Have Sword, Will Travel

by Garth Nix

  “The lot of them!” agreed the small audience that had gathered around him.

  “But she sent them away, she did. Packed them off smartly with their scabbards tangling between their knees. They’ll not forgot the lesson they learned in Hryding, will they? Sir Saskia showed them. Sir Saskia the strong … and beautiful …”

  The rapturous conclusion to the backwards-hat man’s tale was ruined by his eyes suddenly rolling back into his head and his falling backwards, unconscious. Fortunately, the arms of his friends were ready to catch him, and another man stepped eagerly forward to pick up the soliloquy where he had left off.

  “Her broadsword shining in the starlight, her thews mightier than a man’s, the good lady knight tracked them for days, awaiting the right moment to strike. And strike she did, fortunately just moments after they attacked us! The brigands escaped, cunning curs as they are, and she will leave tomorrow to round them up. When that is done she will go north to slay the terrible dragon, and then we will all sleep safe in our beds again.”

  “Hurrah!” chorused the crowd. Someone started singing “The Ballad of Brave Sir Leax” with “Saskia” in place of “Leax,” but without much success.

  “Is she in the pavilion?” asked Eleanor over the racket. “How do we get to talk to her?”

  “You’ll have to talk to Mannix, her squire,” said a boy who was probably Odo’s age, though only three-quarters his size.

  “Which one’s Mannix?”

  The boy pointed out a tall, wiry young man with snake tattoos curling across his shaved scalp. He was standing in front of a partially closed flap in the pavilion — clearly the entrance. He had a proud nose and forbidding expression, and wore matching quillon daggers at his waist. At that moment he was wagging a long finger in the face of a red-cheeked man with a nose the shape of a turnip.

  Focusing, Eleanor could hear Mannix’s deep voice over the noise of the crowd.

  “… food, drink, everyday repairs, and let’s not forget the good sir knight’s time. If you truly want to express the gratitude of your village, Master Reeve …”

  “We have to talk to him,” Eleanor whispered to Odo.

  He nodded and followed her as she slid through the crowd, in between revelers. The villagers barely noticed, with their cheering and singing and swallowing of great drafts of ale. Being saved from brigands was well worth celebrating. They would worry about the river and the dragon tomorrow.

  “… more than anticipated,” the village reeve was saying to Mannix as Odo and Eleanor approached, “but in thanks for the good lady knight’s kind intervention, we will find a way.”

  “Thank you, Master Reeve.” Mannix bowed to him, not very low. “We will expect delivery by midday tomorrow.”

  “Sir, a moment —” said Eleanor.

  “Midday?” The reeve looked alarmed. “We can’t possibly … That is, with more time —”

  “Sunset, then. Sir Saskia has other villages to save, you know. The dragon.”

  “Of course, of course.” The reeve looked pained, but bowed again deeply to Mannix. “We understand. Thank you, thank you …”

  “Sir?” Eleanor tried again.

  Both men turned to face her.

  “Yes?” said Mannix. His expression was forbidding.

  “We desire an audience with Sir Saskia.”

  “My knight is resting,” said Mannix. “Go away.”

  “We have matters to discuss,” said Eleanor. “We won’t trouble her.”

  “You won’t trouble her, because I won’t let you. You’ve troubled her enough already for one day, you poxy villagers. Are you never satisfied?”

  “We are not villagers,” said Odo. He tried to pitch his voice low and sound authoritative, but it came out more as a squeak. “We heard of Sir Saskia in Spedigan and we —”

  “So you have ears,” interrupted Mannix. “Use them and listen as I say, ‘Go away, trouble me no more.’ ”

  “We wish to help her slay the dragon,” said Odo.

  Mannix snorted in amusement. “You?”

  “Yes,” said Eleanor. “At least, Sir Odo will, and as his squire, I will assist him.”

  “You’re squires?” asked Mannix, with new interest. “There’s another knight? Here?”

  “Before you,” said Eleanor. She bowed and made a gesture she hoped was courtly towards Odo. “Allow me to present Sir Odo of Lenburh. I am Eleanor.”

  Odo could feel himself blushing, but he did his best to stand tall.

  Mannix looked at him properly for the first time.

