The Wizard

Chapter 30. Morcaine’s Summons

After taking my leave, I sought out the pursuivant of the Nykr King of Arms, as King Arnthor’s herald was styled, he being charged with enrolling those who would enter the lists. He was away in the town; I waited until the short day was ended and rode back to our inn. That I was out of sorts I will not deny. I was curt with Pouk and Uns, although less so when I considered that I had gone far toward making a friend of the Earl Marshal, a most influential official of the court, that he was to speak to the king about me, and that I might hope to win an audience in the tournament.

I was making ready for bed when Wistan came. He bowed, apologized for his conduct, and declared I might beat him if I wished. I said, of course, that since he was no longer my squire I had no business beating him—that squires were beaten so they would be better knights by and by, and I was no longer concerned to make a knight of him.

“I pray you will reconsider, Sir Able. I behaved badly. I acknowledge it. Sir Svon told me he behaved badly when he was your squire. You never dismissed him, and before you left us, you knighted him.”

“Sir Svon fought the dragon, Wistan.” I made my tone as dry as I could.

Only his eyes reminded me that I had not.

“Reason and honor forbade it. You know I bear a dragon on my shield, perhaps you know also why it is there.”

He nodded. “Toug told me. Is it really true?”

“Since I don’t know what he told you, I can’t say.” I yawned. “You came so I could beat you? I won’t. Now go.”

He shook his head. “I came so you could take me back.”

“I won’t do that, either.”

“You involve me in great difficulties, Sir Able.” He looked frightened. “Would you see me hung up and flogged?”

I shrugged.

“It’ll kill my mother. She’s proud of all of us—I’ve got two sisters—but proudest of me. They’ll say the king did it. It won’t be true, but they’ll say it and it’ll kill her.”

I said I doubted that anyone would do it. “Are you afraid, Wistan, that I’ll tell the Earl Marshal you ought to be flogged? I won’t. You have my word.”

“He’ll take me into his service, Sir Able. He said so.”

“I congratulate you.”

“I—I’d have nice clothes like Payn’s. I’d live very comfortably. Good food and money. A warm bed.”

“Then take it.”

“I want to be a knight. Like Sir Garvaon. Like you.”

It hung in the air between us until I hugged him. When I released him, he gasped like Baki. “I—Does this mean I’m your squire again?”

“If you wish it. Yes.”

“I do.”

I called Org, and he came forward to stand at my side.

“Is this to frighten me? I’ve seen him before, in the wood with Sir Svon.”

“I know,” I said. “You were frightened just the same.”

Wistan nodded. “I still am.”

“Then you see that you may be afraid without dashing out of the room.” He nodded.

“A knight’s actions are governed by his honor,” I said, “not by his fear.”

“You said something like that before.”

“I’ll say it again, over and over, in as many ways as I can. Knowing it isn’t enough. It has to become part of you. Why were you afraid they’d flog you?”

“They won’t now. I’ll tell you, but I need to tell you something else first. I told the Earl Marshal about going to Jotunland. How we set out and how you joined us. How you and Sir Garvaon rode down from the pass to fight when the giants attacked, and Utgard. Everything I knew.”

“Did you tell him who killed King Gilling?”

Wistan shook his head. “No. I don’t know. I said I thought it was Schildstarr or one of the giants with him, because I do. But I can’t be sure. The important thing is that I told him about you. I told him Toug saw you die, but you came back to help us anyway. I told him everything I knew, and he made me swear to certain things. That was one, and Queen Idnn’s bringing a hundred giant women was another. I pointed my sword to Skai and swore like he wanted, and he said the women would be the test—that when the women came he’d know I was telling the truth and take me. So he knows all that. Everything I know about Jotunland.”

I nodded.

“He knows about Toug and Etela and Lady Lynnet getting lost in Aelfrice, and you coming there, and Sir Garvaon and Sir Svon. He already knows you can read that book.” Wistan gulped.

“Of course he does. But can he read it as well? That’s an interesting point.”

“I guess so. He wouldn’t have it if he couldn’t read it, would he?”

“Of course he would. Books are extremely valuable. It takes a copyist years to copy one, and who know what errors he will introduce? Every book is valuable, and the older a copy is the more valuable it is. If the Earl Marshal couldn’t read it, he might hope to find someone who could.”

Wistan nodded again. “I’ll try to find out.”

