The Death of Nnanji (35 page)

Meaning:
You can wear it safely as long as the palace guard is around.

“Thank you, Reeve.” Addis turned his back on the beloved subjects to face the thrones and salute his new adoptive parents and his fiancée.

This was turning out to be a very interesting day.

Chapter 3

As always, Yoningu had done what was required of him. By evening, six horses had been delivered at Soo, and two of them were already laden with water skins to supply a scouting expedition. Wallie was determined to lead it in person, so he would see the ground firsthand and establish whether there was any practical way to move his army over the Mule Hills. Taking Adept Sevolno and a couple of Thirds along, he set out as the sun was setting.

Witnesses in Ivo had reported that the trail to Cross Plo ran almost directly south. If he reached the River anywhere else, he could just follow the bank northward, because Plo lay at the extreme north of a very large loop. That was assuming he didn’t blunder into an opposing army first, of course.

They made good time, barely stopping, but by dawn it was obvious that there was no shade, no safe water, and virtually no cover anywhere. The Mule Hills, in fact, were not unlike the prairie of his boyhood, but they did not make him homesick for Weyback, Saskatchewan. As scenery, they suddenly became more interesting when a stray beam from the rising sun caught something shiny. Out came the telescopes. Southwest of him, three horsemen were riding northward, and the reflection had come from a sword hilt.

That was an easy decision.

After a while the Soo party’s approach was noted, and the others turned to meet them. To Wallie’s astonishment, their leader was Honorable Quarlaino, whom he had last seen half a year ago, going off with Lord Joraskinta to arrange for ferry boats to transport the army over to Plo. He was accompanied by a Fifth and a Fourth, both strangers to Wallie. Smiling, Quarlaino, made the salute to a superior, sadistically drawing it out as long as he could. Wallie responded at a dignified pace.

“Well met, your honor,” he said. “You have news for us?”

“Sad, sad news, my lord. I regret to inform you that you are too late. The war has been won; it is all over.”

“Won by Lord Joraskinta and his gallant companions?”

“Well, we did help, but the real hero was someone else. It might perhaps—” he glanced inquiringly at his companions. “Might perhaps be an exaggeration to say he won it singlehanded?”

They shook their heads. “It would be an injustice to say otherwise,” the Fifth remarked.

Wallie lowered his head like a threatening bull. “Some details, if you would be so kind?”

“I did not see personally.” Quarlaino gestured for the Fifth to take up the tale.

“One of your own men, my lord. He arrived yesterday morning in a condition of extreme physical distress, tracking a missing protégé. Lord Pollex, the late reeve of Plo, declared him a spy and sent a Fourth to challenge and kill him. It was manifestly unfair, considering your, um, man’s condition. Fortunately your man won in a fair fight, killing the Fourth in a memorable feat of arms.

“Pollex then sent a Fifth up against him. This was such a gross injustice that the Fifth faked a knockout rather than hurt the youngster. At that point Vi—your man, my lord, denounced Lord Pollex as unfit to shovel barracks night soil, and cut off the grand wizard’s head… my lord.”

“Is he alive?”

The Fifth grinned. “Oh, yes, my lord. Alive and well. He shamed us all! He showed us how a true, honorable swordsman should behave. A sorcerer tried to shoot him, so the swordsmen turned on the sorcerers and slaughtered them. Lord Ozimshello, reeve of Fex, then withdrew his men from Lord Pollex’s command and declared his allegiance to the Tryst of Casr, which your son accepted in your name, my lord.”

“The hell he did!”

“Yes, my lord. And the fight broke out. Lord Joraskinta arrived just in time to turn the tide, my lord, but the honor belongs entirely to Swordsman Vixini. Lord Joraskinta has promised to promote him to adept for his performance.”

Wallie looked around the circle of grinning faces but could not see them for tears.
Vixi?
“He was always such a polite, gentle, well-mannered boy… Is there any word of Novice Addis, his protégé?”

“Not yet, my lord. We believe the sorcerers took him on to Plo or Kra, but we have no details, as yet.”

Vixini a hero… But if anything bad had happened to Addis, how could Wallie ever face Thana and Nnanji?

