The Wizard

Chapter 20. That Was King Gilling!

Summer in the midst of winter. Idnn sat upon a bench of white marble, delightfully cool, beneath wisteria; and though it was too dark for her to see the face of the young man beside her, she knew the young man was Svon. A nightingale sang. They kissed, and their kiss held a lifetime of love, throbbing and perfumed with musk.

For eons it endured, but ended far too soon. She woke, and held her eyes tight shut, and would have given all that she possessed to return for one hour to that dream—drew the blanket tight around her, and knew the febrile heat of her own loins, where something as old as Woman wept.

Gerda muttered in her sleep, turned, and lay quiet.

“Your Majesty...”

The voice had been real, not Mani’s, not Gerda’s or Berthold’s, and certainly not Uns’. Idnn sat up.

A naked girl with floating hair knelt at her bedside. “Your Majesty. Your servant is Uri. Did you like the dream I brought you?”

Idnn caught her breath.

“I hoped it might entertain Your Majesty. Your servant Uri is a waif of Aelfrice, one who seeks to please you in every possible way and asks no more than a smile. One kind word in a year, but only if Your Majesty is so inclined.”

Idnn did not feel capable of indignation, but mustered all she had. “Must we have a sentry at our door, even here?”

“Your Majesty does.” Uri gestured. “There he lies, sound asleep beside his cudgel.” She giggled. “I skipped over him.”

Idnn swung her legs over the side of the bed that had been Marder’s. “Rise. We wish to see you better.”

Uri did, wand-slender and no taller than Idnn herself. “Shall I light the candle? Am I fair to look upon?”

“The sun’s up.” Vaguely, Idnn wondered what had become of her nightdress, then remembered she had brought none. “We will see you well enough in a minute or two.”

“In sunshine? Your Majesty would scarcely see me at all.” A flame sprang from the candle wick.

“You claim you are an Aelf?”

Uri bowed, spreading her hands and inclining her head.

“Your hair—it’s very beautiful, but we have to admit it doesn’t look human. May we touch it?”

“And more, Your Majesty.”

Idnn did. “It has no weight.”

“But little, Your Majesty, and so is stirred by every breeze. I am the same.”

“Your eyes, too. You don’t like to look at us.”

“Your Majesty is a queen.”

Idnn touched Uri’s chin. “The queen orders you to look her in the face. You will not be punished.”

Uri raised her head, and Idnn found herself looking into eyes of smoky yellow fire. “You are what you say.” A trifle light-headed, Idnn seated herself on the bed again.

“Would you like to see my true self, Your Majesty? I took this so as not to frighten.”

“We would not have been afraid,” Idnn declared stoutly, “but my servants may wake. Better that you stay as you are.”

“They will not, Your Majesty, unless you wish it.”

“Remain as you are, Aelf. What do you wish from us?”

“A smile.”

“All right.” Idnn shrugged. “You’ll get it if you’ve earned it. Have you?”

“My dream,” Uri began.

“We had no dream! What else?”

“Your servant Uri also brought a dream to Sir Able. It was of Glas, an isle well known to your servant. If he wants to revisit it, as I trust he will, he will have to remain in Mythgarthr. Thus, I hope to have him enter your husband’s service and remain there. Does that please Your Majesty?”

“Certainly. If it’s true.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. Your servant Uri also seeks to warn you of an ill-intentioned person who seeks the life of your royal husband. His Majesty has been stabbed. You, Your Majesty, were present on that sad occasion.”

“Are you saying we stabbed him? You lie!”

Uri crouched, her hands raised as if to ward off a blow. “Your servant proclaims your innocence, with her own. Your servant has come to tell you the name—”

Something (afterward Idnn puzzled long over just what that something had been) drew Idnn’s attention to the door of her pavilion; it stood open, though it ought to have been tied firmly with five golden cords—a discrepancy which at the time failed to disturb her. Through it, silhouetted against the sun, she saw a tall man with a staff. He wore a gray cloak and a wide hat, and he was walking toward her.

Their gazes locked, and she rose from the bed, naked as she was, and trembled until he stood before her. Naked, she knelt and pressed her forehead to the rich, uneven carpet of the floor.

“Arise, my daughter.”

She did, slowly and hesitantly.

“Open your eyes.”

“I’m afraid, Father.”

“Do you think you must die if you behold my face? I am not the Most High. Look upon me.”

It was a hard as anything she had ever done. “Do you know my voice?”

