The Wizard

Chapter 32. Trial By Arms

My surprise must surely have been apparent.

“When we met,” the Earl Marshal explained, “this young man suggested Queen Idnn as the sender. You flinched at queen, then relaxed. Queens are not so common as cabbages.”

“No, My Lord.”

“I thought it likely our queen was the sender. She would not have required the dragon, however.” He took a bite of toast, chewed, and swallowed. “The Aelf are of many clans—nearly all ruled by kings. The Dryads, or Moss Aelf, are the sole exception. Possibly you know of others?”

I admitted I did not.

He spread his hands. “In that case, your message is from Queen Disiri. You see how simple it is.”

I must have nodded, no doubt slowly and reluctantly.

“This is well. If you’re asked, you can quite honestly declare that you did not reveal the identity of the sender to me. It may not be of importance, but if it is you have it.”

“I appreciate that, My Lord.”

“Then appreciate also—harrumph!—that you did not answer my question. You will answer the other two, I hope.”

“If I can, My Lord. What are they?”

“The first. Why did Queen Gaynor give you her favor to wear in the lists?”

“I don’t know, My Lord.” I sipped my wine.

“You mean that she did not confide it. You entered the archery. Both events.”

“Yes, My Lord. I disappointed myself, if I may say it.”

“You will find that toast quite passable now, I think. But not if you let it grow cold.”

“I will not, My Lord.” I tore off a bit.

“You finished fourth, I think it was, in foot archery. You shot two golds in mounted archery. Your bowstring broke as you rode for the final shot. I was watching, like nearly everyone. Afterward, Her Majesty gave you her favor.”

“Right, My Lord.” I had eaten toast while he spoke.

“You didn’t question Her Majesty. This boy might have. I wouldn’t put it past him. But you? No more than I. One does not subject royalty to an interrogation.”

Wistan said, “I didn’t ask her anything, My Lord.”

The Earl Marshal raised an eyebrow. “Still, you must have speculated. A dullard would not have, perhaps. You’re no dullard. You have not visited Aelfrice with your master?”

“No, My Lord. Thank you, My Lord. I haven’t, but I’d like to go, and Toug told me about it. So did Etela.”

“I will forbear examining you as to her identity. For the present, eh? Let us return to our queen. You must have speculated. Let me have your speculations.”

Wistan cleared his throat, a small, apologetic noise compared to the Earl Marshal’s trumpetings. “I thought it fairly obvious, My Lord.”

“Not to me, Squire.”

“He’s good-looking, My Lord. And mysterious, really mysterious to me, because I know so much about him. I’ve told you some of that.” The Earl Marshal nodded and chewed.

“He’d be mysterious to her, too, because he’s never been to court. You mentioned his mail—this was the other day.”

He smiled. “So I did.”

“You can’t have been the only one to notice that. Women love mystery, My Lord.”

“I am aware of it.”

“His string broke like you said, but he shot two golds first. A gold’s any shot that cuts gold, but his were right in the center. Nobody else got two right in the center.”

“I had not observed that,” the Earl Marshal said slowly. “I was remiss, Squire. I’m glad that you were not.”

“And he has the best horse, My Lord, Cloud. You know about her, because we looked at her. I take care of her, My Lord, and I rode her once like I said. It’s not just that she’s the best horse. I—This is going to sound silly.”

“You’re of an age at which it may be condoned. Let’s hear you.”

“If everybody fought with sticks, My Lord, and a knight came with a sword, they’d say he had the best stick.”

The Earl Marshal smiled. “That’s not silly at all.”

“Ladies want the knight to win, My Lord, when they give their favor. A good horse is a big part of that.”

“You’re fortunate in your squire, Sir Able.”

“Sir Garvaon chose him, My Lord. He was a knight of sound sense, as well as great courage.”

“You yourself are a man of sound sense, Sir Able—”

I shook my head, knowing how wrong he was.

“One who must have thought on the queen’s favor, as your squire did. Thought on it more, because you are more deeply concerned. Were your conclusions the same?”

“I came to none. It seemed to me Her Highness must have been at behind it, since we met before I came here. She may have urged it, thinking it to my benefit. Or—or she might have mentioned my name in passing.”