Being summoned into the presence of two Sevenths when one had a murder charge hanging over one’s head was a disquieting start to a day, and Vixini had been feeling fragile even before the message came. He ached all over and his arm hurt, trying to swell under the bandages and showing nasty red patches outside it. He was led to where the high ranks were sitting on the grass, eating standard camp rations, with only the wide gap that the rest of the army left around them showing that they were in any way special. All they wanted, they said, was to have Vixini share their breakfast, forget about formality.

There was no doubt that Lord Joraskinta was in charge. The former ruler of Ashe who had sworn to the Tryst of Casr little over a year ago, had turned yesterday’s rout into victory by arriving with seven hundred fresh swordsmen. He was looking more than a little pleased with himself. Nobody else had much to be proud of. The death toll was going to be about eight hundred, when the seriously wounded died.

Lord Ozimshello, reeve of Fex, seemed older than he had the previous day. He must be worrying about his change of allegiance and how King Arganari would react to the news. His honor might be called into question, and that could mean death for a swordsman. After the battle he had formally sworn the third oath to Joraskinta on behalf of the Tryst, so Vixini’s outrageous presumption in accepting it earlier could be quietly forgotten. The survivors of the Plo contingent had waived their onus of vengeance and sworn loyalty to the Tryst instead. None of them could be held guilty for crimes they might have committed, because they had been acting under orders, but something would have to be done about their broken oaths. The priests would find a way.

Nobody need care what Lord Pollex would say to all this, because Lord Pollex was extremely dead, and just who had put so many holes in him would never be known, or even discussed. Grand Wizard Krandrak was no longer a problem either, thanks to Vixini, but that had been murder in front of thousands of witnesses.

“Between mouthfuls,” Joraskinta told Vixini, “tell us where Lord Shonsu is and what happened at Soo.”

Soo was not a good topic for mealtime conversation, but Vixini told his story. He was certain that Dad would be at Soo by now, and had been saved from a sorcerer ambush there by the actions of Vixini’s own strong right arm. He described his journey briefly, and how he was concerned about the lack of water in the Mule Hills.

“I heard that the springs were being poisoned,” Ozimshello said. “It was a despicable crime. I don’t think he can risk bringing his army across the hills on foot in midsummer.”

“Last night I sent Honorable Quarlaino to tell him our news,” Joraskinta said. “I wanted someone he knows and will trust. He will explain that the war is won.” Under his ferocious brows he actually smirked.

“What will you do about Kra?” the reeve asked.

“How serious a fight will they put up?”

“I don’t know, my lord. No outsiders are ever allowed in Kra or even within sight of it. We don’t know what manpower it has or what defenses.”

“I haven’t seen a single sorcerer since I got here.”

Vixini, too, had been wondering where the sorcerers had all gone. Possibly they had been favored targets and killed out of hand, but the army had included civilians. He risked offering an unsolicited opinion.

“You could look among those priests, my lord, or the healers. All the civilians, in fact.”

“Brilliant!” Joraskinta thumped a fist approvingly on his own knee. Then he explained to Ozimshello, who was looking blank, how Lord Shonsu had found facemark transfers in the assassins’ gear back in Casr. “You have your father’s insight as well as his fencing skills, swordsman… I should say ‘Adept’ because Lord Ozimshello and I have agreed to promote you one rank under Sutra 1139. Congratulations.”

“Well deserved,” Ozimshello agreed. “Something wrong?”

“My lords, my—I am five years too young to be even a Third. A Fourth? The men will think my father has favored me obscenely.”

“Not when the minstrels have done with you, they won’t!”

Oh, no! “Minstrels?”

“
How Swordsman Vixini Smote the Sorcerers in Soo
,” Ozimshello suggested.

Joraskinta chuckled ominously. “
How Vixini of the Third Avenged the Ambush at Cross Zek!
”

“
How Swordsman Vixini Ended the War of Plo with One Stroke of his Sword!
The whole gang of minstrels has been hunting for you, so we said they could have you on the boat. You do want to come across to Plo with us?”

Vixini shuddered. How in the World was he going to hold his head up in Casr if all this got around? “My lords, I
murdered
Krandrak!”

