On the fourth afternoon, while Wallie was fencing with Fiendori and Nnanji with Forarfi, two figures appeared in the doorway, dark against sunlight. Wallie noted through the grid of his mask that one was a swordsman and thought that Boariyi had found him. Then he saw the visitors were the high priest and the castellan. He removed the mask, gathered his sword from a bench, and advanced to make his salutes, still breathing hard. He felt grubby and scruffy in comparison with their cool elegance.
"Pray continue your match, my lord," Tivanixi said. "I was enjoying it."
Wallie declined and led them over to the benches. The newcomers sat on one bench and he on the other. Nnanji and the two Sixths tactfully departed.
"From the little I saw," the castellan remarked, "you have made good use of your time."
"Care to judge form, then?" Wallie asked, smiling.
Tivanixi was not in a smiling mood. "I could not. I have never seen Boariyi fence against Fiendori. He is too uneven to use as a standard, anyway."
"My time is up?" Wallie asked.
"I fear so. No swordsmen have arrived for two days now. The other Sevenths are unanimous in interpreting this as a sign—the Goddess wishes the tryst to proceed. Lord Kadywinsi concurs."
Wallie sighed. The ship would be ready by evening, alterations complete, stores loaded. The sewing and waterproofing and distilling were done. Now he must decide whether to use them—to go ahead with the insane gamble he had planned, or to scrap it all and play by the swordsmen's rules.
"Can you hold off a little longer?"
"How long?" the castellan asked reluctantly.
"Six days, maybe seven?"
"Impossible! The town is ready to riot. We had eight challenges yesterday, and today already three. There will be no one left to swear if this goes on. I fear a duel may wax into pitched battle. No, my lord, we must proceed with the invocation of the tryst and selection of a leader."
Wallie leaned his elbows on his knees and stared glumly at the floor. "Your judgment, then, please, my lord. Have the minstrels helped? If I can beat Boariyi, will the tryst accept me?"
Tivanixi hesitated, looked to the priest for aid, and got a useless bland smile. "Some will, some won't. If you get enough, of course, you can force the rest at swordpoint."
That would not do, and they both knew it. A reluctant tryst would obey orders, but grudgingly and sloppily, and any leader would need much more than that. Wallie stared at Tivanixi thoughtfully.
"Would you?"
The castellan frowned. "Would I what?"
"Given a free choice between me and Boariyi, would you still choose me?"
For a long moment there was no answer. Then Wallie reached up and unclipped his hair.
Tivanixi said, "No."
Perhaps the impact of the seventh sword had worn off. Perhaps Boariyi had been charming Tivanixi as he had charmed Nnanji. But Wallie had a hunch that it was the ridicule of Novice Katanji to the Dark Tower Came that had tipped the scales. He would never know.
"Thank you," he said, and replaced his hairclip. "I can only ask that you hold off the contest as long as you can, my lord. I am leaving town."
Tivanixi's face burned with sudden anger. He jumped to his feet.
"Then I do not know what you are doing, my lord, or what you have been doing these last four days. There is a very good Sixth who will be eligible to try again for promotion tomorrow. Perhaps he is destined to be our seventh Seventh. Perhaps you should be counted although you have spurned Her summons." He bowed slightly. "May the Goddess be with you . . . and you with She.
That ending could be grounds for challenge, but Wallie ignored it. The visitors left. He stayed slouched on the bench, staring morosely at the floor, pondering his best course of action. If he remained in Casr and tried to win the leadership, he would probably be denounced before he got the chance. If he succeeded in fighting Boariyi then he might be killed. If he won, then the swordsmen likely would not swear allegiance to him anyway.
The alternative was a madcap venture, risking both his life and the lives of his friends. Even if it worked, he might not persuade the swordsmen to listen, or he might be too late. Of course, the Goddess could move his ship to Sen and balk in a twinkling but he did not expect that sort of help. Great deeds done by mortals were what the gods wanted, not their own miracles. The People did not regard the geographical mutations as miracles—they were too frequent, like rainbows or lightning—but Wallie certainly did.
