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BOOK THREE:
How the Best Sword Won

1

As a man may have an off day, so Casr was having an off century, and nothing showed that more clearly than the temple. A smaller version of the great archetype at Hann, it faced its seven arches toward the River whose Goddess it honored, although here the arches had been glassed in as a concession to a colder climate. Two of the seven spires had fallen and much of the gold leaf had peeled from the others. Many of the glass panes were missing, also, and even some of the stone filigree that had held them. As the sun god rose over RegiVul, his glory was mirrored in this façade with black gaps spotting the reflection like mildew.

Adjoining the temple and its complex of buildings, on the upstream side, lay a wilderness of unkempt trees, shrubbery, and ruins, with a deserted, ramshackle pier. This had to be the jetty that Honakura had recommended, and when Wallie was rowed ashore, shivering slightly in the cool dawn air he was met by a delegation of priests. After much ritual handwaving and bowing, he was led through wet and tangled undergrowth to an abandoned refectory, a huge room, half underground, with a high, barrel-vault ceiling and stone-slabbed floor. It was dank and musty, but it would have been perfect for his purpose had the lighting been stronger. As it was, it would do very well. The windows were few and located high in the walls, partly obscured by moss and ferns. The sound of foils would barely be heard outside. And of course the refectory had an adjoining kitchen, filthy and littered, but ideal for the distillery he needed and convenient for him to supervise. The priests waited anxiously for his verdict, and he said yes, it would serve.

Brota and Pora would go shopping for silk and waxes and oils, Lae for some heavy blue material. Tomiyano and Oligarro would hunt for ships. Thana and Jja and Katanji had been warned to stay on board Sapphire. With all those details under control, Wallie could start on his fencing right away. He dismissed the priests, asking that Honorable Fiendori be brought to him as soon as he arrived.

Now that his eyes had adjusted to the dimness, the great stone room looked like an excellent gym.

"Right, Master Nnanji," he said. "As I have no one else here to butcher . . . you're first!"

Nnanji grinned cheerfully. "My secrets are your secrets, brother?" he asked.

"Of course," Wallie said. "Don't think I don't trust the sailors, Nnanji, it's just that any false word could kill us. I'm sure that the sorcerers have spies in Casr." He wandered over to a scabrous wooden bench, but decided it needed cleaning before it could be used. "What I have in mind is this. Shonsu lost, and lost badly. At Aus, I lost. That's two losses, right? At Ov, we won. We need another win! And I want a thunderbolt!" Had he not been knocked senseless at Ov, he would have gathered up the dead sorcerers' weapons. Nnanji had not thought to do so, but could not be blamed for that lapse.

Nnanji's eyes widened. "You're going to capture a sorcerer?"

"I hope so," Wallie said. "Alive, if possible. But mostly I want his thunderbolt—I'll use it to kill an ox or something for the tryst and show them what they're up against. Maybe then they'll listen to me!"

His young friend did not look as excited and pleased as Wallie had hoped. He looked worried. "When, though? It'll take us a week, at least, to go to Sen and back; longer to Wal. How long until the swordsmen are sworn?"

As long as Tivanixi could hold them off, Wallie said.

Nnanji chewed his lip. "Once the tryst is sworn, brother, it'll be too late. There will be nothing you can do then!"

Perhaps that was true, but Wallie did not see that there was anything he could do before the tryst was sworn, either—not if the swordsmen would not accept Shonsu as leader. He was flying blind.

At that moment Fiendori was ushered in, accompanied by another Sixth, Forarfi. He, as Wallie soon learned, had been a free sword, one of the first to be delivered to Casr by the Goddess. He had summed up Tivanixi as a good man and sworn to him within the first couple of days.

Any Sixth relished a chance to practice against a Seventh, so the masks went on and the work began. Fiendori was erratic, but at his best a fair Seventh with a foil. Forarfi was consistent, a high Sixth—and left handed. Wallie enjoyed the challenge, the exercise, and the joy of doing something that he was good at, offering advice sometimes, trying new things, dredging up unusual routines from Shonsu's skills, finding a half-forgotten sharpness creeping back as he faced these experts. Fiendori and Forarfi were enthusiasts—like Nnanji they would cheerfully fence all day. Nnanji certainly could not see why two keen fencers should stand around idle, so usually there were two matches going on in the high, echoing refectory, two clouds of dust rising, eight feet pounding.

Not even Shonsu's physique could keep it up without a break, of course, and common sense dictated that Wallie not work himself to exhaustion, lest a certain tall Seventh should appear with a smirk and a challenge. In any case there were constant interruptions. Honakura appeared, bringing the high priest, Kadywinsi of the Seventh, to meet the honored guest. Kadywinsi was almost as tiny and ancient as Honakura, but he had a few teeth left and a halo of silver curls floated like evening mist upon his scalp. He was pleasant and gracious and did not seem especially senile, except in contrast to the chisel mind of Honakura. Later Honakura brought other priests to discuss Wallie's sapphires, then took them off to consult the temple bursar.

