by Dave Duncan
“Thanks, Dad!”
As Vixini’s mentor, Dad just stood on the sidelines to witness the sutra test. Vixini himself and the two mingy Thirds sat cross-legged on the damnably cold paving of the stage with their swords in front of them, and the examination began.
“Number 212, On the Treatment of Wounds,” said Meany Number One.
Vixini got through it, and hoped they could not see how he was sweating by the end. He suspected he’d got pressure bandages and bladder wounds in the wrong order, but they didn’t call him on it. He wasn’t too surprised then when Meany Number Two asked him for On Exercise. He managed that one also, thanks to Dad’s backward strategy.
Scowling, Number One tried again. “Number 99.”
Vixini hadn’t known that he might not be given the title as well as the number, but it must be within the rules, because Dad didn’t object. He thought for a moment. “Number 99, On Diet.” He was right and the recital felt easy after the two previous horrors.
He thought he had proved himself then, but the Gruesome Twosome were clearly going to try him on the full seven sutras they were allowed. And they’d realized that he’d concentrated on the hard ones.
“Number 95, The Sanctity of the Sword.”
Vixini opened his mouth, shut in, racked what few brains he had, and, without daring to look up at Dad, said, “The Sanctity of the Sword is Number 15, and Number 95 is The Sanctity of the Fencing Foil. I believe your error credits me with both sutras, Examiner.” Except he was sure it hadn’t been an error, it had been a trap.
Dad laughed. “He’s got you! I have never known an examination continue after an examiner blundered like that.”
He was liege lord. No one argued with the liege. The two Thirds rose sour-faced and congratulated Vixini, then stalked away. They would be judging his fencing later, another chance to fail him, but he was looking forward to that.
Dad hugged him. “You’ve done it, Son! I don’t care what Thirds they put up against you in foils, you’ll send them back in pieces. Now listen carefully. I’ve arranged for your match to be in the first round of the fencing. Once you have put your opponents out of their misery, the examiners will go with you to the facemarker, and after that you have to get your new kilt. But then I want you to go straight over to Katanji’s house. He has something for you, something very important.”
The amphitheater could hold thousands. Wallie had seen it fuller, but never full. Nor had he ever viewed an assembly from anywhere except the Sevenths’ box at the back of the stage, which had a cover. On rainy days the Sevenths were dry, but nobody else was. Despite today’s ominous sky, so far the rain god was withholding his blessings.
The air crackled with excitement. Many assemblies had been held before expeditions were led out, when men were lambasting the Goddess with prayers that She would cause them to be included, but this was different. Word of the attack on Nnanji and a full-scale war against sorcerers made this the chance of lifetime: fame, promotion, and mention in the epics! How many would Lord Shonsu take? Goddess, Goddess, make me one of them and I will father a hundred daughters to Your glory!
It began conventionally enough. The chief herald called for all to rise. The Sevenths entered. The band played. Everyone sang The Swordsmen in the Morning, twelve hundred throats in unison. Everyone sat down. Promotions had priority, and the first item was the heralds calling out the names of those who had failed in sutras, so they could be soundly booed. Then the winners came up for their fencing tests. Wallie had been forewarned that there would have to be fifty or sixty matches, which could take all day. The audience might be able to afford the time, and fencing was their sport as well as their profession, so they could never get enough of it; but he couldn’t. Once or twice Nnanji had doubled up the fencing. Wallie had decided to make a three-ring circus of it.
There was some surreptitious booing when the herald announced this decision, but soon the fencers were hard at it, leaping back and forth, foils clanging and ponytails flailing. Since every duel required the necessary second examiner, two judges, and a mentor, the stage was packed with dancing competitors and dodging witnesses. Men cannoned off the Sevenths’ Box and a couple backed right off the stage and thus out of the competition. Whooping, cheering, and booing became almost continuous. Most of the contestants won both their bouts and were accepted by the judges. Vixini had no trouble.