Goddess! There was no best course of action!
Tivanixi would have removed his Sixths, of course, so when a solitary shadow appeared in the puddle of light from the doorway he assumed it was Nnanji—a tali figure with a sword hilt beside the right ear.
Then he saw it was not Nnanji and jumped to his feet.
It was not Boariyi, either. It was a woman. She walked slowly forward, and he saw her clearly as she passed through the first shaft of dust twinkling sunlight falling from one of the high windows. She was extraordinarily tall, almost as tall as he was—the tallest woman he had seen in the World. Her hair was long and hung loose. What had seemed to be a sword hilt was the peg-box of a lute on her back. She floated over the flagstones toward him, swathed in a long wrap reaching almost to the floor . . . a sapphire-blue wrap. She was a minstrel of the seventh rank.
Then she reached him and stopped. The etiquette was clear: He was male and a swordsman, she was the newcomer. She must make the salute and he respond; but she merely stood and regarded him.
He had seen her in the lodge, peering over the heads of the other minstrels. He had assumed then that she was a young man, because of her height.
She was not conventionally beautiful. Her mouth was too large and her nose was high-prowed and bony, but cascades of shining brown hair flowed over bare shoulders, and the wrap was supported by firm breasts. Not overly conspicuous breasts, he thought, but she was so big overall that they were quite adequate. The face was plain but her figure could not be faulted. A goddess! Her sheath was of gleaming silk, almost sheer . . . clinging. She had stature. She had aplomb. Suddenly Wallie was very conscious that this astonishing visitor was a maddeningly desirable woman. And she knew it.
The silence continued.
Tivanixi had mentioned some minstrel whom Shonsu should have known. Wallie could not recall the name. Had the castellan brought her or had she followed him?
"Did anyone else come with you?" he demanded.
She shook her head.
He wondered if he ought to kiss her. That might inform him of the relationship she expected. She might run or . . . or he might become even more disconcerted than he was already. He wished she would speak. Her arrogant poise was somehow inflammatory.
"Sing for me, if you do not wish to talk," he said.
She raised an eyebrow skeptically. "Since when have you cared for music?"
He knew the voice, a rich contralto. Nnanji had mimicked it when he sang the Ten Renegade Swordsmen.
"I appreciate a lot of things that I used not to," he said, wondering what she would make of that.
"What are you going to do?" she demanded.
"Do about what?"
Impatiently she said, "About the tryst. Will you be leader?"
The lack of formal greeting proved that this woman had been intimate with Shonsu. How intimate? The idea of Shonsu having a platonic relationship lacked all conviction—which meant that his hands had stroked those splendid limbs, those breasts had crushed against his body, those lips.
Maybe not, though. This woman could have great resistance.
"The Ten Renegade Swordsmen?" he asked. "That was yours?"
"Yes."
"Then you have been to Hann?"
She shook her head. "We went over to Quo and down from there. I met a minstrel, who told me the story. Then I knew that you were still alive, so I came back. What about the tryst?"
"We?"
"I don't think the swordsmen would accept me."
She smiled. He was shocked to see satisfaction in that smile. "Wise of them."
"So what are you going to do?" he asked, his mind whirling.
She was regarding him strangely now, her suspicions aroused. "What I always said I would do—sing at your funeral."
That cleared the board a little.
Yet there was still provocation in her posture. Could the remark have been some sort of humor? Which should he believe—her words or her eyes?
"I am reluctant to give you the opportunity, my lady," he said. "I think I shall leave town again."
"Going where?"
"I am not at liberty to say."
She shook her head, frowning narrowly. "You don't give up like that."
He sat down on the bench and waved at the other. She remained standing. She was certainly wearing nothing under that filmy wrap. He was sweating.
"I told you," he said. "I have changed. Whatever was between us is over." That was comfortingly vague. "I would appreciate it if you did not mention to anyone that you saw me here." He hoped that she would accept his words as dismissal.
