by David Duncan
Once before Wallie had tried to avoid the Draconian responsibilities of a man of honor, and that attempt had merely led to much worse bloodshed. It was another test. He could only hope that the wrong answer the last time would be the right answer now.
"How many swordsmen, Quili?"
"One, my lord." It was a whisper and it came from somewhere near his feet.
"Who?"
"Kandoru of the Third."
"Honorable or not?" He got only silence. "Tell me!"
"He was a man of honor."
"The resident swordsman here, I suppose?"
"Yes. The estate guard, my lord."
It was like pulling teeth with fingers. "Young? Old?"
"He... he said he was about fifty, my lord. But I think be was older than that... he had bad rheumatism." She fell silent, again staring at the floor. "He was very fond of animals... Adept Motipodi called him the finest horse doctor ..."
"Quili, I am trying to help! I do not want to kill anyone, but I must have the facts."
She straightened up slowly and looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. "He was my husband."
"No!"
He had never guessed that she could have had a husband, alive or dead―she seemed too absurdly young. But why would she protect his killer? To save a lover? Then why were the other women aiding her? Why had the men not reported the assassination to the nearest swordsman?
"How long ago?"
"A little over a year, my lord."
Wallie groaned in horror. "You know what that means? One a week, Quili!" It was utterly barbaric, but that was what the sutras demanded. Of course it would rarely be needed―with that kind of slaughter in the wind, everyone would rush to expose a swordsman killing immediately. That was what the threat was for, to prevent cover-up. But to keep the threat believable, once in a while it must be used.
So Wallie Smith, who had been so reluctant to be a swordsman for the Goddess, was going to be required to prove his bloodthirstiness again? Wholesale, this time.
Slaughter unarmed men? Never! He was not capable.
"Who did it? Someone on the estate, I suppose?"
"No, my lord. They came from Ov."
That was a relief... and a surprise. "Then why not... For gods' sakes, apprentice, tell me!"
She was weeping again, broken by the strain, unable to betray fifty lives. He rose, lifted her by the shoulders, and sat her roughly on the chair. Then he began to pace, his head barely clearing the rafters.
"Now talk! Start with you. How did you meet him?"
She could talk about herself more easily. She had been an orphan, taken in by the temple at Ov. At puberty she had been accepted as a novice in the priesthood. She had expected to progress to Third, for that was normal, and then a decision would have been made for her―whether she should continue her studies in the temple, or be given a job somewhere, in some hamlet that needed a priest.
When she had gained second rank, Quili had been enrolled in the priestess' choir. One day soon afterward, following a service in which she had taken part, she had been led by her mentor to a meeting with some highrank temple officials. Swordsman Kandoru had been present, and Lady Thondi also.
Swordsman Kandoru had said merely, "Yes, that one."
Thondi, or her son, had recently hired the retired free sword as estate guard. They had supplied a cottage―and now a wife. The owners wanted a swordsman; the workers and slaves would be happier with a priestess in residence; providing one cottage was better economics than providing two. It had been a very convenient arrangement for everyone... except Apprentice Quili. By nightfall her oaths had been transferred to a mentor in Pol and she had been legally installed in a stranger's bed.
Wallie wondered what Honakura would think of the tale. It revealed a very sleazy picture of the priesthood. Like swordsmen, priests were corruptible... and perhaps even the temple itself had benefited from Thondi's generosity. He wondered briefly if his mission was to clean up a venal local clergy, but that task seemed much too trivial to justify so many miracles. The Goddess had held the Chioxin sword for seven hundred years―surely She would not have returned it to the mortal World for any cause so petty.
"What did your mentor think of this?" he demanded.
Quili sniffed. "I think she disapproved... but she didn't say."
"And your present mentor?"
For the first time there was fire. "He is a senile old drunk! He should be replaced."
"Why didn't they put a slavestripe on you?"
"My lord!"
"They bought and sold you, Quili."
She hesitated and then quietly said, "Yes, my lord."
At least he now had her talking.
"All right," he said. "Tell me the rest―who killed Kandoru?"
