The Wizard

Chapter 12. By Combat

Toug asked, “In here, Master Crol?”

Crol nodded. “With His Lordship and Lady Idnn, and Sir Garvaon. I can’t tell you what they’re talking about, but there’s no reason you shouldn’t knock. If they don’t want to hear your news, they’ll tell you so.”

Pouk said, “Sir Able’s th’ one I wants.” He seemed to be addressing an invisible being on Crol’s shoulder.

“Sir Able,” Crol remarked as Toug knocked, “is the one we all want. I wish we had him.”

Svon opened the door. “There you are! We’ve got people looking for you. Where’s the cat?”

Behind him, Idnn seconded his question. “Where’s Mani?”

“The king’s got him.” Toug stepped inside and added, “This way, Pouk.”

“Aye, mate.”

Beel was at the head of a huge table, sitting with feet drawn up in a chair several times too large. “I’m glad to see you, Squire. Is that one of the king’s slaves with you?”

“I’m Pouk, sir.” Pouk spoke for himself, touching his cap and looking to Beel’s left. “I’m a slave, sir, right enough. Only I was Sir Able’s man, an’

‘ud like to be again, an’ this lad says it might be done for me an’ Ulfa.”

“He’s blind, Your Lordship,” Toug explained. “They blind their slaves, just the men.” He had shut the door. Now he watched as Svon climbed agilely into one of the enormous chairs and bent to help Idnn climb into it as well.

“Furniture for the Angrborn, you see,” Beel remarked dryly. “They wish to make us feel small, presumably. We, on the other hand, are determined to show we are fully as large as they—in spirit.”

When Idnn was seated, Svon stepped onto the arm, and from it onto the arm of the neighboring chair.

“I don’t think they have much little furniture, Your Lordship,” Toug ventured. “I mean, tables and chairs and things for us. They gave Mani and me a room with furniture like this, too. I’ll tell the king they should have smaller things for us, and he might do it. He likes Mani.”

“He’s safe?” Idnn asked.

“I don’t think the king will hurt him, and the others will be afraid to as long as the king likes him.”

Beel said, “Take a chair yourself, Squire.”

The seat was as high as Toug’s chin, but he jumped and pulled himself up. Pouk climbed up as agilely as any monkey.

“We’ll be presented at court this evening. Though we’ve little finery left, we must wear what we have. I’m glad to see you’re better dressed than when last I saw you.”

Toug explained.

“Thiazi is the king’s chief minister?”

“I think so, Your Lordship. He said he was.”

Beel sighed and turned to Idnn. “You see where we are. We must ask information of that kind from Sir Svon’s squire.”

She smiled and shook her head. “You’ll know a hundred times more in a week, Father.”

“I had better.”

Garvaon said, “You and Wistan are to be clean and wear your best clothes.”

Toug nodded. “I will, Sir Garvaon.”

“Your master and I are to wear full armor. That was what we were discussing.”

“I’ll clean and polish everything,” Toug promised Svon.

Pouk offered to help.

Garvaon cleared his throat. “You squires will do your best, I know. But since when do knights wear mail to court?”

Idnn said, “This isn’t how things are at our own king’s, Toug. A knight at court wears ordinary clothes. The best he can afford, of course, and he wears a sword. But no armor. Armor’s for war or a tournament.”

“I think it may be because of things I told the king, My Lady.” He looked at the knights. “I meant no harm.”

Svon said, “I’m sure you didn’t. What did you say?”

“How brave you are and what a skillful knight, and Sir Garvaon, too. It was while we were with Ulfa—”

Beel interrupted. “That’s the second time I’ve heard that name. Who is she?”

“Me wife, sir.” Pouk sounded apologetic. “Only me wife, an’ a good woman.”

“She’s my sister, too, and she was with Pouk when they got caught and brought, here. They got married after that.”

Idnn said gently, “You mustn’t be ashamed of your sister or your brother-in-law, Squire. Fortunes rise and fall, and the best people are often in the worst straits.”

“I’m not!”

She smiled. “I’m glad to hear it. Glad, too, to hear you’ve spoken to the king. Was Mani with you?”

“Oh, yes, My Lady!” Toug tried to convey that Mani had spoken to the king as well.

“We must talk more about that—a lot more. But first, will you explain why you’ve brought your brother-in-law?”

Pouk touched his cap. “To serve you, ma’am. You don’t know th’ ropes, none o’ you. Was it your father said so?”

Idnn smiled again. “Yes. It was.”

