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2

The minstrels of the World sang ballads and epics of brave heroes and virtuous maidens, of monsters and sorcerers, of generous gods and just kings. Nnanji loved the heroic ones and could quote them endlessly, but one hero was conspicuously absent: Sherlock Holmes. Wallie's remark almost caused Polini to draw. Tomiyano made the sign of the Goddess, then relaxed when he saw that Lord Shonsu was merely up to his tricks again. The boy paled.

"No, no sorcery, Master Polini!" Wallie said hastily. "Just a good swordsman's eye—observation."

Polini glanced suspiciously over his protégé and back to this strange Seventh.

"Observation, my lord?"

Wallie smiled. "Few mentors would dress a First so well. Fewer Fifths would even take a First as protégé, and you yourself are obviously garbed as a man of high station. But I can go further: I note that his facemark has healed, yet he is so young that his swearing must have been recent. His hair is long enough to make a good ponytail, so his induction to the craft was decided at least a year ago, and only swordsmen's sons can normally count on becoming swordsmen. Yet his parentmarks show that he is the son of a priest. Elementary, Master Polini."

Royal houses were usually founded by swordsmen, but kingship was a dangerous trade. No swordsman could refuse a challenge, whereas a priest was sacrosanct. Kings' sons were mostly sworn to the priesthood.

Polini considered this and bowed his head in agreement. He caught his protégé's eye and said, "Learn!" The boy nodded and regarded the Seventh with awe.

Confidence having now returned, Wallie directed them smoothly to the far side of the deck, which was marginally farther from the hubbub of the dock. The aft hatch cover was still open, and the planks had been stacked in a neat pile, a low wall that would suffice as a bench. But before he sat down . . . "Present him, master."

"Lord Shonsu, I am honored to present to you my protégé, Arganari of the First."

Where, Wallie wondered, had he heard that name before?

The boy reached for his sword, remembered that he was on a ship, and turned the gesture into the start of the civilian salute. His voice was childish and curiously unmusical, making the statement a question, ". . . any of your noble purposes?"

Wallie solemnly assured him that he was honored to accept his gracious service. He bade his guests be seated, placing himself on a fire bucket beside the steps up to the poop. That way he was facing them and could also keep an eye on the plank. Above him, a line of youngsters peered down curiously.

The boy was even younger than he had seemed earlier. Wallie thought of the other two swordsman Firsts he knew. Matarro was one of the crew of Sapphire, a water-rat swordsman, and hence a sailor in all but name. Yet he took his craft very seriously, truly believing that to be a swordsman was a great honor. Then there was nipper Katanji, whose skeptical cynicism would have suited a man four times his age. This lad had neither of those qualities. He must surely be excited, for the Goddess had moved him halfway around the World, from far south to far north, and he was very near to the first tryst in centuries. Yet he was displaying only a solemn wariness, unsuited to his years.

The visitors sat stiffly on the planks, awaiting the Seventh's pleasure.

"You have a problem, Master Polini," Wallie said. "Perhaps I can help you with it?"

"It is a trivial matter. Lord Shonsu, but near to my honor." I'm not going to talk about it.

"Then I shall guess!" Nosiness was a prerogative of Sevenths. "You have come from the temple?"

Polini half rose, again almost reaching for his sword. He sank back uneasily, staring.

Wallie smiled cheerfully. "You are right to suspect sorcery. The sorcerers can change facemarks, so any man or woman may be a sorcerer. I, however, am not." He wondered if they had noticed the damnable feather mothermark that the god had placed on his left eyelid. That was going to be a serious problem. "I was merely speculating what a man of honor would do in what I suspect to be your situation." Polini had an honest face. He had been chosen as the most suitable member of the palace guard to be mentor to a prince—a strong tribute to his character. The lad's worshipful attitude seemed genuine. "For some reason you had cause to embark on a ship. You would have many swordsmen in your entourage if you were guarding a prince. The Goddess wanted them for Her tryst, so here you are."

Polini and Arganari both nodded, speechless at such acuity in a swordsman, making Wallie feel smug.

"So you find yourself in a dilemma of honor—your duty to the Holiest and your duty to the prince. Your decision was to send the rest of the swordsmen on to the tryst and seek to take the boy home. In that situation I would go to the temple and beseech Her to let me return him safely, making solemn pledge that I myself would come back here immediately afterwards. I should throw in a promise to enlist more swordsmen, I think."

Polini looked down at the boy, and then they both smiled.

"A kill!" the Fifth said.

"Your perception is suited to your rank, my lord?" said Arganari.

Again that curious questioning? And a very flowery speech for one of his age.

Then Tomiyano himself appeared with a tray, placing foaming tankards on the planks beside each of the visitors, bowing low to offer the tray to Wallie—who should have been suspicious at once.

