Then Wallie half turned to address the beanpole Boariyi, who had his arms folded, his chin high, and a very red, furious expression on his rubbery face.
“My Lord Boariyi, I come to claim the leadership of the tryst, as I am commanded of the Goddess.”
The temple was silent. Had he closed his eyes, Wallie could have believed that it was empty. He had no idea what to expect. There were about fifteen hundred swordsmen there, but only one will. However impressive Doa’s epic, why should Boariyi yield the leadership voluntarily?
“Indeed? You are too late, Lord Shonsu. The tryst is sworn.” His voice lacked the depth of Shonsu’s, but it carried well.
“I apologize. I had business hi Sen, as you heard.”
“Oooo!” said the juniors at the back of the crowd.
Boariyi’s eyes narrowed. “You seriously expect us to believe that? Your longtime relationship with Lady Doa is well known, Lord Shonsu, and while we all enjoyed that performance, you will need more evidence than that.” He swung round to face his army, ready to dismiss it; smart move!
“I have a prisoner as evidence,” Wallie boomed. Excitement surged through the audience like wind in corn.
Boariyi turned back to him with sudden doubt in his face.
“My prisoner is Lord Rotanxi, sorcerer of the seventh rank, wizard of Sen, a man who sends kilts—“ He was drowned out.
Again Boariyi gestured for silence and got it. His face had turned even redder. “Produce this prisoner!”
Wallie pretended to hesitate. “I could send for him... You wfll stipulate that he is my prisoner, according to the sutras?”
“I will not take your prisoner while you live,” Boariyi roared, “but I give no guarantees of your own safety.”
“I am fully protected by the ways of honor and my sword,” Wallie said, wishing he believed that.Then he turned and beckoned.
Rotanxi stumbled through the curtain with a large hand at the scruff of his neck. All the splendor of the Dream God could not have contained Nnanji’s grin as he thrust the old man ahead of him across the width of the temple toward Boariyi. With right
arm straight and tether held in his left, he propelled the sorcerer at great speed over to the liege lord, who recoiled in astonishment at the facemarks thus revealed. Then Nnanji swung his victim around and jostled him along the front of the congregation, past the Sixths and the Sevenths so that they could see, also, and finally looped around to end beside Wallie, directing his grin at the whole tryst. The silence shattered again in a rising rumble like shingle stirred by surf, mounting like the surf itself, exploding with the crash of breakers.
Thana and Katanji had emerged and lined up beside their leader, and Wallie could almost chuckle through the tension and fatigue at the ridiculous contrast. The swordsmen must see it, also: Boariyi with his horde; Shonsu with an injured First, a female Second, and a copper,haired youth dressed as Fifth. But Shonsu had the prisoner... and what a prisoner!
Now Boariyi had very few options for extricating himself with dignity. The old priest stood between them, facing the tryst. He turned to look at the leader and so did everyone else.
Boariyi’s voice was harsh with anger. “I came here expecting a blessing,” he said. “Not a mummery. Do you challenge, Lord Shonsu?”
Tricky—Wallie would be damned if he said yes and dismissed if he said no.
“I do not wish to right you, my lord, but I am not afraid to do so, for I am a better swordsman and I have the Goddess on my side.” He hoped. “But I will not fight the whole tryst. Will you meet me man to man, or do you hide behind the protection of the blood oath?”
Boariyi’s eyes flickered toward his uncle, the short and graying Zoariyi, standing with the other Sevenths. “Such events in a temple service are new to me. I will consult my council.” The Sevenths obediently walked over to him. It was a good move for Boariyi, giving him an imposing backing, so that he no longer stood alone.
There was a brief huddle, while the congregation held its breath, hushed and tense. Zoariyi obviously did the talking, his nephew standing with his head bent to hear. Then he stepped forward so that the others were behind him.
“My council advises me that this is not an affair of honor! Was
it not you, Shonsu, who led the force of fifty swordsmen destroyed by the sorcerers?”
“It was,” Wallie said and was interrupted before he could say more.