The final bouts were for promotion to high rank. Each of those had to be allowed the stage to itself, but even a Seventh could enjoy watching fencing at that level, and at the end of it the Tryst had gained two new Sixths and three new Fifths.
But when it was all over and the last sweaty arm had been raised—or not raised—then the liege lord had to walk out from the Sevenths’ box and greet each winner. Every name was cheered, and Wallie was relieved to note that Vixini won a cheer as loud as any, because they had all seen that the wunderkind had fenced like a true Third, years older. He wasn’t just his daddy’s spoiled brat.
Swordsman Vixini strode proudly across the lodge grounds to where his oath-uncle Katanji stored his loot. He wondered what in the World the old rogue had for him that Dad had been so mysterious about. A fancy sword might be one possibility, or a hairclip. There was nothing much else that he would have any use for at the moment. In ten years or so, perhaps a wife and a house, but if he rose to high rank in the Trystand his success today suggested that he couldthen he would qualify for a place in the married quarters. Right now he was an adult and heading off to fight in the first real war in centuries. Life was looking very good!
He was still wondering whom he should ask to be his mentor if Dad didn’t want to do that any more when he arrived at the Treasure Chest, as Mom called the place. He trotted up the steps and hauled on the bell. Although Katanji owned at least a dozen slaves, he opened the door himself, which was surprising. Vixini whipped out his sword and took great pleasure in giving him the salute to an equal.
The treasurer responded, then said, “Well done, well done. You’ll be as great a swordsman as your dad one day. Come on in here.”
He led the way to his living room, past some life-size jade statues, a silver horse, brilliant tapestries, exotic furniture, and four pillars of multi-colored stone. There, sprawled back in a padded chair and scoffing dried dates, was the missing Addis. He had a black eye that was more a rainbow eye, and was wearing a smug, contented expression, but Vixini knew him very well and suspected that he was hiding excitement about something.
“So there you are! Two days ago your mother tracked me down and made me swear on my sword that I didn’t know where you were.”
“Well? You didn’t, did you? I suppose I have to salute you now, do I, Swordsman Vixini?”
“You bet your sweet little ass, boy, because if you don’t it’s going to get well booted.”
Addis grinned and jumped up. They exchanged salute and response while Katanji watched with a smirk. Vixini noticed again how very alike uncle and nephew were, but he knew that Aunt Thana hated Katanji so much she could barely stand to be in the same room with him. Addis had no need to worry that his father wasn’t who he had been told he was.
Vixini folded his arms. “Well, I have to go back and hear Dad’s speech. He promises it’ll be a scorcher. He said you had something for me, Uncle.”
“Yes. That.”
Vixini looked in dismay at all the teeth his young friend was showing. “Oh, no!”
Addis’s face fell. He said, “Your…” and stopped.
Oh, shit! “I didn’t mean it that way! I would love to have you as a protégé, tadpole, truly I would, but Dad promised me if I got my promotion I could go to the war with him. Firsts are never taken into danger! If I were your mentor, I couldn’t go. I couldn’t leave you.”
But surely Dad would never play a filthy trick like that on either of them?
“Boys, boys!” Katanji said. “I’ve known Shonsu a long time, and when he talks, wise men listen. He told Addis right here in this room that he could be
a swordsman and have you for a mentor. He didn’t say Thana could go swim in the River and eat all the piranha, but that’s what he meant. He has always been able to guess what the gods want better than anyone I’ve ever met. If he told you he was going to take you to the war, then he must mean that he’s going to take Addis as well.”
Vixini looked at Addis. “Devilspit! That’ll scare the sorcerers shitless, that will! This what you want, maggot?”
“By the time we get to Plo I’ll be a Fourth and you’ll be saluting me.”
It would be great to have a buddy along, someone near his own age.
“Let’s go, then. We’ll have to run. We gotta pick you out a kilt and boots and a sword… At the double, frog!”
Addis turned to his uncle and thanked him graciously for his hospitality. Then he came running after his mentor.
