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5

"Oh, am I glad to see you!" Brota roared, advancing like a red galleon under full sail, her robe rippling in the wind, flabby arms outstretched. Griffon had just nudged against Sapphire's fenders and was not even tied up yet. Wallie had newly clambered aboard. Brota enveloped him like a runaway tent, and he hugged her in return, having no option. Then she backed away apace, and he saw the strain in her face, the tension under the joviality.

Then Jja. He was foul and fishy and not fit for intimacy, but she threw her arms around him and kissed him, and he returned the embrace and the kiss with fervor and joy. It was good to be back. It was good to hold a woman who knew her own emotions, a woman who was beautiful and loving and—above all—supremely sane.

The blustery wind that had swept him in from Sen was pitching and rocking Sapphire as she lay at anchor off Casr in cool morning sunshine. There was mention of rain in the air.

The rest of the crew were gathering around. Their faces, also, were stressed and wan, although Griffon's crew were in much worse shape after four days on a tossing, putrid tub. There were hugs and slappings of backs.

Two other ships were anchored in the distance downstream, and two more tied up at the waterfront, but the great plaza was almost deserted, given over to the lonely wind, stark as a vacant tomb. The golden streets were empty as old-fashioned Sunday mornings.

"You've been to Sen?" Brota demanded. "There and back in four days? How did you manage that?"

"With our eyes closed!" Tomiyano snapped, joining the group. "In the dark. What's been happening?"

Brota scowled at Wallie. "You have a town full of mad, mad swordsmen and mad, mad citizens. The tryst chose its leader the day after you left."

"So the sorcerers told us," Wallie said and smiled as her eyes widened. "They tried to seize ships, then?"

Brota pulled a face. "They had no chance! We'd passed the word, as you said; and as soon as the leader was proclaimed, the sailors started to panic. The nervous ones left, and then nobody wanted to be the last—the whole waterfront cleared in about half an hour."

"And the swordsmen?"

She smiled grimly. "By the time they saw what was happening, it was too late. They came out in boats, of course, and we just sailed up and down, but there was nothing they could do."

Nnanji and Thana had come on board and were helping Katanji up.

"What about nighttime?" Wallie asked.

"We moved upriver." Brota pointed a baggy arm at the vessels in the distance. Like Sapphire, they were flying quarantine flags. "Those two agreed to show the sign at the down end, and that helped." Then she pointed at the two ships moored in lonely splendor at the quay. "A couple slipped by—didn't see or didn't believe. The swordsmen grabbed them."

She wiped a tear that aught have been caused by the wind. "We couldn't have held out much longer, though. They've been sending a fleet out after us every day. Little boats. Now they have those two ships, and I expected them to come after us in those today."

It showed in the restless eyes, the quickness of speech, the tone and cadence—testing endured, adversity surmounted.

"You stood your post, swordsman!" Wallie assured her, giving her another hug. The riverfolk—sailors and traders—were a hardheaded clique. Only a supreme negotiator like Brota could have made them see the danger of being requisitioned by the tryst and could have pervaded them to forgo their trading. But the strain of being hunted by a thousand swordsmen was not something to overlook, either. "I know why the gods chose this ship for me, mistress, and you were the main reason."

She simpered mockingly, but she was flattered, perhaps for the first time in years. "Well, I'm glad you're back. I didn't expect you for days yet." Or never?

"Whose is the dinghy?" asked Tomiyano, ever suspicious The strange boat tethered to Sapphire had made them all fearful as Griffon approached.

Brota looked around in surprise and then pointed. Cousins, aunts, and uncles cleared out of the way so that Wallie could see Honakura, sitting on a fire bucket at the far side of the deck, smiling. Two priests of the Third stood beside him. Wallie went over and made his salute. He was disturbed by the old man's appearance. Four days had dons nothing to reduce his ominous pallor. He seemed even more shrunken than before. His smile was forced.

"You are welcome back, my lord," he said softly.

"They brought us food," Brota said. "We were running low."

Wallie knelt down to put his eyes level with Honakura's.

"I fear that I failed to deliver what I promised," the old man sighed, "and what I owed the Goddess. The tryst has chosen its leader."

