The Wizard (41 page)

the words of the Nykr King of Arms, and not trouble with the repetitions. "This day shall be joined in trial by arms the gallant champions of Her Most Royal Majesty Queen Gaynor and of Her Royal Highness Princess Morcaine." There was a little buzz of talk, soon stilled, as the younger man repeated what the Nykr King of Arms had said. "Her Most Royal Majesty Queen Gaynor is the aggrieved party. Her champion upon this field is Sir Able of Redhall, a knight of Sheerwall." As previously, the pursuivant bellowed the same words. "Her Royal Highness Princess Morcaine is the aggrieving party." The Nykr King of Arms paused to look toward the riderless stallion. "Her champion upon this field and he comeis to be Sir Loth of Narrowhouse." To my right I heard one knight say to another, "Loth? He's dead." To which the other replied, "That was Loth of Northholding." I knew then who my opponent would be. He came soon enough, his dead face hidden by his helm, the charge on his shield a black elk on a white field. I put on my own helm at that point, with the queen's white scarf knotted about the black dragon that was its crest. "At the first sounding of the clarion, the champions are to make ready. At the second, all save the champions and their squires must depart the field." I looked then for Sir Loth's squire and saw a lad some trifle older than Wistan. He kept his back to the barrier, and seemed terrified. "Upon the third sounding, the champions will engage. Neither their squires no any other persons may take part in their combat. Should a champion yield, his squire may succor him. Gentle right shall be observed. When a champion shall claim gentle right, his squire may help him to his feet and rearm him. Nothing more. Champions, raise your lances to signify your agreement." We did so. "Squires, your right hands." Though the distance was a good bowshot, I saw the hand of Loth's squire shake. That pursuivant who had repeated the Nykr King's words lifted a clarion to his lips and blew. I settled into my saddle, and tightened my grip on my lance. Should we engage right side to right? Left side to left (as in jousting)? Or mount to mount? These questions, which for a moment filled my mind, came from Cloud. I answered, Left to left. The clarion sounded the second time. At my side Wistan murmured, "Thunor's blessing, Sir Able." It may have been ill omened, for no sooner had he spoken than so dark a cloud veiled the sun that it seemed the dead knight and I engaged by night. Loth seemed to grow larger in the gloom. His white shield and white surcoat floated spectral above a charger almost invisible. The clarion sounded a third time; I had no need to clap my heels to Cloud. Loth's lance broke on my shield. Mine took him through the chest and plucked him from the saddle. I withdrew it as I rode; and it may be that most of those who watched did not realize what had happened. He should have been slow, yet he was not. He remounted as Cloud wheeled, and drew sword. My point slipped from his helm, our mounts met chest-to-chest, and his was ridden down. Wheeling again, I charged a third time. I saw him standing like a ghost, the ichor of decay seeping from his wound, and tried to impale him again, thinking to leave my lance between his ribs to obstruct him, and to cut him down before he could free himself. It was a good plan, but none of it worked. His shield turned my point. His sword did what I would have said no sword but Eterne could, hewing my lance as a woodsman fells a sapling. Then I feared for Cloud. In tourney, no true knight strikes the mount; in battle it is otherwise, and seeing that fell blade poised I knew what blow he intended. Cloud would have trampled him, and showed me so clearly I almost agreed. He will take off a forefoot, I told her, and you will be as good as dead. I slipped oft her back, and met him toe-to-toe. His sword split my shield so deeply that it was the mail on my forearm that stopped the edge. Turning as swiftly as I could, I wrenched the sword from his dead hand. My ax bit his helm, and he fell. Fallen, he moaned aloud. All death was in it, lonely graves in winter, the wind that leaves beggars' bodies on the streets of Kingsdoom, and the howls of the wolves that tear the slain. I turned and walked away, and seeing the Nykr King of Arms, with the pursuivant who assisted him, I told them that my foe claimed gentle right, which I would accord him. Wistan came then with a new shield for me, one we had taken from Redhall, it