“You will not say it.” The Earl Marshal studied me with hooded eyes. “I will. Her Majesty may have learned that Her Highness intended to bestow her favor upon you, and moved to sequester you. That seems the likeliest explanation of all. Yet in strict justice I must rule that none of those your squire proposed can be wholly disregarded. They may have played a part, and may have played the whole part. I did not cross-examine you out of curiosity, as I hope you realize. I have a plan, though I shall not reveal it until it has been tried. Not then, if it falls.”

“I’ll be grateful for your assistance in either case.”

He smiled. “I have hopes, Sir Able. I must persuade our royal ladies. Yet I am persuasive, or I would not stand where I do. Ladies like their knights to win, as a younger head than ours tells us, and even royal ladies are fond of intrigue. Nay, royal ladies are fondest of it. Thus we may hope. My last question. How am I to visit Aelfrice?”

I was taken aback. “You wish to go, My Lord?”

“It has been the dream of my life. I don’t plan to take up residence, though sometimes... It is a perilous sphere?”

“It is, My Lord. Beautiful and dangerous. So is this.”

“Well said. How may I go?”

“I may be able to arrange it, My Lord.”

“After you have delivered your message.”

“Yes, My Lord. I must put that first—I cannot do otherwise. I mean no disrespect.”

“She is a queen. I understand. You will be here in the morning to continue jousting?”

I nodded. “We will, My Lord.”

“It might be well to bring a serviceable lance as well.”

Although I attempted to question him, I could elicit no further information. We ate and drank and talked, mostly of horses, and at last Wistan and I returned to our inn, where we found Pouk and Uns slumbering.

Another page stopped us the next day, saying the queen had urgent need of me. Wistan and I followed him, and as we made our way among the towers and strong-houses heard a roar from the crowd. I caught the page’s shoulder and demanded to know what was happening.

“They’ve news from the Nykr King of Arms, I think.”

“What news?”

“I don’t know!”

I released him. “Does his news concern me?”

He nodded and only just managed to prevent himself from wiping his nose on his sleeve.

“Out with it!”

“I don’t know, Sir Able. Really. She’ll tell you.”

Wistan volunteered to go back and find out. Sensing that I might learn more if he were gone, I told him to do it.

“I’ll keep your secret,” I said when he had left, “but I must know before I talk to the queen. What was the news?”

“They had a fight.” The page whispered. “The queen and Her Highness. Everybody’s scared of her. Of the princess.”

“Small wonder.”

“But they’re going to fight. Only not really. Their champions will do it for them.”

The queen was waiting in her snowy garden. I knelt, saying I hoped I had not kept her long in the cold.

“Oh, I’m warmly dressed.” She smiled, and indicated her ermine robe. “I have to do this often. I can’t have a man in my apartments, not even an elderly relative. His Majesty would not approve.”

I was about to make some commonplace remark about warm rooms and fires elsewhere, but she swept it aside by asking whether I would like to disrobe.

“I would not like to sully Your Majesty’s honor at any time or in any place.”

She laughed merrily. “You’re the knight for me. Or I hope you will be. I could order you to, but I won’t.”

“You need not,” I told her. “Make clear what you wish, and it shall be done.”

“Except disrobing.” It might have been a dove’s moan.

“Indeed. Except that.”

“You know, this is fun.” Her smile warmed me. “When I told Lord Escan I’d do it, I didn’t think it was going to be. But it is, for me. You may be killed. I’m an awful person.”

“Your Majesty’s the only person in Celidon who thinks so. You are our glory.”

She smiled again. “You will be mine, Sir Able. I know it! You’ll fight Morcaine’s champion for me, won’t you? To defend my honor? We’re doing this for you, really.”

“I’d rather do it for you. If Morcaine had ten score champions, I’d fight them all for Your Majesty’s sake.”

“Hush! Hush!” The queen put a finger to her lips. “She may be listening. She’s terrible about that.”

“I’ve said nothing to you that I wouldn’t say in her hearing.”

“Oh, you Overcyns! Get up, please. I didn’t mean to keep you kneeling in the snow. Rise.”

