Neq the Sword (2 page)

Before the meal was served, a third man arrived. He was a large warrior, paunchy, gruff, with many scars. "I am Mok the Star," he said.

"Sol of All Weapons."

"Neq the Sword."

The girl said nothing; it was not her place. She made another setting at the table.

"I contest for mastery," Sol said.

"You have a tribe? This boy and who else?"

"Not Neq. My tribe is training in the badlands."

"The badlands!" Mok's surprise matched Neq's own.

"No one goes there!"

"Nevertheless," Sol said.

"The kill-spirits--"

"Do you question my word?" Sol demanded.

Mok bridled at the tone. "Everyone knows--"

"I have to agree," Neq said--and was immediately aware that he had spoken out of turn. This was not his quarrel.

"In the circle you challenge my word!" Sol said. He glanced at the rotating transparent door, noting that it was dark outside. "Tomorrow."

Mok and Neq exchanged glances. Both were stuck. "Tomorrow," Mok agreed. "For mastery." Then as an afterthought: "But you will see my weapon is not for games."

The girl smiled at Mok. He smiled back, stroking his bracelet. And that night Sol and Neq pulled down bunks from the wall on the east side, while Mok took the woman to the west side, putting his bracelet on her wrist.

Neq lay in the dark, listening, feeling guilty for it. But he couldn't really tell anything from the sounds.

Sol had a barrow filled with weapons. "What would you face in the circle?" he asked Mok.

"You really use them all? Let's have the star, then."

Sol brought out his ball and chain. Neq was fascinated. He had never seen a star in action, and had never heard of a star-star encounter in the circle. The weapon was unreliable but terrifying, as it could not be used defensively. Either the heavy spiked ball connected or it didn't, and the outcome of the battle depended on that. Serious injury was a probability, in this match,

The two men entered the circle on opposite sides, each whirling his deadly steel ball over his head so rapidly that the short chains were blurs. Now the stars were beautiful, flashing the sunlight in rings of fire as the men's torsos flexed rhythmically. The fight had to be short, for the outward pulling weight of the ball would rapidly tire the arm.

It was short. The two bright arcs intersected, the chains crossed, the balls spun about each other fiercely, striking sparks. Both Mok and Sol jumped as their chains yanked-- but it was Sol who hung on to his star. Mok's handle slipped from his grasp, and he was disarmed.

Neq realized that this was exactly what Sol had intended. He had deliberately engaged the other weapon, not trying for the man at all, and had jerked sharply the moment contact was made. Mok had expected the entanglement to interfere with both warriors, so that he could use his weight to advantage in the clinch. Sol's strategy and timing had been superior.

Or could it have been sheer luck?

"What would you face?" Sol asked Neq.

Already! Not the star, certainly! Was it courtesy or confidence the man showed? What to answer!

A sword or dagger in a skilled hand could hurt him severely, like Hig. The sticks were blunt, but the pair of them could rattle his brain. The club was blunt and slow, but a real mauler when it connected. The staff--

"The staff!" One piece, slow, no edges, safe.

Sol calmly brought out his staff.

They entered the circle and sparred. Neq felt guilty for his cowardice. A real warrior would have chosen to oppose his own weapon, so the threats were equal. The quarterstaff was safe, but hard to circumvent. Neq feinted--

When he came to, his head was throbbing. He was on a bunk in the hostel. The woman wearing Mok's bracelet-- Moka--was sponging his face.

Neq refrained from asking what had happened. Obviously he had been felled by a blow he had never seen. Could Mok have struck him from behind? No--that would have been a gross violation of the circle code, and there had been no evidence that either Sol or Mok were the type to practice or tolerate such dishonor. The staff must have passed his guard--

He touched his head. The welt reminded him. An astonishingly deft maneuver, the staff avoiding his sword as if it were fog, whipping in--ouch!

Well, he was a member of Sol's tribe now. The badlands tribe. If there were kill-spirits there, they hadn't hurt Sol much! On balance, it wasn't such a bad outcome. Nem had always said there were advantages to serving a strong leader. What a man lost in independence he gained in security. Provided he joined a good tribe.

