The Destiny of the Sword (46 page)

“I believe that you sorcerers have much to offer the World.” He pointed to the vellum and the quill. “That alone is desperately needed, by priests and merchants... even by swordsmen!”

The sorcerer was thinking, pulling his lip and not looking at Wallie. After a moment he said, “This is a strange idea, Lord Shonsu! You have surprised me many times, but never like this! Let me ponder awhile.” He rose stiffly and paced off along the deck.

Wallie became aware that he was trembling with the cold. But he was also feeling a stir of hope. He glanced cautiously at Nnanji.

Nnanji was grinning.

Astounded, Wallie said, “What do you think?”

“I think he’s going to go for it, brother!” Nnanji was excited. Nnanji was pleased! His black rage had vanished. So the argument,for,sorcerers had worked on him, also? Wallie would have

to try it on the other Sevenths. He was astonished, but he also felt a great surge of relief.

“A new sutra would have to be number eleven forty,five, I suppose,” Wallie said, “although that is at the wrong end of the list. But I can’t meddle with the others.”

Nnanji laughed. “Thirteen?”

Of course! There was no sutra thirteen. Knowing the sutras without ever having learned them, Wallie had not been aware of that—and yet somehow he knew as soon as Nnanji spoke that it was a trick question for Firsts. Twelve was on duties to priests, fourteen on the rights of civilians. Had there once been a sutra thirteen that dealt with sorcerers, a sutra abandoned after the great quarrel?

Then we shall make a sutra number thirteen!” Wallie said, feeling that he had stumbled on something significant.

Rotanxi returned to his chair without a word and picked up his writing equipment. He pulled his glasses from a pocket, and put them on, causing Nnanji to snicker. He uncorked the ink bottle, laid it carefully on the seat beside him, and began to write. Nnanji watched in astonishment and then turned to look inquiringly at Wallie.

‘That is the sorcerers’ greatest magic, Nnanji. Lord Rotanxi is being very trusting in showing you.”

“But what is he doing?” Nnanji whispered.

Wallie tried to explain, and his young companion’s invisible eyebrows rose impossibly high, crumpling the seven swords on his forehead. Storing words?

“What sutra would you impose, Shonsu?” demanded Rotanxi, peering over his glasses. Wallie told him and he wrote it down.

“And on your side?” Wallie asked.

“How about this? ‘Violence is the prerogative of the swordsmen. The sorcerers’ arcane knowledge shall not be used to harm or kill or to make weapons.’”

“That would do very well,” Wallie said.

The sorcerer put away his writing equipment and leaned back in thought again, gazing up at the rigging.

“I should go and get some blankets, brother!” Nnanji said through chattering teeth.

Wallie shook his head. To leave now would break the spell. A

stench of sulfur filled the air and the unladen ship rocked uneasily, but history was being made on this spot, at this moment. His life as Shonsu would be judged by what happened here.

“Swordsmen have been killing sorcerers for thousands of years,’* Rotanxi murmured. “Now that we have the power to retaliate, they want peace?” He was rehearsing an argument.

“More than three hundred swordsmen have died here in the last fifteen years. My side is howling for blood, also.”

The sorcerer nodded, men went still again, as if he had frozen to death.

At long last his vulpine old eyes came back to Wallie. “It might work! I can testify that the leader of the swordsmen is a man of honor, my lord. I admit that you have done well at winning me over, these last few weeks.”

There was praise indeed.

“I speak for the swordsmen,” Wallie said. “Who speaks for the sorcerers? Is there a Grand Wizard of Vul?”

Rotanxi shook his head. “We have a council of thirteen. There are factions, those who wish to drive out the barbarous swordsmen, and those who say that our mission is the quest for knowledge, that government is not our business.”

“The hawks and the doves?”

“Mm? Good metaphor! I admit that I was a hawk, my lord. If I change sides, I may carry some votes—if I am allowed a hearing, that is.” He frowned once more.

“Why should you not be?”

