If you can tell me where the Weaponless might be."

Tyl controlled his surprise. "He has been absent five years. I doubt he resides within the crazy demesnes."

"His wife, then."

"She remains my guest. I will take you to her."

"I thank you."

Tyl stood, a fair, rather handsome man, a leader. "Now that our business is done, come with me to the circle. I would show my men swordsmanship of the old style. No blood, no terms."

It was Neq's turn to smile. On such basis he could enter the circle. It had been long since he had sworded for fun, following the rules of empire.

And it was a pleasure. Whether Tyl remained his superior no one could say, for Neq's technique had necessarily changed, and they were not fighting in earnest. But Tyl's art was beautiful, rivaling that of Sol of All Weapons in the old days, and the display the two of them put on left the more recent members of the tribe gaping. Feint and counterfeint; thrust and parry; offense and defense, with the sunlight flashing, flashing, flashing from living blades and the melody of combat resounding to the welkin.

When they finished, panting, the tribesmen remained seated around the circle, rows and rings of armed men, silent. "I have told you of Sol," Tyl said to them. "And of Tor, of Neq. Now you have seen Neq, though his hands are gone. Such was our empire."

And Neq felt a glow he had not experienced in years, for Tyl was giving him public compliment. Suddenly he longed for the empire again, for the good things it had brought. And his determination to complete his mission despite the barriers the crazies were erecting was doubled.

Sola had aged. Neq remembered her as a rare beauty, truculent but gifted with phenomenal sex appeal, fit for a single man to dream about. Now her face was lined, her body bent. Her long dark hair no longer flowed, it straggled. It was hard to believe that she was only two or three years older than he.

"This is Neq the Sword," Tyl said to her, and departed.

"I would not have recognized you," Sola said. "You look old. Yet you are younger than I. Where is the shy young warrior with the magic sword and the golden voice?"

To each his own perspective! "Does the Weaponless live?"

"I fear he does not. But he would not return to me, regardless."

Neq was surprised. "To whom, then?"

"His other wife. She of the underworld."

His interest intensified. "You know of Helicon?"

"I know my husband laid siege to the mountain, because she was there. She has his bracelet and his name."

"She lives?"

"I do not know. Do any live--who were there when the fire came?"

"Yes," he said. Then, quickly: "Or so it is rumored."

She was on the slip immediately. Sola had never been stupid; she had taught the warriors counting and figuring. "If any live, she lives. I know it. Seek her out, tell her I would meet her. Ask her--ask her if my child--"

Neq waited, but she only cried silently.

"You must go to the crazies," he said finally.

"Why not? I have nothing to live for."

"This woman of the Weaponless--what name does she bear?"

"His old name. Sos. The one I would have had, had I not been a foolish girl blinded by power. By the time he was mine, he was not mine, and he was nameless."

"So she would be Sosa. She would know if the Weaponless lives?"

"She is with him if he lives. But my child--ask her--"

Neq made a connection. "Your child by Sol? Who went with him to the mountain?"

"More or less," she answered.

He thought of the skeletons he had swept from the underground halls. A number had been small--children and babies. Yet there had been several exit passages such as the one Dick the Surgeon had used. There had been some unburned caverns as well as the little wagon-tunnels to scattered depots. Some adults had escaped, perhaps many; no one knew how large Helicon's population had been. Some children could have....

"I have one more name for you," Sola said. "Var--Var the Stick."

Neq had some vague recollection of such a warrior, a helper to the Weaponless who had disappeared at the same time. "He will know where to find the Weaponless?"

"He must know," she said fervently. "He was the protege of my husband, and sterile like him."

Neq wondered how she could know such a thing. But he remembered the rumors about this woman, and how she had gone to Sos's tent in the badlands camp, and wondered again. "I will seek Sosa," he said. "And Var the Stick."

"And my child--Soli. She would be thirteen now, almost fourteen. Dark-haired. And--" She hesitated. "You remember the way I used to be?"

"Yes." Her figure had stimulated him many times, fifteen years ago.

"She favors me, I think."

Soli would be a beauty, then. Neq nodded. "I will send them all to the crazies--if they live."

"I will wait there." And for some reason she was crying. Perhaps it was the weakness of an old woman who knew she would never see her husband or her daughter again; who knew that their bones lay charred and buried near the mountain of death.

Dick the Surgeon located several of the strangely-named fugitives in the next few months. Men like John and Charles and Robert, men old and feeble and obviously unused to the way of the nomads despite their recent years among them. Some were refugees from Helicon; others seemed to be crazies, cut off by the breakdown of civilization. Dick talked to them, and glimmers of hope brightened their forlorn faces and they agreed to come with Neq--to Neq's suppressed disgust. Now he had to forage for them, and guard them against outlaws, for they were almost unable to do for themselves and could not make the trek to Dr. Jones alone. A man with no hands taking care of men with no gumption!