He had suggested another test, and I called Uri. She stepped out of the fire, slender and quite naked. Wistan took it with more coolness than I expected and strove to keep his eyes off her—or when she spoke, on her face. She, who had always been beautiful, this night seemed more lovely than ever, willow-slender, graceful, and glowing; I soon realized that having learned she could not seduce me, she was exerting herself on Wistan. I told him then that he must leave.

He hesitated, his hand on the latch. “There’s something else. I’ll tell you when I come back, all right?”

“I’ll be asleep. Tell me now.”

“I had them put down your name for a lot of things in the tournament, Sir Able. I knew you’d wanted to, so I found the pursuivant and told him I was your squire and he did it. That’s why I said they’d flog me if you didn’t take me back.”

“As they would have, I’m sure. You did well, however. What events?”

“Bow, halbert, joust, and melee.”

“You said there were many. Only four?”

“Bow is two, really. Dismounted and mounted.”

I nodded and waved him out.

As soon as the door had shut, Uri abased herself and pleaded for mercy. I made her stand, adding that I had not decided whether I would spare her life. That was a lie—I had no intention of killing her—but I felt it might be good for her to keep her in suspense.

“I have always loved you, Lord. More than Baki. More than—than anyone.”

“More than Queen Disiri of the Moss Aelf.”

“Y-yes, Lord. More than sh-she.”

“This though she never betrayed me.”

“She was no slave to S-Setr, Lord. I was.”

“Baki was Setr’s slave as well.”

“Y-yes.” She would not meet my eyes.

“When Baki’s spine was broken, you would not bring me to her to heal her.”

She stood a trifle straighter. “Another brought you, Lord, but you did not heal her. The boy did it. Not that boy. The other.”

“Toug. I’m going to ask three things of you, Uri. If you do what I ask, I’ll spare your life. Not otherwise. Do you understand? Two are just questions, and none are hard.”

She bowed. “I am your slave.”

“The first. Why did you come, when you knew I might kill you? You could have stayed in Aelfrice.”

“Because you will not always be here, Lord. In Aelfrice you would have hunted me down, you with your hound,” she gestured toward Gylf, “and the queen with her pack. I hoped to save my life by obedience and contrition.”

“You talk bravely,” I told her, “but your lip trembles.”

“In fear of one it would p-prefer to k-kiss, Lord.”

“We’ll let that go by, Uri. You came. I appreciate it. It’s a point in your favor, undeniably.”

Org had edged nearer, and I saw that he intended to catch her if she tried to flee.

“Here’s the second. The Earl Marshal has a book written in Aelfrice.”

I saw that I had surprised her.

“I want you to discover whether he can read it, and what his connection with Aelfrice may be.”

“I will try, Lord. I will learn all I can.”

“Good. Here’s the last, and the other question. It’s in two parts. As I was getting to sleep, someone warned me there was magic in the gifts Wistan brought. Was it you?”

She nodded. “I will always seek to serve you, Lord.”

“Why didn’t you remain and tell me more?”

“I was in fear. That—that has not changed, Lord.”

“Of the magic?”

She shook her head. “Of you, Lord.”

“Is the magic in all my gifts? Or in one alone?”

“You ask what you already know, Lord.”

“So you get an easy answer, and save your life.”

Gylf raised his head and looked quizzically at me.

“In one, Lord. In the helm. You know it.”

“But I do not know whose gift it was. Do you?”

“Yes, Lord. Borda gave it. I watched the giving.”

“Have you any idea why she gave it?”

“No, Lord.”

I studied Uri’s face, although I could seldom pick up on her fabrications. “None at all?”

“None, Lord. Shall I try to find out?”

“Not now. I’ve worn the helm. Nothing took place. Do you know its secret?”

Uri shook her head. “I do not, Lord. If I discover it, I will tell you.”

“Are you afraid of it?”

“Yes, Lord. As of you.”

I glanced at Org, trying to tell him with my eyes that he was not to harm her. When it seemed he understood, I got out the old helm. When I straightened up, she was struggling in his grasp. I told her to be still, and put on the helm.

Org held a writhing thing shaped of flame and offal, of dung and blazing straw and such tripes as might be taken from a goat a week dead. Gylf snarled as if he saw it as I had, and he was a dog of gold with carnelian eyes.

Several days intervened between the night I saw Uri writhing in the grip of a monster of swarming vermin and the opening of the tournament. They held little of interest. Uri I let flee as soon as I took off the helm. I did not put it back on in that time, nor did I call for her again. If I must refer to any of those days as my account goes on, I will describe it when I need it.