* * *
Wallie's approach had been noted, and the cottage door swung open as he arrived. He stepped inside and wiped the rain from his eyes. Nnanji was on his feet, his face aflame with fury. Nona had been forgotten and only two of the locals remained― the two oldest women, both looking terrified. Cowie was dozing in a corner, Jja and Katanji were being quiet and still and apprehensive, crouched on stools. The room seemed larger and much brighter than it had earlier.
Nnanji exploded into speech. "Lord Shonsu: I, Nnanji―"
"Shut up!"
"But there has been an assassination. And a concealment!"
"I know! But you can't make a denunciation to me, Nnanji. We're oath brothers. I'm not impartial―how could I find against you?"
Nnanji growled angrily. His lips moved as he worked out the complications; then he did not dispute the point. But a priest could act as judge, also. He swung around to Honakura and met a toothless smirk below a black headband―there was no priest present. Had the old man somehow foreseen this? Was that why he was remaining incognito? No, that was ridiculous... but very convenient at the moment.
"How did you find out?" Wallie demanded.
It was Honakura who answered. "I could see that there was something wrong, my lord. I asked Adept Nnanji to tell me the exact words that had passed between him and Apprentice Quili when they met."
That would have been no problem for Nnanji. Even Quili had been able to recount enough of it.
Wallie snarled. "He was joking, and she was being too literal."
Nnanji had failed abysmally in his first assignment as a Fourth. Had he questioned Quili properly, then the ferry boat would still be tied to the jetty. He knew that. He came rigidly to attention. "My lord brother―"
"Never mind!" Wallie said. "Do better next time. Meanwhile we have a small problem. Lady Thondi was undoubtedly an accessory to the murder. She is in league with the sorcerers. She has had plenty of time to send word to Ov. Quili knows of no other way out of here than the Ov road."
This might be another test, or it might be the start of Wallie's mission. In either case, the danger was obvious―and extreme.
"We're trapped?"
"Apparently." Wallie looked over his resources: two swordsmen, two slave women, a boy, a baby, and a beggar. Not much to fight an approaching army of swordsmen killers. He nodded at the woman he thought was called Myi. "Fetch our clothes, please."
"They're coming," Nnanji said snappily. "These two were witnesses to the assassination."
"In the great hall?" Wallie asked and they nodded dumbly.
"And who killed Swordsman Kandoru?"
"A sorcerer, my lord," Myi whispered.
"With what weapon?"
"With music, my lord... three notes from a silver fife."
Which was what Quili had stated.
"Well, old man," Wallie said to the evilly grinning Honakura, "it seems that you and I must both start believing in sorcerers."
†† † ††
Swaddled in a blanket and looking like nothing more than a bundle of trash, Honakura was perched on the driver's bench beside Quili. Wallie had put him there and firmly told him to stop playing stupid games, to bring the girl onto the team. A priest of the S
eventh from Harm was the World's equivalent of a Curial cardinal. Once he revealed his identity, he would be able to convince Quili of anything.
Wallie and the rest sat on wet straw in the back under cloaks and blankets. The rain was getting worse, breeding the rivulets of milky mud that ran down the roadway. Patches of silver light in the fields spoke of standing water, while trees in the distance were washed to a pale blue gray. Unfortunately, the road from Ov would still be passable, or so Quili had said.
The cart lurched and squeaked and jingled. It had no springs, but then it was not moving very quickly. Wallie and Nnanji could have reached the manor sooner on foot, had that not meant leaving the rest of the party at the tenancy, potential hostages. A swordsman was both a soldier and a cop, and Wallie was not sure which of his two roles was dominant at the moment. He was likely to be attacked soon by a brigade of sorcerers, but he was also morally certain that Lady Thondi was guilty of murder. Kandoru had been blatantly betrayed, and Nnanji was not the only swordsman hankering for justice. Whether or not Wallie Smith could now bring himself to decapitate a helpless old woman would be an interesting discovery.
