Three Hearts and Three Lions (6 page)

“Aye,” said Hugi, “’tis a cold welcome we micht get at Alfric’s.”

“They do say elves an’ trolls ha’ made allayance,” said Unrich. “An’ when them thar clans get together, ’tis suthin’ big afoot.’

Alianora frowned. “I mislike this,” she said to Holger. “Sorceries go ever more boldly abroad, even into the heart o’ the Empire, I hear. ’Tis as if a bulwark o’ Law has been taken away, so that Chaos can freely flow out over the world.”

“That wuz a holy spell put on Cortana, but noo ’tis berried away fro’ soight o’ man, an’ none able to wield it were it dug up,” said Unrich with a certain pessimistic relish.

Cortana
, thought Holger. Where had he heard that name before?

Unrich reached in a pocket of his apron and, to Holger’s surprise, drew out a stubby clay pipe and a sack of something that looked like tobacco. Striking fire with flint and steel, he inhaled deep. Holger watched wistfully.

“That’s a dragonish trick, yon fire-breathing,” said Hugi.

“Ay loike un,” said Unrich.

“And quite rightly, too,” said Holger. “‘—a woman is only a woman, but a good Cigar is a Smoke.’”

They stared at him. “I ne’er heard o’ mankind playing demon thus,” said Alianora.

“Lend me a pipe,” said Holger; “and see!”

“This is too guid to miss.” Unrich ducked back in his cave and returned presently with a large briar. Holger tamped, got a light, and blew happy clouds. He didn’t think he was smoking tobacco, it was strong as the very devil, but no worse than stuff he’d had in France before the war or Denmark during. Hugi and Unrich goggled at him. Alianora went into peals of laughter.

“How much do you want for this?” asked Holger. “I’ll swap you a spare cloak for the pipe, with flint and steel and a pouch of tobac—of smoking-leaf.”

“Done!” said Unrich at once. Holger realized he could have made a better bargain. Oh, well.

“Ye micht have the decency to throw in some food for us,” said Alianora.

“Wull, sith ’tis yew what ask.” Unrich disappeared again. Alianora looked commiseratingly at Holger. “Ye men are scarce a practick breed,” she sighed.

With a load of bread, cheese, and smoked meat they set off again. Though the country grew yet steeper and wilder, Papillon seemed tireless. The gloom in the east rose before them as they proceeded, like a vague wall. Near evening, they halted at what must be the crest of the range; below, the thinly begrown hills swooped down toward pine woods. Alianora set deftly to work building a shelter of plaited withes, while Hugi prepared supper and Holger felt useless. But he enjoyed watching the girl move about.

“Tomorrow,” she said, as they sat around the fire after nightfall, “we’ll enter Faerie. After that, ’tis in the hands o’ fate.”

“What makes it so dark in that direction?” asked Holger.

Alianora stared at him. “Truly ye’re from afar off, or else a spell is on ye,” she said. “All folk know the Pharisees canna endure broad daylight, so ’tis forever twilit in their realm.” She winced. The firelight etched her young face redly against wind-whining blackness. “If Chaos wins, mayhap yon dusk will be laid on the whole world, and no more o’ bricht sunshine and green leaves and blossoms. Aye, I suppose indeed I am with Law.” She paused. “And yet does Faerie have an eldritch beauty. Ye’ll see for yourself.’”

Holger looked across the blaze at her. The light shone in her eyes, stroked her hair and the gentle curves of her body, then wove her a mantle of shadow. “If I am not being rude,” he ventured. “I can’t understand why a pretty girl like you should live in the wilds among... among others than your own kind.”

“Oh, ’tis no hard riddle.” She gazed into the coals. He could barely hear her voice above the night wind. “The dwarfs found me as a babe lying in the forest. Belike I was some crofter’s child, stolen in the harrying which ever goes through these marches. The robbers thought to raise me for a slave, then wearied o’ the idea and left me. So the little folk, and the animals their oath-brethren, raised me up. They were good and kind, and they taught me a mickle. In the end they gave me this swan dress, which they say once belonged to the Valkyries. By its power, I, though not shapestrong born but o’ common human sort, may change as ye’ve seen; and thus I may dwell safe. Now go whither ye will, said the dwarfs. But I couldna care much for the smoky halls o’ men. My friends were here, and the space and sky I maun have to be glad. That is the whole o’ ’t.”

