For a very long time, ships in the waters around Hrumma and the Djezes had been single-masted square-sail craft, undecked, that used oars when the winds were contrary. Shipping had always been much more important to the Hrummeans than to the Djezians, and eventually, several millenia before the first Almaeic expedition, a Hrummean invented the keel, making taller masts practical. Not long after that, someone else had reinvented the fore-and-aft rig and built the first sloop on the continent. Its greater agility in coast-wise shipping had rather quickly made it the standard, and oars soon disappeared from merchantmen. Over the last millenium and a half, the Hrummeans had built a few larger ships for the long runs of the Djezian trade, requiring a second mast, thus reinventing the schooner. But their domestic shipping almost never called for so large a ship. Even for trade with the Djezes, sloops were usually adequate, as well as cheaper to build and operate.
That of course was on the west coast. The Djezes didn't have an east coast.
When the treaty with the Kinnli Innjakot established a regular Hrummean lumber and charcoal trade from Agate Bay (and later iron trade from Iron Island), schooners became important out of Hrummean ports on the east coast. And the two largest vessels out of Gardozzi Bay were built as topsail schooners, increasing both size and speed.
The boat that Eltrienn and Vessto rode was a schooner, carrying considerably more passengers than crew aboard.
Eltrienn and Vessto had left Theedalit on kaaborback with a second centurion, Danntis Deltibbio, and as they rode, Eltrienn had drilled the other two on the basics of the barbarian language. When they left Gardozzi Bay, the once deputy-factor, Ressteto Istroovio, had added his greater fluency to the language lessons. Both Eltrienn and Ressteto were surprised at how rapidly Vessto learned; an adept gets the images and concepts along with the words.
And Eltrienn especially was surprised at other things about Vessto. He'd changed dramatically overnight, that last night at Theedalit.
The schooner arrived in Agate Bay at night, just ahead of a following squall, and rode the hook in the lee of the raw stone ridge that was the south point. Dawn broke to skies freshly clear except for scattered tatters of cloud, a few first and second-magnitude stars, a light cool offshore breeze, and a long swell that rolled the schooner slowly, her mast a silent metronome sweeping a considerable arc. Some of her passengers manned the capstan, raising the anchor, and she tacked her slow way up the bay, sunrise catching her within sight of the Agate River.
The wharf was still there, a half-mile upstream, and the sawmill with its undershot waterwheel, the kilns for brick and tile, the broader kilns for charcoal. They could see them as they approached the river. But the captain anchored outside its mouth, and the Cadriio brothers, with Ressteto Istroovio, rowed themselves to shore in a small boat.
No one was there. Lumber still lay piled on the wharf, seasoning beyond dryness in the sun. A quick inspection showed that the cabins hadn't been occupied or despoiled—a hopeful sign—but the broad blood stain in the old factor's office clouded the morning for Eltrienn, and left a tight-lipped cast on Ressteto's face. Vessto was not affected emotionally, but he could feel Ressteto's emotion, and kept his face somber in respect for the others.
They started on foot up the river, the four of them, past decks of logs still piled on skids, wood borers chewing audibly inside them, a slight dry, grinding sound. Beyond the millsite, the wagon road became a broad footpath, with here and there the marks of split hooves in the dirt. A heavy-haunched kaabor, a draft animal, ventured down to drink, saw the Hrummeans coming, and wheeling, loped noisily into the thicket of a second-growth forest. Encouraging, Ressteto thought. The Innjakot haven't butchered them. If things work out, we can bait them up with grain and catch them—use them for logging again,
The next life they saw, aside from flitting birds, was a party of warriors coming toward them.
"Ressteto!" one of them called as they approached. "We did not know if you would come back or not."
They met, shook hands. '"I had thought not to," Ressteto said. "Since my cousin was killed. The chief who is my uncle was not in favor of it, for he loved his son, and it turned him against your people. But the great chief of my people sent this man, Eltrienn, to talk with Killed Many. I think you know Eltrienn. This is his friend, Danntis. And this is Vessto, Eltrienn's brother, a great shaman from my country. He is with us to make sure we do not offend Hrum."