I did, and her soft hand found mine. “I feel you’re my friend. That you truly are. I’ve forty knights, and not one real friend among them. Did the Valfather send you?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Or at least, he let me come.”

She stared. “You’re serious.”

“Entirely, Your Majesty. When I talk to others, I try to conceal it. But I won’t lie to you or the king. I won’t even tell half truths, something I do much too often.”

“You—I can’t let you do this. You’ll be killed.”

“You have to let me do this, Your Majesty. I’ve worn your favor in the lists. I’m your champion.”

“Oh, Lady! Dear Lady of Skai! It’s...”

“Ordained?” I suggested.

Gaynor’s eyes brimmed with tears. “It’s for me, too. So the king will see that—that I’m not what he thinks. The Valfather will give the victory to the right, won’t he?”

“That’s what people believe, I know. It may be true.”

“And she said something awful to my face. That I’m a slut or something. We haven’t decided exactly what it was, and probably we won’t have to. So I challenged her and it’s at noon, and you have to die for me.” She sobbed, hot tears rolling down smooth cheeks red with cold. “Only if you do, my husband will think he’s right, and—and...”

“I won’t, Your Majesty. You’ll be vindicated.”

“She’s going to try to kill you.” The queen looked around nervously, as if she thought Morcaine hiding behind a snow-covered rose bush. “She likes you, and she’ll try to kill you anyway. You don’t know her.”

I said, “She’ll naturally chose a champion whose courage and skill won’t embarrass her, Your Majesty. I needn’t know her inmost thoughts to know that. In her place, I’d do the same thing. Are we to fight to the death?”

“No.” Gaynor had plucked a handkerchief nearly as large as a man’s from sleeve. “It never is.”

“Then he’ll yield to me when he can no longer resist, and no one will die.”

“It’s not like the melee, with blunt swords and crowned lances. Don’t you understand? Real weapons, real fighting.”

“That’s well. I had a bad bowstring, but I’ve got a good sword.”

She rose, her lovely face no higher than the dragon on my chest. “Hear me, Sir Able. Girls aren’t supposed to be serious at my age. Not ‘til they’ve had a child. But I may never have one, I’m still a virgin, and I’m as serious as I’ll ever be. I said it was fun, because it was then. But it’s not now, because I like you and you’ll die.”

“All men do, Your Majesty.”

“And all women. I know. But listen. She wants him to put me away and marry again. If she wins, he may. He could say it was what the Overcyns wanted.” Gaynor took a deep breath, her inhalation loud in the quiet garden. “And I’d like that. But I have a duty, and I love him. And I’m not sterile. It’s just that... That—”

She had begun to sob. I held her and comforted her as well as I could. At last she said, “You’ll do it? For me? Champion my virtue before the king?”

“A hundred times over, Your Majesty.” It was the truth, and the truth was that I would have done it a thousand times in order to speak to the king and claim Disiri.

Wistan was waiting when the queen dismissed me. “It’s a Trial by Combat, Sir Able. The princess insulted the queen, and she demands satisfaction. Nobody knows who the champions will be.” He gave me a searching look. “They all want to be the queen’s, all the knights. A lot say Sir Gerrune.” He waited for me to speak, but I did not.

“Only a lot more say it’ll be you, because of her scarf. Everybody knows whose scarf it is. Uns is boasting about you among the churls, and he and Pouk are laying bets.”

I suppose I grinned.

“They’ll be rich if you win. Rich for churls, anyway.”

“What about you, Wistan? Won’t you be rich too?”

“I haven’t bet. Is it all right if I do?”

“Sure.”

“Then I will. I got some gold up north, like we all did. The way Pouk and Uns are betting is they give odds you’ll be her champion. Two to one. Then the other party has to give them two to one against you, if you are.”

There are moments that remain fixed in memory, in some sense ever-present. Of all my fights no other stays with me like that one. I can shut my eyes and see the bailey as it was then—the winter sunshine, the cold air sparkling with snow, the pennants and banners snapping in the wind, a mad dance of bears and elephants, falcons and bulls and basilisks and camelopards, red, blue, green, yellow, black, and white. I hear the thunderous cracking of the great sea-blue flag of Celidon, with the royal Nykr embroidered in gold.