“Was it not you who crawled naked in the dirt before sorcerers at Aus?”
“Was it not you who stopped the triumphant swordsmen at Ov, when they would have followed up their success by attacking the tower?”
“Was it not you who betrayed the plans of the tryst to the sailors, drove away the ships, falsely posted a quarantine flag upon the harbor, and frustrated our attack?”
Boariyi raised a very long arm and pointed. “Then I declare you to be a false swordsman, an abomination, and an agent of the sorcerers. I condemn you to death as an enemy of the tryst. Sevenths—kill that man!”
Wallie was preparing his reply in his mind. He glanced round at his friends. Nnanji looked ill. The sorcerer gave him a look of mockery, although his welfare depended on Wallie’s.
He turned back toward Boariyi and the council, and saw that there was not going to be a reply. They had drawn their swords and were advancing in line abreast. They were coming slowly, perhaps hoping that he might somehow escape, but coming. Nnanji had been correct.
Wallie pulled the pistol from his belt and rejected the temptation to shoot down Boariyi. He needed a target that would not cause a ricochet, so he aimed over the heads of the tryst at the distant arches and the faraway vista of mountains.
He pulled the trigger.
The explosion roared much louder than he expected. The gun kicked in his hand, and a vast cloud of acrid smoke billowed out at the ranks of Sixths. No one there except the sorcerer and members of the Shonsu expedition had ever heard a noise like that before. Plaster sprinkled from the roof; tiles tinkled down from the walls. He scored a direct hit on the windows of the central arch, evidently on a vulnerable spot in the rotting stone
trelliswork. While the echo of the shot was still reverberating back, it was joined by a thunderous clamor of smashing glass as the entire central window structure collapsed, row after row, glass and stone together, panes and framework avalanching in chain reaction, a repeating cascade of corruscating crystal to the floor, emptying the whole arch.
The tryst panicked. From Firsts to Sevenths they turned and ran. Wallie put the pistol back in his belt without bothering to reload. He glanced round at his companions. Even the sorcerer looked astonished at the effect. Nnanji swallowed hard, then grinned, and said: “Wow!”
Behind them a mob of priests in various shades was fighting to get through a door beside the idol. Only tiny Honakura was standing still; he smiled and raised a hand in congratulation. The Sevenths recovered first, forming up in a tight bunch about where they had been before, starting a fierce argument with many shamefaced glances toward Wallie. Many of the civilians continued their flight, but the rest of the swordsmen recovered themselves before they reached the snowbank of glass by the main door. They started ashamedly dribbling back to then, places. It was clear to all that only Wallie’s party had stood its ground.
He did not wait for mem to finish lining up.
“Yes,” he proclaimed, “I led the doomed expedition to Vul. For that I must make amends.” He had everyone’s attention now. The priests had fallen silent behind him and the Sevenths had stopped talking to listen. “Yes, I went ashore at Aus. I went unarmed, which was folly, and I paid a great price for that folly.
“Yes, I stopped the attack at Ov and for the same reason that I stopped the tryst: You do not know how to fight sorcerers! I do—now I do. I captured Lord Rotanxi and I rendered him harmless. That thunderbolt was one of the spells he was carrying —a little thing that he had in his pocket. Call it a thunderbolt of the first rank, if you like. They have greater horrors, thunderbolts of the seventh rank. They had those lined up on the docks at Sen and hurled them at our ship. The minstrel described the effects very well, but there were no demons. I have no magic, my lords. The sword—“ He drew it. “—is not magic. But it is sacred. It belongs to the Most High, and it was She who saved us.”
“She sent me to lead the tryst, for courage alone is not
DAVEDUNCAN
enough. I do not question your courage, swordsmen, but only I can teach you how to fight sorcerers. The Goddess gave me Her sword and She has also given me wisdom. I can lead you all to victory—but you, Lord Boariyi, cannot. Dare you resist Her divine will?”
