"Duncan, David - Seventh Sword 1 - Reluctant Swordsman, The" - читать интересную книгу автора (Duncan Dave)

He glanced sideways at the youngster beside him and saw a flush of pleasure and excitement. "I should be greatly honored, my lord."
So he should be, a Third being offered a Sixth as mentor, but he seemed to be hearing the message. "Then I shall speak to your mentor and the holy one, and see if a transfer can be arranged. It will have to wait until after this matter of the swordsman, of course ... until after that has been successfully concluded."
"Of course, my lord." Young Jannarlu was staring straight ahead, but could not quite suppress a smile.
"And where are you in your inurement?"
"I am due to start the fifth silence in another week," said the lad, adding helpfully, "I am eager to begin."
"You will begin as soon as I have met this marvel of yours," Honakura stated, with a silent chuckle. "I shall send word to your mentor." An astute young man! The fifth silence lasted two weeks -- the matter would certainly be settled by then.
At last they had reached the arches. Beyond them the great steps fell away like a hillside to the temple court. The top was already cluttered with rows of pilgrims patiently kneeling in the shadow. Later in the day, when the tropic sun discovered them, they would find the waiting harder.
Out of habit the priest glanced over the faces of the closest. As his eyes met theirs they bowed their heads respectfully to him, but from long experience he had already read the rank and craft marks of their brows and made a preliminary diagnosis -- a potter of the Third, probably a health problem; a spinster of the Second, perhaps a sterility case; a goldsmith of the Fifth, good for a fair offering.
Few of the heads were bound. Honakura could make an easy guess as to the swordsman. The man had chosen to approach one of the side arches, which was fortunate because the token guard stood only at the center arch, but it was a curious choice for one of his rank. Something must be seriously awry for him.
"The big one, I assume? Very well. And there, I believe, is the Honorable Londossinu himself. Let us speak to him right away." That was convenient, for Honakura disliked overloading his memory these days, and it was surely the handiwork of the Holiest. The whole affair was then disposed of in a dozen words -- plus a few meaningful glances, nuances, hints, and insinuations. The transfer of mentors would be arranged, and Londossinu would get the committee appointments he had been seeking for two other proteges, plus promotion for another. And young Jannarlu would be kept quiet. Honakura waited until he saw the young man head back into the temple to begin the ritual of silence, quite unaware of most of the dealings that had just been completed around him. There was no hurry; the Nameless could bring no offerings and hence were low priority for the attendants.
Yes, the handiwork of the Goddess! His prayers had been answered by a highrank swordsman, the man had come -- _incredibly!_ -- incognito and hence safely, and he had even avoided the two bored swordsmen posturing by the center arch, who might just possibly have guessed from his long hair that he was a swordsman. Praise to the Goddess!
Honakura began to amble in the right direction, nodding his head to the bows he received. By law, a Nameless One could only be questioned by priests or searched by swordsmen, but it was not unknown for junior swordsmen to torment such for sport. The little priest wondered what the reaction would be if some were to try that and discover that they were dealing with a swordsman of the Seventh. It would be an entertaining incident to watch. Fortunately, in the present case, the man's rank had not yet been revealed.
At last he reached his objective.
The man was very large indeed -- even kneeling, he carried his eyes not much beneath Honakura's. Swordsmen were rarely large, for speed was more important to them than strength. If this man also had agility he would be formidable, but then he was, reputedly, a Seventh, and there could be none more formidable. Apart from the black rag around his head, he wore only a dirty scrap of black loincloth. He was filthy and sweat-streaked, yet his size and youth made him impressive still. His hair was also black, hanging to his shoulders, and his eyes were utterly black, the pupils lost in the iris. Forceful eyes ... bearing anger they would strike dread. Looking into them now, Honakura saw other things: pain and fear and despondency. Those came often to the Goddess in the eyes of supplicants -- the sick, the dying, the bereaved, the lost -- but rarely had he seen them so intense, and their presence in the eyes of this huge and healthy youngster was a staggering shock to him. Awry indeed!
"Let us go over to a more private place," he said quickly. "My lord?"
The young man rose effortlessly, rising over the little priest as dawn climbs the sky. He was very big and when he moved he rippled. Even for a swordsman he was young to be a Seventh, probably younger than Priest Jannarlu of the Third.
