The Destiny of the Sword Read Free

explorations and paused to talk with the big man in the blue kilt. Tau was a turbulent place, they reported. Two hundred swordsmen had passed through on their way to the tryst, plus several times that many followers. Tau was a small town. The natives were restless.
    Tomiyano went down to the dock and began weighing the traders’ gold. Wallie continued to survey the scene, noting that the swordsmen were bunching as he had predicted. Couples were very rare now. A Fifth had collected seven, and later the triumphant Sixth paraded past again with fifteen.
    Then Katanji returned, a snowy new cast on his damaged arm outshining his white kilt. He seemed smaller than ever, his face a paler brown than usual, and his wide, dark eyes not as sparkly— perhaps the healers had hammered a little too hard when removing the old plaster. His hair was beginning to reach a more respectable length for a swordsman’s, but it curled up in a tiny bun instead of making a ponytail. He wore no sword, of course. Barring a miracle, he would never use that arm again—but miracles were not uncommon around Shonsu.
    He managed an approximation of his normal pert smile, white teeth gleaming in dark face, while his eyes noted with surprise Wallie’s unarmed, undressed state.
    “Where’s your brother?” Wallie demanded.
    Katanji’s wan smile became a smirk. “I left him to it, my lord.”
    He need say no more. Nnanji was still in a state of witless infatuation over the lithesome Thana, but it was four weeks since be had been ashore for recreation.
    “The girls have been busy, I imagine?” Wallie inquired.
    Katanji rolled his eyes. “The poor things are worn out, they told me.” He scowled. “And they’ve raised their prices!”
Innocent little Katanji, of course, had seduced Diwa, Mei, and
    lately possibly Hana on the ship, and his need would not have been as great as his brother’s. It would take more than a woman to make Katanji lose his head.
    Wallie nodded and went back to his spectatiog. His mind began to wander, reverting to its ever,present worries about Casr and the troubles that must await him.
    Tomiyano came striding back on deck, swinging a leather bag. He grinned happily at Wallie, jingled the bag gloatingly, and then went to peer down into the forward hatch and hold a shouted conversation with Oligarro and Holiyi, who had gone below to inspect ballast. The slaves had completed their work and were dragging their feet back down the gangplank.
    Then...
    Damn!
    Wallie forgot sailors and slaves. Two swordsmen were striding across the road, obviously heading for Sapphire. The vacation was over! With a muffled curse, he ducked down out of sight and scrabbled for his sword. He was still on his knees and frantically fastening harness buckles when boots drummed on the gangplank. The two swordsmen came on deck and marched right by him.
    Tomiyano spun around as if he had been kicked. In two fast strides he moved to accost the newcomers, feet apart, arms akimbo, and face thrust forward aggressively, his anger showing like a warning beacon.
    Wallie noted the swordsmen boots with surprise: tooled leather, shiny as glass. Above them hung kilts of downy wool, of superlative cut and texture, the pleats like knife edges—red for a Fifth and white for a First. His eyes strayed higher. The harnesses and scabbards on the men’s backs were as opulent as their boots, embossed, and decorated with topazes. Higher yet—the sword hilts bore silver filigree and more topaz. The hairclips were of silver also.
    Well!
    He rose silently to his feet, scooping back his hair and clipping it with his own sapphire hairclip, while he analyzed these strangers. They were not free swords, obviously, for the frees prided themselves on their poverty. They might be garrison swordsmen, but few cities would willingly clothe their po,
    lice like that. Could any swordsmen come by such wealth honestly?
    Wallie twitched his shoulder blades, tilting his sword to the vertical so that