But these creatures had survived because they had talents certain tribes wanted--literary, hand skills, knowledge of guns. Most of the names on his list seemed not to have survived; no doubt they belonged to bones he had swept in Helicon.

When he could, he inquired about his other names: Var, Sosa, Soli. But there was no memory of these among the nomads--not since the destruction of Helicon.

Finally he brought his small group back to the crazy building. Almost a year had passed.

* * *

"You are still determined to rebuild Helicon?" Dr. Jones inquired.

"Yes." He did not add in spite of you.

"You did not locate all the persons listed."

"I have not finished. I merely deliver these to you, who could not deliver themselves. Many of the rest are dead. You saw Tyl and Sola?"

"They are here."

So Tyl had remained! What had the crazy said to him?

"I have not found the Weaponless--but now I search for his underground wife, Sosa, and for Sola's child, and for Var the Stick. These may help me to locate him--or his cairn."

"Interesting you should mention those names," Dr. Jones murmured. "You are illiterate, as I recall."

"I am a warrior."

"The two abilities--reading and fighting--are not necessarily mutually exclusive. Some warriors are literate. But you have no notion of the content of the papers you delivered to us?"

"None."

"Let me read some excerpts to you, then." And the old crazy brought a similar sheaf up from the bowels of his desk.

AUGUST 4, B118--The siege has abated, but the mood is ominous. Bob has arranged some kind of contest of champions, but has as yet selected no man to represent Helicon. We are not geared for this nomad circle-combat; it is folly. We have in Sol the Nomad one of the most formidable primitive fighters of the age, but I know he will not take up weapon against his own kind. He hates it here; he really did come to die, and he resents what we did to him: making him live because we made his daughter live. Sosa has kept him pacified somehow; I don't know how that marvelous woman does it. Sol's daughter is his life.

But I ramble too much about other people's business, as an old bookworm will. Surely I have concerns of my own: this premonition that this is the terminus, the extinction of the life we have known, and perhaps of civilization itself....

"The mountain!" Neq exclaimed. "The siege of Helicon!"

"These notes are by Jim the Librarian--a literate and sensitive man."

"He is on my list! A man of the underworld!" "Yes, of course. But it will not be necessary to look for him further."

"To rebuild!" Neq cried, comprehending what should have been obvious all along. "The men who knowl"

"Certainly. Obviously nomads could not rebuild the foreign technology of Helicon unassisted, however noble their motives. But a nucleus of such survivors, together with the most capable nomads and, er, crazies, under a strong, sincere leader--it can be done, we suspect."

Dr. Jones looked at him with compassion. "I hope you will not be disappointed that we do not deem you fit to lead the actual restoration. What you are attempting is noble, and you shall certainly receive due credit for your dedication and effort; but the complexities of technology and discipline--"

"No, you are right," Neq said with mixed emotions. He was disappointed, but also relieved. "I never thought to stay in Helicon myself. I saw the carnage--only crazies could like it there, away from the sun, the trees--" As he spoke he realized why Tyl had been on the list. They needed strong and competent leadership, and Tyl was that. He had been second in command to the Weaponless, and before that to Sol of All Weapons. He had as much experience in managing men as any nomad, and he was a top warrior who never let discipline slide. The underworld would be a kind of empire.

"I'm glad you understand. Training and temperament are paramount. In a pressure situation where swords and clubs are not the answer--"

"But the Weaponless--he destroyed Helicon! Why should he help it now?" Yet obviously Dr. Jones wasn't depending entirely on the Weaponless. He was grooming Tyl as an alternate.

"Sos the Weaponless was of Helicon. Dr. Abraham made him what he was, on the unfortunate directive of their leader." Dr. Jones cogitated for a moment. "Dr. Abraham was not aware of the polities leading to the disaster. He was sleeping when the fire started, and dazed when he escaped. He supposed the nomads had done it."

"Hadn't they?" Leading question!

"Not directly. Here is Jim's final entry."

AUGUST 8, B118--How can I express the horror I feel? Soli was my child too, in the sense that I taught her to read and I loved her as my own. Almost daily she came to the library, an absolutely charming little girl--indeed, I believe she divided her time almost evenly between my books and her father's weapons. Yet now--

I blame myself. She came to me in tears just three days ago with a story I refused to credit: that Bob intended to murder both Sol and Sosa, her Helicon parents, if she did not go on a dangerous mission outside. She had been sworn to secrecy, she claimed, lest they be slain regardless--but she had to tell someone, and I agreed to keep her confidence, thinking it a fantasy of a juvenile mind. I advised her that she had misunderstood, that Bob had the best interest of Helicon at heart, and had only meant that her parents' lives might be endangered, as we are all endangered, by this continuing nomad siege. I recommended that she agree to the secret mission, for surely (if it were not a product of her own lively imagination) it was merely a device to get her safely from the scene of action before another crisis occurred. 'We value our children most of all,' I informed her fatuously.