The first day was for quarterstaff competition among churls. I could have entered, and I was tempted to. If I had, my participation in the joust and the melee would surely have been called into question. I watched with interest instead, as did some other knights. It was the custom of the castle to match the man thought most likely to win with the man thought least likely, number two in the standings (judged by the pursuivant) with a beginner, and so on.

Thus the first round, in which everyone fought at the same time, was over quickly, and quicker because no armor was allowed except a jerkin and a leather cap. In the second each pair fought alone, the pairing determined by the order in which each man had won in the first: the one who had won first fought the one who had won last, and so on. Speed and agility count a lot with the quarterstaff, so none of the matches were long; even so, some lasted longer than it might take to saddle a restive horse. In two, the fighters were slow to close. They were circled with a rope drawn tighter by the pursuivant’s servants until one went down.

The second day was archery on foot. If I had still had the bowstring Parka cut for me, I would have won easily. I did not, and although my score was good, several others did better. One dined with King Arnthor and Queen Gaynor, but I did not.

The third was the day for mounted archery. We shot at a false target of braided straw, which held the arrows well and did not damage the heads. Gilt stood for the boss in the middle, and to strike the gold (that was how they said it) scored highest of all. Each rider rode full tilt at the false target and shot when he wanted to. Those who did not spur their mounts got a penalty, but many chose slow horses. I rode Cloud, and might have overtaken a swallow that flitted along the bailey. Fast though I rode, my first arrow hit the gold, and the onlookers cheered. As we trotted back to the starting line, I heard a dozen voices ask about the knight with a dragon on his shield—and Wistan’s answer: “He’s His Grace Duke Marder’s Sir Able of Redhall, and I’m his squire.”

For the second shot, I rode as hard as before, and that, too, hit the gold. No voices rose this time, but a silence louder than any applause.

Of the third I was completely confident. My first and second shots had struck gold. I had the feel of the exercise now, and Cloud had it as well. A third gold seemed certain. That night I would eat at Arnthor’s table, deliver Disiri’s message, take leave of her (a years-long leave dotted with ten thousand kisses), and go to the Valfather to beg some occasion when I could return to her, knowing that if I were gone a century it would seem to her in Aelfrice only a day or two. I rode—and my bowstring broke.

I had given Vil the bowstring he had stolen from me, and had begged another from one of His Grace’s archers. Here I will spare the reproaches I heaped upon myself that day. I told myself a dozen times that I could easily have gotten a new string for the tourney, that I ought never to have been parted with Parka’s string, and much, much more. None of it did any good. No one scored three golds, but three got two and a black. They dined with the king and queen, and I did not.

The next day was devoted to footraces, climbing greased poles, and catching greased pigs. Half crazy for something to do, I watched most of it. Wistan and I were leaving when we were stopped by a page who bowed prettily and informed us that the Countess of Chaus wished to speak with me. I said I was the countess’s to command, and we followed him through passages and up and down stairs to a little private garden where a girl with hair like a bouquet of yellow roses waited in a snow-covered arbor. I knelt, and she invited me to sit across from her.

Although at a distance, I had seen the queen by then; and it seemed to me that this young noblewoman, with her high color and mixed air of boldness and timidity, resembled her closely. To tell you the truth, I thought she was probably a sister or a cousin.

“You are Sir Able of the High Heart?” She cooed; it should have been annoying, but it was charming. “I watched you yesterday. You’re a wonderful bowman.”

“A careless bowman, My Lady. I trusted my old string, and lost.”

“Not my admiration.” She smiled. “Will you wear my scarf for the rest of tournament?” She proffered it as she spoke, a white wisp of the finest silk.

“There’s a dragon on my helm,” I told her, “and they couch on treasures. Mine will couch on this.”

When I had taken leave and Wistan and I were making our way back, he whispered, “That’s the queen. Did you know?”

I stared.

“Countess of Chaus will be one of her titles. They do that when they don’t want to be too formal.”

Ready to kick myself again, I shook my head. “I would have begged her for an audience with the king if I’d known.”

“You couldn’t. That’s one of the things it means. You have to pretend she’s whoever she says she is. She would’ve been mad, and her knights might have killed you.”

“I didn’t know she had her own knights.”

“Well, she does. She has the titles and all that land.”

“How many?” I was still trying to digest the new fact.

“Ten or twenty, probably.”

When we had ridden across the moat I asked, “If she has her own knights, shouldn’t she give her favor to one?”

