The Destiny of the Sword (18 page)

How?

He needed to do something dramatic and he could not demand a miracle from the gods. But heroes were allowed to be lucky. Already he had an idea of what was going to be needed, and luck would certainly be a vital ingredient.

The swordsmen of the tryst and their natural distrust of him were one problem. Boariyi himself was another. The god had

hinted that there was one other swordsman who might be as good as Shonsu—who else but Boariyi? That had been an obvious warning, for if equals meet, and one is out of practice while the other is not, who will win?

Right first time.

That meant practice, and practice meant a partner. Nnanji was not good enough. But—Wallie now realized—marching right behind him was a Sixth who could sometimes beat Tivanixi himself. The castellan had left Wallie waiting a bladder,testing long time beside the rear door while he went off to fetch Fiendori. That might mean that friend Fiendori had been well briefed, might it not?

By the time Wallie had got this far in his thoughts, he had come to the wide and windy plaza where the River shone through a haze of masts and rigging mat curved away into the distance in bom directions. Sapphire was visible a short way downstream. He gestured for Fiendori to move up beside him.

He was a pleasant,seeming fellow, not tall, but thick and broad, and he had a big, friendly grin. He moved and walked with the same athletic grace as his mentor.

Wallie opened the conversation by asking how he had come to Casr, and when. He was told that Lord Tivanixi’s band of frees, arriving at Quo, had heard that mere was a lodge at Casr and had decided to go there in the hope of picking up a promising junior or two. They had ridden in about three days after Shonsu had left, to find four Firsts and two Seconds attempting to maintain order, with a conspicuous lack of success.

“They were looting house to house by mat time, my lord,” Fiendori said with disgust, but without explaining who “they” were. “We rolled a few heads across this avenue, here, my lord, and soon stopped that!”

Clearly, in Fiendori’s eyes Lord Tivanixi was the perfect swordsman, a hero in the great tradition, a man who could do no wrong. Tivanixi had cleaned up the town and men stayed on, waiting for Shonsu to return. The weeks had rolled by, and the rumors of disaster had sifted back, and—without any specific announcement or decision, more or less by default—Tivanixi had become castellan in Shonsu’s place. His men had no complaint.

Whatever duty the gods sent and the boss accepted was fine by them.

“I don’t know if the castellan told you, your honor,” Wallie said, “but I need some practice. I have been ship,bound for many weeks.”

The big, loose grin flashed. “He told me to put myself at your disposal, if
 
could be of any help to your lordship. Subject to an emergency arising where he might need me, that is.”

Good for Tivanixi! He had been ‘way out ahead. Wallie expressed his gratitude. “Then we shall need to find somewhere with space,” he said, “and privacy! He spoke highly of your skills. Did he mention my sword to you?”

“Yes, my lord.” Fiendori glanced up at the hilt. “A great honor, but also a great burden, if I may say so.”

Wallie suspected that this Sixth was a bom follower and probably not in the Nobel league for original thinking, but that remark sounded like a tactful reference to the need for keeping out of Boariyi’s way, so Wallie did not labor the point. He was about to ask if his companion knew of any convenient courtyard that might be rented, preferably close to the docks, when conversation was ended by the sight of a disturbance in progress.

Two slaves were in trouble on the Sapphire’s gangplank. Between them was a sedan chair. The slave at the rear was taking most of the weight, because of the tilt of the plank, and was starting to buckle. The slave at the front was in greater difficulty, because he was facing Tomiyano, and there was no power in the World that was going to get that sedan chair on that deck. The slave, however, had his orders and a mere Third was seemingly not enough to change them. An irresistible enforcement had met an immovable objector.

A swordsman of the Seventh, however, was different. Wallie ordered the rear slave to start backing, and the man at the front had no choice but to follow. The chair returned to the dock and

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the slaves set it down. Wallie waved cheerfully at Tomiyano’s

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glare. Then he stepped forward and pulled aside the curtain.

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As he had expected, Honakura was sitting inside, grinning

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toothlessly.

“I thought that earthquake voice must be yours, my lord.” He chuckled. “You have been to the lodge.” That was not a question;

Honakura could pull information out of cobblestones. “How is Lord Boariyi?”

“Better, I’m afraid,” said Wallie. “How is the holy Lord Ka,dywinsi?”

“Senile!” whispered the old man. “But I shall help him.” Then he accepted a helping hand to disembark.

The black garb of a Nameless One had gone. He stepped out, still tiny and bald and toothless, but with the seven wavy lines now uncovered on his forehead, wearing a gown of sky,blue satin shimmering with that same holy pattern. His face was a dangerous gray shade and he looked very weary, but all his old authority had returned, the presence that could face down swordsmen of any rank. Wallie backed up and flashed the seventh sword in the greeting to an equal, and the old man responded in his slurred voice. Then Willie presented the Honorable Fiendori of the Sixth, who was impressed.

Wallie had stopped distrusting coincidences a long time ago. He edged Honakura and Fiendori slightly away from the troop of swordsmen, while passing pedestrians made a wide and wary circuit around them. “Holy one,” he explained, “his honor and I were just debating where we might find a convenient and private place to do some fencing. Roomy, you understand, and not subject to unexpected intruders.”

Honakura looked up at him with amusement. “I was asked to inform you that the priests of Casr will be more than grateful for an opportunity to help Her champion in any way they can be of service.” ‘
  
Look out, Boariyi!

“There we are, then,” Wallie told Fiendori. ‘Today is almost gone—meet us at the temple in the morning. I assume mat we can move Sapphire there?” he asked the old man.

“I gather that the water is shallow, my lord, but you can anchor offshore and come hi by dinghy. Mistress Brota will be fretting about dock fees soon.”