having still its covering of cloth so that Ravd's golden lion could not be seen. I took it, and seeing that Loth's squire would by no means leave his place to rearm him, told Wistan that he must raise him, and give him some new weapon. "I have none to give, Sir Able, save my own sword." "Give it," I said; and when he ran to obey, I with the pursuivant's help took Loth's blade from my shield, although it was tightly wedged in the layered willow. Wistan raised and rearmed Loth. White-faced and shaken he returned, and I gave him the sword that had been Loth's, a brand of watered steel. "This is yours," I told him. "See if your scabbard will hold it." Returning to Loth, I made ready to continue the fight. He stepped back, raised the sword that had been Wistan's, and cried out again. Long ago I had heard fishermen hallooing from boat to boat, and though this was sad and that was not, I felt the purpose was the same, that he saluted others and called them to help him. I thought little of it, or thought only that I had to close quickly and dispatch him before his help arrived. I tried to, and soon found that my ax had put out an eye and he was hard pressed to defend himself when I kept moving to my right. Yet he fought as skillfully as any live man, taking blows that would have killed a living man, and fought on in the darkness and flying snow, and although he lost the arm that had held his sword, he dropped his shield and snatched the sword from his own right hand, while his arm crept over the snow to close its hand on my ankle. They came, the dead he had called, whether from the grave or tombs above ground I do not know, some new-killed, some so long dead that Morcaine could scarcely animate them. The onlookers fled, although I paid that little mind. For I had thrown aside the ax and drawn Eterne; and my own help came, galloping out of the snowy sky. The cloud passed and the sun shone again, making the new snow sparkle, and dead contended with dead for the honor of a living queen. Wistan and Pouk and Uns fought beside me, and Cloud kicked and trampled my foes and would have gored them, save that her horn was still too small, and Gylf raged among them, greater and more terrible than any lion. The sun was still high when the fight ended. I wiped Eterne's blade with such stuff as I could find, and cast the stuff away from me, for it reeked of the grave, and sheathed her at last. Arnthor sat his throne unmoved, with Gaynor fainting in his arms and Morcaine smiling beside him. Five knights with swords drawn stood before them; and I took note of them, for they were the bravest Thortower boasted, as was proved by what they did that dayMarc, Lamwell, Gerrune, Rober, and Oriel. Morcaine called, "You have triumphed, Sir Able, and my sister-in-law with you. I own it, and her innocence." Her lips smiled, and her eyes held a dark and terrible lust. Arnthor nodded. "You will share meat with us tonight? I would speak with you." His eyes, too, were the storm-black of dragons. I dropped to one knee. "Gladly, Your Majesty."

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE UNDER THORTOWER

Uns had been stabbed; the wound sucked air until we bandaged it, and he seemed weak. "I'se awright, sar. I'se awright." That was all he said before his eyes closed. I could not heal him without betraying the Valfather, for I had pledged myself to do no such thing. Still I was sore tempted, and crouched by Uns and laid my hand on his head; and it may be that a little healing went out from me. I hope so. We carried him back to the inn and left Pouk there to nurse him while Wistan and I made ready to dine with Arnthor and Gaynor, washing ourselves in water we heated on our fire and putting on our best clothes. Wistan spent a long time examining his new sword, whose blade he wiped again and oiled, and whose jeweled pommel he held to every light, first to the declining sun and afterward to the fire and candles. When we were in the saddle, clean and sweet-smelling, he said, "When I'm a knight, I'll tell my squire how I fought the dead in the Great Bailey." I nodded, and urged Cloud to trot. "And how I fought the Angrborn in Jotunland in company with Aelf, and gained much wealth thereby." "With more by betting," I said. "Those who ran today will be back tomorrow, and you can collect your bets." He nodded absently. "Pouk will collect for Uns, I suppose, as soon as Uns is well enough to leave alone for a few hours." "I'll tell him about all this, and he'll think I'm the greatest liar under