"Boariyi! A sorcerer told us."

"How could . . .? Well, it is true Lord Kadywinsi had agreed and I talked him out of it. The swordsmen came calling again and talked him into it. I talked him out of it again." He managed one of his old chuckles. "Then the swordsmen went ahead anyway. But they only have six Sevenths."

"It is a complication," Wallie agreed. "What happens now?"

Honakura compressed his wrinkles in a scowl. "Kadywinsi is back on the wrong side of the loom again. The service of dedication is to be held this morning."

Wallie frowned. "I thought the tryst was planning to depart two days ago?"

"Yes. The liege is an impetuous young man and he wouldn't allow the absence of a blessing stop him. But you and Mistress Brota stopped him—I suppose it is a sort of face-saving to have a service now and pretend that that was what they planned all along."

Wallie smiled at the woebegone old eyes "You've done very well, holy one! You didn't stop them, but you delayed them—and I'm sure most of them weigh three times what you do. A whole temple plus a thousand swordsmen is not a fair match against half a priest!"

Honakura sighed. "It used to be. I feel as old as all of them put together." Then he snarled. "And dinghies are just as bad as I feared."

"How is the town?" Wallie asked, aware that Nnanji and Thana had come to stand in the crowd around him, waiting for orders—and he did not know what orders he could give.

"Very peaceful!" Honakura conceded. "Lord Boariyi imposed discipline right away. There hasn't been as much as a cookie stolen since. Not a lewd glance!" He chuckled. "Well, I suppose I exaggerate there, but the virtuous maidens are emerging from the cellars. It is the evildoers who are leaving town, they say."

Wallie glanced up to see the satisfaction that he knew would be showing on Nnanji's face. Some of what Boariyi had said to him had been sincere, evidently, and Nnanji's lecherous tendencies in personal matters never interfered with his puritanical professional standards.

How to assess this new idea? The sorcerer's information about Boariyi had been correct, but Wallie's scheme to delay the tryst had succeeded. Now what? He had argued this case with Nnanji for hours, without reaching any decision. He felt limp and battered, filthy and foul both inside and out, after four days of sailing—and two of those confined with both an arrogant, bitter old captive and a lunatic minstrel.

"This service, holy one," Wallie asked. "I don't suppose we can have the call for challengers included again?"

Honakura shook his hairless old head. "It is a blessing on the tryst, that is all."

"They will all be sworn," Nnanji agreed. "It is too late for that."

"You will not swear this terrible oath of yours to Lord Boariyi and accept him as leader?" the priest asked.

"No!" Wallie barked. "The first thing he would do would be to demand my sword. He would probably even make me give it to him!" Seeing the priest's puzzled look, he explained: "Dedicate it—kneel to him and say the words. No one gets the seventh sword, except off my dead body! I'd rather challenge him."

Nnanji snorted. "Challenge a thousand men? He would send them up in threes and save the last place for himself."

Boariyi was paramount. The ways of honor would not apply now unless he wished them to. "Then I need counsel," Wallie said. "We did catch a sorcerer, the wizard of Sen himself, the man who provoked the tryst."

Honakura gasped and beamed. "That is a great triumph! Another miracle? No, a Great Deed! Wonderful, Lord Shonsu! How can we use him, do you suppose?" He screwed up his wrinkles in thought.

The wind blew, the sun shone, the ship rocked, and after a while he shook his head. Everyone looked blankly at everyone else.

No ideas.

"You could call another tryst, my lord," Nnanji suggested.

"The Goddess has blessed this one," the priest said. "Surely She sent Her sword for the leader to use? Otherwise, I just don't understand."

Wallie rose stiffly to his feet. "If you don't, holy one, then none of us do. It is a long sword. It needs a tall swordsman. Boariyi is teller than I am. I suppose I must give him his chance at it."

"But you need a fair match!" Nnanji shouted. "You can't fight the whole tryst!"

"If the swordsmen are gathered," a rich contralto voice said, "then I shall sing them my new epic."

