The Destiny of the Sword (19 page)

“Right! Captain, have we any ensorceled wine left?”

Tomiyano thought there might be a bottle or two around somewhere.

“No matter,” WaUie said. “We’ll get five or six bottles and then ensorcel them again and get double,ensorceled wine.”

“Love a squid!” said Tomiyano. “Is it that much stronger again if you do that?”

“No, about the same. But I need it very pure. We’d better do mat ashore somewhere—it’s too much of a fire hazard. Mata, would you do that for me? I’ll show you how.”

The sailors were now clearly divided into those who were annoyed at being teased and those who were enjoying die annoyance of the first group.

“Lae?” Wallie said. “Could you make me a gown?”

The ship’s honorary grandmother frowned. “Jja’s a better seamstress than me, my lord.”

“But she’ll be sewing the silk bags,” Wallie said as if that were obvious. Where was Jja? What was keeping them all? “What I want from you is a blue gown, with a hood and those big, droopy sleeves.”

“You’re going to pretend to be a sorcerer?” Tbmiyano shouted. “You’re going ashore as a sorcerer?”

Wallie feigned surprise. “You think I’m crazy?”

“The thought had drifted across my mind, perhaps.”

“Nonsense!” Wallie said. “Holiyi, you’re the best carpenter on board. You’ll cut some holes in the ship for me, won’t you?”

Holiyi was as skinny as Boariyi, although not especially tall. He probably had not spoken for hours—Holiyi seemed to get through the day on a handful of words like the legendary Arab on a handful of dates—but now he not only nodded, he exclaimed, “Of course!” as if he had expected the request. The grins grew wider.

Wallie rose and walked over to the rail to stare across the plaza. “Well, I think that’s about everything, then. The holy lord suggests that you anchor by the temple and save dock fees.”

“Where are you going in this ship of yours?” Tomiyano demanded. ‘This ship with the holes in it, and the silk bags full of ensorceled wine, and you in your sorcerer’s robe?”

Wallie pointed east, toward Vul. The volcanoes were dormant again, hardly smoking at all.

“And who’s going to sail it for you?”

This was the tricky part, and all the mystifying had been mostly to get the man intrigued enough that he might agree. “I hoped that you would, Captain.”

“Me? Leave Sapphire*? You’re crazy even to ask!” Tomiyano was taking the suggestion as an insult.

“It is important,” Wallie said seriously. “I’ve been making a game of it, but it is important! If the swordsmen walk into the sorcerers’ trap, then they’ll all die, hundreds of mem.”

The sailor’s face grew red. “No! I’ve cooperated with the Goddess. We’ve risked our ship and our lives, and Til help still, but I’m not leaving Sapphire. And that’s final.”

“Fool!” Honakura squirmed down from the fire bucket. “You, a sailor, would defy Her? The Goddess is the River and the River is the Goddess! They are Her swordsmen!” The captain paled as the tiny old man marched across to him, shrill with anger. “You will never find fair wind again! Never reach the port you want! Never know a night without pirates! Is that what you want, Captain Tomiyano? How long will you survive on the River if you anger the Goddess?”

“Oh, luUT Tomiyano scowled at the deck. “I guess I’ll come, then.”

“Thanks, Captain,” Wallie said quietly.

“Just a moment, my lord!” Brota was suspicious. “You said that you had work for all of us. Haven’t you kept a few things back?” She hunched her head down in her pillowed shoulders and frowned at him.

“Well, yes,” Wallie admitted. “When I’m off playing in my new ship, there will be a small job—at least for you, mistress.”

“Such as?”

“I’ll handle the sorcerers. You have to stop the tryst.”

Even Brota could be startled sometimes. Some of the children giggled.

Then Tomiyano began to laugh—and that was rare as summer snow. “Shonsu,” he said, “you’re not the only one who’s going to need some fencing practice.”

ttt t ttt

Nnanji of the Fifth bounded up the gangplank and landed with both feet firmly on the deck, aims wide to receive plaudits and bouquets, timed to an inaudible fanfare from an invisible band— Ta,RAH \ His new red kilt was absurdly short and a horrible raspberry shade that clashed with his hair, but his facemarks were symmetrical for the first time since Wallie had known him, and he was somehow contriving to laugh and grin at the same time.

