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7

Wallie leaned back against the wall with Jja leaning back against his chest. She had no choice, for his arms were tight around her. Her head was on his collarbone and he could smell the sweet, familiar scent of her hair. Perhaps he was trying to hide behind her, to hide from the consequences of what he had done. He had assured her that he was all right now, but in truth he was still confused and uncertain about his sudden decision.

He had been ready to cripple Nnanji, to prevent his oath by severing the tendons in his shoulder. Then he had seen the Arganari hairclip, a silver griffon. Power wisely used! He had read it as a message—the gods wanted Nnanji to have the power. So Wallie had given him the tryst.

It is your kingdom that I covet . . . and Ikondorina agreed . . .

Honakura had said that he had made the right choice. Thana had rushed forward to hug Nnanji and congratulate him; then the swordsmen and priests had added their own congratulations, while casting sideways glances of wonder at Lord Shonsu, for any man who would voluntarily give up the sword of the Goddess must seem strange to them beyond imagining. But it was to Wallie that Honakura had gone to offer his congratulations, and tears of joy had trickled down his wrinkled old cheeks while he did so.

But why? Why would the Goddess turn over control of Her swordsmen to a bloody-minded juvenile like Nnanji? And not just the swordsmen—the World itself! He did not know that, of course, not yet. He was thinking only of reforming substandard city garrisons, he did not see what must follow.

Gradually order was being restored in the council chamber. The priests had been thanked and dismissed. Nnanji had presented his own sword to Wallie in exchange for the Chioxin.

Then, joyfully gathering confidence as he went along, he had issued a proclamation for the heralds and sent them off to tell the swordsmen about the truce—employee relations. He had dismissed the minstrels with a stern warning not to mention any transient disagreement between the two liege lords—press censorship. Tyrants were good at that, Wallie reflected.

That left only the swordsmen and the sorcerer. Nobody sat down in Nnanji's tryst, apparently. The council chamber was an untidy jumble of chairs and stools, but everyone was standing. It stank of wine and woodsmoke and people; the rumpled silk rug had not been straightened. No one cared. There was a ship waiting, but Nnanji paced restlessly around among the furniture, every now and again glancing warily toward Wallie for signs of approval or disagreement. Whenever he turned his back, Wallie saw the sapphire of the seventh sword glittering beside the red ponytail, and then he wanted to weep.

Now Nnanji was shooting out orders to the Sevenths. He was good at delegating.

He had begun with gray-haired Zoariyi. "Honorable Milinoni is outside. He knows the identities of the spies we have been watching. I want them arrested!"

Rotanxi frowned. "Have we not a truce, Lord Nnanji?"

"Aha!" Nnanji wheeled round to him triumphantly. "Are you testifying that they are sorcerers, my lord? If so, then they are wearing the wrong facemarks and are felons! However, that was not what I had in mind. Lord vassal, you speak to them when they are brought in. Frighten them a little! Make their teeth rattle! Then tell them about the truce and Lord Rotanxi's return—and let them go!"

Zoariyi looked puzzled, but thumped fist to heart in acknowledgment and headed for the door. Nnanji sneaked a glance at Wallie. He got a nod of approval and grinned. The spies, of course, would report by pigeon. Sen would be warned to prepare a reception, and Vul, also, but there was a hidden message there, too: "I understand your communications and will use them." Clever! Nnanji was doing all right so far.

Then he beckoned to the wildly happy Thana and put an arm around her when she went to him. "Lord Rotanxi?" he demanded. "How many members of this council of thirteen are women?"

The sorcerer blinked. He was finding these violent swordsmen proceedings unnerving. "But two, Lord Nnanji."

"Then, if you do not object to a second hostage, my wife wishes to accompany me."

Sensation! Rotanxi choked in astonishment. The swordsmen gasped, and a couple of them looked to Wallie to see if he would move to prevent such an outrage.

