Seventh Sword - The Reluctant Swordsman Part 16

They chanted in alternation back and forth. The sutras were a revelation to Wallie. He had them all in his memory, but he had never learned them, and each came out fresh, as if he was hearing it for the first time. They were a mixed bag, from crude jingles to lengthy lists. Some short, some long, they covered a myriad of topics: technique, ritual, strategy, professional ethics, tactics, anatomy, first aid, logistics -- even personal hygiene. Many were dull and trite, but a few had the barbaric grandeur found in the best of preliterate narrative everywhere. Some were ba.n.a.l, others as obscure as Zen koans. Most contained a law, an anecdote, and a proverb. As Honakura had said, the stories helped the memory, but frequently the a.s.sociation of ideas was subtle and thought-provoking.

Nnanji was word-perfect in every one they tried, so Wallie chanted five eighteen, 'On Hostages.' Nnanji chanted it right back. Surprised, Wallie gave him two more and then had him go back to 'Hostages.' He made no errors. Wallie knew that preliterates could often perform astonis.h.i.+ng feats of memory, but Nnanji seemed phenomenal. Honakura had been correct: this was the hand of the G.o.ddess.

His protege was looking understandably smug. "All right, smarty," Wallie said. "Here's five eighty-two, 'On the Feeding of Horses.'" That was the longest, dullest, and least a.s.sociative of them all. He stumbled a couple of times himself before he got it right. Nnanji sat and watched his lips. Then he recited it back -- without the stumbles.

Wallie Smith had been taught to read and write. He was thus, by Nnanji's standards, a mental cripple. "You win!" he said, and Nnanji grinned. "If I went through all eleven hundred and forty-four of them, just once at one sitting, would you remember them all?"

Nnanji attempted to look humble. "I don't think so, my liege."

Wallie laughed. "Don't lie to me, va.s.sal! You do think so, and I think you may be right, but I'm not man enough to try it. Let's go see about your sword."

The armory was located far from the temple, near the gate, where the noise would not disturb holy matters. Athinalani, free of his formal robe and wearing a leather ap.r.o.n, was banging away at an anvil while a sweating slave worked the bellows on the furnace. The armorer broke off at once and led his visitors into an inner room, where hundreds of swords and foils hung on racks -- far more than the guard could ever break or lose. The economics puzzled Wallie, but perhaps one of the blessings of the World was that it had no economists. Yet there was a commercial air about the place that he found comforting and familiar.

Athinalani knew what sword he would be asked to buy. The respect he paid to its owner was clearly a novel and flattering experience for Nnanji. There would be no market for such a thing on this side of the River, said the armorer, but he was willing to offer three hundred golds for it if the valiant apprentice wished to make a quick sale. Nnanji just gasped and said, "Done!"

That suited Wallie -- one valuable sword was quite enough to worry about. He produced a sapphire and asked the armorer's advice on how to liquidate that a.s.set. Athinalani welcomed any chance to be of service to the bearer of the seventh sword of Chioxin and agreed to sell the gem in the town for him.

Selecting a new sword took time, with discussion of length and weight and flexibility and edge and bevel and damask. Nnanji listened wide-eyed, soaking up information. Wallie was fascinated by all the knowledge he was unearthing that had not been in his mind two days before -- obviously Shonsu had known his theory as well as his practice. Athinalani was overjoyed at having a customer with such interest and expertise.

Then Wallie began to stray. Steel was not his speciality, but a chemical engineer must know something of the behavior of iron and carbon in crystalline matrices, so he started to discuss quenching and forging. The armorer grew suspicious, and his face darkened -- a swordsman was trespa.s.sing on the sutras and secrets of another craft. So Wallie backed away quickly and conviviality returned.

At last all three were satisfied with a new sword for Nnanji -- and Nnanji would not part with his old one. Wallie pointed out its faults at some length. Nnanji admitted them and finally confessed that he had a younger brother, whom he planned to enroll in the guard as soon as he himself had achieved third rank and could accept a protege. That would never happen if Tarru had any say in the matter, and Nnanji was not going to be here anyway, but it was not Wallie's problem, so he let it rest.