“Well, ma’am, I do. Me wife, she does, too, an’ more from th’ woman’s angle, if you take me meaning. She cooks, she does, an’ serves an’ all. I scrubs floors an’ carries an’ does heavy work as needs doin’. An’ they don’t no more notice us than you’d a fly, ma’am. So we hears an’ knows, an’ knows th’ whole rig an’ could take you anywheres.”

“I see.”

Pouk laughed. “So does she, ma’am. You keep on doin’ it. I hope for th’ gentlemen here likewise.”

Beel said, “You’ll be a useful friend, clearly. What can we do for you?”

“Get us out’s all. Me an’ Ulfa.” Pouk’s voice became confidential. “Th’ lad’s goin’ to try, an’ him an’ me, we hope you’ll try too, sir. Like mebbe the king’d be in a mood to do a favor? You might ask him for us, sir, sayin’ you needed somebody to help. When you went home, why we’d be on board natural as anything.”

“I will certainly consider it,” Beel said slowly.

“I hopes you will, sir.”

Svon reached from chair to chair to touch Pouk’s arm. “What did my squire tell the king? Were you with him?”

“No, sir. That I wasn’t.”

“It was just Mani and me,” Toug lied, “and the king and Thiazi. The king wants Sir Able to fight for him. But I know Sir Able has this friend—she’s a friend of mine, too—who’d like him go somewhere else, and—”

“Where?” Beel inquired.

“I can’t say, Your Lordship.” It was hard to speak. “I’m sorry, but I just can’t.”

Beel raised an eyebrow. “You’re sworn to secrecy?”

Unable to meet his gaze, Toug let his own rove over the walls. “I can’t tell, Your Lordship. Or not now. If—if you could meet her. If you could, it might be different.”

Idnn’s voice was more gentle than ever. “She is here?”

“I don’t know, My Lady. Really, I don’t.”

“She might be here in Utgard at this moment, but she might not? Is that correct?”

“Yes, My Lady. That’s it.”

“She has been here? You’ve seen her here?”

Toug swallowed, his mouth dry. “Yes, My Lady.”

“Today, since you yourself passed the walls only today. Do you love her, Squire Toug?”

“Oh, no, My Lady! I like her, I like her a lot, and...”

Beel said, “You owe her a great favor.”

“No, Your Lordship. But...”

“She owes him one,” Idnn murmured, “and he’s as young as I, and finds her gratitude sweet. We’ll delve no further in this, Father, if you’ll take my advice.”

“I shall,” Beel declared, “after one more question. Would this friend enlist Sir Able against King Arnthor?”

“Oh, no, sir! It’s nothing like that.”

“Then we shall tease you no longer,” Beel declared. He glanced at Garvaon and Svon, and added, “Is that understood?”

Garvaon nodded, and Svon said, “Yes, Your Lordship.”

“Hoping that King Gilling would not wrest Sir Able from your friend, you praised my own knights? Is that correct?”

Something had stirred in the corner behind Toug’s chair. Afraid to look, he said, “Yes, Your Lordship.”

“I think you’ve done well,” Beel said. “We’ll find out tonight.”

“Lord Beel!” Thiazi’s voice was like a great drum. “His daughter, Lady Idnn!” His golden staff pounded the floor; and Master Crol sounded his clarion as Beel and Idnn marched arm-in-arm into a banquet hall so vast it might have held the entire village of Glennidam, with half its kitchen gardens, barley fields, and meadows.

There was suppressed laughter as the Angrborn seated at long tables to left and right caught sight of them. Gilling, enthroned upon a double dais at the far end of the room, was a colossus in the smoky firelight.

Beel addressed him boldly. “Your Majesty, my daughter and I come in friendship. In more than common friendship, for we bring to you across forest, mountain, and plain the friendship of our royal master Arnthor. He salutes you, a fellow monarch, and wishes you peace in a reign of countless years crowned with every success.”

Gilling spoke as a distant avalanche might speak. “We thank King Arnthor, and welcome you to Utgard.”

Idnn’s lilting voice filled the hall as larks fill the sky. “Our king entrusted us with your gifts, Your Majesty, many gifts and rich. We proved unworthy vessels. We were robbed, and saved only a pittance of the precious cargo.”

That was the signal. Garvaon and Svon entered side by side in helm and hauberk, leading laden mules. Behind them, Wistan and Toug leading two more, and after them Crol, Egr, and Papounce, with the fifth, sixth, and seventh mules.

The voice from the throne roared again, filling Toug’s imagination with boulders that leaped like stags and trees smashed to kindling. “Come nearer. Are these the intrepid knights we’ve heard so much about? Who’s the little fellow with the tree on his shield?”

“That is our senior knight, Sir Garvaon, Your Majesty,” Beel replied.

“What about the other one, with the swan?”