Skai." Wistan laughed. "He'll soon grow older and wiser. How old are you?" "Nearly eighteen. I'll be a knight soon, or hope I will." "You're a knight now. It's only that no one calls you so, Sir Wistan." "You said something like that to Toug." "I did. Toug is a knight, though he doesn't want to be. It's not really a matter of choice." Wistan nodded, but did not speak. "I didn't understand that when I was younger. I wanted to be a knight, and I became onenot because I chose to be one, but because of the things I did and the way I thought. Good and evil are decided by thoughts and choices, too." "Like the princess?" I had not considered that. "Unlike the princess," I said. "She's chosen good, but it seems evil has chosen her." We spoke more, before the bridge was lowered for us and after; but the only thing of note was said by Gylf as we were shown into the hall: "Ears up!" He was right, of course; if ever there was a time to be watchful that was it; what was at least equally important was that he had chosen to speak in Wistan's presence. It was not that I had called Wistan a knight, or merely that they had fought side by side, but a combination of those things with something more. Gylf was a sound judge of character. I had been in Gilling's hall in Utgard; Arnthor's seemed small in comparison; but it was better furnished, with chairs and benches with backs for his guests instead of stools. The walls were hung with shields, those of proven knights having the arms colored, those of less proven knights with the arms outlined but not painted in, and those of unproven knights blank. I had followed this custom when I chose a blank green shield, although I had not been aware of it. Arnthor and Gaynor were to sit at a raised table, he with the queen to his right. I was to sit at Arnthor's left, as the page who guided us confided, with Morcaine to my left. This was made clear by the quality of the chairs, Arnthor's being gilt all over and set with gems, Gaynor's smaller and delicate, and the princess's gilt only at the top, although beautifully carved and furnished with a velvet cushion. Mine was plainer than these, but by no means contemptible, being large and boasting a well-carved Nykr on its back. Wistan was directed to a lower table, but Gylf sat by my chair. "The trumpets will sound for His Majesty," the page murmured. "Everyone stands until he says you may sit. As soon as he makes the motion, sit down." I said I wished he could advise me as I ate. "I will. Everyone at this table will have a page. I'll be behind you. Crook your finger if you need to talk to me. I'll help with the food or run with a message, if you want." Other guests were entering as we spoke, I suppose about a hundred in all. I asked how I ought to conduct myself. "Don't speak 'til they speak to younot to anybody royal. His Majesty will be served first, then Her Majesty, then Her Highness, then you. Don't eat too much and don't drink too much. Don't laugh unless His Majesty does." Then I wished that the Earl Marshal was nearer; I wanted to ask why Morcaine ranked behind the queen when she could claim the crown if the king died. Although he had taken a seat at the lower table, two diners separated us. The nearer of these, thinking that I was looking at him, congratulated me on my victory. I thanked him, calling him "My Lord," at which my page whispered urgently, "Your Grace!" The duke in question ignored the page and my mistake, saying, "I'd like to know, Sir Able, how Her Majesty found a knight bold enough to stand against those you faced." I replied, "There must be many in Celidon, Your Grace." "I'm surprised she could find one. We'll have need of you when the Caan attacks." I raised my eyebrows. "You expect war, Your Grace?" "Yes, it's how one acquires the reputation for prophecy. Look wise, predict war, and you'll always be right. You're one of Marder's?" "Yes, Your Grace. I have that honor." "I'll ask about you when I see him. I'll be" The trumpets sounded. We rose, and those not facing the entrance turned to it. Arnthor came first, tall, erect, and walking fast, while the pursuivant who had assisted the Nykr King of Arms announced his name and titles: "His Most Royal Majesty King Arnthor, Defender of the West," and so on. Gaynor followed. She was of course much smaller, but lovely in a white velvet gown and a crown of diamonds and red gold. Two pages bore her train. "Her Most Royal Majesty Queen Gaynor, Duchess of Daunte, Countess of Chaus, Countess of . . ."A place I have