The Knight twk-1

by Gene Wolfe

  The steeple vanished. Beel leaned forward, anxious and thoughtful. “My daughter and I were both in that accursed declivity when we were attacked. I remained with her every moment. There wasn’t much I could do, but I was determined to protect her if I could.”

  “Naturally, My Lord.”

  Beel’s voice sank to a whisper. “She shall wed a king before all is said and done. She shall wed a king, and our blood will be royal again.”

  “I understand, My Lord.”

  “She is precious to me, and so I kept her under my eye. At no time was she up on the cliffs where our enemies were.”

  “Naturally not, My Lord.”

  “And yet, Sir Able, she talks almost as though she were. Those cliffs, she has told me, are littered with dead, hairy men of monstrous stature slain by you and your dog. I find it difficult to credit a dog’s slaying even one such man, let alone dozens, but that is what she says. You have boasted of your honesty in the past.” Seeing how I looked, Beel changed it. “Boasted is too strong a word perhaps, but you’ve laid claim to truthfulness. You told me that you had not lied to me or to Master Crol. Do you deny it?”

  “No, My Lord.”

  “Can you make the same claim today?”

  “I can, My Lord. I do.”

  “Then I would appreciate straightforward answers to a few questions.” Beel fell silent, studying my face, then his own hands. He had eaten nothing and drunk nothing.

  “I like you, Sir Able. I like you more than any man I have met since I met His Majesty. I hope that you are aware of it.”

  “I was not, My Lord, but I’m very flattered. May I say I know you’re a really good man, a loyal servant of the king, and the loving father of your daughter?” Beel nodded. “It’s my daughter who concerns me now.”

  “I know it, My Lord. I haven’t hurt her, or tried to.”

  “You see the curtain that divides our pavilion. She sleeps behind it, and I before it. I wash and dress here, she there.”

  “I’ve got it.”

  “Thus we cannot see one another. But we can hear one another perfectly.

  The curtain is of silk, which has small weight and occupies but a little space. It blinds us, if you will permit the expression. But it offers no resistance to sound.” I nodded.

  “Thus we often speak to each other when we lie abed. In the morning too, while her maid dresses her and Swert dresses me.”

  “Okay.”

  “This morning she spoke of the battle, and she spoke as one who had been on the cliff tops—of broken heads, and broken arms and legs, of men crushed and torn, too, as though by a lion’s jaws. She said that you had killed many of these men, Sir Able. Is that true?”

  “Yes, My Lord.”

  “May I ask what weapons you employed?”

  I got out my dagger and laid it on the table, and drew Sword Breaker and laid it beside the dagger. Beel picked up Sword Breaker to look at it, and I said, “That’s not a sword, My Lord. I know it looks like one, but it’s a mace.” He felt the corners of Sword Breaker’s blade, tried to flex it, and laid Sword Breaker down again. “You are of low birth, I realize. But you are a knight, not a peasant, and a knight is entitled to wear a sword.”

  “When I’ve got the one I want, I will, My Lord.”

  “What sword is that?”

  “Eterne, My Lord.”

  Softly he said, “The perfect blade is a legend, Sir Able. Nothing more.”

  “I don’t think so, My Lord.”

  “Wizard, witch, or warlock.” He sighed. “Which is it? I have some knowledge of the art myself, although I boast no great power.”

  I did not say anything.

  “I confess it in order that you may know I am not your foe. You may confide in me as a fellow adept.”

  “All I can confide is that I don’t know a thing about magic, My Lord.”

  “Wizards never tell. It was a saying of my nurse’s, but I didn’t know there was so much truth in it. You’ve been on those cliffs, Sir Able? It was you who slew our foes there?”

  “Yes, My Lord. Some of them. Most of them were killed by my dog. The arrows of your archers killed some too.”

  “Did you take my daughter up there? After the battle?”

  “No, My Lord.”

  “Did you see her there when you were there yourself?”

  “No. If she’s been up there, I know nothing about it.”

  “This is the deed to the manor of Swiftbrook, Sir Able.” Beel held up the parchment. “Did you speak to her without my knowledge, telling her of the battle?”

  “No, My Lord.”