"May She strengthen your arms and sharpen your eyes!" he said, raising his tankard in salute.

"And yours!" the others chorused, and all three drank.

Wallie gagged and gasped and spluttered. His beer had been generously salted. He turned to glare at Tomiyano's retreating back and saw the grins on the other sailors standing beyond—that would teach him to pull rank on the captain in front of strangers! Wallie hurled the tankard over the side, wiped his mouth, and shamefacedly explained his performance to the others, who were again giving him very puzzled looks.

"You know that the water-rat swordsmen teach fencing to sailors?" he asked

Polini scowled. "So I have heard, my lord. It is an abomination!"

"No," Wallie assured him, "there is a sutra that excludes sailors from the normal run of civilians. I just wanted to explain why I put up with my insolent friend over there. On his own deck, that man is at least a high Fifth or even a Sixth at swordsmanship."

The Fifth's eyes widened. "You jest, my lord!"

"No, I certainly do not! On land he would be lower, of course, for he has no opportunity to practice footwork. But a civilian with that skill can be forgiven much."

That illogical reasoning impressed the swordsmen.

"I mention that as a warning, Master Polini. Now, tell me why you chose this ship."

At the return of his own problem, Polini stiffened. "It seemed well cared for, my lord."

Wallie nodded approvingly. "Would you consider a piece of advice?"

Of course he would, from a Seventh.

"Your trappings are of much value, master. There are no witnesses, in mid-River, and not all sailors are above a little piracy. Why not exchange your clothes and gear for something less tempting?"

Polini flushed. "I thank you for the advice, my lord!"

He was not going to take it, though Wallie sighed. This was the sort of pigheaded attitude that he had been trying to domesticate in Nnanji. Polini could not stomach the thought of arriving back in Plo without his fancy kilt and harness and boots. It would lessen his infernal honor. Wallie had forgotten just how narrow swordsman thinking could be—which showed him how far he had brought Nnanji along.

"And you may well arrive at the tryst yet, master," he persisted. "Most of the swordsmen there will be frees. There will certainly be no First decked out like Novice Arganari."

He got a glare. The boy was frowning.

"I see now that this ship would be a poor choice for us, my lord," Polini said, changing the subject. "Obviously She will require your valiant service in Her tryst. You sail to Casr."

Now it was Wallie's turn to become edgy. "Not so! I have been journeying these waters for two weeks since I heard of the tryst." The wind god had been cooperative since Sapphire left Ov, but the Goddess had not put out Her Hand to move the ship.

Polini looked astonished, as well he might. The Goddess not taking a Seventh?

"We are making good time, though," Wallie said. "Another week or so may get us to Casr."

"You know these waters, then, my lord," the boy said, and his tone made it a statement, while the words were a question. Now Wallie understood: Arganari was tone deaf. He would make himself a laughingstock if he attempted to chant, and even a royal priest would have to do that. So he had been sworn as a swordsman instead—no other craft had sufficient status for a king's son.

"I am getting to know them, novice. You see those mountains to the south? They are RegiVul, and the sorcerers' city of Vul lies somewhere within them." The swordsmen stared out over the bright waters. Above the low smudge of the far bank, the distant peaks shone faint and blue in the heat haze. The volcanic cloud above them was fainter still. "The River flows all around RegiVul. The left bank, the inside of the loop, has been taken by the sorcerers—all seven of its cities. Set no foot there, or you will certainly die."

"It is true, then?" Polini said. "There are legends of sorcerers in the mountains south of Plo, but I never believed in such men until we arrived here and heard the news of the tryst."

Holiyi, a very skinny sailor, came sauntering over to give Wallie another beer and a lopsided grin. Wallie thanked him and washed the foul taste from his mouth.

"It is true. This ship has called at all fourteen cities within the loop, but I freely admit that I hid within the deckhouse when we were in sorcerer ports."

Polini was shocked, but tried not to show it. "So they are as dangerous as the locals report?"

"Probably more so," Wallie assured him. "One slew a man on this deck. A sorcerer can kill at a distance. Only speed will prevail against them, a throwing knife would be a better weapon than a sword." His hearers would have been horrified to hear that he had a knife hidden in his boot and that he practiced with it daily. He did not bother to point out the holes in the ship's rail that had been made by musket balls.

"But they are not invincible?" Arganari exclaimed, wiping beer froth from his lips. "The locals tell of one swordsman victory!"

"Do they now?" Wallie said. "Tell me that, then."

The boy beamed and began to chatter in a curious singsong, although Polini was already showing doubt on his craggy face.