The shrewd old eyes smiled cynically. “I shall have the same problem you had. I shall be regarded as a turncoat.”

“I have been very careful,” Walh’e said, “not to reveal anything that I might have learned from you.”

Rotanxi shrugged. “I sneer at your swordsman brutality, my lord, but I admit that we sorcerers are not without a few barbarities of our own. If I fail, then I shall be given to the tormentors.”

“Then... your honor shall be the greater,” Wallie stammered.

“Mm? Honor is a fine reward, but a poor consolation. And I can do nothing about the other covens, you understand. Only Vul.”

“But Vul could advise them?”

Rotanxi nodded. “As you say, the World will take time and be

harder. But if it worked here, we could hope that the example would encourage others.”

Wallie glanced again at Nnanji. The grin was wider than ever. Apparently sorcerers would listen to reason, as Wallie had hoped, and apparently Rotanxi was going to cooperate. He might, of course, be utterly untrustworthy, seeking only to return to his own side and report on the swordsmen’s plans, but that risk was worth taking. And Nnanji, incredibly, was now in favor. Could Nnanji persuade the other swordsmen?

Happy ending?

“What exactly do you propose, ShonsuT’ the sorcerer demanded abruptly, switching from thought to action.

“You and I must swear an oath, I suppose,” Wallie said—he had hardly got this far in his thinking. “We will swear to work for this peace we envisage. I shall return you to the left bank, and you will put it to your council. If they agree, then we shall make a formal treaty. Of course the tryst will need victory parades, with bands, so that they can say they won, but not more than fifty men per town. I shall put garrisons back into the cities, and I shall choose good men, no young hellions—“

“Vul is excluded! No swordsman has ever entered Vul.”

“Certainly! But the sorcerers will remain as honored citizens and will be admitted to the other seven cities of the loop also. Then we shall worry about the rest of the World, working together, sending form swordsman and sorcerer side by side to spread the word.”

“It is a staggering concept!” the sorcerer muttered. “But worth striving for. To do our best—that is all that we two can swear to.”

“In my other world, a god once said Blessed are the peacemakers.”

Rotanxi nodded. “However...” His tone changed. “I see one immediate problem. You have an army in place. I believe that you are a man of honor, but my comrades will naturally suspect a trap. Many of the city wizards are members of the council. For there to be a meeting, they must travel to Vul.”

Wallie saw what was coming, tike a great black bird descending.

“At this time of year the roads may be difficult. We shall need

tune, at least twenty days, there and back again.”

Winter was near. The longer the swordsmen’s attack could be delayed the better—for the sorcerers.

“How many?” Wallie demanded harshly. “Who?”

Rotanxi looked thoughtfully at Nnanji. “I think one would suffice—a Seventh and co,leader of the tryst, oath brother to Lord Shonsu. He would be ideal.”

Appalled, furious that he had not foreseen this, Wallie turned to Nnanji.

Nnanji shrugged. “I shall wear my sword, though!”

Rotanxi hesitated and then said, “I suppose so. You will be the first swordsman ever to enter Vul, Lord Nnanji—assuming that we are allowed so far.”

Wallie said, “He would not be expected to negotiate?”

“No, merely a hostage for your good faith. He may be asked about you, of course, and how the other swordsmen feel.” The sorcerer smiled faintly. “My colleagues will be surprised by his youth, but by then the meeting will be in session.”

“What guarantees do you give for bis safe return?”

“Only my own word, my lord. If my plea is rejected, then he will suffer the same fate as myself. Being younger, he will take longer to die.”

Nnanji seemed unconcerned, even pleased, at the prospect. Haw Nnanji of the Seventh Went to Vul...

“Come with me!” Wallie said. Grabbing him by the shoulder, he hauled Nnanji off his stool and almost dragged him along the deck, out of earshot. “I can’t allow this!”

Nnanji chuckled. “You can’t stop it.”