“It is the wind, Father. I did not know it was your voice, but I have heard it many times.”

“Look into my eye. Have you seen it?”

“Yes, Father. It is where the sun lives.”

“I am...?”

“The Wanderer.” Her knees shook until it seemed she would surely fall. “You are King of the Overcyns.”

“Am I to be so feared?”

“Yes, Father.”

He laughed, and it was the laughter of a torrent.

“Y-you’re displeased with me.”

He laid his hand upon her shoulder, and strength poured from it to fill her. “Do you truly believe, Queen Idnn, that I am seen like this by those who displease me?”

“No, Father. I know you are not.”

“Then what reason have you to fear? Is it because your husband is of the blood of Ymir?”

“Yes, Father. For that reason and many others.”

“My own have wed the Giants of Winter and Old Night, Queen Idnn, and they us more than once. If I bless you, will you serve me? My blessing brings good fortune ever after.”

She knelt, though not as Uri had, and the face that she turned up to him shone. “I’ll do you whatever service I can, Father, now and always. With your blessing or without it.”

He blessed her, giving her the blessing of Skai and the promise of a seat at his table, laying the hand that had held her shoulder upon her head and tapping her right shoulder and her left with his staff.

“Rise, Queen Idnn. You have a place with me always.”

She stood. Weeping, she could not speak.

“I have a friend. I will not name him, because the name he bears here is not the name he bears among us, where he is Drakonritter. The dragon stands upon his helm, and coils on his shield.”

Still weeping, Idnn nodded.

“I let him return that he might regain his only love. Help him, Queen Idnn.”

She shut tight eyes from which the tears still streamed, and labored to bring fair words into the world: “F-F-Father. I—I—I am your slave.”

Opening her eyes, she found that she stood alone in the pavilion that had been Marder’s. Gerda slept still at the foot of the folding bed. Of the Wanderer, there was no sign. Nor was there any sign of Uri the Aelfmaiden, save that the candle burned with a long, smoky flame.

Wrapping herself in a blanket, Idnn went to the door. It was closed and tied so with five golden cords. She loosed the knots and drew back its bear-colored velvet. Uns lay across the doorway with a stout staff beside him. A bowshot down the slope of winter-brown grass and broken snow, beyond the dead campfires and the sleepers cocooned in whatever covering they had been able to find, green-robed spruce and white-limbed birch stirred in a dawn wind that repeated—once only—the blessing she had received.

Returning to her bed, she pulled the blanket from her maid. “Wake up, Gerda! The sun’s up. Help us dress before Berthold and Uns strike our tent.” The dawn wind, entering the pavilion, extinguished the candle.

Etela, clean and a little damp, was drying herself in the turret room. “Where you going?”

“Back into town.” Toug tried to smile, and succeeded.

“What for?”

“To buy things. Lord Thiazi’s given us money—that’s Sir Svon and me. This castle’s running short of everything.”

“Coming with!”

“No, you’re not.”

“Am so! I know where everything is, the whole market.”

“Put your coat on.” Toug buckled on his sword belt and loosened Sword Breaker in her scabbard. “What if somebody were to see you with your gown sticking to you like that?”

“They won’t. You’ve got the thing on the door.”

“The bar.” Toug picked up the dagger that had been the Angrborn smith’s, and eyed it with disfavor. How was he to carry a sword as long as an ox goad? “It won’t be there in a minute. I’m going, and it’s too heavy for you.”

“Wait up. I’ll be really quick.”

“You’re not going. Lord Thiazi and Lord Beel said Sir Svon and me. Nobody else.”

“Want me to show you how to carry Master’s big knife?”

“How would you know?” Toug, who had taken it from its place in the corner leaned it against the bed.

“’Cause I’m smart. Watch.”

Before he could stop her, she had drawn his dagger and ducked under one of the oversized chairs.

“What are you doing down there? Don’t cut that!”

“I already have. This’s really sharp.”

“I know, I sharpened it. Be careful.”

“This stuff’s kind of worn, I guess. It’s pretty soft.” Etela emerged from under the chair waving a narrow strip of thick leather. “Now sit on the floor so I can do this.”

“Do what?”

“Fasten on your sword. You’ll see. Now sit!”

Reluctantly, Toug did. “I don’t have a lot of time. Sir Svon’s probably waiting for me this minute.”

“We’ve already spent more time talking.”

He felt a tug at the buckle of his shoulder strap.