He still was seeing very little of the World. Many stretches of the road had been deepened into a trench by long use. It was flanked by hedges―more practical than fences in the absence of barbed wire―and thus he caught few glimpses of the fields. He could tell only that they were small, irregular, and inset in woodland. The country was rising, and surely the manor could not be far off now.
"This must be your mission, my lord brother." Nnanji was in a sulk, furious with his own shortcomings. He was holding the edge of a blanket tight round his neck, leaving his head free, but made him look hunchbacked where it humped over his sword hilt. His wet ponytail was dark red, and even his normally invisible eyelashes were showing more than usual.
"Perhaps." Wallie wore his cover right over himself like a tent, peering out from under it. "But there were only forty or so swordsmen slaughtered in Ov―"
"Only?"
"Bad enough, but not much worse than that battle of Ko you were quoting." Miracles and the Chioxin sword suggested something more vast than that. Even if Shonsu had somehow been responsible for the loss of Ov―and the reeve had not been Shonsu, but Zandorphino of the Sixth―that would hardly count as a disaster from a god's viewpoint. "On the other hand, two of the three clues have turned up now―we did come a long way and we are in sorcerer country."
Vixini slapped cheerfully at the edge of the cart; it made interesting splashes. Wagon rides were exciting.
"That's what I meant," Nnanji said. "Sorcerers being found near the River!"
Wallie stared at him. "What do you mean?"
Nnanji tugged his blanket into greater comfort. "Coming down from the hills."
"What... what do you know about sorcerers, brother adept?"
"Only the usual stories." Nnanji reached out a hand and patted Cowie's thigh encouragingly.
"But Honakura never heard of sorcerers!"
"He wouldn't, would he? I mean, they worship the Fire God, so no one who had any dealings with a sorcerer would tell a priest. They'd tell a swordsman, though!"
This was a complete revelation to Wallie. Just in time, he restrained a blast of temper: why had Nnanji not told him this sooner?
Then Nnanji's eyes widened. "I thought you would know about them, my lord brother! Did you not have sorcerers in your other―"
"I'm asking you now."
Nnanji rubbed wet eyelids. "Well, the only man in the barracks who had met a sorcerer firsthand was Honorable Tarru. I never heard him tell it, but Briu had." His gaze seemed to go out of focus as he recalled the words..."
Tarru? Ironic―Wallie had almost enjoyed killing Tarru. "Just the outline, please, Nnanji."
"Well... it was when he was a Second. Long ago. They caught sight of a sorcerer on a donkey and chased him to a village. They surrounded it, but when they searched, he'd vanished. They found the donkey, and his gown, but that was all. They go invisible."
Invisible killers? "You're serious?"
Nnanji nodded glumly. "Seems so. There are other stories. Two frees came on pilgrimage on Leatherworkers' Day last year, and one of them said..."
With effortless recall, be rattled off a dozen tales, all retold at least once―yarns spun by members of the guard who had been frees in their youth, or by pilgrim swordsmen granted hospitality in the barracks, or merely tales that had been lying around there for years. The basic theme was always the same. One: Swordsman sees sorcerer. Two: Swordsman kills sorcerer. Three: End of story. A swordsman's invariable reaction to a sorcerer was instant attack―dog versus cat. If there was a contrary story that began with sorcerer seeing swordsman, then the survivor had not reported it to the barracks.
Sorcerers wore gowns with cowls. Sorcerers' facemarks were feathers... No, no one knew why. Why were farmers' facemarks triangles? Sorcerers were never found near the River, only in the hills or mountains. There were legends of sorcerer cities―Kra and Pfath and Vul and others―and a few isolated towers. Swordsmen stayed away from those... or, again, did not return to report.
Jja caught Wallie's eye, looking very solemn. "There was a place called Kra south of Plo, master. No one ever went there, but I don't remember anyone mentioning sorcerers... it was in the mountains." Plo lay far to the south, so that could have nothing to do with these sorcerers.