To my right sat the court, the king and queen in high places, Morcaine to the king’s left, in a seat not quite so high. Around them clustered the peers and their ladies, proud men and gracious women in fur and velvet. To left and right the knights, muffled in thick cloaks, with here and there the gleam of steel. Facing them, the commons, half the town of Kingsdoom having turned out to watch, delighted on this winter afternoon to have a real fight to entertain them, a combat in which either knight, or both, might die.

For this I had practiced day after day in the golden halls and airy courts of the Valfather’s castle. Not to fight the Giants of Winter and Old Night, nor to fight the Angrborn, sending arrow after arrow into their upturned faces as Cloud cantered over their heads.

The test had come at last, the deciding battle to which my life had been directed, and I knew a joy whose price had been paid in sweat and stratagem and hard blows. This was the service of the Valfather, and his service was beatitude and exultation. The lance of spiny orange I had shaped was in my hand, Eterne at my side. A double-bitted ax bought in anticipation of the melee hung from my saddle, both edges ground and honed until they would split bone with a tap.

Cloud knew my mind as she always did, and arched her neck and pawed the ground. There was no barrier, as there is in jousting. This was not jousting but war.

Across the bailey stood her opponent, a stallion taller by two hands—her opponent, but not mine—and the horse cloth the stallion wore was black, the silver device on its sides that of no knight but Morcaine’s margygr, a fanciful representation of her mother, Setr’s, and the king’s.

The Nykr King of Arms rode to the center, and with him a pursuivant who repeated his words so all might hear—so all might hear, I wrote, but so still was every tongue that there was no need of him. I will give the words of the Nykr King of Arms, and not trouble with the repetitions.

“This day shall be joined in trial by arms the gallant champions of Her Most Royal Majesty Queen Gaynor and of Her Royal Highness Princess Morcaine.”

There was a little buzz of talk, soon stilled, as the younger man repeated what the Nykr King of Arms had said.

“Her Most Royal Majesty Queen Gaynor is the aggrieved party. Her champion upon this field is Sir Able of Redhall, a knight of Sheerwall.”

As previously, the pursuivant bellowed the same words.

“Her Royal Highness Princess Morcaine is the aggrieving party.” The Nykr King of Arms paused to look toward the riderless stallion. “Her champion upon this field—and he come—is to be Sir Loth of Narrowhouse.”

To my right I heard one knight say to another, “Loth? He’s dead.” To which the other replied, “That was Loth of Northholding.”

I knew then who my opponent would be.

He came soon enough, his dead face hidden by his helm, the charge on his shield a black elk on a white field. I put on my own helm at that point, with the queen’s white scarf knotted about the black dragon that was its crest.

“At the first sounding of the clarion, the champions are to make ready. At the second, all save the champions and their squires must depart the field.”

I looked then for Sir Loth’s squire and saw a lad some trifle older than Wistan. He kept his back to the barrier, and seemed terrified.

“Upon the third sounding, the champions will engage. Neither their squires no any other persons may take part in their combat. Should a champion yield, his squire may succor him. Gentle right shall be observed. When a champion shall claim gentle right, his squire may help him to his feet and rearm him. Nothing more. Champions, raise your lances to signify your agreement.”

We did so.

“Squires, your right hands.”

Though the distance was a good bowshot, I saw the hand of Loth’s squire shake.

That pursuivant who had repeated the Nykr King’s words lifted a clarion to his lips and blew. I settled into my saddle, and tightened my grip on my lance. Should we engage right side to right? Left side to left (as in jousting)? Or mount to mount? These questions, which for a moment filled my mind, came from Cloud. I answered, Left to left.

The clarion sounded the second time. At my side Wistan murmured, “Thunor’s blessing, Sir Able.”

It may have been ill omened, for no sooner had he spoken than so dark a cloud veiled the sun that it seemed the dead knight and I engaged by night. Loth seemed to grow larger in the gloom. His white shield and white surcoat floated spectral above a charger almost invisible.

The clarion sounded a third time; I had no need to clap my heels to Cloud.

Loth’s lance broke on my shield. Mine took him through the chest and plucked him from the saddle. I withdrew it as I rode; and it may be that most of those who watched did not realize what had happened.