Doa had come aboard and was standing behind the listening sailors, peering over their heads. She looked worse than anyone, her eyes sunk into her head, her face drawn and bonier than ever, her hair a tangled bush. She had probably not slept at all since Sen. She had done what she had said, spending two hours locked up with Rotanxi—interrogating him, Wallie supposed, although perhaps merely reporting to him, if she were indeed a sorcerer spy. Then she had retreated to a corner of the hold to strum aimlessly on her lute at all hours of day and night. She had refused food and conversation. Any attempts to reason with her had been met with screams that she was to be left alone, that she was composing an epic without blood. He had been expecting her to lapse into complete autism.

Now, astonishingly, she seemed to have recovered her former arrogance and poise, despite her haggard appearance. Her eyes were dark with exhaustion, but the wildness had gone. So the epic was complete? Wallie had commissioned an epic and he was going to get one, but he had no intention at all of letting her loose with it until he had had a chance to hear it himself—and probably not then.

The sailors moved aside hurriedly to let her in, immensely tall and barely decent in her two twists of filthy blue silk. Honakura gaped toothlessly at her, and then at Wallie. He rose to his feet and she saluted calmly.

"What is this epic about, then?" he asked, cautiously.

"It is about Lord Shonsu. It is very good."

Swordsman and priest exchanged glances again. Wallie rolled his eyes to convey disapproval.

"I never heard of a minstrel performing in a temple," Honakura said. "I should have to discuss it with Lord Kadywinsi."

"My lady," Wallie said, "you are tired and need refreshment. Thana, would you show Lady Doa the showers, find her some food and perhaps a place she could rest?"

Thana gave him a knowing glance and agreed. She led the minstrel away, and she went quietly. Wallie breathed more easily. Now back to the real problem . . .

"An epic?" Honakura mused.

"No!" Wallie sighed and avoided Jja's eye. "I was a fool to take her in the first place—I was thinking with the wrong end of my spine. Perhaps she has composed something, but what good could it do? Another song about Lord Shonsu hiding in a ship and being devious? Forget Doa!"

The old man nodded doubtfully.

"If I go to the temple, am I safe there?" Wallie asked.

Honakura said, "Certainly!" as Nnanji said, "No!"

There was another silence.

Wallie felt angry and baffled. "This blessing? Who is blessed? The men? The leaders? The tryst itself?"

Honakura stared up at him, and then a wicked little smile settled in around his shriveled lips. "Why not the sword?" he asked.

* * *

The tiny cabin was dim and rank. Its port had been boarded over before Griffon departed, and it had held a captive for two days and three nights. He was sitting in a corner, wrapped in his blankets, when Wallie and Nnanji went in.

Confinement had taken toll of a man accustomed to authority and respect. His face was skull-like, with dark caves around his eyes, and the lines near his mouth had deepened to slashes. His thin white hair was disheveled. Yet this prisoner had been well treated by the standards of the World—Wallie knew that from experience.

"We are at Casr," Wallie said. "The tryst did not sail."

"So you won."

"So far. If you will accompany us on board Sapphire now, my lord, we shall allow you to bathe and we shall provide clean clothes, although not your own. Sorcerers' gowns are what give them their power, you understand. That's how we made you harmless."

Rotanxi frowned and then nodded admiringly. "And what happens then?" The arrogance had softened, and he was almost pathetic, instinctively huddling back against the wall.

Wallie held up a rope. "I'm damned if I know! I shall have to keep you tethered, of course. I never imagined that we would capture a Seventh." He chuckled. "You see, my Lord Rotanxi, the position is rather complicated at the moment. On one bank there are sorcerers and on the other swordsmen. The infamous Shonsu and his nefarious gang have been running up and down between the two camps, playing havoc with both. If you were to auction me off at the moment, I think the swordsmen might even outbid the sorcerers to get their hands on me."

The sorcerer stared at him curiously for a moment and then reached for his shoes. "I doubt that," he said. "Are you open to bribes?"

Wallie thought of the power of the demigod and smiled. "Not if you offered me the World! I shall display you as my captive, of course, but I swear you my oath that there will be no torture, and as little degradation as is possible under the circumstances. And as you are likely to be of more value alive than dead, you will not be harmed."