“See, you’ve got this so you can make it shorter or bigger, and the sword’s got a ring up here where Master tied it on his belt. You cut the thong, remember?”

Toug said, “Sure.”

“Well, these chairs have big straps underneath to hold the cushions. So I cut a piece off the side, and I’m tying your sword on the buckle.”

“Can you tie good knots, Etela?”

“I can crochet!”

The knot was tightened with a vengeance. “Now get up.”

He did, and small hands made a final adjustment. “See? It hangs right down your back, slantwise so the handle’s not behind your neck. Reach up.”

His hand found the long bone grip he planned to shave smaller. He drew the sword, sheath and blade leaving his back together until the sheath fell with a slap.

“It’s heavy, isn’t it?”

Half an hour later, as he and Svon finished saddling, he remembered Etela’s question and his answer, which had been a lie. “Sir Svon?”

Svon looked up from his cinch. “What?”

“I was wondering how long it took you to get used to wearing mail.”

“I never have.” Svon swung into the saddle as if mail, helmet, and sword weighed nothing at all.

“You haven’t?”

“Not yet. I’m always conscious of it, and glad to get it off. Ask Sir Garvaon.” Svon paused. “I’m glad to put it on, too. Are you afraid you can’t mount with that war sword? Hang it from the pommel like your shield. Many men do that.”

Thug’s left foot was already in the stirrup; with a firm grip on the saddle, he mounted with everything in him.

“The weight wasn’t as bad as you thought, was it?”

Toug shook his head.

Svon made a small noise and eased his reins; Moonrise trotted into the deserted courtyard, eager to be off. “You know what’s a lot heavier?”

Toug hurried after them. “Your helm?”

“No. This burse.” Its strings were tied to his belt; Svon shook it and it chinked melodiously. “If I were to lose my helm or my shield, I’d go on without them. Lose this, and who would trust me afterward?”

“I would.”

Svon laughed. “Nicely spoken. To tell you the truth, few trust me now.” For a few minutes and more, Svon rode on in silence. “Duke Marder’s coming. Sir Able said so.”

“I don’t know him.”

“I do, and he thinks he knows me. He was my liege, but he never trusted me.”

Side by side they rode through the gate of Utgard, and out on the echoing bridge Toug had crossed on foot the night before, and recrossed with a war sword on his shoulder and Etela skipping after him.

“It’s by bearing mail and sword that we become strong,” Svon said, “and by bearing hardship that we become brave. There is no other way.”

“I need to talk to you, Mani.”

Mani nodded and sprang into my arms. “I require my place in your saddlebag. You’ll oblige me?”

“Certainly.” To prove it, I put him there.

“Now talk away, dear owner. Or do you want me to?”

“I want you to tell me about the Room of Lost Love. You mentioned it. Tell me everything you know.”

“I haven’t been in it.” Mani paused, his emerald eyes vague. “I believe I said that.”

“I’d like to hear everything you’ve heard about it.”

“Ulfa probably knows more,” Mani said slowly. “Pouk may, too. They were in Utgard longer.”

Gylf made a small noise, half a growl.

“They aren’t here,” I said. “You are. How did you learn what you know about it?”

“Originally? From Huld. The Angrborn never love. I suppose everybody knows. It’s the main difference between them and you. You’re both very big. They’re bigger, but you’re both big and noisy. You don’t think much, either of you. You both can talk. Which is good, I admit.”

“Tell me about the room.”

The last of the pack mules was being loaded. Marder and Woddet were already in the saddle, and as I watched Uns made a step of his hands to assist Idnn in mounting.

“Lost love’s got to go somewhere.” Mani was speaking slower than ever, and as much to himself as me. “People act as if lost things vanish. We cats don’t. I used to have a house I liked, a little place in the woods and a good place for field mice and rabbits. I left—my mistress made me—and now I hardly think of it. But it’s still there.”

Gylf looked up, plainly expecting me to say something, but I did not.

“It hasn’t gone away,” Mani continued, “unless it’s burned. I’m the one who’s gone away.”

I said, “I’m not sure I follow this.”

“I’m like love,” Mani explained. “There’s a great deal of love in every cat. Not everyone believes that, but it’s true. Dependency and fawning aren’t love.”

“I love Bold Berthold,” I told him.

“There. You see? Now suppose you stopped. You’d feel a sort of emptiness, wouldn’t you?”

“I suppose so.”