Holger nodded, slowly.

She glanced back at him. “But ye’ve told us only a whit about yoursel’,” she said with an unsteady smile. “Where be your home, and how came ye hither without traversing lands o’ men or Middle World and learning wha’ they were?”

“I wish I knew,” said Holger.

He wanted to tell her the whole story, but thrust the impulse back. She probably couldn’t understand any part of it. Besides, he might be wise to have some secrets in reserve. “I think a spell was laid on me,” he said. “I lived so far off that we’d never heard of any of these places. All at once, here I was.”

“What micht your realm be called?” she insisted.

“Denmark.” He swore at himself when she exclaimed:

“But I’ve heard o’ yon kingdom! Though far from here, it has a wide fame. A Christian country, north o’ the Empire, is ’t no?”

“Ummm... well... that can’t be the same Denmark.” Hardly! “Mine lies in—ah—” He hated to tell her an outright falsehood. Wait a minute; his old junkets around the United States. “I am thinking of a place in South Carolina.”

She cocked her head at him. “Methinks ye’re hiding summat. Well, as ye wish. We border folk learn not to be overcurious.” She yawned. “Shall we to bed?”

They huddled together in the shelter, seeking warmth as the night grew more cold. Several times Holger wakened with a shiver and sensed Alianora breathing by his side. She was a sweet kid. If he never found his way back—

6

THEIR DESCENT next morning was rapid, if precarious. Often Hugi yelped as Papillon’s hoofs slipped on the talus and they teetered over a blowing edge of infinity. Alianora stayed far overhead. She had a hair-raising sport of turning human in midair and going back to swan shape just in time to break her fall. After watching this Holger needed a steadying smoke quite badly. He couldn’t light the pipe until Hugi showed him how to use the flint and steel he now carried in the pouch at his belt. Damnation, why couldn’t they have matches in this world?

As they went through the pine wood, the twilight closed in like stormclouds. It deepened with every muffled step. Holger wondered whether they would be able to see at the end of the trip. His scalp prickled at the thought of groping blind through a country of trolls and werewolves and God knew what else.

The air grew warmer as they descended. When at length they emerged from the forest, the atmosphere was balmy, laden with incense-like odors of blossoms unknown to Holger. They entered an open, rolling valley, and Hugi gulped. “Noo we be within Faerie,” he muttered. “Hoo we gang oot again be another tale.”

Holger swept the landscape with a wondering look. Though the sun was hidden, the night he had feared was not fallen. He could identify no source of light, but saw almost as clearly as by day. The sky was a deep dusky blue, and the same blueness pervaded the air as if he rode under water. Grass grew long and soft, with a silvery hue overlying its pale green; white flowers starred the earth.
Asphodels
, Holger thought. But how did he know? Here and there he saw bushes of white roses. Trees stood alone and in copses, tall, slim, milky of bark, their leaves the color of the grass. The slow wind blew through them with a tiny ringing sound. He couldn’t gauge their distances well in this tricky shadowless light. A brook ran close by which did not tinkle but played, an endless melody on an alien scale. Phosphorescence eddied white and green and blue over the water.

Papillon snorted and shuddered. He didn’t like this place.

But where have I seen it before, just such a cool calm blue over wan trees and hills that melt into sky, where else has the wind blown thus singingly and the river chimed like bells of glass? Was it in a dream once long ago, half sleeping and half waking in the light summer night of Denmark, or was it in a year older and forgotten? I do not know. I do not think I wish to know.

They rode on. In that changeless luminance, time seemed fluid and unstable, so that they might have traveled for a minute or a century, but the vague landscape slipped past them and still they rode. Until the swan came rushing down again, landed with a thunder of wings and became Alianora.

There was fear on her face. “I saw a knicht bound hither,” she said breathlessly. “A knicht o’ Faerie. What he would, I canna tell.”

Holger felt his heart begin a heavy thumping, but he held his outward appearance calm. “We’ll find out.”