"So I am to behave myself? You take me for a fool, Shonsu." Rotanxi was not too humbled to sneer. He rose stiffly.

Wallie shrugged. "I cannot make any real promises, because my own life is at risk this day, but if Master Nnanji succeeds me as your captor, he will respect my wishes."

He led the way to the ladder. He and Nnanji were clean now. Thana and Katanji were dressing. Honakura and the priests had departed already.

"Where are you taking me in such a hurry? Are your coals cooling off?"

"The tryst is assembling in the temple," Wallie explained. "I shall produce you before the swordsmen and claim the leadership."

The sorcerer regarded him warily. "And then what happens?"

"Then," Nnanji snarled, "the swordsmen will denounce him as a traitor, and he will not be protected by the ways of honor, and they will kill him."

"I see!" Rotanxi glanced from one to the other thoughtfully. "I detect a disagreement on strategy. And when Shonsu is dead, whose prisoner am I?"

"You're mine," Nnanji said savagely. "But I die right after. Then you will belong to the tryst. Have a nice day my lord."

* * *

Their dinghy was met at the familiar ruined jetty by a nervous-looking priest of the Sixth, pudgy and elderly. Wallie knelt on the slimy planks and held out a hand to Tomiyano, still down in the boat.

"Captain," he said, "if neither Nnanji or I . . . well, look after Jja and Vixini? And thanks for everything."

Tomiyano's eyebrows rose, pushing his shipmarks into his hair. He shook hands. "What do you fancy for dinner, my lord? I'll tell Lina."

Wallie smiled and rose to follow the impatient priest.

The way led past the well-remembered refectory, then between the disused buildings, along paths choked with weeds, through canted fences with fallen gates . . . past old icehouses and deserted chapels, abandoned stables, dormitories, and erstwhile lawns now converted to impenetrable bush. The tide was out in Casr, but in some other century prosperity would return, and all this would again be needed by a waxing temple bureaucracy.

The way led also toward the towering bulk of the temple itself, and soon it dominated half the sky. Then . . . an unobtrusive side door and endless dark corridors and hallways smelling of mold and rot. A distant sound of chanting ahead, and the guiding priest turned and put his finger to his lips. He opened a door, very slowly, and the chanting became loud.

It was more a large alcove than a small room, for one side was a bead curtain, beyond which lay the nave of the temple. The watchers could see out and not be seen; the half dozen could spy on the thousand. So Wallie stopped to watch and his followers crowded around to peer by him.

His first impression was how much smaller this temple was than the great edifice at Hann. Yet to his left stood the swordsmen of the tryst—five Sevenths in blue; behind them, at a respectful distance, a row of thirty or forty Sixths; and behind them, in turn, ranks of red-kilted Fifths. A thousand men and more—the Fifths hid the middlerank colors, so that only their heads and sword hilts showed—but the nave was not crowded, so smallness was relative. This was still as large as any cathedral Wallie had ever seen. Not all were swordsmen. Behind the narrow-shouldered Firsts at the back was a collection without swords—heralds, bandsmen, armorers, healers, minstrels, and perhaps notables from the town.

To his right stood the choir, endlessly warbling up and down their dissonant scale. They faced toward the Goddess, an idol of carved stone that copied the great, naturally weathered figure at Hann—a seated and robed woman, hair streaming down, featureless face staring along the nave to the seven arches and the River beyond. Yet the sculptor had failed to catch the same air of majesty. The blue paint was flaking from the stone, giving it a scabby appearance, a Goddess with eczema. The dais bore treasures, but nothing to compare to the immeasurable hoard at Hann. Perhaps this temple had been looted a few times.

Wallie discovered that his Shonsu instincts were busily checking for escape routes. Some hope! The main doors would be in the arches at the front, of course, below the glass screens. From the interior the missing panes showed as bright spots, unsoiled by the grime that blurred most of the vista of the River and far-off RegiVul under its guardian smoke plume. Between him and those doors stood the swordsmen. There was another bead curtain opposite him and there was probably a door behind that. There would be others behind the idol, also.