“Sir Svon, Your Majesty.”

Mani appeared on Gilling’s barrel of a knee, grinning.

“These little animals, these ponies or whatever you call ’em, are they carrying stones?”

“Your Majesty’s penetration astounds us,” Idnn answered. “Many of these things are indeed set with precious stones.”

“Really?” Gilling leaned forward, his perspiring face touched by a smile that made Toug like him less than ever. “Diamonds? Pearls? That sort of thing?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Idnn had smiled in return, and Toug saw Svon and Garvaon stiffen as dogs do when they wind a partridge.

“Not only diamonds and pearls, Your Majesty, but rubies, moonstones, wood opals, bloodstones, sapphires, fire opals, emeralds, jade, jet, cat’s-eye, and many another.”

Gilling’s smile broadened. “Two cat’s eyes you’ve given us already, fair lady. We confess we like him almost as much as he likes you. Though now we come to think on it, his description of you was something wanting. Are you veracious as well as beautiful?”

Idnn curtsied in acknowledgment of the compliment. “We women are not famed for it, yet I strive to be.”

Beel said, “If I may speak to my daughter’s character, Your Majesty, her honesty rivals that of her patroness, and her wisdom the Lady’s. Pardon the partiality of a father.”

Thiazi’s gold staff thumped the floor. “Neither that false slut nor the witch her sister find favor among the sons of Angr, Southling. Remember where you are!”

The color drained from Beel’s cheeks. “Your Majesty, I had forgotten. Slay me.”

Gilling chuckled. “Do we need your permission for that, little man?”

The Angrborn roared with laughter, and Toug (who would have liked to think himself too brave for it) trembled.

“Let us turn to safer topics,” Gilling roared when the laughter had subsided. “A safer speaker, too. One safe from our royal self. Are you prepared to uphold the reputation for honesty your father gives you, Lady Idnn?”

“I’m glad Your Majesty asks no wisdom, for I’ve scarce a thimbleful of that.” Idnn, who had smiled the whole time, was smiling still. “But honesty I have in good measure, full cup and running over, whenever Your Majesty has need of it.”

Gilling’s finger, as wide as Idnn’s hand, stroked Mani’s sleek sable head. “First we’ll have you prove what you say. Diamonds and pearls. Jade. Let us see what you bring.”

Idnn went to Svon’s mule, and Svon hastened to assist her in opening the pack it bore.

“A ring, Your Majesty.” Idnn held it up; its flashing stone was the size of a cherry, and the ring would almost have made a bracelet for her. “It is woven of wire drawn from pale eastern gold, with your royal name worked in our own red sea-gold, a ring so cunningly wrought as to swell or decline to fit the finger on which you choose to wear it.”

“Very pretty. What is that pink gem?”

“Rhodolite, Your Majesty. Or rosestone—so many call it. No woman can long resist the man who wears it.”

Idnn had advanced toward the dais as she spoke. Gilling held out his hand, and she slipped it onto a finger.

“You are a woman, Lady Idnn. Tell us, is it true?”

“I scarcely know, Your Majesty.”

Several of the watching Angrborn laughed.

“I never met a man who wore that stone ‘til now.”

Gilling was holding up his hand to admire the rosestone. “It’s darker than we thought.”

“It reflects the strength of the wearer, Your Majesty. Red if he is a full-blooded man of great strength, gray or white if his nature is cold.”

Gilling chuckled again. “We should give it to Thiazi—that would test it.” The onlookers roared.

Idnn’s presentation of gifts continued, with assistance from her father and the knights: a great platter, of pewter edged with gold; a gold basin; an oversized silver spoon, its handle rough with gems.

“Enough!” Gilling raised the hand that wore the ring. “My thanks to King Arnthor, who has been as liberal to me as his country has ever been to our people.”

The merriment of the Angrborn shook the rafters.

“But we will see the rest of these fine things another time, when we in turn shall make gifts of them to those I find deserving. We would have livelier entertainment. Your knights have been described as masters of war. It made us catch our breath, for we had thought to find the masters of war here among the bold sons of Angr.”

The bold sons of Angr cheered, and pounded their tables until Toug feared they would break them.

“So we’ll have a trial of arms tonight. Your own king does it often, we hear, pitting one of his knights against another. Is that not so?”

Idnn answered bravely. “It is, Your Majesty. Our knights compete in tournament and joust, one with another.”

Gilling smiled tenderly, stroking Mani’s head. “You yourself have witnessed these tournaments, Lady Idnn? Your father likewise?”

Beel replied for both of them. “We have, Your Majesty, and can tell you much of them.”