Lae returned with blue flannel, the closest material she could find to the weighty stuff the sorcerers used for their gowns. She also brought a very large brown robe for Wallie to try. It was a fair fit, except across the shoulders, and she took it away to use as a pattern.

More fencing . . .

Mata set up the copper still on a range in the kitchen area with Sinboro and Matarro as stokers. Soon a heady odor of alcohol and woodsmoke came drifting through the hall.

The next morning the fencers went at it again, all four of them stiff and aching and determined not to admit it. Later that day Tomiyano and Oligarro arrived to announce that they had found a ship that met Lord Shonsu's specifications. They described it in detail, most of which Wallie could not follow, but what he understood seemed to be satisfactory.

"How much, then?" he asked.

"Oh, he wants twenty-eight hundred," Tomiyano said. "But he'll come down in a day or two."

"Time we have not got. Buy it!"

Tomiyano pouted.

More fencing . . .

Jja came from Sapphire to display samples of her work with the silk and Wallie was delighted. The seams were incredibly fine.

But waterproofing was a problem. Brota and Fala tried their best, but they produced sticky silk, oily silk, stiff still, not what he needed. Experimentation was not in their culture—they required a sutra, and Lord Shonsu could not produce one, for he only knew what he wanted, not how to do it. Then he remembered Katanji, sulking under ship arrest because his cast was so conspicuous. Katanji was an original thinker and too young to have been frozen into the conventional thought patterns of the People. At lunchtime that day Wallie returned to Sapphire and explained the difficulty. By nightfall Katanji had solved it for him with a mixture of oil, two waxes, and some of the double-ensorceled wine.

That lunchtime, also, Wallie inspected his new ship. Compared to Sapphire she was only a pointed box with a mast. She was filthy, stank nauseatingly, and had not seen paint since Casr was a hamlet, but her fore-and-aft rigging would give her a fair speed and require only a small crew, or so the sailors said. Belowdecks she had a single, grubby hold, with one tiny cabin aft. Wallie explained to Holiyi the alterations he needed. Holiyi smiled and went to fetch his tools. Her sails were new and satisfactory, Tomiyano said.

"What shall we call her?" he asked.

"Vomit," said Nnanji, holding his nose.

Wallie said, "Griffon."

Then they went back to fencing.

The days fled. Sapphire was moved frequently. It would have taken a suspicious mind and a sailor's eye to pick her out each day in the ever-changing flotilla anchored offshore, to note that this ship was a resident. Brota and a few of the older crew members spent their days among traders and sailors on the waterfront, working on preparations of their own.

Wallie could feel improvement in his fencing, which Fiendori confirmed, but while Wallie was recovering lost ground, Nnanji was exploring new territory, climbing through fifth rank and undeniably now approaching Sixth.

Honakura bustled around, amusing himself by bullying the priests to provide whatever Wallie needed, making excuses when they wanted to hold formal dinner parties for him, bringing gossip and news. Physically he was failing, Wallie was sure, but he would hear no talk of taking life easy. His mind was as sparkling as ever, and he was obviously enjoying himself hugely, subverting the local priesthood to his own use.

Near the evening of the third day, while the fencers were taking a break, drooping in the dim refectory on the two rickety wooden benches, the old priest came shuffling in and sat down to make conversation.

After a while he looked at Fiendori and remarked, "I understand that the minstrels have been singing new songs?"

"True, holy one," the Sixth muttered with a worried glance at Wallie. "I heard some last night."

"Ten Renegade Swordsmen?" Wallie asked, and got a nod. "What else about 'blood-headed' Nnanji?"

"How Adept Nnanji Fought the Pirates, my lord, and How Relief Came to Gi. There's two or three versions of The Battle of Ov."

It sounded, then, as if Nnanji was getting most of the publicity, as Wallie had feared.

"Nnanji's Farewell to the Prince," Forarfi said "Now there's a sad one!"

"I should like to hear those," Nnanji said eagerly. "Are they as well done as the Renegades?"

No, Fiendori said, he didn't think so.

"What about the Katanji thing?" Honakura inquired with great innocence. The two Sixths both scowled.

"What Katanji thing?" Wallie asked.

It seemed there was a song going round the town: Novice Katanji to the Dark Tower Came, a catchy jingle with a good tune and comic words. Juniors sang it when the seniors were not listening. The townsfolk had picked it up, and the street urchins chanted it behind marching swordsmen. Wallie demanded a sample and got one verse and the chorus from Fiendori, embarrassed and unsure of his key. A swordsman disguised as a slave was not funny in his eyes, and sorcerers were not figures of fun, either. Wallie made no excuses, for he knew of no way to fight ridicule, but obviously his popularity with the highrank swordsmen would be lower than ever.

Honakura chuckled and went wandering off, humming the tune. Nnanji scowled hideously and deliberately changed the subject.

"Brother," he said "Explain: A tiger that looks like a mouse is as dangerous as a tiger; a mouse that looks like a tiger is more so."

Wallie turned to the two Sixths. They did not meet his eye.

"It is a mentor's obligation and privilege to teach his protégé the sutras, your honors, is it not?" Wallie said.

They nodded in guilty silence.

"Then pray do not meddle!"

More fencing . . .

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