“What you did was justice for the massacres at Cross Zek and Soo. The Tryst needs a hero after this, and you are he, Adept Vixini. Lord Pollex thought to bring a facemarker. You will see her and find an orange kilt before we leave. That’s an order. ”

“You ended the war, Lord Joraskinta, not me!”

“That’s not true,” Ozimshello said. “It was your courage and honor in facing up to Pollex that shamed us all. I realized, and so did almost everyone watching, that you were being true to the code and the rest of us were not. And yet we were standing there watching Pollex torture you. That was why I switched, and why the Fex garrison followed my lead. Many of the Plo men did, too.”

“See?” said Joraskinta. “So stop being modest! That’s another order.”

Ozimshello laughed. “Something more is bothering you, adept?”

“Just…” Vixini said gratefully. The reeve was a perceptive leader. “Just that I owe my life to the mercy and courage of Master Malaharo. I have been looking for him to give my sincere…” No?

“I regret to tell you that he is among the fallen,” Joraskinta said. The two Sevenths concentrated on eating.

After a moment Vixini worked out what was not being said—that in a sense Malaharo might be considered fortunate. Had he survived, he would certainly have had to face trial as a traitor for disobeying a direct order from his liege. Scores or even hundreds of swordsmen must have switched allegiance in the battle, but few could had turned their coats quite so blatantly as Malaharo had in throwing that fight with Vixini. The rest might escape judgment for lack of clear evidence against them. Likely it would be up to Dad to decide whether to admit such renegades into the Tryst and what must be done with them if he did not. But at least now he would be spared the ordeal of passing a death sentence on the man who had saved the life of his son.

The only orange kilts available were those that had been taken off corpses that the priests were preparing for burial, and the only one not fouled by the blood of its former owner was absurdly tight around Vixini’s hips and at least a handbreadth too short. He felt like an exotic dancer.

The first part of the ferry trip across the River was torment. He could have endured the minstrels by themselves, although there were a dozen of them, all talking at once, but the two Sevenths were there also, dragging all the details out of him, and he couldn’t refuse to answer their questions. Yes, he had strangled one of the sorcerers with his bare hand. Which hand? No, only one horse had died under him.

“I am not a light load,” he explained.

“The giant youth,” they muttered. “Vixini’s mighty thews… Godlike stature…”

When they had sucked all they could out of him—and he suspected it was going to be at least eight men he had slaughtered singlehanded at Soo—they started in on Joraskinta. He did not seem to mind. No, dear Goddess, the man reveled in their attention! He lapped up their flattery.

Background? Well, he had once ruled his own realm… Lord Shonsu had sent him forward as an advance party…

Listening between the lines, Vixini gathered that all the swordsmen Nnanji had shed as he withdrew from Arbo to Rea—and indeed, every garrison along that reach—had been frantically waiting for him to return with an army. In the meantime, they had been passing information along the cities of the River, in a way only sorcerers and traders normally did. So Joraskinta had not long passed Rea when he learned that Shonsu’s plan was known and Pollex was fortifying the bank at Cross Plo. Some high-numbered sutra or other allowed a swordsman to depart from his orders when conditions changed, and this Joraskinta had proceeded to do. When he received word that the counter-tryst was assembling, he prepared to attack it in the rear, hoping that Lord Shonsu would arrive on its other side as planned. Without the rebellion Vixini had inspired, his force would almost certainly have been slaughtered to a man. What right had he to preen in front of the minstrels?

In truth, it had been Ozimshello who had saved the day, but he refused to discuss his part, and the minstrels seemed to find Joraskinta not quite up to their heroic requirements. Vixini had a sickening premonition that they were going to declare him the singlehanded winner of the whole shameful mess.

Chapter 4

The wind was fitful, and it was an hour after noon before the ship drew near to Plo. Plo was the biggest city Vixini had ever seen, and the most beautiful, gleaming with many-colored marble walls and shining metal roofs. The commercial docks were busy, and the captain headed for the less-used temple area. The temple, also, was the largest and finest Vixini had ever seen. He said so to Lord Ozimshello.

The reeve of Fex nodded proudly. “Second only to holy Hann. But they seem to have heard the news already. Hear the bells? See the flags? They are celebrating.”