“But you will not.” Gilling smiled again. “We’ll tell you, for we are king here. Our first thought was to have these knights fight two of our champions. Schildstarr—”

A huge Frost Giant leaped to his feet with such violence that he sent his enormous stool spinning across the floor. “Schildstarr is ready!”

“And Glummnir—”

Another Angrborn jumped up with a wordless roar.

“But I soon saw that would not be fair. You agree, I hope, Lady Idnn?”

“Certainly, Your Majesty.” For the first time, Idnn’s voice held a slight tremor.

“As do I. Suppose King Arnthor were to send us two champions. We might then oppose Schildstarr and Glummnir to them, and no one could call it unfair. Agreed, kitty?”

Gilling looked down at Mani, but Mani gave no sign of having heard him.

“This case is rather different. We have knights chosen not by King Arnthor but by chance. We must oppose them with champions we ourselves choose by chance. Your acquaintance with the sons of Angr cannot be great, Lady Idnn.”

“No, Your Majesty. It isn’t.”

“We thought not.” With a grunt of effort, Gilling rose, depositing Mani upon a shoulder that might as readily have held a panther. “Our magical kitty, for which we thank you again, likes to ride on our shoulder. As you see. Perhaps he rode on yours as well.”

Idnn made a small, strangled sound. “He did, Your Majesty. That is quite correct.”

“We thought so. Have you, yourself, ever ridden on the shoulder of a son of Angr? There’s plenty of room, you see.”

“No, Your Majesty. I—I would prefer not to.” The look Beel gave Idnn was almost savage.

“Nonsense. You’ll enjoy it.” Gilling grinned. “What’s more, your view of our little trial by combat will be as good as our own. But first, chance shall choose our champions.”

He looked around at the assembled Angrborn. “The lot will fall on those in presence alone. Anyone who fears to face these knights may leave now.” Not one stirred.

Gilling strode to the laden mules; it was all poor Toug could do to stand his ground.

“This little creature still labors under his entire burden.” Gilling had halted at the last mule, which shied nervously. “Let us relieve it.”

Thick fingers snapped the pack ropes like string, and Gilling reached inside. “What have we here? Why this is prime! A dirk of useful size, with a hilt of gold? Is that correct, Lord Beel?”

Beel bowed. “Your Majesty is never otherwise.”

“A sparkly purple stone of some sort on the pommel.” Gilling held the dirk up. “All sorts of pretty gems on the sheath. Agates, or so we judge them, and tourmalines, and Vafthrudnir himself could not say what else.”

“Red jasper, Your Majesty,” put in Thiazi.

“We will allow it,” Gilling declared, “and a dozen more, all pretty and some few valuable.” He waved the dirk aloft. “He who catches this shall face the knights from the south.”

His throw carried it so high it struck the ceiling, from which it fell like a comet. Every Angrborn sprang to his feet, and a hundred huge hands grabbed for it. (For a moment Toug felt that all those hands belonged to one monster, one beast with a multitude of heads and arms and glaring eyes.)

There was a mad scramble in which it seemed Beel’s party might be crushed. Idnn would have fled, but Gilling caught her up like a doll and raised her to his shoulder.

Wistan caught Toug’s arm, saying, “We’d better saddle their horses.”

“Here’s a nice brooch to hold whatever kind of clothes you fancy,” Gilling announced as the two squires hurried out. “It’s got a big bad bear on it, all worked in gold. Whoever catches it—”

Together the two squires found the stables, upbraided the blind slaves there for the way the horses had been treated, and readied Garvaon’s charger and Svon’s Moonrise. But when they tried to lead them into the courtyard, they were turned back by Thrym.

“No horses! They fight on foot. Those are the king’s orders.” Seeing the bow-case and quiver Toug carried, he added, “No bows neither.”

Wistan argued, but Thrym shouted him down. “Take those rabbits away or I’ll kill them. Them and you.”

“I’m senior squire,” Wistan told Toug hurriedly. “Take the horses back. Tell the blind men to unsaddle them, and get yourself back here as a quick as you can.”

Toug did. The courtyard (when he was able to slip between the thick legs of Angrborn) was lit by a few torches in brackets, and seemed bright after the filthy darkness of the stable; yet it was badly lit in comparison with the great hall in which Gilling had received Beel, and the few stars that gleamed fitfully through the streaming cloud combed by Utgard’s towers did less than the torches to warm it.

Gilling was standing in the center, with Idnn on his shoulder and Mani on hers. “—our borderers. We knew them, and they served us. You knew them as we did, many of you. Now they lie dead, slain by these two and their friends.”

His listeners growled; and Toug felt, as he had in the banquet hall, that they were in truth but one great beast.