The stranger came over a ridge. He bestrode a tall horse, snowy white, with flowing mane and proudly arched neck; yet the beast was subtly wrong to look at, too long of leg, too small of head. The rider was in full plate armor, his visor down so that he showed no face; white plumes nodded on the helmet, his shield was blank and black, all else shimmered midnight blue. He halted and let Holger approach him.

When the Dane was close, the knight lowered his lance.

“Stand and declare yourself!” His voice had a resonant, metallic quality, not quite human.

Holger reined in. Papillon whickered on a defiant note. “I was sent by the witch Mother Gerd with a message for Duke Alfric.”

“First let me see your arms,” called the brass voice. “Hither come none unknown.”

Holger shrugged, to disguise his own unease. Reaching down, he unbuckled the shield where it hung and slipped it on his left arm. Hugi pulled off the canvas cover. “Here you are.”

The Faerie knight reared back his horse, spurred, and charged.

“Defend yersel’!” shrieked Hugi. He tumbled off the saddle. “He’s after yer life!”

Papillon sprang aside while Holger still gaped. The other horseman went past with a dull drumming of hoofs. He wheeled and came back, the spearhead aimed at Holger’s throat.

Blind reflex, then. Holger lowered his own lance, kicked Papillon, and lifted his shield to guard himself. The black stallion sprang forward. The enemy shape grew terribly close. His lance dipped toward Holger’s midriff. The Dane brought his own shield down and braced feet in stirrups.

They hit with a bang that sent echoes from hill to hill. Holger’s shield was jarred back against his stomach. He almost lost his lance as it caught the opponent’s visor. But the other shaft splintered, and the Faerie knight lurched in the saddle. Papillon pressed ahead. The stranger went over his horse’s tail.

He was on his feet at once, incredible that he could do so in full armor, and his sword hissed free. There was still no time to think. Holger had to let his body act for him, it knew what to do. He hewed at the dismounted enemy. Sword belled on sword. The Faerie knight hacked at Holger’s leg. The Dane turned the blow just in time. He himself crashed blade down on the plumed helmet. Metal rang aloud, and the foeman staggered.

Too clumsy, striking from above. Holger leaped to the ground. His foot caught in a stirrup and he went flat on his back. The stranger sprang at him. Holger kicked. Again that brazen clash; the warrior fell. Both scrambled up. The newcomer’s glaive clattered on Holger’s shield. Holger cut at the neck, trying to find an open joint in the plates. The Faerie warrior chopped low, seeking his unprotected legs. Holger skipped back. The other rushed at him, sword blurred with speed. Holger parried the blow in mid-air. The shock jarred in his muscles. The Faerie blade spun free. At once the stranger drew a knife and leaped close.

The broadsword wasn’t meant for thrusting, but Holger saw a crack above the gorget before him and stabbed inward. Sparks poured forth. The metal form reeled, sank to its knees, fell to the grass with a last rattle, and lay still.

Dizzily, a roar in his ears, Holger looked about. He saw the white horse fleeing eastward.
Off to tell the Duke
, he thought. Then Hugi was dancing and cheering around him, while Alianora clung to his arm and sobbed and exclaimed how splendidly he had done battle.

I?
he thought.
No, that wasn’t me. I don’t know a thing about swords and lances.

But who, then, won this fight?

Alianora bent over the fallen shape. “’He’s no bleeding,” she said huskily. “Yet belike he is slain, for the Pharisees canna endure touch o’ cold iron.”

Holger took a long breath. His mind began to clear. He saw his mistakes; yes, he should have stayed mounted and used his horse as a secondary weapon. He’d take better care next time. Briefly he wondered what the Faerie dwellers—Pharisees, as they seemed to be called, doubtless because an illiterate human population had gotten its Biblical references confused—he wondered what they used in place of steel. Aluminum alloys? Surely magic could extract aluminum from bauxite. Beryllium, magnesium, copper, nickel, chromium, manganese—

While doubtless correct, the idea of an elvish wizard with a spectroscope was funny enough to restore a balance in Holger. He startled his comrades by laughing aloud. “Well,” he said, a bit astonished at his own callousness, “let’s see what we’ve got.”