  “Oh, this is going to be fun,” he said, waving them into the tent.

  The sounds of merriment outside fell into the background. Inside the tent, the air was warm and close, smelling of rose water and sweat. Fires burned in braziers spaced evenly around four solid wooden benches with a low table between them. On the table, next to a helmet and a pair of gauntlets, were bowls of meat and fruit and jugs of water and wine. From behind a broadcloth screen came the sound of movement. Metal on metal. The clearing of a throat.

  Suddenly she appeared, a splendid figure in once-gilded mail, the gold wash now uneven across the steel. She had a broad face, bold features, and eyes as keen as the edge of a killing dagger. Her thick yellow hair was tied back in braids.

  Sir Saskia was drying her hands on a towel — which, when she was done with it, she tossed casually aside. Her cheeks were pink from where she had just finished washing her face.

  “The most puissant knight, Sir Odo of Lenburh,” announced Mannix in an exaggerated fashion. “And his brave squire, Eleanor.”

  “Thank you, Mannix. Welcome, welcome.” She waved them forward, into the light of the braziers. “Let me see you.”

  Odo felt the knight’s gray gaze sweep over him, taking in every detail. Her eyes narrowed as she caught sight of Biter at his side.

  “You bear a fine sword, Sir Odo,” she said. “Of some antiquity, if I judge aright. Have you words to match your steel?”

  Odo felt very young and clumsy, but somehow he managed to stutter out.

  “I am but a young knight, newly … um … come to my … er …”

  “Estate,” whispered Eleanor, who was standing close behind him.”

  “Estate,” said Odo. “Words are not … that is, my actions speak for me, I trust.”

  Sir Saskia grinned, exposing a row of bright white teeth. One of them was capped in a shining black metal, something neither Odo nor Eleanor had seen before, though there was a famous peddler who came through Lenburh from time to time who had a silver tooth.

  “Hail and well met. This is an auspicious day. Please, sit. Take your fill of food, drink …”

  She gestured expansively at the table, but at that moment neither Odo nor Eleanor had any appetite. They were too awed to do more than stare. Sir Saskia seemed to be everything a knight should be, a sun that put their own small presence in the shade.

  “You mention an estate,” said Sir Saskia. “From where do you hail, Sir Odo? And your family?”

  Odo hesitated. He wanted to blurt out the truth, but there was a coldness in Sir Saskia’s eyes that warned him off. Knights were better than ordinary people, although sometimes ordinary people could become knights. If he was to join her in defeating the dragon, it would be best if she didn’t suspect his common origins.

  “From the south,” he said. “I am but newly knighted, though I follow in the footsteps of my ancestors.”

  The great-grandfather I never even knew about, thought Odo, until my mother mentioned him when I was leaving.

  “I can see that.” Sir Saskia clapped Odo on one shoulder, a mighty buffet that made him rock on his heels. “Barely weaned by the look of you. But no matter. We all have to start somewhere!”

  She put one foot on the nearest bench and let it take her weight. The wood creaked. Eleanor closely studied every detail of the knight, noting the many scuffs and scratches on her mail hauberk, her sword’s large wheel pommel, the scars from many sword-cuts on the bac
k of her hands …

  For once, Odo was finding it easier to talk than Eleanor.

  “It is a very good thing you have done for the villagers here,” he went on. “Driving off the brigands, Sir Saskia.”

  Sir Saskia waved the compliment away.

  “Why else is one a knight if not to help the weak, eh? That’s why we’re going after that wretched dragon next. Can’t have people shaking in their boots all day, afraid of being eaten. How are they supposed to farm or knit or whatever? Protecting the little people, that’s what a knight is supposed to do. It’s a simple life, really. If it doesn’t kill you.”

  She grinned, and Odo had to admit that, yes, Sir Saskia was beautiful. He found himself blushing again.

  “But tell me more about you two,” she said. “Have you traveled far? What is your destination? Your purpose? I’m all ears. Well, apart from this one.” She pointed at her right ear. “If you look closely, you’ll see where a bilewolf once took a snap at me. That was the last thing it ever did.”

  Both children admired the notch before remembering the question.