There, Wallie thought, was one swordsman who would never again have problems handling sailors, unlike the late Polini. And had the younger Nnanji of the temple guard been required to leave a lodge full of swordsmen to go and mix with riverfolk, he would have sulked for hours.

Thana appeared at his side, sliding an arm around him to share in his triumph as the crew rushed forward with congratulations. She noticed Wallie, smiled, and then stuck out her tongue. He mouthed “Cheat!” at her silently, and she smirked, unrepentant. Katanji came on board, also grinning.

Then Jja—she noted where Vixini was even as she ran over to Wallie. Vixi had been contentedly sitting beside Fala, but now he dropped the bone on which he had been sharpening his latest tooth and levered himself upright, bottom first. There was his favorite mother...

Wallie grabbed her in a fierce hug. She was laughing under his kiss as Vixini cannoned into her.

“What kept you all?” Wallie demanded. “I was ready to declare war!”

She scooped up Vixini. “Minstrels!” She was excited and happy. “Just after you left, a minstrel started singing an epic— about you! You and Nnanji and the fight against the Honorable Tarru and his men. You horrible dirty River monster!” The last remark was directed at Vixini.

Great gods! The battle with Tarru, the escape from the holy island—how long ago that seemed! But of course Yoningu had promised Nnanji that he would tell the tale to the first minstrel

who came by the barracks. So mat minstrel was now here in Casr, or one who had heard the story from him.

He laughed. “Was it a good epic?”

She smiled mischievously. “Very good! So Master Nnanji says.”

“He’s biased! Well, he’ll be happy.” Ecstatic, more like! And an epic would be excellent public relations.

Then Nnanji himself came pushing forward through the throng, disentangling himself from the more youthful admirers. “I met four Sevenths today, my lord brother,” he said solemnly. *That makes seven all together in my whole life!”

“Who was the fourth, then?” Wallie asked.

“Lord Chinarama. He’ll be no problem for you, though—he’s old!”

For Nnanji, senescence began at thirty. “How old?”

Nnanji pondered. “At least seventy... but a nice old relic. Says he’s always dreamed of a tryst, so when he heard about this one, he retrieved his sword from the woodshed and came along in (he hope of giving counsel.” Then he added, “I don’t suppose he’ll hurt.”

“What did you think of Boariyi?” Wallie asked.

“He is a man of honor,” Nnanji said cautiously. “He is very troubled about the lack of discipline, thinks it is a disgrace to the craft. And be says I am younger than he was when he reached Fifth!”

Boariyi had found the keys to Nnanji’s heart.

“And I have an epic for you!” Nnanji beamed and turned to address everyone. “Who wants to hear an epic?”

“Not now!” Wallie said. “We have a war to fight.”

Casr had become a dangerous place for him. By now Zoariyi and his nephew must have learned the importance of the seventh sword and would be anxious to prevent it leaving town. If they could locate a water rat, or even a sailor, who had witnessed Wallie’s disgrace in Aus, then a denunciation would follow at once—the posse would arrive at the gangplank. He must vanish into the mists of the River, and the sooner the better.

He was shouted down. The World was a leisurely place. Sapphire was having a vacation. His war could wait. He almost lost bis temper, but Honakura said firmly that he wanted to hear an

epic, and that was that. Wagons and horses and chattering people were winding their way home, the wind was still listlessly flapping awnings and sails, but such details would not keep Nnanji from his epic. So Wallie reluctantly sat down and leaned back against the bulwark, out of the wind, his aim around Jja.

Nnanji jumped up on the aft hatch cover. “Right!” he said. “Gather round! Ready? How Nnanji of the Fourth and Shonsu of the Seventh Fought Ten Renegade Swordsmen!” He glanced at Wallie.

“What! You get star billing?” Wallie protested—it translated as “place of honor.”