Nnanji moved on to minstrel ballads. The sorcerers were an evil bunch in those―killing, bewitching, laying on curses―but the minstrels would have selected their material to suit their swordsman audience, so the sampling could be biased. Yet if sorcerers wielded a fraction of the powers attributed to them, then Wallie was facing an impossible situation. The swordsmen's standard murderous reflex would be the only defense―hit him first, before he knew you were there. But almost certainly Lady Thondi had already reported his arrival, so that would not work this time.
Despite Honakura's doubts, there really were sorcerers in the World, only not near Hann.
"Vul?" Wallie said. "That was one of the cities? The mountains here are called RegiVul. Maybe Vul is in these mountains." He thought for a while. "So sorcerers attacked Ov and killed the swordsmen... but why? I mean, why now? If they're half as good as your stories say they are, then they could have done this centuries ago." The culture of the World was old beyond imagining.
Nnanji shrugged. "The Goddess does not allow them near the River."
So She had sent Her champion to drive them back into the hills? Nnanji was right―this must be his mission. But Her champion had no idea how to fight invisible killers armed with magic. In fact, Wallie was perhaps the worst swordsman the Goddess could have chosen―his mind retched at the thought of sorcery. All his training was against it. Yet two weeks ago he had not believed in miracles, either.
Then he saw the manor ahead. There were other structures visible in the background―slave quarters, perhaps, and farm buildings―but he ignored those. The big house was doubtless very grand by local standards, but its architecture jarred on him. The proportions were all wrong, and the colors. Most of the stonework was a checker of white and red, its lines cluttered with black or gray pilasters, balconies, and buttresses. The high roofs were tiled in many colors, shining wet, and fussily embellished with green-copper dormers and onion domes. Big windows in the facade looked out over formal gardens, and the rough roadway changed abruptly into a gravel drive leading to a low but imposing staircase. There was his destination, and he could move faster on foot.
He rose, throwing off the cloak. "Nnanji, help the others out when you get there. Katanji, come with me."
He vaulted over the back of the cart. Katanji scrambled and jumped, and Wallie steadied him as he slipped in the mud. Then the two of them ran ahead.
At the foot of the steps, Wallie paused. "Stay here and keep watch," he said.
"For what, my lord?" Katanji looked worried, as he should.
"Archers, mostly. Shout if you see anything suspicious."
Wallie trotted up the staircase, his boots slapping in shallow puddles. The double doors were large enough to take the horse and cart, and very firmly closed and solid. But this was no castle―big mullioned windows reached to the floor on either side.
He kicked the door three times with the sole of his boot, and it boomed like a drum. Then he peered through one of the windows. The panes were small and leaded, glass manufacture still being primitive in the World, and he could see nothing within. The cart had almost reached Katanji, who was rotating slowly, like a lighthouse beacon.
Squat statuettes of dancing nymphs adorned the red granite balustrades. Wallie selected one of the smaller figures and confirmed that he could move it. He could even throw it well enough to collapse a window in a satisfying crash of shattered glass and twisted lead.
He ducked in through the chasm and saw a black-clad woman hesitating irresolutely ahead of him. She was white-haired and matronly, but a slave nevertheless. Send a slave to greet a Seventh, would they? Normally slaves were safe from violence, being property, but this intruder was obviously not respecting property.
"Inform Lady Thondi that I shall see her in the great hall at once."
The woman bowed. "Her ladyship sends..."
"At once, or I start smashing things!" Wallie turned his attention to the door, swinging the bar up and pulling. His companions were descending from the cart at the bottom of the steps.
The woman had gone scampering across the wide marble floor toward a grandiose staircase. The entrance hallway was impressive, and evidently intended to be so. Tall black pedestals supported statuary―mostly very ugly, bloated nudes―and the walls were clothed in elaborate tapestries. Wallie had seen true luxury in the temple at Harm; this was rank ostentation. Angrily he compared it with Quili's damp little cottage, but there was probably as much difference again between her humble abode and the estate's slave quarters. He had promised not to tell the Goddess how to run Her World and he knew that many places on Earth had a similar disparity of wealth, but this conspicuous display enraged him. Lands were always the ultimate riches.