After the end of the fencing came the postulants, boys and girls joining the craft. Wallie solemnly listened as their mentors swore them in with the words of the code, and then he had to kneel to each one to give each his, or her, sword. Only then could he return to the Sevenths’ box.
The next item on the agenda, by tradition, was a tribute to the fallen. There were always two or three, but no assembly had ever had to mourn more than a half a dozen. This time there were more than eighty. Two heralds took turns calling out the names of the dead and the details of their deaths: the burned brothel in Arbo, the massacre with firearms at Cross Zek, the murdered couriers. The moans and boos grew louder and louder. The last death, the Fourth who had been shot right there in Casr while arresting the poisoners, provoked a roar that might have been heard in Hann.
Listening to this dread toll, Wallie recalled a suggestion that he had made years ago but Nnanji and Katanji had shouted down. Well, they weren’t here to shout him down now, and once he had announced it, they would not be able to unannounce it.
The Herald glanced around; Wallie nodded. It was his turn.
The great theater fell completely silent as his name was called and he then walked forward. Lord Shonsu was a stand-in, the swordsmen felt. The real liege was Lord Nnanji; they wanted to hear the true story behind his absence. Wallie intended to give it to them.
“My lords, your honors, masters…” He could never be as loud as that chief herald, who could have drowned out a factory steam whistle, but Shonsu had bequeathed him a fearsome set of lungs. “We all must mourn so many brave men and women so unfairly struck down. No tears, no revenge, no compensation, can bring them back. Nothing can undo the injury of their deaths, but I am happy to be able to tell you that their families will be cared for by the Tryst.” Applause, starting slowly and building as the implications sank in. “And this will be true in future for any swordsman of the Tryst who dies or is disabled in action.” Katanji, wherever he was, would have a dozen concurrent apoplectic fits.
So Wallie had brought workmen’s compensation to the World. The time was ripe, for he was about to lead the Tryst into real and present danger for the first time. He must motivate men in large numbers to risk their lifeblood. Nothing held the swordsmen but their oaths, and if the task suddenly felt too dangerous and they decided to cut and run, their liege might find himself fighting alone.
He told them about Nnanji. Thana had sent word that she thought he might be a little better today, but Wallie would not raise hopes yet. There were so many complications that might follow such a wound that the patient would not be out of danger for weeks. Then he told about the attempt on his own life, how he had captured the assassin, and how she had then confessed. That merited a huge cheer, as everyone assumed she had been horribly tortured.
He openly accused the sorcerer coven of Kra of breaking the treaty. Although it had never signed on to that agreement, it had attacked the Tryst with firearms, which was either mass murder or an act of war. He promised that the swordsmen would now march on Kra in all their righteous wrath and raze it.
Wild applause.
“As their liege, I will revenge our brothers!”
Wilder.
He announced the leaders he would take with him.
Some thin clapping. In fact he could not take even a tenth of his hopeful listeners. As Joraskinta had suggested, he must enlist as he went, gather strength from loyal garrisons all along the River. He was fairly certain now that he would go to Plo via Soo, but he did not mention Soo.
“Brothers and sisters, may the Goddess bless our swords!”
That prayer normally signaled the end, triggering a final chorus of the anthem, but Wallie had added one additional item. He hoped that the star had arrived safely.
“There are two young men I will certainly take with me to Kra. The first you have watched win his promotion here today, so he is now qualified to accept a protégé. That protégé you may not recognize.”
Wallie stepped back, the herald took his place. “My lords, your honors, masters, adepts, swordsmen, apprentices… pray honor Swordsman Vixini, and postulant Addis, son of Nnanji the swordsman…”
Vixini strode out in his new brown kilt, with a third facemark still oozing blood on his forehead, and a grin as wide as the River. He carried a sheathed sword in his hand, while behind him walked a white-kilted youth, whose eyes shone like stars.