Neq wasn't quite confident he had joined a good one, for there remained some doubt whether Sol was an excellent warrior or merely lucky. But Neq put the best face on it: would he have let himself be taken by a fluke?

He traveled with Mok, following instructions, while Sol continued in the opposite direction. Mok had reclaimed his bracelet after the second night, and Neq didn't question him. Maybe the man just didn't care to take a wife to the badlands, though Sol said the kill-spirits--he called them roents--had gone back beyond the camp. They were on the trail several days.

Sol's tribe, or at least the portion of it they joined, seemed to consist of about thirty men encamped in and about another hostel under the general eye of his wife Sola. She was a sultry beauty of about sixteen, inclined to sharpness when addressed and brooding silence at other times. But she wore her gold bracelet proudly.

For two weeks they tarried there, their numbers augmented by other converts Sol sent back. A number of men had families, so that the drain on the supplies of the hostel was considerable. They hunted with bow and arrow in the forest to supplement those waning rations, though twice the crazy van came to restock them.

The crazies were as funny in person as their name indicated: strangely garbed, unarmed, almost devoid of muscle, and ludicrously clean. Yet their truck was a monster, capable of crushing many warriors if misdirected. Why should they act like servants to the nomads, when they could so easily assume power? Some thought it was because the crazies were weak and foolish, but Neq doubted that it could be that simple.

Eventually Sol returned with another fifteen men, swelling the tribe to over fifty. Then the whole group marched to the badlands. Neq viewed the red crazy warners with alarm, knowing they marked the boundaries of the kill-spirits as surveyed by the crazy click boxes. But nothing happened.

A camp had been established in the wilderness beside a river, with a flooded trench around it. The leader of this camp was Tyl of Two Weapons; but the man who really ran it was Sos the Weaponless. Sos drilled the men mercilessly, setting up subtribes for each weapon and ranking each man according to his skill. Neq began as the bottom sworder of twenty, chagrined, but he prospered under the training and rose eventually to fourth of fifty. The camp was growing all the time, as Sol traveled and sent more warriors. There was no doubt of the tribe's power now; he had never seen such discipline.

Strange that it was all the doing of a man who would not fight in the circle himself. Sos obviously had an enormous store of information about combat, and he was no weakling physically. Yet he kept a stupid little bird on his shoulder, the ridicule of all the tribe, and obviously loved Sola without admitting it. Neq once saw her go to his tent in winter and stay there until dawn. The whole situation was incredible.

When spring came, the tribe was ready to move out as a unit, and Neq was a ranking member. He was eager for the promised conquest.

Only one thing marred his success: he had not yet had the' courage to offer his bracelet to a girl. He wanted to, but he was not yet fifteen, and looked thirteen, and a live naked woman was just too much for him to contemplate. The mistakes he might make!

Sometimes he dreamed of Sola. It wasn't that he loved her, or even liked her; it was that she was a lusciously constructed female who stayed in another man's tent though her husband was master of the tribe. Dishonor... but excruciatingly tantalizing! She was the kind to keep a secret....

That was one reason he had improved so much as a sworder: he spent almost all of his free time practicing, while others allowed themselves to be diverted by romantic concerns. They thought him dedicated, but he was tormented.

Some day--some day he would really be a man!

CHAPTER TWO

Neq prospered in battle, too, winning his matches easily. His first match was against the first sword of a smaller tribe. The other master had not wanted to fight, and Neq had been one of the carefully picked hecklers who taunted him into a commitment. His opponent in the circle was good, and Neq was so nervous he feared his weapon would quiver--but incredibly his intensive winter's training had made him better. Sos had drilled him until he was furious, not only against swords but against all other weapons, and had matched him in pairs with others to fight other pairs. It had been tedious, hard work, and since the practice sessions were never for blood he had only Sos's opinion to certify his actual skill. But that opinion was justified; as Neq saw the little crudities of the other man's technique he knew it was all true. Clumsy victories and confused losses were no longer Neq's lot. He really was a master sworder, not far behind Tyl himself, who was first.

Then, suddenly, Sos the Trainer left. It was an ironic question who mourned his departure more: Sol or Sola. Had Sol found out? But the tribe continued operating as Sos had organized it. Sola birthed a baby girl, though nine months before her husband had been away a great deal....