Wistan spoke with the weary wisdom of a courtier. “They want to give it to the one they think will win.”

In my room I consulted Gylf. First I told him what had passed between the queen and me. When he understood, I said, “One point has me guessing I should’ve told Wistan, but I doubt that he’d say anything helpful. Remember how the queen addressed me? She said of the High Heart. I’ve been calling myself Sir Able of Redhall here. I may have said of the High Heart once or twice, but I’m sure it wasn’t more than that.”

“Rolls?”

“Wistan signed. He would have written Redhall, I know.”

“Who wouldn’t?” Gylf asked.

“What do you mean?”

Gylf merely repeated his question, as he often did when he found me obtuse.

“It was Wistan who set my name down, so what does it matter who would’ve called me Sir Able of the High Heart?”

Gylf sighed, closed his eyes, and rested his massive head on his forepaws.

In bed, I thought about Gylf’s question. He was a dog of few words, but they were worth hearing. Gaynor had called me Able of the High Heart; so she had spoken to somebody who called me that. It was possible Morcaine would, although she had visited me at Redhall. The duchess, His Grace’s wife, could have mentioned me; but if she had known of me at all, it would have been while I was at Sheerwall, most people there had just called me Sir Able. Although I had no reason to think Her Grace was at Thortower, she might have come and gone while I was in the north.

In the morning it finally struck me that the queen need not have spoken directly with somebody who called me Sir Able of the High Heart, that she might merely have gotten her information from someone who had. I called for Pouk and Uns and learned that they had been quizzed by a well-dressed stranger while they watched the footraces.

“He says do ya work for him wat broke da string,” Uns explained, “‘n we says yessar, Sar Able a’ da High Heart.”

“I told him there ain’t a knight here ‘ud match you, sir,” Pouk added. “So he sez Able o’ th’ High Heart, huh? We sez Sir Able an’ off he goes.”

I told them I would fight with the halbert that day, and asked if they wanted to watch. Both swore that Muspel itself could not keep them away; so the three of us and Wistan set out in company, I with my green helm on my saddlebow and the queen’s white scarf floating from it.

I had expected that all of us would fight at the same time, for the first round at least. There being far fewer knights enrolled than churls for the quarterstaff each pair fought singly. Hours passed before the Nykr King of Arms called my name. Just as I had to wait, so must this letter while I write about the combats I saw.

Halberts, many say, are the best weapons for defending a castle. For this reason every castle has a good store, some rich, others plain and meant for peasants and servingmen. It was with these we fought, because use in tournament requires that the points of pikehead and spike be ground away and the blade dulled. A helm is worn, and mail; but no shields are used, since both hands are needed for the halbert.

Like the quarterstaff, the halbert is grasped at the center and midway to the grounding iron, although other grips are possible and are favored by a few experts. The haft is Wistan’s height or thereabout. The whole weapon, point to grounding iron, is the height of the wielder or a bit more. It is its own shield, and is a shield that does not blind the eyes. A strong man who knows how each blow can be parried cannot be struck if he is quick enough; but he must be strong indeed and parry so the edge does not hew his haft, although this is not likely when the edge has been dulled.

Most of the matches before mine were long, and the rope was not used. One might speak to one’s neighbor and receive a reply, at times, between the blows, though at others they came fast and furious. As a knight new to Thortower, I was matched against Branne of Broadflood, who had gained the victory the year before. He was a goodly knight, tall and thick-chested, but he thrust too deep. I knocked his point aside, and stepping in struck the face of his helm with the haft of my halbert, tripping him with my left leg. He fell, and I had the win before most of the audience had given us their full attention.

In the second round I was paired with one of the queen’s house knights, Lamwell of Chaus. He was smaller than I but very quick, and got in good blows before I laid him out.

For the third there remained eight knights counting me. I was sore under my arm and had a dented helm; those raised the storm, and I went for my man to kill him if I could, and had him down before he struck a blow. He was of noble blood like Svon, and a kinsman of his.

Four remained. I fought my man as I had the third and downed him quicker, for I broke his haft with my first blow. He was Rober of Greenglory, a good, brave knight who was to fight alongside me in the River Battle.

That left two of us. A hanap was brought with good wine in it in which we pledged each other. He was as big a knight as I have ever faced; Woddet was no bigger. Gerrune was his name. He had no hall, but traveled from place to place and fought for pay, a free lance is what such knights are called. I thought it was his size that made him dangerous, because his halbert was half again the length of mine and the haft was thicker. I quickly found out that it was his cunning I had to watch out for; there was not a knight in Skai who knew more slights of arms. The blade of his halbert shone, and he caught sunlight on the flat to dazzle me. His blows began one way and ended another, coming thick and fast; it seemed that he would never tire, because he had no need to use his full strength.