  “We are searching for whatever blocks the river,” said Odo. “We wish to free the waters —”

  “Byfightingandkillingthedragon!” The words burst from Eleanor’s mouth. It was her turn to flush pink when she realized how she must sound. “That is, Sir Saskia … I mean, we didn’t know you had already taken on this quest.”

  The knight tipped back her head and laughed, not in mockery or scorn, it seemed, but delight. The peals physically shook her, making her armor jangle.

  “In all my thirty years,” she said, wiping her eyes, “I have never witnessed such spirit from mere striplings! Sir Odo, you shame me. I salute you, and I thank you for reminding me of a knight’s true strength. No dragon can prevail against us!”

  Her grin was broad and infectious. Odo and Eleanor found themselves grinning back at her, filled with joy that was as profound as it was confused. Were they fighting the dragon with Sir Saskia or not? Neither of them had actually raised that point yet …

  Sir Saskia stood and her hand fell to the hilt of her sword.

  “But first, you and I, we must fight,” she declared.

  Odo’s mouth fell open. Biter twitched emphatically in his scabbard. “What?”

  “Fight, I said. Not now, of course. It is late and I am weary. But tomorrow, before breakfast. Nothing like single combat to work up an appetite!”

  “But … but why?” asked Eleanor.

  “Because we must,” Sir Saskia told her. “Two knights come to the same field … if we were ahorse, we would joust, but there is little fodder for horses here and I have left mine elsewhere. But if you have two chargers, why then —”

  “No,” Odo interrupted. “I am afoot also. Uh, why must we fight?”

  “Why?” asked Sir Saskia. “I have said. We must test each other. Not to the death, of course. A wound, a broken limb — that is enough.”

  Odo didn’t know what to say. He stood there, gaping.

  “Unless you are a coward, a caitiff who wishes to declare himself no true knight.”

  Before Odo could reply, Biter shot out of the scabbard, slapped himself into Odo’s hand, pulled the boy’s arm forward, and stuck his point almost into Saskia’s face, the emerald in his pommel flashing in the firelight.

  “Sir Odo of Lenburh accepts your challenge!” cried Biter.

  “To arms!” shouted Sir Saskia. She drew her own sword with astonishing speed, interposing it between her and Biter and stepping back.

  Eleanor turned, hand on her own sword-knife, as Mannix rushed into the room, his daggers out. A dozen more of Saskia’s scarlet-sashed followers entered from all corners, their weapons ready. Suddenly the room was full of armed men and women, all waiting for the order to kill.

  “Wait!” Eleanor raised her hands to show that her knife was still in its sheath. “We’re not attacking anyone!”

  “It’s my sword,” said Odo, struggling to return Biter to his scabbard. This was the situation with the urthkin all over again! “He gets excited sometimes. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

  Sir Saskia’s expression, which had been grim, almost frightening, suddenly softened, then broke into a smile. Finally, she laughed and her sword came down. There was a sudden relaxation of tension in the room.

  The prospect of imminent death receded.

  “I see now,” said the knight, staring in astonishment at Biter, who was bucking about in Odo’s hand. “I see it clearly. Did you inherit this magnificent sword, Sir Odo, or have it delivered to you in a mysterious package by persons unknown, perhaps as a sign that you are destined for greatness? Or … ahem … chance to pick it up from someone else?”

  “How dare you impugn my knight’s honor!” roared Biter.

  “That’s enough!” snapped Odo. Exerting all his strength, he forced the sword back into the scabbard, where his complaints were muffled into inaudibility.

  “No, I didn’t inherit the sword or receive it mysteriously or steal it, as you seem to suggest,” said Odo, not wanting to say that Biter had been living in mud for hundreds of years or lay claim to any specialness he didn’t feel. “We, um, met a while ago and Biter knighted me. Now we’re questing together. Him, me, and Eleanor.”

  “Off to kill the dragon!” Sir Saskia trilled. “A story for the ages! Truly, we were destined to meet. May I speak to the sword?”

  Somewhat reluctantly, Odo eased off on holding Biter down. The sword sprang out of his scabbard and, perhaps embarrassed by his previous outburst, allowed Odo to hold him angled across one shoulder.

  “What is your name, good sword?” asked Sir Saskia. Unlike others who had suddenly met Biter before, she did not seem at all alarmed by the enchanted blade.