Now she is dead, and I deplore my hopeless naivete. Bob sent her to Mt. Muse, to engage in physical combat with the nomad champion, and of course the brute killed her. The nomads are celebrating; we can overhear their foul carousing. 'Var the Stick!' they cry--but I don't believe they realize that their precious barbarian champion, shielded from their view on the flattop mesa a dozen miles south of here--was pitted against an eight year old girl.

Confound the promise of secrecy I made! I have told Sosa what Soli told me. I had to, for Sosa is more the mother of that dear girl than her nomad dam could ever have been. Sosa would have learned of it soon enough, less sympathetically. I am sure she will relay it to Sol, and I do not speculate what will develop now. Were I a warrior-type in such a situation I am sure I would not be gentle. But I am only a futile old man.

I am taking poison.

There was a pause.

"Var the Stick--he was the nomad champion? He killed Sol's child?"

"So it would appear. If you were Sol--"

"I am a warrior-type! I would have put Var's head on a spike in the forest for all to see. And Bob's. And all others responsible. And--"

Dr. Jones steepled his hands in a way he had. "And...?"

"And accomplished nothing," Neq said slowly. "Vengeance is not the answer. It is only vengeance. Only more sorrow."

Dr. Jones nodded. "I believe you are in a position to comprehend Sol's motives, then and later. He was a thorough nomad, despite his residence in Helicon for those years. Would he have ignited the incendiary stores there?"

"I don't know about that," Neq said, not understanding one of the words. "But I think there was gasoline down there. And other stuff that would burn. I think he fired it all. In the name of vengeance. Those bodies were scorched!" And more than scorched.

"And later--would he have returned?"

"To view the destruction, after he knew it had accomplished nothing? No, he would not return...."

"Yes. Yet if we were to rebuild Helicon, how could we be certain that such a thing would not happen again?"

"I do not know," Neq said honestly.

"Go and find out," Dr. Jones said.

"But you agreed to help if I brought you these people!"

"And we shall. But of what use is it to rebuild Helicon if it remains liable to destruction by the forces that brought it down before? The human forces."

Neq had no answer for that.

"Forget the remaining names on the list," Dr. Jones said kindly. "The nucleus is almost sufficient now. Look instead for Sol and Sosa and Var, should he somehow have survived Sol's quest for vengeance. Learn whether Sos the Weaponless was more directly involved; perhaps his disappearance is relevant. Ascertain the truth--and suggest how we may prevent any conceivable recurrence. Only then will we be assured that our endeavor is secure."

CHAPTER TWELVE

The six year old spoor of both Var the Stick and Sosa had to begin at Helicon. The one had been with the nomads, the other with the underworld. Both had vanished in that final, devastating encounter. Probably both were dead--but then his quest for information was dead, too. Sol and the Weaponless had much better chances of survival--but neither would have been party to the heart of Helicon's failure: the inner workings of Bob's mind. For had Bob not sent an innocent child to her death, both he and Helicon might have weathered the siege. The underworld defenses were certainly formidable enough. Why had Bob, by all accounts a capable leader, erred so brutally and calamitously? Would the next leader err the same way? There was the key.

Helicon was as he had left it: tight and clean. He re-explored its several exits, pondering whether a woman might have used one to escape. Certainly she might! To this extent Sola's intuition must be correct: Sosa, with forewarning of Sol's intent, was the most likely of all the underworlders to have escaped cleanly. Sol could have been trapped in his own conflagration--and the Weaponless, outside, could well have entered Helicon in a desperate attempt to find Sosa... and failed, and died.

He scouted the exterior again, and made a trek to Mt. Muse, to see where a warrior might have gone after slaying a child. But he could not climb to the mesa--and anyway, Var had returned to the nomad camp to be feted for his barbarism. There was no answer there. Tyl himself had seen Var after the "combat of champions" but had only known that Var disappeared shortly thereafter, and then the Weaponless. Neither had given any advance hint of what was to happen. There had been no evidence of foul play.

There were outlaw tribesmen w this region. Some Neq and Dick had encountered before; no one had known of Var or Sosa. Of course there was considerable turnover here, for the outlaws warred constantly with one another in this land of no honor, and few lived long.

The locals were not eager to answer more questions. Neq's uncovered sword convinced them. Still he learned nothing.

He moved out, making great circles around Helicon, searching out men and tribes he had not met before. Many balked--but as the blood dripped from his sword, his questions were answered. Negatively. Only six years had passed, but many of these men did not know what he meant by "Helicon."