"At Ov, my lord, two weeks ago. It is said that swordsmen from a ship attacked a band of sorcerers on the dock and survived the thunderbolts. They charged them in a wagon, my lord, and made great slaughter of the unholy ones. They were led by a Seventh and a very young, red-haired Fourth, my lord. We were told that they could have seized the evildoers' tower and taken back the city, except that . . . the Seventh . . . chose . . . not to?" Horror spread over his youthful face.

Shouts and thumps drifted up from the dock, white birds soared by on the wind. A windlass on the next ship squeaked painfully.

Sevenths were rare. Sevenths who sailed these waters were as common as square eggs. Sevenths did not appreciate innuendoes of cowardice. Polini was rigid, obviously wondering what his protégé might have provoked.

"I am sure that he had excellent reason, my lord," the boy whispered.

"Probably," Wallie said bitterly. He had not expected the story to be up and down the River already. In this primitive World he expected no news to travel faster than the sorcerers' pigeons, and most to travel hardly at all. But now the Goddess was moving ships around like snowflakes. The news of the battle at Ov would be all along the River, and that meant all over the World—news of swordsmen battling sorcerers, a red-haired Fourth, and a black-haired Seventh who had called back his troops from the brink of victory. That was another problem, then, to add to his others—one he had not anticipated.

He discovered that he had been sitting in silence and scowling. So he smiled and said, "There may be more to that story than the dock gossip tells."

He got a chorus in reply.

"Of course, my lord!"

"Of course, my lord?"

At that moment Nnanji came up the plank, saw the meeting in progress, and strode over at once, homing in on visiting swordsmen like a bird dog. He was wearing his usual eager grin, and it seemed even wider than normal, perhaps because of what he had been doing ashore. He was tall, young, lanky, and very red-haired by the standards of the People. And he wore the orange kilt of a Fourth.

Polini and Arganari glanced at each other and then rose.

"May I have the honor, master . . . " Wallie presented Nnanji of the Fourth, protégé and oath brother, and after those formalities, he surprised Nnanji by presenting the First.

"Arganari?" Nnanji wrinkled his snub nose as he did when he was thinking. "There was a great hero once by that name."

"My ancestor, adept."

Nnanji thought it was a question and looked puzzled.

"The founder of his royal house," Wallie said to get his protégé pointing in the right direction.

The boy nodded proudly. "The Kingdom of Plo and Fex," he said. "My father has the honor to be the holy Arganari XIV, priest of the seventh rank."

So this Arganari was the oldest son. Polini's problem was even worse than Wallie had suspected.

"There are many great epics about him!" Nnanji declared solemnly. "My favorite is the one that begins . . . "

After about twenty lines, Wallie laid a hand on his arm to stop him and suggested that they all sit down again.

Nnanji squatted on his heels between Wallie and the visitors. "And of course, Arganari led the tryst of Xo," he said. Then he winked at Wallie and said, "With the topaz sword, the fourth sword of Chioxin!"

That was why the name had been familiar!

"My sword!" Arganari exclaimed proudly.

Nnanji looked at the boy's sword and frowned.

"He does not wear it," Polini said. "But it is the proudest possession of his house, and when he was inducted into the craft. Lord Kollorono, reeve of the palace guard, dedicated it to him. He is the first swordsman in the dynasty since the great Arganari, so it was fitting, and a most moving ceremony."

Wallie chuckled. "I am sure that you got it off him quickly afterward."

Polini smiled understandingly. "It would take a great swordsman to wear one of the seven for long, my lord."

"Describe the fourth to us," Nnanji said with a smile.

The boy's eyes shone with pride. "The guard is a golden basilisk, holding a topaz. The basilisk means 'Justice tempered with mercy,' so that is the motto of our house. And the blade is all inscribed with swordsmen fighting monsters on one side, and maidens playing with them on the other."

"It is a magnificent weapon," Polini said, probably glad of an impersonal topic in this awkward interview. "I tried it. The balance, the spring—magnificent! Chioxin's reputation was well deserved."

Nnanji turned his grin back to Wallie.

"Something like this?" Wallie asked. He drew his sword and held it out for them to see. The hilt had been behind his head all this time, and they would not have had a good look at it.

Polini and his protégé gasped loudly.

"The seventh!" Arganari shouted. "A sapphire and a griffon! And the pictures are much the same. Is it real? I mean, is it really the seventh sword of Chioxin?"

"Probably."

The legendary sword was having a bombshell effect on the swordsmen. Polini had gone perceptibly pale, and the boy quite pink with excitement.

"But, my lord . . . " Arganari was turning even pinker.

"Yes?"

"The six swords are famous . . . the saga has no stories of the seventh. It is said that Chioxin gave it to the Goddess."

"Perhaps the story is not finished yet?" Nnanji suggested, his enormous grin still firmly in place.

Polini and Arganari nodded solemnly, still fascinated by the sword.