“You certainly would, if you really loved Berthold to start with. That would be the space the love used to fill. It’s like losing a tooth. If a tooth comes out, you throw it away. Very likely you never see it again. But it’s still somewhere. A peasant digging might turn it up, or a jackdaw might put it in his nest.” I nodded absently. “Gylf, would you bring my lance?”

“Love is the same, and love tends to go where it is most needed. A lost cat goes to water, if it can.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Cloud, who had been listening, filled my mind with the image of a pony splotched with white and brown, climbing hill after hill until it reached the foothills of the mountains.

“So lost love comes to Jotunland, where no love is, or at least very little—some poor slave whose cat is her only friend. Anyway, this is one of the places where it comes.”

I took my lance from Gylf’s mouth and mounted, swinging my right leg wide to miss Mani.

“It’s stored in the Room of Lost Love in Utgard. Those who’ve lost love... This is what they say. As I told you, I couldn’t get in. Those who’ve lost love can go in there and find their lost love again, sometimes.”

Mani sighed, and drew his sleek black head deeper into my saddle bag. “I haven’t lost love. Or if I have, I can’t remember what it was. Perhaps that’s why I couldn’t get in.”

Riding alone, a long bowshot in front of the main body with empty fields and woods to either side, I found myself wondering whether that door would open to me.

“That’s it,” Toug said, and pointed. “That’s where they made the picks and the shovels—all the tools.” As he spoke, he heard the deep and sometimes rasping voices of Angrborn. A moment later one lumbered around the corner of the house. He was carrying a mattock, but wore a long sword like the swords with which Skoel and Bitergarm had fought.

Svon and Toug urged their mounts forward, but he barred their way with his mattock. “STOP!”

Svon reined up. “We are on the king’s business. You halt us at your peril.”

“The king’s dead!”

“That is a lie.”

The Angrborn raised his mattock.

Svon clapped his spurs to Moonrise and shot past him, galloping toward the forge.

Toug laughed.

“You! Who’re you?”

Toug took his shield from the pommel to display its white griffin.

“One of them foreign knights.”

“Since you call me one, I’ll be a knight to you. Will you engage?”

“A month back, I killed a dozen better’n you.”

“Then we fight as we are and where we stand. Single combat.” Basing in his stirrups, Toug raised his voice as well. “Put aside your bow, Sir Svon.”

The Angrborn turned to look. Toug spurred his horse as Svon had. The war sword—drawn with one hand, wielded with both—caught the Frost Giant below the ribs, and driven by Toug’s strength and Laemphalt’s thundering speed sank to the hilt and was torn from Toug’s hands as he flashed past.

He wheeled Laemphalt and let his gallop subside to a walk. The mattock lay on the road; the Angrborn who had held it knelt beyond it, bent double above a pool of blood. His hands were pressed to his side, and momentarily Toug wondered whether he was trying to draw out the blade that had pierced him or merely trying to ease his pain.

He fell, and Toug urged Laemphalt forward until smoking, seething blood bathed his hooves, dismounted, and wading in ankle-deep blood wrestled his war sword free and wiped it with a swatch cut from the dead giant’s shirt.

An auction was in progress on the far side of the forge, attended by two score Angrborn, some of whom Toug recognized. For five minutes, he watched the bidding; then, having seen an open door and gaunt faces in the shadows beyond it, he spurred Laemphalt between two Angrborn and into the house.

“A horse.” It was one of the blind slaves from the forge. “There’s a horse in here.”

“I’m riding him,” Toug told him. “Are you afraid we’ll get the floor dirty?”

“I’ll clean it up.” A worn woman came forward and grasped Laemphalt’s bridle. “Who are you?”

Toug explained, and soon three blind, muscular men and two women were gathered around him. He cleared his throat. “Do any of you want to go back to Celidon?”

“Get out o’ here?”

“Not be slaves no more?”

“What’s this you say?”

“Yes!”

“It’s a trick!”

The last had been from one of the eyeless smiths, and Toug addressed him. “It isn’t a trick, Vil, but it may be tricky. To tell the truth, I think it’s going to be. But maybe it can be done. We’re going to try, if you’ll help.”

“They’re supposed to sell us,” one of the other men said, “after the rest’s gone. Master’s dead.”

“I killed him,” Toug admitted. “I had to. He was going to kill Etela and me.”

“You got her?” That was Vil.

A woman said, “Her ma thinks she’s back at the castle.”