Then there was the matter of foils. A swordsman needed a dummy weapon with the same feel as his own sword. Athinalani had foreseen the problem for the Chioxin and was already at work. His memory for length and weight was astonis.h.i.+ngly accurate. He promised that the foil would be ready by sundown. As unofficial banker for the guard, he advanced both his customers some coins from the leather bag that served as his till. Wallie purchased a whetstone.

It had all been as much fan as a tourist shopping trip -- which, in a sense, it was for Wallie. He promised himself that he would come back for more chats with the armorer. The swordsmen stopped at the door while Athinalani went off to burnish Nnanji's new sword -- nothing below perfection would be allowed out of his shop. Wallie established that lunch was eaten in the same place as breakfast.

"Right," he said. "I'm slower than you, so I'll leave now. Eat with your friends, and we'll meet afterward. I need a word with Honorable Tarru."

*6*

With his old sword on his back and his new sword and foil in a carrying sheath under his arm, Nnanji went striding back toward the barracks, chewing over a problem.

A new sword must be given -- whom should he ask? It was an important tradition, although the sutras did not specifically demand it except in the case of a scratcher. As Briu had explained to him years ago, the purpose of that sutra was to make sure that it took at least two swordsmen to induct a boy into the craft: one to be his mentor, another to give him his first sword. But the swordsmen had extended the practice to any sword, even one that a man had bought for himself or won with a kill; before he wore it a friend must give it to him. A friend. Not his mentor. Who?

Of course he could ask one of the other Seconds, like Darakaji or Fonddiniji, and normally he would not hesitate, but they had all been sending him black looks at breakfast. Briu had withdrawn his charges, but the bad taste would remain, and they were all jealous of him with his wonderful new mentor. If he asked Darakaji -- or Fonddiniji -- he might refuse. If one did, then they all would ... What then?

Still mulling, Nnanji reached one of the back doors of the barracks just as Adept Briu and Swordsman Landinoro came out and down the steps. There was the answer -- at least Briu was the only man in the guard who could not now call him a coward in public. It would be a peace offering. Nnanji intercepted them and saluted.

"Adept," Nnanji began, and it was strange not to call Briu "mentor." "I would ask a favor of you."

Briu looked at him coldly, glanced at the sword under his arm, and then turned to Landinoro. "He isn't short of cheek, is he?" he said.

The Third shook his head, frowning.

Briu held out a hand, and Nnanji hopefully pa.s.sed him the sword. The middleranks looked it over. "Nice bit of metal," Briu said. "What do you think, Lan'o? Should I give Rusty his sword or should I push it down his throat till the guard cracks his teeth?"

Landinoro chuckled. "After this morning's affair, you best have a fast horse saddled if you plan to do that ... might be worth it, though."

"Your boss buy this for you?" Briu demanded, testing the balance.

"H-he gave me Lord Hardduju's sword, adept," Nnanji stuttered. "And I sold it." Maybe this had not been a good idea.

The older men exchanged glances.

Briu looked hard at Nnanji. "That's a strange mentor you picked up. Brought you a lot of luck, hasn't he, apprentice?"

"Yes, adept."

"'Yes, adept,'" the Fourth echoed. "He hasn't brought me any, though." He was still looking over the sword, thinking. "He has guts, I'll grant you. I never saw a man walk to the Judgment after the fat man had done his feet. And he jumped head first -- did you know that?"

"_Head first?_" Nnanji said. "From the Place of Mercy?" That was incredible -- but Shonsu was all incredible.

"I've never seen that, either," Briu admitted. "Spread his arms out -- thought he was going to fly away like a motherin' bird. We stayed to watch, saw him walk out of the water. Okay -- we were pleased about that, although we all thought the fat man would move on him quick. Then we got back here, and the place was all unstrapped -- the fat man dead and the thin man wanting my head in a basket, accusing me of giving the prisoner a sword, saying he couldn't have gone to the Judgment at all." He gave Nnanji a hard look. "Do _you_ know where he got that unspeakable sword?"