“Oh! Can’t I? I’m not going to swear that oath, Nnanji, not on those terms! This council of his may be a gang of mad dogs. Rotanxi himself may be treacherous—as long as all I was gambling was a couple of weeks’ delay, men the wager was worth it! But I’m not going to gamble you, oath brother. You were seen killing sorcerers in Ov—“

“I repeat: You can’t stop it! It is preordained.”

“What?”

“Don’t you see? We always said that I would have a part to play in your mission. This is it, at last! This is why I was made your oath brother, why I became a Seventh! Better than counting

pigeons! And I promised Arganari I would wear his hairclip to Vul! Of course I didn’t know I would be going as a hostage...” He laughed. “It’s destiny, Shonsu, the will of the Goddess!” Then he added with relish, “The first swordsman ever to enter Vul!”

He leaned back against the rail and smirked mockingly. “Unless you want to go yourself?”

The idea was enough to make Wallie’s gut heave. He would be thrown into the nearest torture chamber and laid on the rack, producing a secret a day for the sorcerers like a battery hen, a one,man industrial revolution. He could easily imagine that sour old Rotanxi wielding his hot irons—and that thought made him realize how very little he really trusted the sorcerer.

“Nnanji! Your oaths are my oaths! Suppose they make you swear to disband the tryst?”

Even Nnanji could pause at that prospect. Then he said, “I promise you that they will not succeed, brother.”

“You won’t enjoy it while they’re trying!”

Nnanji shrugged, then his smile returned.

“We’ll send two of the other Sevenths!” Wallie insisted.

Nnanji’s smile vanished. “Send vassals into danger? To do my duty?”

Perhaps it was only Wallie’s imagination, but he thought men that he saw something change in Nnanji’s eyes, saw something he had been dreading he might one day see. The killer look? It is your kingdom that I covet? He knew then that Nnanji would not be denied this chance for honor and fame.

Once he had joked that Nnanji was an egg that was going to hatch something extraordinary. Now, suddenly, he saw what it was. Take a lanky, red,haired, jovial young man of courage and honor, add swordsmanship and a few miracles, marinate in all those epics and sagas...

Wallie had always denied being an epic hero. Even Doa’s epic was not named after him. But he knew one when he saw one.

“Right, brother?” Nnanji thumped Wallie’s shoulder and grinned.

“I...” He could not find words.

Chuckling, Nnanji went swaggering back toward the sorcerer. Wallie followed, his mind whirling. Why had he not been more insistent? Was he trying to rid himself of a threat?

Had the gods created Nnanji to be nothing more than a sacrificial martyr, whose death would inspire the tryst?

Rotanxi looked up at them appratsingly. “I have my hostage, Shonsu?”

Wallie nodded. “Twenty days. But if he is harmed in any way, men I swear that I will bring the tryst to Vul and raze it, no matter what die cost! And I have eight sorcerers in my dungeons, remember!”

The sorcerer shrugged. “Of course. Now we need to swear our oaths, we two?”

“I suppose so.” Wallie sat down limply. His brief euphoria was wearing thin. He could see complications springing up like morns all around him. He felt ashamed and bonified at betraying Nnanji. “I should put this to my own council first, my lord. They must obey, but I would prefer to have willing agreement.”

The sorcerer nodded shrewdly. “Yes. I should have assurance mat the liege lord will not meet with an unexpected accident.”

“Let us go and meet them, then.” Wallie glanced around and saw mat Tomiyano was still on deck, leaning on the rail, openly watching. Wallie rose and went over to him warily.

“If you have a crew handy, Captain, it would be all right to take the ship in now. I waive dock fees!”

The sailor studied him in silence for a moment. Then he said, “You’re crazy.”

“What now?” Wallie asked angrily.

“Him!” Tomiyano gestured, but which of the two he meant Wallie was not sure: the tall, imposing sorcerer or the lithe, taller, red,haired swordsman. They were deep in conversation already, the bitter enmity of an hour ago apparently discarded. Oh, let that be an omen!

“You were spying, were you?” Wallie had forgotten that sailors could read lips.