“She is. I took her there last night, and your master tried to stop us.” Toug drew a deep breath. “Listen to me, because we’re not going to do this unless you’re willing. The king, King Gilling, can take slaves whenever he wants them. That’s the law. He—”

“Here you are!” It was Svon’s voice, and he strode in from another room, his shield on his arm and his sword drawn.

Toug said, “I thought you were at the sale out there.”

“Schildstarr’s taking care of it. We were supposed to keep an eye on him, remember?” Toug nodded.

“So I did, and he’s playing a man’s part as well as I can judge, buying up a lot of tools, and the tools to make them. I came back to help you...”

“I think it’s all right,” Toug said. “They know I killed their master.”

“Did—did a certain person help you? Today I mean.” Toug shook his head.

“I’ll teach you the lance, and we’ll get you knighted as soon as I can manage it. His Lordship might do it.”

Toug was too stunned to say anything.

“I thought he’d chase me, or anyway I hoped he would. When he didn’t, I circled around to surprise him. I’d left the road for fear of meeting another.”

Toug nodded. “Sure.”

“By the time I got back there—well, you know what I found. And you were gone.” Svon stood straighter than ever, and squared his shoulders. “This is offensive, and should you challenge me when you’re a knight, your challenge will be accepted. I thought you’d probably gone back to Utgard.”

“I didn’t even think of it,” Toug said. “Maybe I would have if I had. I don’t know. But I wanted to find you, and I thought you’d be here somewhere.”

A gaunt woman in ragged black came out of the shadows, led by a smaller woman with floating hair; the smaller said, “Don’t forget this one, Lord.”

“Baki?” Toug did not try to hide to hide his surprise. “Is that Etela’s mother?”

“Indeed, Lord.”

“I hadn’t known she was so tall.”

Svon motioned to Baki. “Come here, maid. Are you a slave? You’re dressed like one.”

“Indeed I am, sir knight.”

“No doubt that’s why you call my squire ‘Lord.’ He’s a free man, and any free man must seem lord to you.”

“I am his slave, sir knight. Thus I name him Lord.”

“I’ve seen many slaves since I’ve been here, and many of them women. Sometimes Utgard seems full of them. None I’ve seen have been as a pretty as you.”

“Beware, sir knight.” Etela’s mother had taken Toug’s hand, and her large, dark eyes held a question.

“She’s back at the castle,” Toug whispered. “She’s been very good, and I haven’t hurt her. Nobody has.”

One of the blind men said loudly, “You said we might get free.”

Svon raised his voice. “Listen, all of you. I speak here for the king. As of this moment you belong to King Gilling, all of you except the girl who belongs to my squire. We’re taking you out of here and taking you to the market.”

Voices were raised in protest.

“Not to sell you! We need to buy food to feed you once you get to Utgard, and I’ve got money for it. I’ll buy sacks of corn and baskets of vegetables—turnips or whatever they have here. And we’ll buy meat, and perhaps live animals we can drive before us. You’ll carry the sacks and baskets, and help drive the animals. The point I have to get across is that you’ve got a new master, the king, and I represent him. If you’re loyal and obedient, we’ll take good care of you. If you’re not, I’m not going to play the fool for you with reprimands and beatings. King Gilling wants good slaves, not bad ones, and there’s more where you came from. Follow me.”

Baki tugged at Toug’s sleeve. “The sun is bright.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

“I fear she may wander away.”

A woman said, “I’ll take care of her.”

“Do you think she might ride behind you, Lord? She is very thin. She cannot weigh much.”

“If we can get her up here.”

Etela’s mother spoke. “Let me have your hands, maid.”

“I do not think I am strong enough.” Baki spoke to the other female slave. “One knee. Let her step on the other.”

It was easier than Toug had expected; Etela’s mother was soon seated behind him, her skirt hiked to her thighs while her pitifully thin arms locked his waist.

“The rest will be going out a window on the other side of the house, Lord. That was how the knight entered, and his steed is tied there.”

“We’ll join them,” Toug said, and tapped Laemphalt with his spurs to signal that they were ready to go.

“She is an Aelf,” Etela’s mother whispered as they rode through the doorway.

“I know. How did you know it?”

There was no reply.

Once they were stopped as they rode through town, but Svon declared loudly that they were on the king’s business, and the Angrborn who halted them grumbled and moved aside.

The market, when they found it, was larger and poorer than Toug had expected, its stalls staffed almost entirely by humans. After some inquiry and bargaining, they bought a large wagon, heavily made and nearly new, and four bullocks to draw it. When it was theirs, Svon began buying every kind of food and having the slaves load it.