"The griffon is the symbol of royalty. It means 'Power wisely used,'" the boy said, peering at the exquisitely fashioned guard.

"It is a very long blade," Polini would use a long sword, being tall.

"Want to try your luck?" Wallie asked.

Polini blanched. "Of course not, my lord!"

"It is in superb condition," the boy said, his strange way of speaking almost making it a question. "Mine is notched and worn. Just one flaw."

Nnanji nodded solemnly. "That mark was made by a sorcerer's thunderbolt."

Polini and his protégé again exchanged glances, then the boy went back to examining the sword. He pointed at the figures engraved in the blade. "You see the cross-hatching, mentor? It is said that Chioxin was left-handed. On all his swords not just the seven, the cross-hatching goes from left to right."

"The devil you say?" Wallie murmured, peering. "Like Leonardo da Vinci? I thank you, novice. I did not know that. Then this isn't a forgery, after all!"

Nnanji snickered.

"My lord . . . " Arganari said and stopped. His mentor rumbled warningly at him.

"You want to know where I got it," Wallie said, replacing the priceless blade in his scabbard. He shrugged. "It is a reasonable question. I was given it by a god." He drank some beer.

The visitors were understandably astounded.

"He also gave me this sapphire hairclip and told me I had a task for the Goddess."

Now Polini understood and was impressed. "Then you are to be leader of the tryst, my lord!"

"Perhaps I am," Wallie said. "If so, then She is in no hurry to get me there, which may be where you come in." He looked to Nnanji, who nodded thoughtfully.

"Me? Us?"

"I am wondering if we were meant to meet, Master Polini. Stranger things can happen—indeed they happen to me all the time. It is curious that you chose this ship, and even more curious that you and your protégé should be familiar with one of the other seven swords of Chioxin. A tryst might be good training for a swordsman prince. After all, a novice will not be expected to do any fighting, so he will be in no great danger."

For the first time, the youngster showed some normal boyish excitement. He swung around to his mentor to see what he thought.

Polini rose disapprovingly. "You may well be right, my lord. I hope that you are. But I have already sworn my oath and I must attempt to return my protégé to Plo. If I am wrong, then I am sure that we shall meet again—in Casr."

The light died in the boy's eyes, and he stood up dutifully. Princes learned more than flowery speeches, and Firsts did not argue. Then he turned and looked up at Nnanji.

"Adept," he said, his voice now curiously flat, "was it truly you who led the wagon charge against the sorcerers in Ov?"

Nnanji grinned. "We skinned them! Fourteen dead sorcerers." He glanced regretfully at Wallie, who had spared an easy fifteenth.

The boy reached up and unfastened his ponytail. "I shall not likely be going to the tryst, adept," he said. "Lord Shonsu has a hairclip that was given him by a god, so he will not mind. This one belonged to my ancestor, and he wore it on the tryst of Xo. Will you take it for me and wear it against the evildoers?" He held out the silver clip.

"Novice!" Polini barked. "That clip has been in your family for centuries! Your father would not approve of your giving it away to a stranger. I forbid this!"

"Not a stranger, mentor, a hero."

"I think he is right, novice," Wallie said gently.

That settled the matter, of course, but Nnanji, immensely flattered at being called a hero, swallowed hard and said that he also agreed. Reluctantly Arganari replaced the clip, looking very juvenile between the three tall men.

"We thank you for your hospitality, my lord," Polini said formally. "I wish now to withdraw, with your permission, and seek a vessel. Probably a smaller would be more suitable. With no sailor-swordsmen Sixths!" he added, his smile openly skeptical.

Puzzled and vaguely worried, Wallie led the visitors back to the top of the gangplank, arriving just as Lae came aboard, closely followed by Jja. Jja had discarded the riverfolk bikini sashes she normally wore on the ship in favor of a conventional slave's black wrap. But the perfection of her figure could triumph over any costume, and her face was the stuff of legends. Wallie smiled her a welcome. He put an arm around her and unthinkingly proceeded to commit a major social blunder. Accustomed over many weeks now to the informality of ship life, he had forgotten the stilted formality of land-based culture in the World.

"Jja, my darling," he said, "here are visitors from your hometown, Master Polini and his Highness Novice Arganari."

The swordsmen stared aghast at the slavestripe on the woman's face. Jja was momentarily paralyzed, also. There was no ritual for presenting slaves, as Wallie should have remembered.

Then Jja fell to her knees and pressed her forehead to the deck. Wallie bit his lip in fury at his own stupidity. Polini was totally at a loss for words. It was young Arganari who reacted first. He stepped forward and raised her.

"Truly I see how Plo earned its reputation for beautiful women," he said in his singsong, childish voice. "If it did not have it before, then it would now."

That was a courtly speech.

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