"On the contrary." She unslung her lute. "I feel a ballad coming on. Shonsu the Priest, perhaps, or In the Ruins of the Temple?"
She touched the strings and a ripple of music flowed through the bare stone hall.
"Katanji to the Dark Tower . . . was that yours, also?"
She laughed harshly and sat down, facing him. "Not bad, is it? But I think Shonsu the Priest will be better."
"What I need," he said, with sudden inspiration, "is Shonsu the Hero. If you would do for me what the minstrels have done for my protégé, then I could be leader of the tryst!"
A smile of catlike pleasure crossed her face. She bent her head over the lute and strummed a chord. "Yes? Yes. I could do that. Why should I?" she demanded, looking up at him.
"For the sake of the Goddess, my lady," he said. "I know much more about sorcerers than Lord Boariyi does, or any of the others. If I cannot somehow become leader, then the tryst is doomed."
Her imperious stare was unnerving. "What subject would you recommend? Your visit to Aus? Shonsu the Snake? Shonsu the Worm?"
He sighed. She was an electrifying woman, and the battle of wits was a challenge, but he was wasting time, dreaming dreams, and her overpowering presence was making him fall apart.
"Try Shonsu the Sailor, my lady," he said and rose to his feet. "I must go and be about Her service. But I do beg of you not to speak of this meeting."
He was halfway to the door when the lute rang out and her voice rose in song:
Shonsu . . . Shonsu . . .
He stopped. It was a lament, echoing eerily across the barren chamber.
Where have you taken our boys?
Where have you taken our joys?
Shonsu . . . Shonsu . . .
The hilts of their swords were bright in the sun,
They held up their heads and submitted to none,
Lovers and brothers and fathers and sons . . .
He walked back slowly. She stopped and began again, this time with a slightly changed melody, the pathos and heartrending emotion even stronger, and she added two more lines. It was a dirge for the forty-nine dead—and she was composing it on the spot.
It would destroy Shonsu utterly.
She stopped and looked up at him mockingly.
He said, "Tell me if you plan to complete that, lady. For if you do, then my cause is lost."
She rose and slung the lute on her back once more. "I shall come with you!"
"Impossible! There will be great danger."
She shrugged. "I am coming."
Minstrels were the news media of the World. She wanted to see the next Shonsu battle at firsthand, as a war correspondent. He hesitated, Wallie Smith's mind suddenly aware of Shonsu's rampaging glands.
"I-I may fail!" he stammered.
She smiled. "I hope so! I shall enjoy watching you die."
Indeed?
"I may disappoint you, of course. I may triumph You had better stay home with the children."
No reaction to that, thank the gods!
She pouted and seemed to bargain. "If you do succeed, I shall compose an epic for you, Shonsu the hero. It will make you leader."
He wondered if she were mad, or if he were.
Of course! Honakura!
The old man was meddling again . . . but surely this was the hand of the Goddess? Nnanji, Katanji, Honakura himself—they were all extraordinary people, sent by the gods to help in his mission. Certainly this superlative minstrel was another. She was a genius. Honakura had seen that and had recruited her. Typical of the old rascal not to give warning!
"There will be great danger," he said again
She shrugged "I have met sorcerers before. They appreciate music more than swordsmen do."
A spy? There was another possibility!
She started toward the door. He stared after her, thinking of the tiny ship and a week's voyage. What had she been to Shonsu? Then she reached the bright archway. Sunlight struck through the gauzy wrap as she mounted the steps, and she was a naked woman bearing a lute and walking in blue fire. He had lost his wits to Shonsu's rage before—now suddenly he blazed with irresistible lust. Shonsu's mistress! He must have her!
He ran in pursuit.
Nnanji and Thana were sitting outside on a crumbled stump of a wall, hand in hand, lost to everything except each other. They sprang up as the tall woman reached them. Evidently Nnanji had not met her before and probably not known she was there, for he looked startled. He drew his sword and saluted.
Wallie was just in time to catch her response: "I am Doa, minstrel of the seventh rank . . .
It was good to know her name, he thought cynically—in case he wanted to speak to her in the dark.