They walked to the end of the facade, and Honakura motioned to the plinth of a badly corroded statue. The swordsman sat without argument. His apathy was astonishing.
"Let us dispense with formalities for the moment," Honakura said quietly, remaining on his feet, "for we are not unobserved. I am Honakura, priest of the seventh rank."
"I am Shonsu, swordsman, and also of the Seventh." His voice was in keeping with the rest of him, massive. Distant thunder. He raised a hand to remove the rag, and Honakura shook his head.
"You seek help from the Goddess?"
"I am haunted by a demon, holiness."
That explained the eyes. "Demons can be exorcised, but they rarely ravage those of high rank," Honakura said. "Pray tell me of it."
The fearsome young man shuddered. "It is the color of sour milk. It has yellow hair on its belly and its limbs and its face, but none on top of its head, as though its head were put on upside down."
Honakura shuddered, also, and made the sign of the Goddess.
The swordsman continued, "It has no foreskin."
"Do you know its name?"
"Oh yes," Shonsu sighed. "It babbles at me from dusk until dawn, and lately even by day. Little it says makes sense, but its name is Walliesmith."
"Walliesmith?" Honakura echoed doubtfully.
"Walliesmith," the swordsman repeated in a voice that could not be doubted.
That was not the name of any of the seven hundred and seventy-seven demons -- but a demon would naturally not tell the truth unless properly invoked. And, while the sutras catalogued demons of the most hideous and grotesque aspect, Honakura had never heard of one so perverse as to grow hair on its face.
"The Goddess will know it, and it can be expelled," he said. "What offering will you make to Her in return?"
Sadly the young man dropped his gaze. "My lord, I have nothing left to offer, except my strength and my skill."
A swordsman, and he did not mention honor?
"Perhaps a year or two of service in our temple guard?" Honakura suggested, watching closely. "The reeve is the valorous Lord Hardduju of the Seventh."
The swordsman's was a hard face, and now he gave the priest a hard look. "How many Sevenths do you need in a temple guard?" he asked warily. "And by what oath would I be sworn?"
Honakura edged a little closer to his meaning. "I am not familiar with all your swordsman oaths, my lord. Now that you mention it, I never remember more than one Seventh in the guard at a time, and I have worked here more than sixty years."
They studied each other in silence for a moment. The swordsman frowned. While his kind had few scruples at eradicating each other, they did not often appreciate advice on the subject from civilians. Honakura decided to reveal a little more.
"It is rare for highrank swordsmen to visit the temple," he said. "None at all for at least two years. Curiously, though, I have heard of several who arrived at Hann and stated that to be their intention -- at least one Seventh and a couple of Sixths."
The swordsman's huge fists clenched. "Implying?"
"I imply nothing!" Honakura said hastily. "Pure hearsay. They were reported to be planning to take the ferry, and then that long trail through the trees. Probably they changed their minds. One did make as near as a pilgrims' hostelry, but was unfortunate enough to partake there of some tainted meat. You are all the more welcome for your rarity, my lord."
Muscles did not necessarily imply stupidity -- the young man understood. A dark flush of fury crept over his cheekbones.
He glanced around, looking at the grandiose facade of the temple and at the great court below, flanked by the shingle beach and the still pool, beyond that to the River frothing and foaming as it emerged from the canyon, and along the canyon to the mist-shrouded splendor of the Judgment. Then he turned his head to survey the wooded park of the temple grounds with the big houses of the senior officials. One of those would certainly go with the office of reeve. "To be a swordsman in Her temple guard would be a great honor," he said.
"It seems to be even better rewarded these days than it used to be," Honakura remarked helpfully.
The hard face became menacing. "A man could borrow a sword, I expect?"
"That could be arranged."
The young man nodded. "My service is always to the Goddess."
Now that, Honakura thought happily, was how a deal should be made. Murder had not even been mentioned.
"But first the exorcism?" the swordsman said.
"Certainly, my lord." Honakura could not remember an exorcism in the last five years, but he was familiar with the ritual. "Fortunately, it does not require that your craft or even rank be mentioned. And your present garb will be adequate."
The swordsman sighed with relief. "And it will succeed?"