But Wallie would not. He understood—and again he was impressed. He wondered whose idea it was. Probably Thana's, but it might have come from Tomiyano, or even Nnanji himself. Thana could restrain Nnanji's suicidal tongue. She could charm the eleven men, if not the two women. The council of frightened old people would not see a boy monster, they would see a storybook prince and princess. Nnanji and Thana together were an ideal of young love, handsome youth and beautiful maiden, and it would take a very embittered old sorcerer to send those two to the tormentors. Taking Thana along would be bravado, of course, but probably a very shrewd move. The pupil may indeed be greater than the teacher!

The other Sevenths did not comprehend that and they disapproved. But Nnanji's next innovation shocked them far more.

"Lord Linumino? Take the eight prisoners down to the dock and buy passage for them, also—on the same ship as myself if possible."

Boariyi turned fiery red. "You are releasing them, my liege?"

Nnanji looked up at him coldly, unabashed. "You object?"

And of course his vassal could not object, although he had risked his own life and those of his men in collecting those prisoners, had even lost a man. Return the counterhostages: a generous gesture, a clever tactic to throw the enemy off balance, and also more bravado. Wallie had his doubt about this one, but he still stayed silent, hugging Jja tighter.

Undeterred by the reaction, Nnanji told Linumino to summon a sedan chair for Rotanxi, and pulled his sword for formal farewell as the two departed. Then he surveyed the dwindling company with glee, with the air of a man about to enjoy himself very much.

"Lord Boariyi? The next two cities downriver are Ki San and Dri. You have twenty days before I return. Take whatever force you deem necessary. Go and investigate the garrisons. Punish the guilty, if any, and put good men in their place."

"Yes, my liege!" The tall swordsman's scowl had already become a broad grin. That sounded like honorable work—better than sneaking around by night with clubs. Free swords rarely got the chance to meddle in the affairs of large cities.

"Swear the garrisons to the tryst and inform the King of Ki San and the elders of Dri that any swordsmen trouble they may have in future should be reported to me, or to Lord Shonsu, here in Casr."

Boariyi nodded vigorously in approval.

"I do know," Nnanji continued, baring his teeth, "that the reeve of Ki San, the Honorable Farandako, is a thief. He stole my slave. Depose him! Sell his possessions for the benefit of the tryst. Bring him back to Casr in chains. I will deal with him myself."

No proper denunciation? No trial? Of course Nnanji would give the man a sword and issue a formal challenge, but it would be as much an execution as if the man's head were on a block. Wallie's doubts began rattling the bars of their cage.

"Swordsmen who refuse to swear, my liege?" asked Boariyi.

Nnanji shrugged. "Let them choose—head or thumbs. But leave no able-bodied swordsman unsworn!"

Boariyi saluted, fist on heart. Nnanji was turning away when Thana stepped close and whispered something in his ear. He grinned at her and swung around to Wallie, eyes alight. "How much has Casr contributed to the tryst, brother?"

It took some hard thought before Wallie could say that he thought about five thousand golds, if the dock fees were included.

Nnanji nodded and looked back to Boariyi. "Dri and Ki San are both much larger and richer, but five thousand from each will do for now. We shall assess them more exactly later."

He smirked triumphantly at Wallie, the swordsmen would eat.

Boariyi was smarter than he looked. "If they refuse to comply, my liege?"

Nnanji bit his lip, then said, "You will carry out your orders within the ways of honor, vassal."

Horror-struck, Wallie blurted "Nnanji!"

In all times and places, probably in all worlds, tyrants had found that same escape. Boariyi had been told to be zealous, without limit, but whatever atrocities he might commit in obeying his orders could be disavowed by Nnanji. It was a classic evasion of responsibility, and the very stuff of despotism. Almost Wallie could smell the burning homes already.

Nnanji flinched and looked defensive. "Brother?"

And Wallie shrank back from the confrontation. He had made his decision and must live with it. To dispute the new leader's orders so soon and in public would be crass disloyalty. Some day he would have to bring up the matter in private and hope to make Nnanji see reason.

"Even a rich city may not be able to raise so much at the flash of a sword, Nnanji," he said weakly.