* * *
In sunshine and a rollicking wind, Sapphire's dinghy romped over the water. Thana held the tiller with Nnanji sitting close, both of them staring in mingled astonishment and amusement at the unexpected recruit. Doa leaned back in complacent contemplation of the scenery, her long brown tresses streaming like a flag. Wallie could not take his eyes off her. His hands trembled.
He had never promised Jja that he would be faithful to her only. He had tried to; she had stopped him from saying the words. Having now heard the People's version of a marriage contract, he could understand why. He had scoffed at Nnanji's infatuation over Thana, yet he was behaving like a witless swain himself. He tried to find excuses—this woman had been Shonsu's mistress and so his reaction was a conditioned reflex.
His conscience did not believe an atom of that.
He told his conscience, to shut up.
She might well be a sorcerer spy. He would go and talk with Honakura as soon as he had seen her safely confined aboard Sapphire. Then he saw that Sapphire was not their destination. Griffon had completed her shakedown cruise and was now anchored near the temple. They were almost there.
Thana ran the dinghy alongside and willing hands made her fast. Familiar faces grinned down—most of the males from Sapphire had come along for the ride.
Griffon's deck was much higher than the dinghy. Wallie wondered how Doa would manage the climb in her impractical silk sheath. He offered a hand. She ignored it, reached for her hem, flashed a brief glimpse of long and shapely legs, and then she was up on the deck glancing back down at him with a flicker of mockery.
She swung around and made her salute to Tomiyano, who was staring up at her like an astonished boy. Then he recovered his wits and began introducing the others.
Wallie scrambled aboard. "How is she?" he demanded, when the captain was available for business.
"The ship you mean?"
"Of course the ship!"
"Not bad at all," Tomiyano conceded. There was, of course, only one vessel that could ever be described as good. "Nimble! We could make her faster if we had a couple more days."
"That we don't." Wallie glanced at the sun, two or three hours of daylight left. "We could leave at dawn?"
Tomiyano shrugged. "We could leave now."
Wallie looked to Nnanji and got an excited nod. Why not? Speed was a priceless skill in warfare.
"Then let's do so!"
"Who?" the captain asked.
Very good question! "You and me and Nnanji and Thana . . . " They nodded in turn as he looked their way. "And Lady Doa. We need another sailor." He turned to the eager group of faces. The youngsters would give their teeth to come, of course: Sinboro and Matarro, for instance. No, he would not fight with children. The obvious choice was the skinny and taciturn Holiyi, who was leaning against the mast with a sardonic smile on his face. He was a bachelor. He had obviously worked it out already.
"Holiyi? Would you?"
Holiyi nodded. Why waste two words when none will do?
"That should be enough," Wallie said.
Nnanji frowned. "That's only six!"
Wallie sighed. By the rules of the World it would have to be seven. Jja? But she was not present. He had counted Vixini before, so would have to count him this time, making eight, and to separate Jja from her baby would be . . . would be as bad as having Jja along with Doa. Not Jja.
Then he saw hope gleaming in impish dark eyes . . . That seemed ridiculous. With a smashed arm he would be of no practical use. Yet somehow it felt right. He had been ashore in Sen, which was the closest city of the left bank, and must therefore be their destination. An aura of good fortune hung around him . . . and Wallie would much prefer to keep Katanji under his eye than running wild in Casr when he was away.
Nnanji chuckled and said, "I think so, brother! He brings wisdom."
Katanji it must be then. The others would return to Sapphire in the dinghy, and the Griffon expedition could sail at once. If Doa were a spy, she would have no chance to report.
And Wallie would not have to face Jja.
Nnanji began calling out the list of requirements: silk bags, ensorceled wine, food . . . Each item was acknowledged by whoever had stowed it aboard.
Wallie went over to Doa, who was leaning on the rail, studying the temple. She turned to give him a sultry glance, and it was all he could do to keep his hands off her. "How much did the old man tell you?" he asked.
"Which old man?"
"Lord Honakura."
Doa frowned. "Who?"