“They’re good fighters,” Gilling continued. “Don’t be fooled by their size. As we were coming out here, Skoel and Bitergarm promised us they’d gut them like salmon. If they do, we’re well rid of them. But if they don’t, we mean to take them into our service.”

There were angry protests, and Gilling thundered for silence. “We can use good fighters, especially little ones. How many of you want to serve the crown in the hotlands?”

No one spoke.

“We thought so.” Gilling pointed to Beel. “Are the knights you brought us ready?”

Master Crol stepped forward. He was wearing his tabard, with Beel’s arms embroidered on front and back, and had his silver trumpet tucked beneath his arm; even by torchlight his face looked white. “Your Majesty.” He bowed. “Sir Garvaon and Sir Svon wish to protest the terms of combat.”

For as long as it took Toug to fidget, Gilling glared; yet Crol stood his ground. On Gilling’s shoulder, Idnn, whose head was something higher than Gilling’s own, stooped to whisper into his ear. He shook his head violently.

“They ask to be permitted—”

“Silence!” Gilling raised his hand. “You accuse us of cheating.”

“No such thought crossed my mind, Your Majesty” There was a tremor in Crol’s voice, slight yet noticeable.

“That we will not permit. Who brings the accusation? You yourself? The little fellow King Arnthor sent?”

“No one, Your Majesty. No one at all!”

Gilling smiled. “All of you, then. Let us explain. We could’ve pitted our best against your knights. It wouldn’t have been fair, so we didn’t do it. You saw us choose. Man to man, with the same arms. That would have been fair—fair to everyone. Man against man and sword against sword. Some of you deny that we’re men.”

In his heart Toug said, “Yes, some of us do, and I’m one of them.”

“So we allow your knights armor to compensate for their small stature and puny strength. Now you want more. Well, you won’t get it. Thiazi!” Thiazi hastened to Gilling’s side.

“Stand here. When you hold up your rod, both sides make ready. When you drop it, the battle starts. Is that clear?”

Crol took a step forward. “We seek Your Majesty’s solemn assurance that there will be no interference by spectators.”

Gilling’s fist, as large as a man’s head, struck Crol down. For a few seconds he trembled; then he lay still, his heavy, middle-aged body twisted, quartered lamiae and lilacs seeming to writhe upon his back.

“Heed this!” Thiazi raised his staff as if nothing had happened. “When I strike the ground, let the combat begin.”

Toug whispered, “I brought your helm, Sir Svon.” He held it out. “Don’t you want it?”

Svon shook his head. His sword was drawn, its blade glinting in the torch light. “You’ll win,” Toug whispered. “I know you will.” Svon did not reply; his eyes were fixed on Crol’s body.

Gilling’s voice echoed and reechoed from the icy stones, drowning the whistling wind. “Everyone prepared? Speak now, or Thiazi’s staff comes down.”

To Toug’s surprise, Svon spoke. “To kill a herald is to cast aside every usage of war.”

The watching Angrborn laughed, and Gilling joined them as Thiazi’s golden staff struck the stones.

Skoel and Bitergarm lumbered forward, Skoel wielding his huge weapon with one hand, Bitergarm swinging his with both. Shoulder-to-shoulder, Garvaon and Svon advanced to meet them. A moment later, Svon’s shield blocked a blow that knocked him to his knees.

Up came Skoel’s enormous sword again. It descended, and its stroke would have split a warhorse.

It did not split Svon. He darted forward. When he sprang back, his blade dripped blood from half its length.

Leaping onto Toug’s shoulder, Mani whispered, “The weak must close if they can, while the strong have to try to keep them off. Strange battle, wouldn’t you say?”

Toug surprised himself. “They’re like oxen fighting flies.”

“Sir Garvaon’s cut his opponent’s hands. That’s good! Garvaon’s a shrewd fighter.”

Though Mani’s mouth was at his ear, the Angrborn were making such a din that Toug had scarcely heard him. He kept his own voice down. “Shouldn’t you be with the king?”

“Lady Idnn was waving her arms and knocked me off. I’ll go back when this is over. Look! Garvaon’s down!”

Garvaon was, and for a breathless moment Toug felt sure Bitergarm was about to hack him in two; he turned instead, facing about to aid Skoel as the stone turns in a mill.

The swords of the Angrborn slashed and slashed again, rising and falling like the flails of threshers. Svon’s shining blade—the oiled brand Toug had polished that very morning—flickered and flashed forward.

Bellowing and cursing, the watching giants crowded closer; Toug and Mani climbed hay bales stacked on a wagon. “The ugly one’s trying to get behind him,” Mani remarked.