Wallie laughed and agreed. He dismissed his escort and conducted the priest up the gangplank.

The transformation had been noted, and the rail was lined with startled faces. Tomiyano was so overcome that he volunteered the salute to a superior and babbled that his ship would be honored to

receive such a visitor. The rest of the sailors were staring with open mouths, as if an egg in the ship’s larder had suddenly hatched a dragon. This was the old man who had cleaned pots in their galley? They had all guessed that he was a priest, but not a Seventh. A Seventh’s prestige was so great in their culture that none of mem found it strange when Wallie solemnly presented everyone old enough to salute. Each saluted reverently and received the response. That done, there was a bewildered pause. Honakura looked around at men, faces, tottered across to sit on his favorite fire bucket, and started to laugh. Then they all laughed.

The riverfront plaza was beginning to empty as evening approached, the sky blushing in the west and even the wind seeming inclined to stop work for the day. Wallie now could attend to mat stein of ale he had promised himself earlier. He took some beer down to the two slaves watting on the dock—to their stunned amazement—and then settled himself on a hatch cover, while Sapphire’s crew garnered around. Then he recounted the events at the lodge.

“What happens now, great leader?” Tomiyano demanded from the other hatch cover.

“Possibly we get boarded,” Wallie said. “If a very tall Seventh appears, don’t try your tongue on him—he’ll cut it out. Leave him to me, and the rest of you scamper.” There was, after all, just a chance that Boariyi, once he learned the significance of the seventh sword, would come foaming down to the dock. Wallie could handle him easily on the ship. Zoariyi might not know that mere were two kinds of swordsmanship in the World. Even if he did, his nephew might not heed his warnings.

“And apart from that?” the captain persisted.

Wallie was wondering where Nnanji and the others had got to—they should have arrived by now—but he started to explain between mouthfuls of beer and peanuts.

‘Two problems. The popular favorite to win the leadership is mis human giraffe called Boariyi. I’m told he is better than me.”

“Bilge!” Brota muttered loyally.

“Maybe not! He has an arm like your bowsprit. So I have to get in some practice. Soon! The other problem is that the swordsmen don’t trust me. The other Shonsu lost an army. They think I

might lose another. They know about my screw,up at Aus, too. So I can’t just win the leadership by simple combat, as Boariyi or the castellan could. But I’d be the only leader with a hope of averting disaster. The sorcerers are evil and the swordsmen are stupid! You and I—if you’re still with me—are going to prevent a massacre.”

Tomiyano looked skeptical. “How?”

“Good question. We must do something dramatic, I think. Anyone got any ideas?”

“Yes,” the captain said. “You do. Tell us.”

WaJlie smiled at their faith—or was it that these shrewd traders could read his face? “No more voyages to the left bank for Sapphire,” he said. “But there will be danger—this is war. Are you still with me?”

They were still with him, every one of them, from ancient old Una, who was possibly as old as Honakura, down to the wide,eyed children. He thanked mem sincerely, more moved man he wanted to show. Then he eyed the old man. “How much help can we have from the priests, holy one?”

“Whatever you want,” Honakura said complacently.

If Honakura could deliver the temple, men Boariyi had hit the iceberg and was listing already. Wallie pondered in silence for a while, but then decided his harebrained plan was the only one he was going to come up with. He took a deep breath and began. “I think I have jobs for all of you, then. You, Cap’n, buy me a ship.”

Tomiyano was surprised. “Big or small? What rig?”

Wallie shrugged. “Something that will carry eight or ten, I suppose. As fast as possible. Large enough to stand up in below,decks.”

Sailors anywhere enjoy evaluating boats. Tomiyano rose and peered along the front, then at the scattering of vessels anchored out in the River. “Like that? How about that?”

“Whatever you can get,” Wallie said. “How much must I

pay?”

‘Two or three thousand.”

Wallie looked at Brota beside him and was almost turned to ice by the look in her eye. She was afraid that he was going to ask for Donations to a Good Cause. She probably had several

times that much hidden away somewhere in Sapphire, the profits of thirty years’ trading.

He smiled innocently. “That’s all right, then.”

She frowned even more and shot a glance at her son.

Tomiyano grunted. “So you do have more of them!”

Wallie reached in his money pouch and brought out a handful of blue fire. “I do. Would it have mattered, had you known?”

The captain showed his teeth in a fierce grin. “Possibly! I was ready to do it for your hairclip alone; I couldn’t think what we’d do with the sword. She wouldn’t let me... but she would have done, if she’d known about those.”

He was joking, but he might not be lying—bis mother was glaring at him.

Wallie laughed and put the gems back. “Then I am grateful to you, mistress! Perhaps you and Katanji could sell some of these for me, when we know how much we’ll need?”

“One moment, my lord,” said Honakura. “I assume that the god gave you those jewels?”

Wallie nodded.

“Then they are rather special. The temple might well be interested in purchasing them.”

“Thank you, holy one.” Wallie spoke solemnly, but he was grinning inside. The old rascal was saying that he would raid the temple treasury for him. “Brota, we shall need silk. I suppose we can buy some silk in this city? Good,quality silk?”

“Very good silk,” Brota agreed cautiously.

“Orange would be best, of course. What could we use to waterproof it, do you think? Some sort of wax? Beeswax?”

“Shoemakers’ wax, perhaps,” she replied.

“Lina?” Wallie said. “Is that copper pot still in the galley? The one with the coil on it, which I used when I showed you how the sorcerers ensorcel wine?”

The low sun was in Una’s eyes; she shaded them with a hand that was almost transparent as she peered across the deck at him. “It was getting in my way, nasty thing. It’s down in the bilge somewhere.”

Tomiyano was turning pink and trying not to explode. Honakura was showing his gums and trying not to laugh.