“He is a regular Alish Bo Wanameer,” agreed Donovan; and Méarana remembered that the young Zorba de la Susa had assassinated the People’s Hope.
When the war canoes had been packed, the Harp chief had the children of the Gorgeous lined up, and his men drew their swords. It took Méarana a moment to realize what the Harps meant to do.
“No!” she cried. “Ye cannae!” Donovan grabbed her arm, but she shook it off and stepped out between the boys and the men with swords.
The chief did not understand Gaelactic, but he understood a negative when he heard one. But because she was a harper, he explained.
“Chief says,” Watershank told her, “that these children will grow to men, and these men will seek vengeance for their fathers, whom they saw slaughtered. When they do, they will fall beneath our swords as their fathers did, so why wait?”
“Because,” Méarana said in the loora nuxrjes’r, “they cannot fight back.”
The chief nodded. “Yes. That will make the work easier.”
“Harper,” said Billy Chins in Gaelactic, “this is not worth risking our lives. Their fathers were preparing to come downriver and slaughter us. We owe their spawn nothing.”
Méarana did not look at him. She said, “I will sing of this.”
A gasp ran through the Harps, as those who knew scraps of the imperial tongue told those who did not. The chief looked perplexed, unsure if he was to be honored.
“I will sing how the Harps so trembled before a band of children that they killed them, though they could not strike blows for their own honor. I will sing this in the City on the Hill toward which we journey. I will sing it in the wharfside taverns of Rajiloor; in the palaces of Nuxrjes’r. I will sing it on the shining path! On Harpaloon and Die Bold, from Ramage to the Dancing Vrouw. On worlds where they know nothing of you, they will know that you are killers of children.”
Watershank trembled and fell to his knees. “She sang a satire on the rivermen,” he told the chief, “and all but a remnant died.”
The chief sneered. “Aye. Because we came and killed them for their gold.”
“Can you deny that her singing brought you to her? The Weird twists like the river.”
“So,” said the chief, pale but determined. “If we must not kill them because they are unarmed, then we will arm them. Unless,” he added as he turned to give the orders, “you will fight in their name?”
A voice behind her said, “I will be their champion.”
Méarana turned and saw Teodorq Nagarajan grinning at her. “It’s what I do, babe. Start thinking of the stanzas you’ll sing about me.” Then he faced the chief. “I will fight your champion alone; or I will face five others who are not champions, for I have not eaten since noon and I am weak with hunger.”
The chief smiled as Watershank translated. Here was someone he understood! “I will fight you myself!” he declared.
But Teodorq declined. “I cannot deprive your people of great leadership. Your people will need your strong hand to comfort the widows.”
Chatter among the Harps rose and fell while the chief tried to decide if he had been praised or mocked. Méarana heard Donovan, sotto vocee: “I hope he is half as good with a sword as he is with a boast.”
Eventually four men stepped forward; then, after his name was called, a fifth. They stood in a row, each with sword in hand. Teodorq looked upon those swords, and smiled.
“Them are what we called ‘gladius’ back on World,” he said to Méarana. “They use them in sports matches.” Then, to the men facing him, he said, “Are those your own blades, dedicated to the gods in your name and blood?”
They frowned, uncertain of the custom to which he referred, but Watershank explained and they began to nod. “Yea, mine own.” “None other holds this!” Teodorq nodded.
“Then I claim the right to use my own blades, which for fear of them, they was taken from me and now lie in your canoes.”
The chief smirked. “You seek to delay your fate, starman.”
“Oh, no,” Teodorq said, “but it may take me a moment.” Then he cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “Goodhandlingblade! Gutripper! Your master calls you! There is work to slake your thirst!”
Everyone stood transfixed by this performance. Mouths spilled open and in the silence that formed, a high voice could be heard. “Here I am, boss! Come and get me!”
Debly Jean Sofwari closed his eyes and looked to heaven. “Holy Dear Wisdom! He put voice-activated amshifars in his sword hilts!”
Teodorq glanced sidewise. “‘Course I did, wallah. I ain’t fresh fallen off a bumboat. Done it on Gatmander. Those blades cost a pretty ducat, so I wasn’t about to lose none.” He was already striding to the canoe from which the voices came. “I’ll use both,” he decided at top lung, but as if talking to himself. “I will slay three with Goodhandlingblade in the right hand; two with Gutripper in the left.”
When he had extracated both swords from their bundles and turned again to face the group, there were only two swordsmen facing him. The other three had melted away, and most of the Harps were on their knees or hiding their faces from the talking swords.
Teodorq frowned. “It doesn’t seem hardly fair, there being only two of you. But I tell you what. All Lady Harp wants is that these boys not be killed. Is that so unreasonable?” He waited for Watershank to translate this.
One of the warriors could not take his eye off the blade called Gutripper, the one which, if they fought, would be his to converse with. Teodorq saw this and offered to introduce them, but the man shook his head. “It seems honorable to me, now that it has been explained.” And he, too, melted back into the throng.
“And that leaves you,” Teodorq said to the remaining warrior, who stood trembling, sword-naked, but the point aimed at the ground.
The man sighed. “It is as fair a day as any to die.”
When Watershank had rendered this, Teodorq nodded. “It is that. And you are right. Honor requires that one of you fight and that I defend. That is how the courts proceed in my homeland. It will be an honor to kill such a brave man as yourself.”
“Well,” said the other, hefting a round wooden shield to protect his left side, “one should not presume on honors. The Weird bestows honor, and winding are her ways.”
“As you will.” He held his two swords crossed before him. Watershank ran to the sidelines.
The Harp swung and Teodorq danced.
That was the only term that did him justice, Méarana decided. He danced. He leapt and spun in a display that was as much art as mere battle. When he caught the Harp’s sword in the V of his own two swords, he actually paused for effect before spinning and flinging the sword out of line and swooping low with Gutripper to slash at the man’s calf.
But his opponent was no mean swordsman, either. His people made their living by cutting up other people, and it would be hard to show him a trick that he had not already seen. He avoided the cut, though with less grace than Teodorq.
His return cut was overhand and aimed at the spine Teodorq had exposed. Méarana sucked in her breath, but she heard Paulie mutter, “One-two-roll.” And as if in time to the mutter, Teodorq spun against the man’s knees and brought him to the ground.
Both scrambled to their feet and stood again facing each other, this time out of reach. Paulie said, “They got their measure now and can start fighting. The idea ain’t to hit the other guy’s sword. The idea is to hit the other guy. What you’ll see are a few set moves and countermoves, then disengage.”
And so it went. Sometimes the swords flashed so quickly Méarana could not see the strokes clearly. She also learned that the big round shield had an advantage beside the obvious one, and a disadvantage. The unexpected advantage was that it could be used as a weapon itself. The disadvantage was that it was heavy, and over time grew heavier.