“They’re both ugly.” Toug strove to sound confident.

“The real ugly one.”

The real ugly one was Bitergarm, and he continued to move, however ponderously, to his left, forcing Svon to edge left and left again as he fought Skoel. As Toug watched, horrified, Svon came too near a spectator, who gave him a shove that sent him stumbling toward Skoel.

Biting into Svon’s shield, Skoel’s blade swept him off his feet and sent him flying. The watching Angrborn tried to move aside but were not quick enough. Svon struck the legs of two, and was kicked under the wagon.

With Idnn weeping on his shoulder, Gilling lumbered into the center of the dim courtyard once more. He raised both hands for silence, and the laughter, cheering, and cursing of the watching giants faded. Wistan was on his knees beside Garvaon. Belatedly, Toug realized that he belonged with his own master, who might still live; he scrambled down.

A hand larger than any human hand plucked him from the bales of hay and raised him higher than he had been when he had stood on them.

“Here he is, Your Majesty. His servant had him.” The voice was Thiazi’s.

“I—I was keeping him for you, Your Majesty.” Toug gulped, wondering whether the king would believe him, and whether it would matter if he did. “He was running loose, and I was afraid he’d get stepped on.”

Idnn, still on Gilling’s shoulder, held out her hand. “Give him to me, Squire. I’ll take care of him.” Her face was streaked with tears and her voice despondent, but that voice did not quaver.

“I don’t want to throw him.”

Idnn gestured. “Thiazi? Is that your name? Bring them over here, Thiazi.”

Thiazi did, and Idnn received Mani, who mewed pitifully.

“Now put Toug down,” Idnn said.

Thiazi lowered him, but maintained his grip.

Gilling’s roar filled the courtyard. “All right, we’ve had our fun. Bitergarm! Skoel! Come here.”

They came, the first licking a gaping wound in his hand, the second wet with his own seething blood.

“You’ve borne yourselves like heroes,” Gilling told them, “and heroes you are. Now, all you sons of Angr, what will you say to these two? Let’s wake the crows!”

The Angrborn cheered until they were hoarse. When the cheers were beginning to fade, one of the iron brackets that held a torch fell with a crash and a shower of mortar; Toug, who saw and heard it, saw too that its torch had gone out, although he paid it no more heed than the Angrborn.

“Silence now!” Gilling raised both his hands. “In celebration of our victory—”

“Your victory is not yet!” The voice was Garvaon’s. His helmet was gone, and a bloodstained rag wrapped his head; as he spoke, he cast away his shattered shield. His left hand drew a long dagger with a wide guard.

Toug, still dangling from Thiazi’s hand, raised a cheer. For a time that was in fact brief though it seemed long, his was the only voice, the cheering of one half-grown squire dangling beside the knee of a giant. Then Wistan joined his voice to Toug’s; and Idnn, still seated on Gilling’s shoulder, where she held Mani, cheered, too—the wild shrieking of a woman hysterical with joy: Svon had emerged from under the wagon to stand beside Garvaon. The right side of Svon’s face was bruised and bleeding, his right eye swollen shut; but his sword was steady in his hand.

The air darkened as a torch behind Thiazi went out.

Beel had joined the cheering, and Garvaon’s archers and men-at-arms, who had come so far and fought so hard, and the servants who had become archers and men-at-arms, too, because there was nothing for it but to fight and no one to fight but them. Papounce, in the fine slashed doublet of scarlet and blue he had brought to wear at court, was standing over Crol’s body red-faced and shouting; and Egr, usually so silent and reserved, was capering and yelling like a boy.

Their cheers were overridden by the hiss and clang of steel on steel, and a new voice murmured, “My Lord Thiazi.” It was husky, yet distinctly feminine. Toug craned his neck to see a woman taller than any he had seen before standing at Thiazi’s right hand. Like most of the giants, she was nearly naked; and indeed, her fiery hair clothed her more than the rags she wore; unlike the giants (whose limbs were thicker than even their towering height would suggest) hers were as spindly as heron’s legs, so that she appeared to stand on sticks, and to gesture from shoulders scarcely wider than Toug’s knees.

“My Lord Thiazi, this is an evil place at an evil time.”

“You...?” He glanced swiftly at her, then looked away. “You’re no true daughter of Angr.”

She laughed—coins shaken in a golden cup.

“Not I, but only a fool who thought she might deceive you. Though I have seen them in Jotunhome, poor creatures—women like dray horses with faces like dough. Thank you.”

Thiazi dropped Toug and took off the long cloak he wore. The impossibly tall woman accepted it and draped it over her shoulders.

“You’ll be ravished,” Thiazi muttered, “if you’re seen.”