He should have been slow, yet he was not. He remounted as Cloud wheeled, and drew sword. My point slipped from his helm, our mounts met chest-to-chest, and his was ridden down. Wheeling again, I charged a third time. I saw him standing like a ghost, the ichor of decay seeping from his wound, and tried to impale him again, thinking to leave my lance between his ribs to obstruct him, and to cut him down before he could free himself. It was a good plan, but none of it worked. His shield turned my point. His sword did what I would have said no sword but Eterne could, hewing my lance as a woodsman fells a sapling.

Then I feared for Cloud. In tourney, no true knight strikes the mount; in battle it is otherwise, and seeing that fell blade poised I knew what blow he intended. Cloud would have trampled him, and showed me so clearly I almost agreed.

He will take off a forefoot, I told her, and you will be as good as dead.

I slipped oft her back, and met him toe-to-toe.

His sword split my shield so deeply that it was the mail on my forearm that stopped the edge. Turning as swiftly as I could, I wrenched the sword from his dead hand. My ax bit his helm, and he fell.

Fallen, he moaned aloud. All death was in it, lonely graves in winter, the wind that leaves beggars’ bodies on the streets of Kingsdoom, and the howls of the wolves that tear the slain.

I turned and walked away, and seeing the Nykr King of Arms, with the pursuivant who assisted him, I told them that my foe claimed gentle right, which I would accord him.

Wistan came then with a new shield for me, one we had taken from Redhall, it having still its covering of cloth so that Ravd’s golden lion could not be seen. I took it, and seeing that Loth’s squire would by no means leave his place to rearm him, told Wistan that he must raise him, and give him some new weapon.

“I have none to give, Sir Able, save my own sword.”

“Give it,” I said; and when he ran to obey, I with the pursuivant’s help took Loth’s blade from my shield, although it was tightly wedged in the layered willow. Wistan raised and rearmed Loth. White-faced and shaken he returned, and I gave him the sword that had been Loth’s, a brand of watered steel. “This is yours,” I told him. “See if your scabbard will hold it.”

Returning to Loth, I made ready to continue the fight. He stepped back, raised the sword that had been Wistan’s, and cried out again. Long ago I had heard fishermen hallooing from boat to boat, and though this was sad and that was not, I felt the purpose was the same, that he saluted others and called them to help him.

I thought little of it, or thought only that I had to close quickly and dispatch him before his help arrived. I tried to, and soon found that my ax had put out an eye and he was hard pressed to defend himself when I kept moving to my right. Yet he fought as skillfully as any live man, taking blows that would have killed a living man, and fought on in the darkness and flying snow, and although he lost the arm that had held his sword, he dropped his shield and snatched the sword from his own right hand, while his arm crept over the snow to close its hand on my ankle.

They came, the dead he had called, whether from the grave or tombs above ground I do not know, some new-killed, some so long dead that Morcaine could scarcely animate them. The onlookers fled, although I paid that little mind.

For I had thrown aside the ax and drawn Eterne; and my own help came, galloping out of the snowy sky. The cloud passed and the sun shone again, making the new snow sparkle, and dead contended with dead for the honor of a living queen. Wistan and Pouk and Uns fought beside me, and Cloud kicked and trampled my foes and would have gored them, save that her horn was still too small, and Gylf raged among them, greater and more terrible than any lion.

The sun was still high when the fight ended. I wiped Eterne’s blade with such stuff as I could find, and cast the stuff away from me, for it reeked of the grave, and sheathed her at last. Arnthor sat his throne unmoved, with Gaynor fainting in his arms and Morcaine smiling beside him. Five knights with swords drawn stood before them; and I took note of them, for they were the bravest Thortower boasted, as was proved by what they did that day—Marc, Lamwell, Gerrune, Rober, and Oriel.

Morcaine called, “You have triumphed, Sir Able, and my sister-in-law with you. I own it, and her innocence.” Her lips smiled, and her eyes held a dark and terrible lust.

Arnthor nodded. “You will share meat with us tonight? I would speak with you.” His eyes, too, were the storm-black of dragons. I dropped to one knee. “Gladly, Your Majesty.”