forgotten, with a dozen baronies. After Gaynor's lush beauty, Morcaine seemed mannish, as tall as her brother and richly dressed in black and scarlet, with a single page to carry her train. "Her Royal Highness Princess Morcaine, Daughter of Uthor, Duchess of Ringwood ..." She smiled at me, the only one who did; I smiled in return, although I could not be sure she meant well. And all this time I searched my mind for the message I had been given. Arnthor had spoken to me in the bailey, but no message had come. Here in his hall, I saw his face and he mine, but no message filled me. I searched, but found only the loving thoughts of Cloud, who waited patiently in the stables and assured me she was royally cared for and the object of much admiring attention from the king's grooms. Arnthor took his place, sitting at once. Gaynor stood on his right; I thought her nervous and anxious. To my left, redolent of brandy, Morcaine came to the table as one who owned not only Thortower but all Mythgarthr, and stood there swaying, smiling as if she expected her brother's guests to cheer. He was indeed a king; but Morcaine was of the blood of kings. That thought was soon followed by anotherthat if she, more than he, showed the blood of their royal parent, then the blood he showed was that of a dragon of Muspel. Garsecg, the brother of both, had been royal in manner, yet a dragon still. If there was anyone in Arnthor's hall who might breathe fire, it was surely Arnthor himself. For a minute and more we remained standing. At last Arnthor made a trifling gesture, and we sat. Food was brought at once, so quickly that it was clear the servingmen had been waiting at the lesser entrances. A chef put a great roast swan on our table, and at a signal from Arnthor split it with a knife not much smaller than a sword. Split, it could be seen that a goose had had been stuffed into the swan to be roasted with it, a plover into the goose, a duck into the plover, and three lesser birds into the duck, all these save the swan having been boned. The chef indicated the two smallest (I would imagine a quail and a thrush) to Arnthor, who nodded. The chef swiftly cut a bit from each, which he ate. Arnthor nodded again, and the birds were served him. Gaynor was next, the chef indicating the lesser bird in the duck. She shook her head, and received the duck's breast instead. Morcaine declined all. I indicated the one Gaynor had declined, wishing to see what it was and wishing also to show that although she might fear poison, I was willing to run the risk for her sake. My bird proved to be a partridge, delicious and wholly innocent. The chef having gone, Arnthor severed a leg of the swan with his own dagger, and held it up. "Here it is our custom to dine with our dogs in attendance," he said to me. "You know this, plainly, since you brought your own." I nodded. "I was told that I might do so without offense, Your Majesty. I hope I was not misinformed." "Not at all." He smiled. "You'll have seen my hounds." "I did, Your Majesty. They're noble animals." "They are." He whistled, and half a dozen boarhounds came to his chair, bristling and growling at Gylf. "Noble not just in appearance, but in conduct. I hunt boars, Sir Able, and greater prey, when I can get it. Those who hang back are drowned at my order." I said, "The chase is the noblest sport, Your Majesty." "I'd have said war, and many here the melee. But it's a topic on which each man is entitled to his opinion." Gaynor, who had looked frightened the whole time, had gone white. I would very much have liked to know whether Morcaine was still smiling, but dared not turn my head. "Does your dog hunger, Sir Able?" "I suppose he does, Your Majesty. He's usually hungry, in my experience." Again, Arnthor held up the swan's leg. "You would not object if I were to present him with this? Some men, I know, do not like for others to feed their dogs." "It would be an honor for him, and for me." "As you say." Smiling, Arnthor tossed the swan's leg to Gylf, who caught it expertly in his mouth. The boarhounds swarmed him, snarling and snapping. He dropped it, set his forepaw on it, and roared to shake the hangings. Arnthor's boarhounds turned tail and ran. In the following silence, there was no sound save the breaking of the swan's bones. I ate, and had half finished my partridge when Morcaine laughed. "They breed them tough in Jotunland, don't they?" At her words the king's guests began to eat and talk. I said, "Perhaps they do, Your Highness." "Didn't you