“Will they think me a slave woman?”

It appeared that Svon must die, and Toug heard no more. It seemed to take an hour for Sword Breaker to clear the scabbard, another for his feet (clumsy in the overlarge boots Pouk had found him) to carry him into the fight. He gripped Sword Breaker with both hands and clubbed a knee as high as his chin with all his might, saw a beam of steel and felt the hot gush of his own blood.

And it was dark, snow swirled past his face, and there were more swords out than Skoel’s and Bitergarm’s, more swords than Garvaon’s and Svon’s, and his pain was terrible but distant. Once he watched a dark thing strike one of the last torches. And once he saw a lance-long blade descend and raised his arm, knowing that Sword Breaker could never break that sword, which would carry all before it with a blow like a falling tree. Something dark that seemed transparent (for he could make out what might have been a giant’s wrist still) closed on the wrist of the hand that held that sword, and something else circled the giant’s neck, blurring it. And under all the shouting, and all the rough music of blade on blade, he heard the sickening snap of breaking bone.

A giant fell, nearly crushing him; he thought it was Bitergarm until he saw the fallen crown.

“It seemed like there was another giant,” he told Pouk afterward, speaking though the bandages and pain when he and those still living were barricaded in the keep. “A giant the other giants couldn’t see any better than I could, and he was on our side. Was that Org?”

“There you have it,” Pouk declared. “What do you need me for, shipmate?”

“I didn’t think of it then,” Toug confessed. “I didn’t think of it until a long time after, not ‘til Sir Svon got me to look for Lady Idnn. I guess Org was traveling with us the whole time we were riding here, but I never saw him.”

Pouk chuckled. “He’s not easy to see, shipmate. Not even for me, that knows th’ rake o’ his masts.”

“Oh, Thunor!” Toug felt he could have bitten off his tongue. “I didn’t mean to—to make fun of you.”

Pouk cackled. “Think I’m blinded? Heard you say it.”

“You aren’t!”

“Not me, mate. Had to act so, just th’ same. One eye’s blind enough. See it?” Toug nodded, and then, not certain that Pouk could in fact see, said, “Yes. Yes, I do. It—it’s white.”

“Aye, like sp’iled milk. Ulfa says that. Pouk Deadeye they call me.” Toug nodded again.

“An’ t’other’s squinty. Have a close look.”

Toug did. “It’s white, too—no, it’s a real eye. I mean an eye to see out of.”

“Thought I was blind, though, didn’t ye? Here, I’ll open it wit’ me fingers.” Pouk’s eye looked white and blind—and then, abruptly, a lively brown. “You’re rolling it up.”

“An’ there ye have it, matey. They’d a whole crew o’ us, an’ him that was blindin’ complainin’ o’ the work, an’ some gets blood-pizonin’ when they blinds ’em, an’ dies. So I says, don’t have to worry wit’ me, mate, an’ I shows him like I showed you. I’m blind already, I says,’n he passes on by. I was that happy. Aye! Never so happy in me life.” Pouk’s laugh was a joyous crow. “Drink? Why, drink’s not nothin’ to it!”

“I’m happy too,” Toug told him. “I’m happy right now.”

“You’re a good hand. A stout hand, matey, an’ mebbe I kin show Org to ye someday.”

“Would he try to hurt me?”

Pouk considered. “Not wit’ me ‘round. Wit’out, well, I dunno. Best to keep a sharp watch.”

“Mani tried to tell Lady Idnn about him once—”

Toug was interrupted by Svon. “We’re meeting in the hall. All of us except the guards. That way.”

Emptied of so many Angrborn, that vast hall felt almost friendly. There was food and drink everywhere, and though much of the food was half eaten and much of the wine and beer spilled, Pouk and Toug helped themselves before going to an immense fireplace where a crowd of humans and Angrborn were gathered about the towering figure of Thiazi.

“Are you the last?” Beel asked.

“Think so, sir,” Pouk said. “Mebbe one or two more.”

Beel cleared his throat. “Lord Thiazi and I have been conferring. Sir Svon, are these all you can find?”

“Yes, Your Lordship. Possibly Sir Garvaon may bring more. I don’t know,”

Svon looked for a stool, and finding none seated himself on the hearth. There were bandages on his face and arms, and Toug sensed that he was bone weary.

Beel seemed to sense it, too. “Your wounds must pain you, Sir Svon.”

“Not so much, Your Lordship.”

“If you’d prefer to go elsewhere, someplace where you might rest...?”

“I’m resting now, Your Lordship. Sir Garvaon’s squire and—and others washed my bruises and salved them.”