The Sevenths were arguing fiercely. The priest Kadywinsi stepped forward, but Wallie held up a hand to silence him. The decision had to be Boariyi’s, and Wallie felt sorry for him. He must have been sure of gaming immortality as the leader of a tryst and he was being cheated of it by a combination of sorcery and priestly subterfuge. Yet his decision was almost inevitable now, for Wallie had been able to state his case and so reduce it to a personal challenge. Boariyi could no longer refuse and still hope to hold the loyalty of the tryst.
He had reached the same conclusion. He silenced the councilors around him and looked over their heads at Wallie with that same insolent, contemptuous sneer that he had worn when they first met—and Wallie’s temper flared at the sight of it.
Then the human mantis stepped forward, putting bis hands on his skinny hips. “You say you are from the Goddess? I repeat that you were sent by the sorcerers. The priest blessed the leader who wears that sword. Very well! I will kill you and take it. Make your challenge, my Lord Shonsu.”
ttt t ttt
The weather had turned for the worse, spitting raindrops from low, ugly clouds, whirling leaves and dust along the ground. Wallie stood alone outside the temple, scowling at me damage his lucky shot had caused. Three arches on each side now reflected the storm over RegiVul, while the center was a dark blank. He was uneasily reminded of the little jewel god with his missing tooth, and he did not know if he was being irreverent, or if the god was truly playing jokes.
The whole tryst had been assembled into a wide arc around the temple forecourt, facing the water. Wallie stood at one end, alone, Boariyi at the other, surrounded by the council. Of course
the Sevenths were Boariyi’s vassals and must attend him, but that did not lessen Wallie’s feeling of being abandoned. In the center of the arc were the heralds and the bandsmen. A discussion was in progress between the heralds and the two seconds, Nnanji and Zoariyi. It was taking forever.
To entrust such negotiations to Nnanji seemed crazy. Surely that wily Zoariyi would knot him like a pretzel? Yet the rules for dueling left no choice, and Nnanji had already successfully contrived to have Thana take the prisoner back to Sapphire, much against the swordsmen’s will. Wallie had not expected him to win that point and had watched with pleased surprise as the transfer took place. Then there had been some sort of ceremony involving Nnanji being presented to all the Sevenths, probably to dispose of the vengeance problem.
It was oddly reassuring that the juvenile Katanji was also involved in the discussions. Twice he and Nnanji had stepped aside to confer, Nnanji bending over to talk or listen. Each time Wallie has assumed that he was going to be sent a message, but each time the two brothers had returned to the group together. Katanji knew nothing of the technicalities or legalities, but he knew people—what was surprising was that Nnanji would now take him seriously enough to pay heed.
Boariyi towered over his companions. He had (he advantage of reach, certainly, and he was defending his own ground. He had also seen Wallie go against Tivanixi. But he was fighting either a sorcerer or a hero sent by the gods—neither an encouraging prospect. He might even be faster. Wallie was stronger and had the Goddess on his side. Or did he? He had been told to expect no miracles.
Cursing himself for thinking such thoughts, Wallie turned to look at the wind,whipped, gun,metal River and the rocking ships. Sapphire was moored just offshore, her crew lined up along the rail. He saw the massive Brota, then Jja, and waved. The quarantine flag had gone and already a few vessels were venturing into port.
The arc of onlookers was swelling as priests and citizens arrived to see the sport, crowding in behind the swordsmen. A serious contest between Sevenths must be a very rare event. Wallie wondered if even Shonsu had ever had to fight another Sev,
enth in earnest. He himself had fought Hardduju, of course, but that had been an execution.
At last the conference broke up, the seconds stalking over to their respective principals. Katanji gave Wallie an appraising, sympathetic glance. Nnanji merely looked cheerful.
Nnanji was flying with the angels. This was the meat and bone of romantic swordsmanship for him, a mere Fifth negotiating with Sevenths, arranging a trial by combat—which was almost as rare in the World as it would have been on Earth, the stuff of epics, not sutras—playing a part in the gods’ mission. Nnanji could never be happier than he was right there.