He broke my halbert; I fought on like the man whose quarterstaff I had broken, and used the butt to parry, and struck with the head as if it were an ax, and stabbed with the pike-point, hit him on the knee and crippled him, and grappling him lifted him from his feet and threw him down.

I stood aside, and he doffed helm and loudly said he hoped we never fought again, and I was cheered.

But when the cheers had died away the trumpet sounded, and he—Sir Gerrune—was named victor.

“He bribed them!” Wistan declared; I shook my head, because I had seen his look of surprise.

That night Pouk knocked on our door. Wistan let him in, and he knuckled his forehead and said, “There’s two below what wants to see ya, sir. I don’t fancy their rig, only they give me this,” he displayed a small gold coin, “if I’d tell ya. Can I keep it?”

“Certainly. Did they give their names?”

“Jus’ the one, sir. Belos, he were.”

“Warlike,” Wistan translated (though I am not at all sure he was correct). “They could be assassins, Sir Able.”

I said I supposed they could be, or merchants wanting to sell us feathers, or any other thing; but I knew of nobody who wanted me dead, and two seemed pretty thin for a knight and his squire, to say nothing of Gylf, Org, Uns, and Pouk himself.

They were slender men in hooded robes that carried the smell of the sea, and they seemed young. Neither pushed back his hood and neither would meet my eyes. “We serve a great lady of Thortower,” said the first. “Her identity we will gladly reveal if you will send these servants of yours away.”

Wistan bristled, and I had to explain that although he served a knight, a squire was not a servant.

“She wishes to speak with you, and it is to your own benefit. We will bring you to her, but you must go alone.”

“You’ll take me to her,” I said, “but I won’t go alone. There are thieves—I’d have no one but you to defend me.”

They conferred while Wistan and Pouk grinned.

At last they separated. “We will protect you and take safe streets, and the distance is not great. Come, and we will see you back safe before sunrise.”

“I must sleep before sunrise,” I told them. “I’m weary, and tomorrow begins the jousting.”

They promised I would be back before moonrise.

I pointed to Gylf. “May I take my dog? He’ll be some protection for me.” One said yes, the other no. After wrangling, the second asked, “If you may take him, will you go?”

I nodded. “With Gylf, and with Wistan and Pouk. All of us now in this room.”

The first said, “In that case we must return to her who sent us and report that you will not come.”

I shook my head. “You must say I would’ve come, but you wouldn’t agree to my conditions. And you’ve got to tell Her Highness I knew you were Aelf as soon as I saw you. Remind her that I was a friend of her brother’s and refused to join my friends when they fought him.”

They were backing away as I spoke. I added, “For your safety I warn you that I’ll tell her all this myself when I see her, and that I told you to confess it.” They had vanished before I finished.

“They’ll be back tonight,” I told Pouk. “If they wake you up wanting you to take them to me again, say no.”

Pouk touched his forehead, and I waved him out. Wistan asked whether the dragon Vil had killed was really Princess Morcaine’s brother; I told him he was too clever by half and his ears would get him into trouble.

“But I need to know these things! You’re going to take me with you.”

“Because it’s my duty to teach you. I’ve done precious little teaching so far.”

“Have I complained?”

I yawned and said I felt sure he had.

“I haven’t! Probably I was thinking and frowned or something.”

“All right. The princess is the dragon’s sister. She’s human, as her father was, though not wholly human, since her mother was a dragon from Muspel. Dragons take human shape better than the Aelf. Do I have to explain that?”

“Please! Please, Sir Able!”

“Okay. There are seven worlds—if you know anything, you know that. This is the fourth, the one in the middle. This middle world is the most stable. There are some here who can change more than you and I can, but only a few and even they can’t change very much. As you go farther, there’s less stability. The Aelf look pretty human, and can look more human. They can take the shapes of animals and people but they can’t go much past that or get bigger or smaller. Their eyes give them away. They fade in the sun and run away from sunlight.”

“I remember from when they fought for us.”

“Those were Uri’s people. You saw her.”

He nodded.

“They’re Fire Aelf and were enslaved by Setr. Setr was the dragon. There’s another brother—no doubt you realize that. We’re not going to talk about him.”