_A protege shall not discuss his mentor_ ... Nnanji stood at attention and sweated.

Getting no reply, Briu said, "There's odd stories going round about that sword. Do you believe in the legend of Chioxin, apprentice?"

Nnanji considered the question, and then said, "Yes, adept."

Briu pulled a face. "And after that I learned that one of my proteges had..." He paused and added sarcastically, "been insufficiently instructed regarding the third oath."

Nnanji said nothing.

"Not that you had any choice, apprentice. But it left me with a dirty job to do. And then he goes and accuses me of cowardice! Cowardice? What courage does it take for a Seventh to lip a Fourth? I thought I was dead when I gave him the sign."

Shonsu did not kill unless he must -- but Nnanji could not say that, either.

Briu glanced at his companion and shrugged. Then he swung back to Nnanji and demanded, "You were going to take my signal this morning, weren't you?"

Landinoro slapped Briu on the shoulder. "I'll tell them you're coming," he said. He gave Nnanji a cryptic glance and tactfully departed. Nnanji wished he could go with him, even if he had to leave his new sword behind.

"Well?" Briu demanded. "You weren't going to roll over, were you?"

Nnanji squirmed. "I was going to ask for the grace, adept. You would have given me that, wouldn't you?"

"Three days?" Briu snorted. "You think this miracle man of yours can turn you into a swordsman in three days?" He shook his head pityingly. "I'd have tried to leave your arm and do your leg, but even that sometimes doesn't heal well enough."

Nnanji squirmed some more. "If I'd made obeisance you'd have demanded the abas.e.m.e.nt, wouldn't you?"

"So? Swords can be replaced. Hair grows back."

Nnanji was silent. He would rather die, much rather die than do those things.

Briu shrugged, raised the sword to squint along the edge. "And we all know why it was Rusty he ran into on the beach, don't we? Not Fonddiniji, or Ears, but Rusty."

"You always put me on beach duty when you had Death Squad," Nnanji protested.

Briu scowled at him. "You didn't like throwing rocks, did you, apprentice? You know why you were there -- because you didn't want to know if we were throwing rocks. And I humored you, G.o.ds help me."

Only once had Nnanji seen a buyback. He had refused the silver he had been offered when the payoff came -- and nothing had ever been quite the same since then.

"Who's first?" Briu snapped.

"A-adept?" Nnanji stammered, not understanding.

"Who's first? You've got a real live blue of your own now, haven't you? All to yourself. The guard would like to know, apprentice: which one of us does Rusty shout first?"

Why had he been such a fool as to ask Briu to dedicate the sword? Nothing that Darakaji or Fonddiniji could have done or said could have been this bad. He had told Shonsu that Briu was a man of honor, but of course that was a report made by a protege to a mentor, so he could not tell Briu that, either.

"What do you expect me to do, adept? Denounce the whole guard? Do you think he would believe me? I saw no abominations! I witnessed nothing! The abominations were the fat man's. The rest of us followed orders. We're all men of honor when we get the chance."

Briu studied him coldly. "Some are. All of us took the money, all but you, apprentice."

"I don't think he cares!" Nnanji shouted.

The older man's eyes narrowed. "Then he isn't going to be reeve! He's going away?"

Nnanji wished he were somewhere else. Anywhere else. Jail would be fine.

After a moment Briu said, "You've got what you always wanted, then? You're going to be a free sword?"

"Adept ... one seventy-five!"

Briu sighed. "No, you can't talk about Shonsu. But talk about you, then. You were his second when the thin man challenged. Why did you let him have a draw?"

Because Shonsu had signaled, with a nod. Was a nod an order from a mentor, which must not be discussed? Nnanji sweated some more and then said, "If my princ.i.p.al had wanted blood, he could have drained him on the first pa.s.s, adept."

"So I heard. But a second has discretion. Are you proud of your decision, apprentice?"

Silently Nnanji nodded. It was what Shonsu had wanted.