"Hello, Strong Grip," Eltrienn said. "I have not seen you for several winters."
"I remember," Strong Grip replied. "You lived in our village and learned to hunt." He turned to Ressteto. "A boy saw your big canoe coming. He ran and told Killed Many, who sent us to meet you. If he'd known it held such important chiefs, he would have come himself."
Strong Grip took them a long mile farther upstream to the Great Village of the Kinnli Innjakot, and to Killed Many. The Great Chief met them with several of his principal warriors, including his younger brother Bloody Sword, and greeted the Hrummeans courteously and solemnly.
Clearly, Killed Many too wanted the sword trade continued. Bloody Sword said nothing, didn't even scowl, but his sullen face expressed what his mouth didn't. For whatever reason, he hated the outlanders, and was here peacefully only under duress.
"Come in the warrior's lodge," Killed Many said. "We will drink howwas and talk about our children." He called to a woman who stood nearby, ordering that howwas be heated and brought in to them, then led them into the lodge, turning to Eltrienn as they entered. "You saw that no one has disturbed the places of the sword chief Torillo," he added pleasantly. "I have not allowed anyone to live in them or use them for anything."
"Yes, we saw that," Eltrienn said.
The Great Chief sat down on the ground, and the others followed his lead.
"There is blood in one of them," Eltrienn went on, "but we have come in friendship. There'll be time enough to talk of blood debts after the Djez is defeated."
The Great Chief nodded. "Always blood is spilled. Some gives rise to pleasure, some to grief. You remember Yellow Hair, my oldest. He was killed this summer in his first blood battle, with renegades of the Aazhmili. All of the renegades were killed; Yellow Hair killed two of them. I was very proud. Also I wept."
Eltrienn nodded. "I heard that you beat the Aazhmili, who are great fighters, and that they have joined your people. And that a tribe farther north has also acknowledged you chief."
"Two tribes farther north," said Killed Many calmly. "The Icy River People and the people of the Great Fen River."
"Do you hope to obtain swords for them all? To help conquer the Djez?"
More than Vessto felt the flash of rage from Bloody Sword then, and he seemed about to speak, but the Great Chief spoke instead.
"Yes. We would like to obtain many more swords as soon as possible. We do not need those swords; our warriors can defeat the Djez with spears and bows and war axes. Still, it would be good to have more swords, one for each warrior. And that is very many swords now, for we have very many warriors." He paused. "You cannot make swords fast enough for us. I wish to take my warriors into the land of the Djez soon—by the time the leaves turn color. It would be best if, besides selling us all the swords you can, you taught us to make swords for ourselves."
Eltrienn met the chief's eyes calmly. "We can bring swords more rapidly than you think. As for making swords, there is much to learn and also much to do. You must find the right kind of rocks underneath the earth, and they are present only in a few places. Then you must dig deep pits to get them, and learn to make them into steel. But before you can make steel, you must make the right kind of furnaces, things of very great heat, and know certain kinds of earth to cook in them, and just how, and how to work the melted rock when you have done all those other things. And then, of course, how to make the swords from it so they will be strong without weighing too much. These things take time to learn and do."
He paused, looking thoughtfully at the ground, then back up at the Great Chief. "I would like to make a proposal. If indeed your warriors go to fight the Djez before the leaves turn, I will see that skilled men come a year from now and teach you to make steel yourself. And this summer I will have as many steel swords as possible sent to you. Many hundred of them."
One of the other warriors spoke then, a chieftain of one of the Innjoka clans. "There are those among us who do not trust you to keep your word," he said. "Your people are not honorable. And there are those who say it is better to wait, to find out ourselves how to make steel. Your people found out how to do it; so can ours."
Eltrienn settled his gaze on the man. "Excuse me for not knowing in all cases the thinking and understanding of your people. In what way have you found us lacking in honor?"
"Your people left our land without taking blood for the death of their factor."
Eltrienn shrugged. "A blood feud would only widen the breach between your people and mine. My people have enemies enough in Djez Gorrbul; they don't need more.
"As for finding out yourself how to make steel, it is true, you could. In time. Meanwhile you would grow old and feeble, too old to make war on Djez Gorrbul. You might easily die of old age before then."