Nnanji smirked. “That was what you told Yoningu, brother!”

So it was—Wallie had joked that Nnanji’s name should be first. He had not then cared for the dubious honor of being hero of a barbarian romance... but at mat time he had not been running for office.

With a title like that, he thought sourly, it would never make the best,seller list. As soon as Nnanji started, though, he saw that it well might—it was a very good epic. No, it was excellent, far superior to the ephemeral jingles in which the minstrels normally reported current events, the doggerel that he had once dismissed as swordsman sports news. At times he had wondered if one day he would find a Homer to record whatever feat he might achieve for the Goddess. If the author of this work was present in Casr, then perhaps he had. True, it used all the stock phrases and conventions—long dramatic speeches between sword strokes, vile villains and heroic heroes—but the meter was certain and the imagery vivid. Moreover, the bard had taken wide liberties with the story line to make it more dramatic. As the tale unfolded, Wallie began to feel very uneasy.

Nnanji of the Second had sought promotion in the temple guard—true—and challenged two Fourths, killing one—true— and had then denounced the guard as venal—false and improbable: How did he gain a promotion after that? Then the new “blood,headed” Nnanji of the Fourth, facemarks still dramatically bleeding, had set off with his brother...

Wallie choked down an interruption as he saw Katanji grinning expectantly at him. How had he gotten into this? He had been present, but only a very minor character. Now Wallie was

astounded to realize that the minstrel had been extemporizing, creating the epic as he went along. Having the basic story in some form or other, he had adapted it to the earlier events of the afternoon, downplaying the unsavory Shonsu, emphasizing the “blood,headed” hero of Ov and the brother who had been so dramatically presented as the bravest man in the courtyard—giving his audience what it wanted to hear. In all this ridiculous farrago, Shonsu had not even been mentioned yet.

The scene changed to the jetty, where the impossibly vile Tami of the Sixth swore terrible vows and pledged evil minions by the blood oath. Nnanji and Katanji came on stage. Tarru mocked them—and David promptly challenged Goliath in iambic pentameters.

Leaving the battle in suspense, the bard then switched to the holy cave behind the sacred waterfall, where the Goddess expounded on the honor of her swordsmen, the sins of Tarru, the virtue and future greatness of Nnanji, and finally summoned a demigod, commanding him to save Her hero.

Wallie looked in exasperation at Honakura and saw that he was turning purple with suppressed laughter.

The demigod found Shonsu—where? at the relief office?— gave him the seventh sword—described in lines stolen from the saga of Chioxin—and then transported him by a miracle to the battle.

Copious blood spurted. With a little help on the side from Shonsu, the magnificent Nnanji was victorious. Virtue triumphed. The two heroes swore the oath of brotherhood and sailed away to continue the battle against evil. End of epic, applause.

The seventh sword was understandable—Imperkanni’s men back at the jetty at Hann had known of that—but no one except the crew of Sapphire had been aware of the fourth oath until Wallie had mentioned it in the lodge. Very few of those present would ever have heard of the oath before.

Certainly Homer had been present in the courtyard!

So now the seventh sword was public knowledge! And Wallie felt like Agamemnon hearing the Iliad; it was good public relations, but for the wrong man. He hoped he was managing to hide his pique as he applauded with the others. The youngsters wanted

to bear it all again, but Nnanji refused. Perhaps Wallie’s face was not so waterproof as he hoped.

“Not exactly the way I recall the way it went,” Wallie said, squeezing out a toothpaste smile, “but superb poetry! Who was the minstrel?”

Nnanji shrugged. “Don’t know. Not bad, though, was it?” He looked a little disillusioned. “I suppose one shouldn’t believe everything one hears in epics.”

The crew rose, ready to take on the war now. “Where to, great leader?” Tomiyano asked.

“Vanish!” Wallie said. “The mysterious Shonsu disappears as mysteriously as he mysteriously appeared.”

Nnanji stared at him in horror and dismay.

“Then we creep back and go to the temple.”

“Ah! And what do we do there, brother?**

“Fence,” Wallie said.