Wallie had expected now to give Addis his sword, as he had the other postulants, but evidently Vixini had not yet made his first protégé repeat the code of the craft, and that had to come first. It was doubtful if either of them had a voice capable of being heard throughout the whole extent of the amphitheater, but they didn’t need to, because the code was the first sutra, which everyone present had learned on their own admission day. The audience picked it up and repeated each phrase after Vixini in peals of thunder:
I will be evermore true to
the will of the Goddess,
the sutras of the swordsmen,
and the laws of the People.
I will be mighty against the mighty,
gentle to the weak,
generous to the poor,
and merciless to the rapacious.
I will do nothing of which I may be ashamed,
but avoid no honor.
I will give no less than justice to others,
and seek no more for myself.
I will be valiant in adversity,
and humble in prosperity.
I will live with joy.
I will die bravely.
When the final promise died away, Shonsu walked forward as his stepson drew the sword from its scabbard. He took it and solemnly knelt to offer it to Addis.
“Live by this. Wield it in Her service. Die holding it.”
Well coached, Addis took hold of the hilt and spoke the reply: “It shall be my honor and my pride.”
Of course the Tryst applauded. Nnanji’s son going forth to fight in his father’s stead? This was utterly fitting, even if everyone knew that novices were never allowed anywhere close to real fighting.
That should have been the end of it.
But Addis added a touch of his own. Finding himself holding a sword and being cheered, he turned to face the crowd and made the salute to a company. They loved it. He got the loudest roar of the day. Wallie had not suggested that; neither Vixini or Katanji would ever have thought of it. The boy had flair.
Getting out of the amphitheater turned out to be much harder than getting into it. It seemed as if every man and woman in the Tryst was buddies with Vixini and wanted to congratulate him on his promotion. Perhaps they also wanted to get a look at the Nnanji polliwog, but Firsts were usually ignored, so Addis had nothing to do except stay close to his mentor and try to keep his sword straight on his back. Wearing a kilt felt strange, boots were total weirdness, and his bull-hide harness was already starting to chaff. The scabbard itself was supported by two straps across his back, but the sword was top heavy and the handle kept sliding over to his shoulder, usually his right shoulder, sometimes the other one. He kept his hands away from his facemark, knowing that newly-hatched Firsts were
known as “scratchers.” But if his life depended on it, he could not keep his sword hilt behind his ear, ready to grab when danger loomed. It was done with a twitch of the shoulder blades, Vixi said, but Addis’s shoulder blades seemed to be unusually stupid.
Just short of the lodge gates, Vixi said, “In here!” and stepped behind some bushes.
“Now,” he said, counting on his fingers, “you and I have to swear the second oath, so we’re properly mentor and protégé. You must learn to control that sword hilt, or I’ll nail it in place for you. Get busy and grow a ponytail, that’s an order. And I have to find a mentor before tomorrow sunset.”
“Not your dad?”
“I’ll ask him, but I think he’s frightened he’ll baby me, so he’ll say he’s too busy. Anything you want to do?”
“I think this sword’s too long for me.”
Vixi told him to draw it and hold the handle as high as he could to see where the point came on his chest. No, if anything it was too short, put it back. Be careful or you’ll cut your ass off. He was amused but not mocking. Vixi never hurt people’s feelings.
“Anything else?”
“I’d really like to go home and see how Dad is.” He was a swordsman now, and under orders. Only kids ran free and did whatever they pleased.
“Good idea. We’ll check on your dad, but it isn’t your home any more, kid.”
Right! Addis chalked up another adjustment. He would sleep wherever his mentor did now, and that would depend on what his mentor said.
So they went to the palace that had been his home until an hour ago. Out in the streets, Vixi had to make a formal salute to every higher rank he met, but they all pretended not to see his First. He was stopped by the guards on the palace gate, of course, who pretended not to recognize this new Third. They certainly knew Addis, and gave the pair of them a lot of ribbing, which Vixi handled by being just as amused as they were.