None of the barbarians answered that.
"Your Great Chief does not wish to grow old and feeble waiting. Nor does he wish the different tribes to become restless, perhaps to grow apart again and waste their strength fighting each other. He wishes to depart with his warriors to the Djez before the leaves turn. And I can bring thousands of new swords to Agate Bay by leaf turn.
"Meanwhile, your warriors without swords can drill with practice swords of stout wood, clubs with a thin handle like a sword's, cut to weigh the same as a sword weighs. So that when they hold a sword of steel, they will be ready to fight with it."
Bloody Sword spoke then, scornfully. "Real warriors do not play with wooden swords."
Eltrienn seemed to ignore the man, keeping his gaze on the Great Chief. "And as for the murder of the factor, that was not an act of the Agate River People. It was the impetuous Bloody Sword, long known as 'Always Fighting,' who thrust his blade through the throat of a man sitting down with no weapon in his hand.
"But I realize that the murderer is the Great Chief's brother and has his protection. And we are more interested in seeing Djez Gorrbul beaten than in vengeance on the brother of a friend."
Bloody Sword got abruptly to his feet, his face seeming to swell. "You outlanders are cowards! You are women! You are too cowardly to take vengeance and too womanly to fight! You want the tribes to beat the Djez for you because you cannot beat them yourselves!"
It was Ressteto who answered. "The murdered factor was my uncle, and one of our people saw him killed. He had no sword, only a knife on his belt. That was not fighting, that was murder, and shameful. And we were few, with few of us armed. We wondered what had happened to the honorable Innjoka. Had they taken to killing the unarmed? It was more important for me to take the story back to Hrumma than to be murdered myself at Agate Bay."
He stopped then, staring up hard-eyed at Bloody Sword, the only man there on his feet. Bloody Sword had stiffened at the word "shameful," and when he answered, his voice was hoarse with emotion.
"I will give you a sword and you may strike the first blow. Then I will kill you."
Ressteto shook his head. "My high chief, the amirr, has forbidden my family vengeance in this. But to show that Hrummeans are strong fighters, I challenge Bloody Sword to wrestle."
Bloody Sword barked scornfully. "Wrestling! A sport for boys, not warriors! But yes, I will wrestle you. And break your neck."
Killed Many didn't even get up, simply bellowed sharply. "Sit down! Until I give you leave to stand!" His glare stilled the truculent Bloody Sword, who reluctantly sat, still looking scornfully at the Hrummean. Now Killed Many turned a mild gaze to Ressteto.
"Would you be willing to wrestle one of the best wrestlers among the Kinnli Innjakot? He is just now on guard outside the council lodge. This would not be a match between enemies, but between two men who enjoy contesting. And I would be interested in seeing how well you do."
Ressteto nodded and got to his feet. "It would indeed be an interesting contest," he said. Eltrienn looked at him, unsure about this, although Ressteto seemed confident enough. The man had conspicuously thick strong hands and wrists; probably he'd been taught smithing while still a growing boy. But he'd need more than strength.
The chief got up then, and the others, and they went outside. "Saarho!" he called, and one of the warriors on guard there turned to him. "One of the outlanders wishes to wrestle. Will you oblige him?"
The barbarian grinned and nodded. He wasn't built like a saarho. He wasn't especially large and was more slender than Ressteto, but sinewy, looking as if he'd be very quick and agile.
Killed Many turned to the deputy factor. "And you still wish it?"
Ressteto's smile was no grin, but it showed his satisfaction. "I wish it."
"Then prepare yourselves."
As Ressteto pulled off trousers and shirt, the barbarian removed his sword belt and leggings. When they were ready, Saarho wore only his loin cloth, Ressteto his codstrap. They faced each other a dozen feet apart, ready, examining each other. And with Ressteto stripped, it was clear that he had more than powerful hands and wrists. From the look of his muscular legs, buttocks, torso, he was a Dancer before Hrum, a gymnastic dancer. It wouldn't have surprised Eltrienn to learn he was one of the best wrestlers at Gardozzi Bay.
Killed Many eyed the Hrummean appreciatively. "Ready—Begin!" he barked.