A small hand found Toug’s. “He’s paying way too much.”

His jaw dropped. “What are you doing out here?”

“Going with. I was afraid you’d get in trouble, ‘n need help. I figured you’d come here ’cause you said, so this’s where I came, too.”

Shaking his head, Toug picked Etela up and stood her on a barrel. “You know you shouldn’t have. I told you not to. You’ve been bad.”

“If I got to be bad to help you, that’s what I’ll do. I’m not really little like you think. Give me your hand.”

He did, and she put it to her breast. “Feel that? Mama says I’ll be big any day now.”

Despite his good intentions, something stirred in Toug.

“We slept an’ you never touched me, only it wasn’t how I was hoping. I wanted you to hold me, and maybe we’d kiss.”

Toug gulped, “I think we ought to wait ‘til—”

Someone—an Angrborn with tusks—was pointing at him and shouting at Svon. Quickly he turned and advanced on them with outstretched hands.

And fell. Svon’s sword had struck too swiftly for Toug to see it, but half its blade was red with blood.

The Angrborn writhed on the trampled mud of the market, roaring, dragging himself with his arms, still toward Toug.

“We’re going!” Svon shouted. “Slaves on the wagon, all of you. You women, one of you drive.”

The barrel top was empty. Toug drew his war sword and severed two fingers from a huge hand that reached for him. Without thought he found himself in Laemphalt’s saddle. A long whip cracked like the breaking of a lance, and he saw Etela’s mother on the seat of the wagon with Etela beside her. An Angrborn with a sword fronted it, shouting for them to stop and catching a bullock by the horn. The whip licked his face, and he staggered backward. Toug rode for him and drove the war sword home.

And all was confusion: Giants pouring from the houses around the market; Svon clearing a path with horse and sword and deadly courage; booths tipped over, baskets spilled and warty brown roots rolling underfoot. Slaves scattering or screaming while others boarded the wagon.

“Marigolds and manticores! Marigolds and manticores!” A shrieking demon drove the wagon with a curling, cracking viper that struck and struck until it roused the bullocks to its own frenzy and they charged head down and bellowing, threatening to overrun Svon, then rushing past him.

They were in sight of the great gate when the wagon lost a wheel. Schildstarr and his followers saved them for the moment, checking their fellow Angrborn with their voices and their spears, and in that moment Garvaon cantered down the arch of the wooden bridge, trailing white-faced archers and men-at-arms.

Seeing them roused the Angrborn to new fury. Toug, who had felt that he had fought often and hard, learned that he scarcely knew what it was to fight—to slash and stab and have the stallion he loved die under him. To fight on foot, the arm that should have held his shield useless, voice gone and strength gone and nothing left but the knowledge that Etela was somewhere in the madness.

The knee before him was higher than his waist. He swung Sword Breaker with all the force that remained, and when the giant did not fall held her with both hands and swung again, though the pain left him half blind and he felt the grating of his broken bones.

“The castle!” It was Svon, and Svon was gripping his arm; the pain was excruciating. “Come on!”

Toug shouted, “Etela,” but Svon was not listening and nothing Toug said afterward made sense even to him.

An arrow flashed, followed by another and another. A clear voice rang over the shouting and the clash of steel. “We are your queen! Hear us, all of you! Stop this! We command it! We, Queen Idnn!”

“Hot slut!”

The insult brought another arrow, and the arrow a scream that might have been the very stones of Utgard crying out.

Silence fell, or something near to silence. Looking up, Toug saw a gray mount above the Great Gate of Utgard, a gray that pawed air, its reins held by a knight who held a bow as well. A woman in a riding skirt sat behind him; and although we were silhouetted against the noon sky Toug recognized her.

“By the authority of King Gilling, we command you stop! Is that my husband’s trusty servant Schildstarr below?”

“Aye!” roared Schildstarr.

“Restore order, Schildstarr! Hear us, you sons of Angr! He who strikes Schildstarr strikes us, and he who strikes us strikes the king!”

When Toug and Svon, with Etela between them, hurried through the Great Gate, the gross body of a Frost Giant stretched on the filthy mud of the bailey. Toug did not pause to look at it, although he was vaguely and weakly surprised. Crownless, clothed in bloodstained bandages, stripped of honor, it made little impression until he heard Svon’s awed whisper: “That was King Gilling!”