Then he saw Boariyi, standing by himself and looking very lonely. By rights, surely, he should have been directly in front of the Sevenths, at the head of his army. Instead, he had been placed well toward the far side. That seemed a strange location, but he was opposite Wallie. If Wallie emerged through this bead curtain, the two of them would be facing each other across the nave like equals. That was a welcome sign that the priests were indeed under Honakura's control. Obviously Kadywinsi was an uncertain and unreliable ally, given to supporting whoever had spoken to him most recently. Hopefully, while this interminable chanting went on, Honakura was busy somewhere else, keeping the high priest's vertebrae fused.

Boariyi was too far off for his expression to be discerned. Probably he had been granted no more time for sword practice these last few days than Wallie, but he had not been bouncing around in Griffon's madhouse, either, and that thought made Wallie realize how incredibly weary he felt.

Tivanixi, standing with the other Sevenths, had a bandaged arm.

Wallie glanced around at his own party. The sorcerer stood with hands bound, unkempt in an ill-fitting blue gown, fixed sneer on haggard face. Nnanji held the other end of his tether, trying to look cheerful—Nnanji said this was not going to work and Nnanji was usually correct when it came to judging swordsmen. Thana had insisted on coming, and Katanji was there, also, looking tiny and absurdly young and grinning widely, black eyes sparkling in the gloom.

Katanji had a small leather bag dangling at his waist and suddenly Wallie guessed that it must be his ill-gotten loot from Gi, a fortune in jewels. If Nnanji had returned that tainted hoard to his brother, then Nnanji did not think he was going to survive this day.

The congregation was starting to fidget and twitch. The unseen juniors at the back would be into spitballs soon.

At Hann the sides of the nave had been lined by stained glass. Here they were walls of mosaic, much of which seemed to be crumbling off. Wallie glanced up to check the roof, wondering how safe that was.

He decided that he might be the only person present who was not anxious for the interminable chanting to end. He had the sorcerer's pistol stuck in his belt, and some spare powder and shot in his pouch, but he would never have time to reload. There was a climax coming. The odds against him were probably about a hundred to one, yet he felt more resigned than nervous. The gods had forced this, snapping at his heels and driving him like a sheep into this pen. Perhaps this was the last line of the riddle. And to its destiny accord—give it to Boariyi. How old was Alexander the Great when he took his father's army and set off to conquer the Earth? Twenty? Boariyi was probable older than that. He just did not look like an Alexander, somehow.

The sun vanished behind a cloud; shadow flooded the high, cold place.

At welcome last the chant was over, dying away into a quiet sigh of collective relief from the audience. The choir genuflected and trooped back in two lines to stand on either side of the idol, out of Wallie's view. A tiny figure in blue shuffled forward, eased down on ancient knees to make obeisance, rose even more slowly, and turned to face the congregation. The high priest, Kadywinsi, his snowy hair shining in the gloom, raised his arms and began a long ritual of blessing. Boariyi and his Sevenths relaxed—evidently the ceremony was nearing its end. The old man wailed away to silence. Then he swung around and faced the idol.

"Holiest!" he bleated. "Your castellan and I had the honor of calling this tryst and the honor of seeing You bless it. We thank You for hearing our prayers, for sending us the novices, the apprentices, the swordsmen, the adepts, the masters, their honors, and their lordships . . . but most of all for sending us Your chosen champion, a noble and courageous swordsman, a man who has met the sorcerers before and has shown he can defeat them, a worthy leader, sent by You, bearing Your own sword."

A gasp of surprise from the congregation grew to an angry, animal roar. Hints of riot filled the temple. Boariyi straightened up and put his hands on his hips, thrusting his head forward. The other five Sevenths registered shock, most of them turning a furious red at the suggestion that they had sworn to the wrong man.

Wallie reached for the curtain and a command came from behind: "Not yet!" He turned to frown at the priest—surely this was the dramatic moment?

In a sudden silence the sun reappeared, flooding the nave with brilliance, gleaming on Kadywinsi's silver hair and on a tall woman in blue strolling forward, carrying a lute.

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