Piers Anthony: Neq the Sword

At first it was wonderful, for Neq's fondest dreams of glory had been exceeded. He was chief of a hundred and fifty warriors, which was more than most independent tribes boasted. He visited his family and showed off his status. His sister had married and moved away, but home-town doubters he gladly convinced. He packed half a dozen of them off to the badlands camp, and even demonstrated his skill against his father Nem, though not for blood or mastery. Neq was the finest sworder this area had ever seen, and it was good to have it known.

But in a year such things palled, for administrative duties kept him from practicing in the circle as much as he liked, and there seemed to be rivalries and enemies on every side. He decided that he was not, at heart, a leader. He was a fighter.

By the end of the second year he was heartily sick of it, but there seemed to be no way down the ladder. He longed just to run away by himself, meeting people honestly, without the barrier his present responsibility erected.

And--he still wanted a woman. He was sixteen now, more than man enough--but the very notion of offering his bracelet to a girl, any girl, filled him with dread. If one would ask him, make it clear she was amenable... but none did.

Neq suspected that he was the shyest man in all the empire--and for no reason. He could command men without qualm, he could meet any weapon with confidence, he could run a tribe of hundreds. But to put his bracelet on a woman... he wanted to, but he couldn't.

Then disaster came to the empire. A nameless, weaponless warrior appeared--one who entered the circle and defeated the empire's finest with his bare hands. It seemed impossible--but the Nameless first took Sav's tribe, breaking Sav's arm; then Tyl's tribe, shattering Tyl's knees; then Tor's--by killing Bog the Club, the one warrior even Sol had not beaten. And finally he brought Sol himself to the circle, and took all the empire and Sola too for his own, sending Sol to die with his girlchild at the mountain.

Neq's tribe had been ranging far from the scene of that action, and by the time he got there the issue had been settled and Sol was gone. There was nothing for him to do but go along with the new Master. Tyle remained second in command, acting in the name of the grotesque Weaponless conqueror, who seemed to have little interest 'in the routine affairs of empire. "Go where you will," Tyl advised Neq privately. "Battle where you will. But no more for mastery. Query your warriors and release any who wish to leave, asking no questions. The Nameless has so decreed."

"Why did he conquer, then?" Neq demanded, amazed.

Tyl only shrugged, disgusted. Neq knew Tyl much preferred Sol's way--but he was a man of honor to match his station, and would not act against the new Master.

So it came to pass. For six years the empire stagnated. Neq turned over his administrative duties to other men and took to wandering alone, incognito. Sometimes he fought in the circle--but his blinding skill with the sword made such encounters meaningless, and destroyed his alias. And still his bracelet had never left his wrist, though he dreamed of women, all women.

At the age of twenty-four, with a decade of nomadic brilliance behind him, Neq the Sword was over the hill. He had no present and no future, like the empire.

Then the Master invaded the mountain, using his own and Tyl's subtribes--and disappeared. Tyl returned with news that the mountain fortress had been gutted; that the men who went there in the future really would die, whatever had been the case in the past. But Tyl could not claim the leadership of the empire. No one had defeated the Weaponless. He might or might not return.

The chiefs met--Tyl, Neq, Sav, Tor and the others-- and formally suspended the empire, pending that return. Each subtribe would become a full tribe, but they would not fight each other.

Neq wanted only freedom, so he dissolved his own tribe completely. The top warriors immediately began forming their own tribelets and moving out. Neq, truly independent for the first time in his life, wandered alone again.

* * *

The third time he came to a lodge in a hostel and found it gutted and broken, Neq grew perplexed and angry. Who was doing this, and why? The hostels had always been sacrosanct, open for all travelers all the time. When one was destroyed, every person suffered. Too much of this would hurt the entire nomad society--that had supposedly been saved by the razing of the mountain underworld.

There was no hope of catching the perpetrators; the deed was weeks past. Easier to inquire of the crazies themselves, who were often knowledgeable about nomad affairs but who never acted positively.

Neq, missionless until this moment, had found a mission of a sort.

The local crazy outpost was under siege. Its foolish glass windows bad been broken in, and now fragments of wood and metal furniture barred them ineffectively. The flower beds around the building had been trampled. Two unkempt warriors patrolled in semicircles at a distance, one on either side, and three more chatted around a nearby campfire.

Neq accosted the nearest of the marchers, a large sworder. "Who are you and what are you doing?"

"Beat it, punk," the man said. "This is private soil."

Neq was not young or impulsive any more. He replied calmly: "It looks to me as though you are molesting a crazy outpost. Have you any reason?"

The man drew his blade. "This is my reason. Got it clear now, shorty?"

Neq saw that the others had been alerted, and were coming at a run. They were all sworders. But he held his ground. "Are you challenging me in the circle?"

"Hey, this guy's a troublemaker!" the man cried, amused.

"Cut off his balls--if he has any!" one of the others said, approaching with weapon drawn.

Neq was assured by this time that these were noncircle outlaws: clumsy fighters who banded together informally to prey on whoever was helpless. Such wretches had never been tolerated within the crazy demesnes before, and the empire had systematically run them down and executed them. That is, they were forced to meet a capable warrior in the circle, contesting for life. There was no sense in having the crazies halt maintenance because of the actions of outlaws.

But the empire was gone now, and the weeds were encroaching. He would have no compunction about cutting down such cowards. Still, he made sure: "Give me your names."

They ringed him now. "We'll give you a bleeding gut!" the first man said, and the rest chuckled.

"Then I give you mine. I am Neq the Sword." He drew his weapon. "The first to move against me defines the circle."

"Hey--I've heard of him!" one man cried "He's dangerous! Got a tribe--"

But already the others, no students of the empire heirarchy, were closing in, thinking to overwhelm him by their dishonorable mass attack.

Neq swung into action the moment they moved. He thrust ferociously at the one directly in front, driving his point into the man's unguarded chest and yanking it out again immediately. Then he whirled the bloody blade to the left, catching the next man at the neck before he could raise his sword in defense. Such tactics would never have worked against competent warriors--but these were combat oafs. He swung right, and this man had his guard up, so that sword clanged on sword.

Neq leaped away, passing between the two bleeding men. Two remained, for the fifth had fled after recognizing him. Neq spun to face them as they looked at their fallen comrades, appalled. Novices frightened of blood!

"Take your wounded and get out of here," he snapped at them. "If I see you again, I kill you both."

They hesitated, but they were inept cowards and he knew it. He turned his back on them contemptuously and went to the outpost building. He knocked on the door.