“As you like, then.” Beel looked around at the giants. “I am speaking first because we are more numerous. It means no more than that.”

Toug felt the gentlest of taps upon his shoulder. He turned to see a red-haired girl holding a very large cup into which she stared demurely. “Drink,” she whispered.

Suspicious, Toug lifted her chin; her eyes were yellow fire. Her lips shaped words: “My blood in wine, Lord. It will heal you.” Toug nodded, accepted the cup, and carried it to Svon. Kneeling, he presented it.

“So our status has not changed,” Beel was saying. “I am here as our king’s ambassador.”

Svon drained the cup, nodded curtly, and set it down.

“Lord Thiazi is his king’s chief minister. Our lands are not at war.”

Beel glanced at Thiazi, who nodded agreement.

“King Gilling lies in his bedchamber,” Beel continued, “and I pray that he is resting comfortably, and that he will recover. Lady Idnn is nursing him with two of her maids, together with five women...” Beel paused, and groped for words. “Attached to this castle.”

“Me wife’s there,” Pouk whispered.

“In this grave situation, Lord Thiazi’s wishes and ours are identical. We would preserve the king’s life, steady his throne, and find the traitor who stabbed him. Lord Thiazi.”

Thiazi stepped forward. (Toug, seeing the two together, decided that Thiazi was three times Beel’s height.) When Thiazi spoke, his voice was deep and reverberant. “I am His Majesty’s trusted minister. The Sons of Angr present knew it already, and you Southlings know it now. In His Majesty’s absence, I act for him. When he’s indisposed, as at present, only I can act for him. Does anyone dispute that?”

He glared at the watching Angrborn for as long as it took Toug to draw breath; when none spoke, at Beel’s party.

Garvaon entered, alone, and after a moment’s hesitation, sat down next to Svon.

“During the melee an Aelf woman appeared,” Thiazi said. “She warned me that His Majesty was at risk and urged me to spirit him away. I’ve friends among the Aelf.” He appeared to wait for someone to object, and studied his hearers while he waited. “None, surely, are better friends than she. When I reached His Majesty, he had fallen. Stabbed by an unseen hand. We were able to get him inside and into his bed.”

A frosty smile played about Thiazi’s lips. “Lord Beel and I have taken counsel upon this attempted assassination. Lord Beel fears that one of you Southlings is the traitor.”

“A traitor to King Arnthor,” Beel explained, “who would never countenance this cowardly attack.”

Thiazi nodded. “I, on my part, fear that the traitor is one of our own people. There was rebellion in Jotunland not long ago. It may be that there is rebellion again. Thus our barred doors. Our people, I hope, do not know that the king has been wounded. The assassin may think him dead. If so, he may reveal himself within a day or two. In either case, ignorance works to our benefit. With your help, I shall maintain it as long as possible.”

Svon cleared his throat. “May I speak, My Lord?”

Thiazi nodded.

Svon rose. “You suspect one of us.”

“No.” Thiazi shook his head. “Your own lord does. I concede that he may be correct, though I consider otherwise.”

“The more reason then for me to say upon my honor as a knight that I did not strike your king. You practice magic, My Lord. So I’ve been told.”

“I am an adept, as it is called.”

“Cannot your arts reveal the assassin?”

Thiazi frowned. “I have attempted it without success. In a moment or two, I intend a further attempt.”

“I speak of magic, of which I’ve scant knowledge.” Svon hesitated. “I was once Sir Able’s squire, and I was knighted by him.”

“I did not know it and am glad to learn it.”

“Before we came into this hall to give your king our king’s gifts, I learned that your magic had told him that to secure his crown he should take Sir Able into his service.” Svon looked to Garvaon for confirmation, and Garvaon nodded.

“I believe he matched us as he did because he wanted to see whether we might be substituted for Sir Able. If that was the test, we could be.”

“I’ll be blunt.” Thiazi stooped to the woodbox, and picking up a log twice the size of a man, tossed it on the fire, where it raised a cloud of sparks and ash. “The spirit I spoke to did not indicate you or your fellow.”

“Sir Garvaon.”

“It had nothing to say about either of you. I offer no criticism of your valor or your skill. They are inarguably great. Nor do I accuse you of stabbing His Majesty. I say simply that in my judgment you cannot be substituted for Sir Able. This I told His Majesty plainly when he proposed the ill-starred trial of arms in which you took part.”

Svon nodded. “I agree, and want to suggest that someone be sent to bring Sir Able here. It is what your magic showed we should do, and I think your magic correct. I volunteer to go.”

Thiazi addressed Beel. “If the test shows him to be guiltless...?”

“No,” Beel said. “Or at least, not until after the wedding.”