by David Duncan
"I admit nothing!" Wallie lifted the bundle and tipped out twelve pistols-Rotanxi's own, Chinarama's, and the ten that Boariyi had brought. Then there was a lull in the conversation, while Sapphire wrestled with her cable and a straggle of geese flew by, far overhead. The sorcerer was frowning at this new threat.
"We win in the short run," Wallie said. "You may win in the middle run-perhaps. In the end we both lose."
"How so?"
"The swordsmen now know that your thunderbolts are not spells, that they are weapons. They will seek to obtain such weapons so that they may fight you on equal terms. And swordsmen are much better fighters! If I do not give them the secret, they will gain it by other means. In five years, my lord, you will be facing swordsmen armed with the same weapons you have now. I could make better, if I chose."
Another pause. Then Wallie added: "Nor will it stop there. Such weapons cannot be kept secret. Civilians will start getting them also. Then any old grandmother is a match for the toughest swordsman. Brigands will keep sorcerers captive in their cellars to manufacture weapons. It will mean ruin for both our crafts, my lord."
This was his argument-for-sorcerers. He had not presented it to the swordsmen and he wondered what Nnanji was making of it, but he kept his eyes on Rotanxi.
"I have no power to negotiate anything," the sorcerer said at last, and Wallie knew that he was making progress.
"You could take a message. And I cannot believe that the wizard of Sen is without influence."
The bitter old man studied him carefully. "What exactly are you proposing, Shonsu?"
"That we end the needless hostility between swordsman and sorcerer. It was always foolish and now it will lead to a growing, spreading struggle..." It was hard to find words to describe an arms race. Eventually he thought the sorcerer understood. "So you must agree to destroy your weapons and make no more. In return we treat your craft as we do all others, and you would be under the protection of the swordsmen."
Rotanxi laughed scornfully. "The protection of that gang of killers, thieves, and rapists you have in Casr? I had sooner be guarded by rabid wolves!"
Nnanji cursed and half rose from his stool, reaching for his sword. Then he sank back, muttering.
But Wallie managed to control his own temper. "I do not defend what happened when the swordsmen began arriving, my lord. It was shameful. But it was also unusual. There has been no tryst in many centuries to warn us-hundreds of free swords, all expecting to be treated like kings and heroes, all of them with nothing to do! As soon as the tryst was sworn, Lord Boariyi imposed discipline. The elders say that Casr has never been more peaceful than it is now. Maidens walk the streets at midnight unmolested. Thieves and cutpurses have vanished. I offer you this for your seven cities, and all others!"
Rotanxi scoffed. "You think you have such power?"
"I have unlimited power. The swordsmen are sworn to obey me to the death and without question." All except that angry young man beside me. "If I say that sorcerers are friends, then they will be treated like friends. I can make the swordsmen swear an oath to that effect."
The sorcerer stared coldly at him, but he was very intent. "'And all others,' you said?"
Wallie smiled. "I am being optimistic. The fourteen cities of the loop, certainly. The rest of the World will obviously be a little harder, and take time. But I could impose a new sutra on the men we have here. I could make them swear to work for its adoption everywhere. The Goddess brought them, and She will return them to their homes. They can tell the others. We do not have all the World's swordsmen here, my lord, only a tiny fraction of them. But in time, with goodwill on both sides..."
"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, then 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 turnco
at."
"I have been very careful," Wallie 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, Shonsu?" 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 forth 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 time, 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 his 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. How 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 appraisingly. "I have my hostage, Shonsu?"
Wallie nodded. "Twenty days. But if he is harmed in any way, then I swear that I will bring the tryst to Vul and raze it, no matter what the 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 horrified 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 that the liege lord will not meet with an unexpected accident."
"Let us go and meet them, then." Wallie glanced around and saw that 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.
"A council of thirteen Rotanxis?" Tomiyano sneered. "Can you imagine it?"
"Barely."
"And you're going to send that boy to them? The first thing they'll ask him is how many sorcerers he's killed."
And Nnanji would tell them.
"I don't think I can stop him." It sounded weak even to Wallie as he said it, but it was the truth.
Tomiyano was furious, his voice rising. "You know what they'll see when they look at him? A trained killer! A boy monster! I don't suppose sorcerers reach seventh rank until they're sixty at least. They'll be a bunch of frightened old men, Shonsu, and you're suggesting something totally new. You want them to trust you-and you send Nnanji? You're making my sister a widow, damn you! Do you suppose they'll send some bits of him back to her as souvenirs?"
†† † ††
zzz
The circle of seven had now become a circle of eight. Seven swordsmen sat on stools, the solitary sorcerer in a chair. The fire crackled and sparked, sometimes blowing out clouds of smoke as the wind gusted. Likely the chimney had not been swept in a century.
Yet the group of eight held subgroups. Rotanxi was a conspicuous minority of one in his cowled gown. The old man was understandably wary, a solitary cat in a doghouse, being cautious and courteous.
Wallie himself felt strangely isolated, the other swordsmen's suspicion walling him in like thick glass. As he described the tentative agreement he had made with the sorcerer, he could feel his words bouncing off it. They did not want to hear.
And Nnanji was another group all to himself. He was staying silent, sinewy arms folded and ankles crossed, gazing at his boots with a secret smile teasing the corners of his mouth. Even the silver pelicans on the rug did not upset him now.