The two men sidled toward each other, hands raised to grapple. Then they closed, feinting, gripping, heels moving to trip, tugging, pushing. Suddenly Ressteto seemed to fall toward Saarho, twisted, bent, and the barbarian was off the ground, feet arcing high as Ressteto pivoted him over his hip, holding wrist and upper arm, and cast him to the ground, keeping his grip on the wrist. They heard bone snap, and a suppressed cry of pain, little more than a grunt. Ressteto let go the arm, and the man rolled onto his side in agony.
Killed Many pursed his lips, impressed, saying nothing for the moment. It was Bloody Sword who spoke, his throat tight with anger.
"A warrior does not wrestle his enemy. He fights him with the blade. I challenge any of the cowardly outlanders to fight me with the sword, to the death."
It was what Eltrienn had been waiting for.
"Great Chief," said the centurion, "I prefer not to kill a warrior who has proven so valuable to you by his valor in war. But I am a warrior by choice and training, and if you say it is all right, I will accept the challenge of Bloody Sword."
Killed Many didn't answer for a few beats, then nodded. "It is your right. The sword you wear is not as big as that my brother carries. Would you prefer to use another?"
"This sword is like part of my body. My deadliest part. And when we are done, I will offer the chief my regret at having killed his brother who had fought so well for him in his conquests."
For just a moment Bloody Sword's eyes lost their arrogant assurance, replaced, after a moment of uncertainty, with blood rage. Killed Many's face had gone grim. He looked the two over. The men were similar in height; Bloody Sword, broad and deep-chested, weighed the most.
"Draw your weapons!" the Great Chief ordered. They did. "Ready—Begin!"
Bloody Sword strode forward, arm partly extended, sword crossways. Eltrienn, instead of meeting him, circled to his own right, away from the barbarian's sword arm. He'd never seen a barbarian fight with the sword, and intended to feel the man out.
Bloody Sword was having none of it. He pounced, slashing at the Hrummean, who jumped back, then darted forward, bent arm straightening, thrusting, blade tip slicing a pectoral muscle, glancing off the breastbone. The barbarian bellowed, swung backhanded, the move quicker than anticipated. Eltrienn leaned away, nearly hit, Bloody Sword's blade striking his own, but Eltrienn simply rotated his wrist and leaned forward again in a short thrust, then jumped back. And now blood flowed from the barbarian's left jaw and ear as he brought his sword back to guard; three inches lower and his throat would have been cut.
Eltrienn's blade tip moved again in small circles, like the head of some poisonous snake preparing to strike, and Bloody Sword's reaction was exactly what he'd expected. The barbarian rushed at him, blade chopping, and Eltrienn jumped back, circling right again, sword slashing back-handed, striking the heavy left deltoid and finding bone. Bloody Sword recovered balance and guard position, bleeding freely but not stumbling as Eltrienn had hoped.
The warrior paused then, brows knotted as if he analyzed his opponent. Eltrienn showed only his side, his blade tip circling again before the bleeding face.
The barbarian moved suddenly, thrusting this time. It was an error. He could not hope to fight the Hrummean's style unpracticed; his best chance lay in his usual approach—violent strength. Eltrienn parried the heavy blade to his right, then his own long thrust penetrated below the short ribs, through abdominal wall, intestines, abdominal aorta, and he was away again, circling right.
Bloody Sword's reaction was instinctive: Chop! Slash! At an opponent who wasn't there. He staggered, rapidly bleeding to death internally. Then the quick saber took him in the throat and he fell, dead as he hit the ground.
The centurion did not exult. Turning to Killed Many, he lowered his sword tip to the ground. "My regrets, Great Chief. You have lost a brave and strong warrior."
Killed Many gazed steadily at him for a long ten seconds, then down at his brother. Tears welled but did not overflow, and his voice confessed no grief. "It was as he wished, to die fighting," he said drily. "Sooner than he wished, no doubt, but by his own insistence. Now we must bury the warrior as befits one who fought so well against our brothers the Tchook and Aazhmili." He turned to the guards standing near. "Take him. Clean him. Dress him in his ceremonial robe. Put his headdress on his head."