Nnanji pouted, but he was obviously relieved that the objection was no more serious than that. "Of course you may give them time to remit the exaction, vassal. Lord Jansilui? Upriver, Wo and Tau are smaller. Swear the swordsmen there, also, but . . . two thousand golds from each will suffice for the present. You will not have time to go on to Shan, I fear."

Jansilui saluted, and the thought of action had made him grin, also.

Then Nnanji looked to Tivanixi—and he was already grinning.

"Quo, my liege?"

Nnanji nodded.

Inside Wallie, something died. The stirrup he had introduced would have its first taste of warfare in the World—but not against sorcerers. The cavalry would ride against a friendly city and loot in the name of law. He felt sick.

"How big is Quo?" Nnanji asked. "Never mind—use your own judgment about money."

Wallie choked back another protest. Carte blanche! Tivanixi was a fine man, but no swordsman could be totally trusted to be sympathetic to civilians. Eager to display his enthusiasm and efficiency in this new order, he might well rape the hapless city, pillage it for its own good. Goddess! Forgive me!

Tivanixi saluted and Wallie knew that he was next. He eased Jja away from him, straightening up in more swordsmanlike fashion to hear his fate.

"The catapults have served their purpose, brother, I think," Nnanji said, "They were enough to scare the sorcerers into your treaty . . . "

His tone was more gentle than it had been with his vassals, and the words were grouped in requests, but those requests were supposed to be obeyed. Probably that was how Wallie had spoken to him before their positions were reversed, so Wallie should not quibble. Catapult building, archery, knife throwing—all were to be spat out like grape seeds. From now on sutras and swordsmanship were what the tryst would need, Nnanji said. Instruction should not be left to incompetent middleranks . . . there were some variants among the sutras and the tryst should have a uniform canon . . . any man who had not tried for promotion since arriving at Casr must explain . . . any man who had jumped two ranks before Nnanji returned from Vul could become his personal protégé . . . make a start on converting temporary arrangements, like the women's quarters, into permanent . . . maintain strict discipline at all times . . .

When he had finished, Wallie thumped fist on heart in silence as the vassals had done. Nnanji had the grace to blush slightly. Then, with the juvenile naïveté that was so much of his charm, he grinned hugely and said, "How'm I doing so far, Shonsu?"

Wallie concealed his despondency, manufactured a smile, and said, "Straight points so far, brother."

Already? his conscience inquired. Already we are into flattery? Why not tell him that the gods are pleased with him?

The problems would have to wait, Wallie thought; there was a ship standing by. But they would not wait long. The King of Ki San would reportedly pay a hundred golds for a well-rounded concubine. That did not sound like benevolent monarchy. What were these newly immaculate garrisons supposed to do when ordered to administer unjust laws? Or gather gluttonous taxes? Who would do this assessing of tribute? Who collect it? Guard it? Account for it? Distribute it?

Nnanji's simple view of a perfect World did not include any of those questions. Even Wallie's did not contain the answers.

"Right! We have a ship to catch, wife," Nnanji said. He took two steps, stumbled, and regained his balance. Then he looked down at the rumpled rug that had tripped him—silver pelicans and bronze river-horses. He glanced around at the wall hangings, the drapes, the shiny furniture.

No tyrant in any world could have bettered the look he then turned on Wallie. Wallie recoiled before it.

"You will not be needing this trash anymore, will you, Shonsu? As soon as you have disposed of it, issue a proclamation: From now on, any acceptance of bribes by a swordsman will be a capital offense—without exception!"

That was not a request.

Nnanji swung around and marched out with his arm around Thana. Wallie watched the seventh sword depart. His eyes misted, and he quickly gestured for the others to precede him.

Finally return that sword. Finally? Either he had completed his mission for the Goddess, or he had just resigned as Her champion without completing it. Either way, he was finished. The adventure was over.

The sound of boots receded. Only Jja remained, standing with a hand on his arm, studying him, concerned, sensing the dismay he had hidden from everyone else, or hoped he had.

He took her in his arms and hugged her in silent misery.

He could not explain, even to her. There was still no word in the language for "despot." But there soon would be! Nnanji had taken less than twenty minutes to become one.

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