The tribe became so large through conquests that it had to be broken up into ten subtribes formed into an empire. One was under Sol and the others under his major lieutenants: Tyl of Two weapons, who had the finest warriors; Sav the Staff, who took over the badlands camp as a training area and was the other songsinger of the empire; Tor the Sword, with his great black beard... and, gratifying, Neq himself. Each subtribe went its own way, acquiring more warriors, but all were subject to Sol ultimately.

At first it was wonderful, for Neq's fondest dreams of glory had been exceeded. He was chief of a hundred and fifty warriors, which was more than most independent tribes boasted. He visited his family and showed off his status. His sister had married and moved away, but home-town doubters he gladly convinced. He packed half a dozen of them off to the badlands camp, and even demonstrated his skill against his father Nem, though not for blood or mastery. Neq was the finest sworder this area had ever seen, and it was good to have it known.

But in a year such things palled, for administrative duties kept him from practicing in the circle as much as he liked, and there seemed to be rivalries and enemies on every side. He decided that he was not, at heart, a leader. He was a fighter.

By the end of the second year he was heartily sick of it, but there seemed to be no way down the ladder. He longed just to run away by himself, meeting people honestly, without the barrier his present responsibility erected.

And--he still wanted a woman. He was sixteen now, more than man enough--but the very notion of offering his bracelet to a girl, any girl, filled him with dread. If one would ask him, make it clear she was amenable... but none did.

Neq suspected that he was the shyest man in all the empire--and for no reason. He could command men without qualm, he could meet any weapon with confidence, he could run a tribe of hundreds. But to put his bracelet on a woman... he wanted to, but he couldn't.

Then disaster came to the empire. A nameless, weaponless warrior appeared--one who entered the circle and defeated the empire's finest with his bare hands. It seemed impossible--but the Nameless first took Sav's tribe, breaking Sav's arm; then Tyl's tribe, shattering Tyl's knees; then Tor's--by killing Bog the Club, the one warrior even Sol had not beaten. And finally he brought Sol himself to the circle, and took all the empire and Sola too for his own, sending Sol to die with his girlchild at the mountain.

Neq's tribe had been ranging far from the scene of that action, and by the time he got there the issue had been settled and Sol was gone. There was nothing for him to do but go along with the new Master. Tyle remained second in command, acting in the name of the grotesque Weaponless conqueror, who seemed to have little interest 'in the routine affairs of empire. "Go where you will," Tyl advised Neq privately. "Battle where you will. But no more for mastery. Query your warriors and release any who wish to leave, asking no questions. The Nameless has so decreed."

"Why did he conquer, then?" Neq demanded, amazed.

Tyl only shrugged, disgusted. Neq knew Tyl much preferred Sol's way--but he was a man of honor to match his station, and would not act against the new Master.

So it came to pass. For six years the empire stagnated. Neq turned over his administrative duties to other men and took to wandering alone, incognito. Sometimes he fought in the circle--but his blinding skill with the sword made such encounters meaningless, and destroyed his alias. And still his bracelet had never left his wrist, though he dreamed of women, all women.

At the age of twenty-four, with a decade of nomadic brilliance behind him, Neq the Sword was over the hill. He had no present and no future, like the empire.

Then the Master invaded the mountain, using his own and Tyl's subtribes--and disappeared. Tyl returned with news that the mountain fortress had been gutted; that the men who went there in the future really would die, whatever had been the case in the past. But Tyl could not claim the leadership of the empire. No one had defeated the Weaponless. He might or might not return.

The chiefs met--Tyl, Neq, Sav, Tor and the others-- and formally suspended the empire, pending that return. Each subtribe would become a full tribe, but they would not fight each other.

Neq wanted only freedom, so he dissolved his own tribe completely. The top warriors immediately began forming their own tribelets and moving out. Neq, truly independent for the first time in his life, wandered alone again.

* * *

The third time he came to a lodge in a hostel and found it gutted and broken, Neq grew perplexed and angry. Who was doing this, and why? The hostels had always been sacrosanct, open for all travelers all the time. When one was destroyed, every person suffered. Too much of this would hurt the entire nomad society--that had supposedly been saved by the razing of the mountain underworld.