He looked back at the Hrummeans, their faces blurred through his tears. "You are invited to his funeral. It will be this evening. You owe no blood debt to me or to his wife and daughter, who will live in my lodge, and he has paid his."
* * *
That evening the body of Bloody Sword was laid on its funeral pyre, and the fire was kept burning far into the night. Beer was drunk, the weak sour beer that was a principal product of the grain field grown at every barbarian village.
The next morning a warrior ceremony was held in the clearing in front of the warriors' lodge, and Eltrienn Cadriio was made "brother to the Kinnli Innjakot" for his warrior skill and his honorable deportment.
When it was over and more sour beer drunk, Eltrienn asked Killed Many why he'd denied Bloody Sword permission to wrestle but had allowed him to fight with the sword.
The Great Chief eyed him thoughtfully. "To refuse him permission to accept a challenge was a rebuke, which he had more than earned for repeatedly making problems. The greatest of which was ending the sword trade. But to make him retract his own challenge would be a major insult not lightly given.
"Beyond that, if he'd wrestled the deputy factor and lost, he'd have hated your people beyond all sanity, and probably made further serious trouble. While if he'd won, you'd have lost very much face. It had been your man's challenge, and the worthiness of your people was already in question. It would then have been difficult for me to negotiate with you. I would have had to offer terms so poor that you would surely have refused them.
"And yet I want more swords.
"But if he beat you with the sword, I could have burned your body with high honors and negotiated with the others of your people, because you would have shown yourself no coward and restored your people's honor. While if you beat him . . . well, that is what happened."
He shrugged. "Let us talk terms."
They agreed quickly. The Innjoka tribe would trade a perpetual wood supply in return for 3,000 steel swords by the equinox, half of them by the second full face of Great Liilia, which was about six weeks away.
Ressteto's brows rose at that for just a moment, but Killed Many wasn't looking at him. The attention of the barbarian was on the centurion.
When the negotiations were over, Eltrienn introduced Vessto to the Great Chief, calling his brother "a listener to Hrum." Then the Hrummeans accompanied the chief to watch his principal officers training a cadre in his new tactics, men who would return to their clans and train the warriors there.
* * *
Later, sitting in the factor's office at Agate Bay, Ressteto asked Eltrienn how he planned to deliver so many swords so soon.
"Partly by not relying entirely on your uncle to make them. Before I left Theedalit, the amirr ordered that every smith in Hrumma who's a competent armorer was to start making swords. I'd worked with the royal armorer to provide a system, a sequence of actions, that would allow a smith to make swords faster than before." He shrugged. "Ettsio forfeited his monopoly when he abandoned it, and at any rate, it's important that the barbarians move before autumn, with as much strength as possible.
"And if necessary, which it probably will be, the government will make up any deficit for the first 1,500 from government armories, replacing them out of new production. Leonessto authorized it."
Ressteto nodded. With wealth, his uncle had grown arrogant and hard to get along with. His sons and nephews still were loyal, but they'd feel no indignation for him. And what could Ettsio say against Eltrienn, who'd avenged his murdered son?
Although . . . "By what authority," he asked slowly, "did you promise the barbarians that they'd be taught to make steel?"
"They'd soon learn anyway."
Ressteto's eyebrows raised. "How?"
"The least we can expect the barbarians to do is conquer the border duchies. If they get no farther than that, they'll get that far. And when they capture some Djezian smithies, they'll almost certainly think to take some smiths captive.
"Besides," he added, grimly now, "we face a dangerous war—more dangerous than any since we last threw out the Gorrbian overlords. If we take no chances, our prospects of winning are poor."
* * *
On the assumption that Eltrienn could get an agreement, the schooner had brought men to start work in the woods and the sawmill, and at the charcoal kilns. These men now came ashore to work under Ressteto, the new factor. Their families, and more crews, would come later. With the new urgency for steel and swords, the need for charcoal had also become urgent. It would have priority.
Then Eltrienn wrote a report and gave it to Danntis Deltibbio to take back to Hrumma. Eltrienn and Vessto would stay with the Great Chief as advisors in his preparations.