  “Hildebrand Shining Foebiter,” said Biter. “Dragonslayer and Scourge of … well, enough of that.”

  Sir Saskia blinked and inclined her head.

  “I am honored to greet you, Hildebrand Shining Foebiter, Dragonslayer and Scourge. My own sword, though it bears no enchantment, is also an ancient and mighty weapon. It is called Ædroth.”

  She drew her sword and showed them its blade flat-on, so they could admire it. Eleanor made out a faint rose-window pattern on the steel, polished almost to nothingness.

  “That is a fine blade,” said Odo quietly. He was looking at Sir Saskia, a real knight — a real knight he was going to have to fight …

  “In the morning, Sir Odo, our swords will clash. Then we will see who prevails: the enchanted or the experienced.”

  She winked at them, then turned to Mannix. “Ensure our friends are comfortably billeted for the night. It is time to retire. Tell the revelers outside to be quiet.”

  Sir Saskia inclined her head and went back behind the screen. Her soldiers slipped away. Mannix guided Odo and Eleanor through the front flap and told them to wait next to the tent while he went in search of the village reeve, pausing to speak some quiet words to the closer villagers as he went.

  Within minutes, the party immediately began to quieten.

  “So what do you think of Sir Saskia?” Odo asked Eleanor.

  “I think she’s everything a knight should be.” Eleanor indicated the villagers who were staggering off to their beds. “She doesn’t just save people. She makes them happy too!”

  “I’m not happy,” said Odo. “A single combat tomorrow … and we never talked about us helping to fight the dragon.”

  “She’ll go easy on you,” said Eleanor with confidence. “It’s probably just something knights do for show.”

  “Sir Saskia has the eyes of a cold killer,” said Biter, pitching his voice low.

  Eleanor sniffed. “Says the sword who wanted to slay a shepherd and his sheep. She is a true knight! You’re probably just jealous of Ædroth.”

  Biter did not reply. Mannix returned at that moment with a villager, who offered them fresh straw to sleep on in her cow byre, with the cow to be turned out.

  Eleanor and
Odo thanked Mannix and followed the woman. Odo’s thoughts were all about the single combat to come, Eleanor’s of the marvel of Sir Saskia. She bet the knight wasn’t going to sleep on straw in a cow byre. No, she’d have a feather bed in that pavilion, for certain.

  Sir Saskia was what Eleanor wanted to be. A real knight. Not a worrywart like Odo.

  The morning of the single combat dawned blue and bright, with a thin mist that hugged the ground in diaphanous wisps. The village was quiet apart from the occasional groan as people stirred. When a fanfare went up to announce the combat, it was answered by a chorus of complaints.

  Sir Saskia was having none of that. Her entourage spread out through all of Hryding, banging on doors and reminding the villagers that the festivities weren’t over yet. They were brigand-free and host to not one knight but two, who would fight spectacularly on the green the moment a respectable audience assembled. How often did they expect to see such a wonder? What would they tell their grandchildren if they missed it?

  The other knight had been up for an hour and was practicing in a muddy field, watched by a pair of imperturbable pigs. Biter did his best to cram several years’ worth of lessons into one morning, the sword also instructing Odo on the protocols and manners expected in any knightly encounter. There would be no punching, pinching, or biting, not even wrestling moves like the waterwheel that he had successfully employed against the urthkin.

  “Be courteous,” said Biter, for the fifth time. “And you will receive courtesy. Ill manners might result in your death.”

  “But Sir Saskia said this would only be until one of us was wounded,” panted Odo.

  “Accidents can happen. Even in a contest of skill and honor between knights.”

  “But not on purpose,” said Eleanor. “Not Sir Saskia.”

  “Hmmph,” said Biter. “In any case, we must fight well, Sir Odo. Forward!”

  When Mannix came for them, Odo had worked up a sweat and felt as ready as he was ever going to be, if he ignored the nervous churning of his guts, which had sent him to the privy twice that morning, although that could equally have been the well water that Eleanor was always warning him about. Sheathing Biter, he followed the two squires to the green, where Sir Saskia’s giant tent had already been dismantled in order to make space. As Eleanor had predicted, it was transported on a wagon, though it was drawn by only two oxen, not four.