get him there?" "No, Your Highness. In the forests of our own Celidon. He was a gift from the Bodachan." Her face became that of her brother, I cannot say how. I was not conscious of having turned, yet it was to him I spoke. "You see, I bear tidings from Queen Disiri of the Moss Aelf, King Ycer of the Ice Aelf, and King Brunman of the Bodachan. So it was that the Bodachan gave me a companion to help me in my errand." "I've heard of no message until now," Arnthor said. "Still I have one, Your Majesty. One that has occupied me most of my life, though it has been not so many years in Mythgarthr. I was to reach you, and not that alone, but to come as one to whom you would give ear. Seven worlds there are, Your Majesty, and so arranged that the highest, where the Most High God reigns and where no impure thing is, is larger than all the rest together. The world beneath that" "What? Have you come to lecture me in metaphysic?" "Is less, yet greater than the sum of those remaining. The winged beings there are not perfect in purity, but so near it they are permitted to serve the Most High God as the nobles of your realm serve you." "Better, I hope." "Below is the one we name Skai. We of Mythgarthr, who think this realm spacious, think it unutterably vast, for its extent is greater than that of the four below it laid side by side. It contains many things and many peoples, but its lawful possessors are the Overcynsthe Valfather and his queen, their sons and their daughters, and their families. To them our hearts are given. It is them we reverence when we reverence rightly." "I had a mind to question you concerning your victory today," Arnthor told me. "Beneath them is our human realm. We are its legitimate inhabitants. Beneath us is the lesser realm of Aelfrice, smaller than our own yet beautiful. There dwell Queen Disiri and the kings whom I named, the monarchs whose messenger I am. In their realm the Most High God placed a numerous folk called Kulili. As we reverence the Overcyns, so Kulili was to reverence us, and did, and was revered by the dragons of Muspel. Kulili sought nearer subjects, and patterned them after us, the objects of her reverence, that she might be loved by the image she loved. She made them, and asked their gratitude. They refused it, and drove her into the sea." By this time the whole royal hall had fallen silent to listen. Only Arnthor seemed of a mind to interrupt. "In this way they became the folk of Aelfrice, holding it by right of conquest. The wisest among them revere us, knowing it to be the wish of Him Who Made Seven Worlds, the Most High God. The foolish, seeing our vanity, our avarice, and our cruelty, have turned from us to reverence dragons, by which much harm has come, for even the best of them are insatiable of power." "You bear a dragon upon your shield," Arnthor remarked. "Have you forgotten that my genealogy bears another?" "No, Your Majesty. Neither have I forgotten that your boyhood was spent among Sea Aelf, nor that you took the Nykr to honor them. Nor have the kings and queen I mentioned forgotten those things, which embolden them to speak to you as they do, imploring you to reshape our people. Kulili formed them, Your Majesty. They know that you might reform us, making us strong but merciful, and though merciful, just. May I speak for myself, Your Majesty?" He nodded. "After what has preceded it, I welcome it." "I lived in the northern forests, Your Majesty, not far from Irringsmouth. It is a city of ruins." He nodded again. "Outlaws calling themselves Free Companies rove those forests. They are as cruel and rapacious as the dragons; yet many cheer them because they rob your tax gatherers and try at times to protect the people from the Angrborn. Let those people have companies that are truly free, Your Majesty, and not outlaws. Teach them to arm themselves and choose knights from their number. Your tax gatherers come seldom; but when they come, they take all, for your people there are poor and few. Let them pay a fixed tribute instead, one not ruinous. Help and protect them, and you will find them richer and more numerous each year, and strong friends to your throne. Queen Disiri, and the kings who send me" "Have no claim upon your allegiance," Arnthor said. "I do. Are betrayal and sedition the reforms you would have me encourage?" "No, never." His eyes told me I had failed, but I made a last effort. "The King of Skai rules as a father, Your Majesty, and because he does we name him the Valfather and count it honor to