Briu frowned, then shrugged. "Well, I still have to decide what to do with this metal." Nnanji looked up hopefully.

"Open your mouth wide, Rusty," Briu said. Nnanji grinned with relief.

A party of swordsmen came out the door and started down the steps. Nnanji thought Briu would wait until they had gone, but he didn't. He dropped to one knee, held out the sword, and said the words of dedication: "Live by this. Wield it in Her service. Die holding it."

Reverently Nnanji took hold of the hilt and spoke the reply: "It shall be my honor and my pride."

Briu rose, seeming unaware of the surprised glances from the men going by.

"Thank you very much, adept," Nnanji said.

"Good luck, young Nnanji," said Briu. "Maybe you even deserve it."

"Thank you, adept," Nnanji said again.

"You're going to need it, you know."

"Why?"

Briu gave Nnanji a strange look, then said quietly, "One seventy-five!" He turned round and walked away.

Adept Briu was sworn to Master Trasingji.

*7*

The banners in the big mess hall hung limp in the noon heat. As he entered, Wallie hobbled conspicuously, more than necessary, for his feet were doing better than he had expected. There was no sign of Tarru. Only a dozen or so men were there, mostly standing and eating at the same time -- lunch was evidently an informal snack. He headed for a trio of Fifths at a table and returned their salutes as they bounced up to greet him, then deliberately sat with his back to the room, to display a confidence he no longer felt.

Honorable Tarru had been summoned to a meeting of some holy ancients' council. So the Fifths had guessed that Lord Shonsu was not to be their new boss. They were relaxed and almost friendly.

"I expect they will ask him to be reeve," Wallie said offhandedly, "at least temporarily." He helped himself to a roll and some soft yellow cheese, and accepted a tankard of the weak ale from a waiter. Then he smiled at his politely silent but obviously curious audience. "I did not accept their offer this morning. I have been ordered elsewhere."

"_Ordered?_" two of the Fifths echoed in horror.

So Wallie, between munches, gave them an abbreviated version of his story. It would not hurt to wrap his sword and himself in a little divine authority. He could not tell how much they believed.

Then another Fifth arrived and one departed, pausing on the way out to chat with some Fourths. Very soon the story would be everywhere. Tarru returned, accompanied by Trasingji of the Fifth, who seemed to be his closest crony -- a large and craggy man with a dark complexion. He had startling white eyebrows and a bald spot that left him only a very wispy ponytail.

Tarru looked extremely pleased with himself and accepted congratulations. Of course it was just a temporary appointment, until a Seventh could be found...

And could arrive safely, Wallie thought.

He dawdled over his lunch, waiting for Nnanji, and waiting until he could get Tarru alone, but that turned out to be unnecessary. Tarru had just finished a.s.suring him that he and his liegeman were most welcome to remain as the guests of the barracks for as long as they wanted, when he suddenly leaned across the table. He held out a fist to Wallie and palmed him the jewel. At least it felt like the same one, but Wallie put it in his left pocket so that he could check it later and make sure it had not shrunk.

"Is there anything you need, my lord?" the acting reeve inquired rather sourly. "Any favor we can do to make your stay more enjoyable?"

Payoff time ... but Tarru had chosen this public forum so that he need not compliment Wallie on Nnanji's honesty.

"There is one thing," Wallie said. He was going to enjoy this. He glanced around at the obviously puzzled Fifths. "As you are all aware, I recently spent a couple of nights as guests of the guard in less salubrious quarters."

They frowned uneasily. Such things were not discussed among gentlemen.

"The prisoners are pinned by both ankles," Wallie said. "After a few hours this becomes extremely painful. Is this torture a recent innovation, or has it always been done that way?"

Whatever Tarru had expected, it was not a discussion of the jail. "It has always been done that way, so far as I know," he said, staring.

"Then if you change it, it will likely always be done the new way in future? And some prisoners are later found to be innocent. If you only pinned one ankle, they would have much more freedom of movement. Does the G.o.ddess demand such torment? Is it just?"

The swordsmen looked at one another in astonishment -- a strange idea, indeed! Who cared?