  “Who was with you on the cliffs? Anyone?”

  “My dog and my cat, My Lord. You’ve seen them.”

  “Who was it who told my daughter of the scene there? The men you slew, and the way they died?”

  “It wasn’t me, My Lord. Don’t you think you ought to ask her?” He got quiet, and I knew there was not a lot I could say then without making it worse. Besides, I had things to think about myself. I buttered bread, laid smoked sturgeon on it, and folded it over. At last Beel said, “You’re hoping that I will send you off to find your servant.”

  “That’s right, My Lord.”

  “I won’t. You had better get some rest, if you’re to shoot against Sir Garvaon.” I nodded, stood up, and returned Sword Breaker and my dagger to their scabbards.

  “You’re still willing to contest with him?”

  “Any time, My Lord.” I did not say it, but my bowstring was putting me through hell every night. It seemed to me then that it was high time I got something for it.

  “I will judge your contest.”

  I nodded. “Sure, My Lord.”

  “I will do my utmost to judge fairly, Sir Able. My honor is at stake in that.”

  “I understand, My Lord.”

  “You may go.” Beel sighed. As I was stepping out of his pavilion he added softly, “Yet I hope Sir Garvaon has the victory.”

  Chapter 51. Archery

  I n the dream I had that morning, I was myself for a change, but very young, much younger than I had been when I came out of Parka’s cave. I was sitting in a little boat and paddling up the Griffin. Bold Berthold stood watching from the bank, and Setr swam beside me, spouting water and steam like a whale. Up the river, Mother was waiting for me. Pretty soon Bold Berthold was left behind. I saw Mother’s face among the leaves of a willow and in a hawthorn, beautiful and smiling, and crowned with hawthorn blossoms; but the Griffin wound on, and when the hawthorn was past I saw her no more. From time to time I glimpsed a griffin of stone from whose mouth the river issued. I tried to reach it, but came instead to an opening in a tube of thick green glass.

  And emerged at once, mounted on a gray warhorse and gripping a short lance from which a pennant fluttered. The stone griffin stood before me, tall as a mountain and more stern. I couched the lance and charged, and was swallowed up at once.

  * * *

  It was past noon when I woke. I yawned and stretched, thinking about Mother’s face in the willow leaves and in the hawthorn blossoms. She was only a girl, and although there was a lot of sleep in the thought, there was more sorrow than sleep. She was still a young girl, not a great deal older than Sha, when she went away. “You’re awake just in time. I trust you slept well?” Mani was sitting at the foot of my cot, washing his face with his paws.

  I yawned again. “I thought you’d be with Idnn.”

  “Your dog wanted to cadge food. Since I’d had more than enough from Her Ladyship, he enlisted me to stand his watch.”

  I put my feet over the edge of the cot. “I’m glad you two are speaking now.”

  “Oh, we understand each other perfectly,” Mani said. “He thinks I’m detestable, and I think he is. Doubtless we’re both right.”

  “You’ve been talking to Idnn.”

  Mani’s eyes (very beautiful green eyes that seemed to glow) opened wider.

  “How did you find that out?”

  “Was it supp
osed to be a secret?”

  “Well, she wasn’t to tell anybody. I made her promise.”

  I had found my clothes. I laid them out on the cot and looked into the corners of Garvaon’s pavilion to make sure there was nobody around except Mani and me.

  “She told her father, and he reported me to you. Isn’t that it?”

  “No.” I tied my underwear and straightened out a fresh pair of socks. “She told her father things she’d heard from you, and he’s been trying to find out how she learned them.”

  “Oh.” Mani stretched, throwing his tail into S curves. “Did you tell him?”

  “No.”

  “Probably for the best. You don’t mind if I tug your blanket a little?”

  “Try not to tear it.” I pulled on my socks.

  “All right.” Mani tugged; his claws were big, sharp, and black.

  “This is going to sound pretty silly, but I didn’t know you were going to talk to anybody except me.”

  “Because your dog doesn’t?” Mani yawned. “He could talk to some other people, too. He just doesn’t want to. Are you mad because I talked to Her Ladyship? You didn’t tell me not to.”

  “I—no.”

  “I told her you were my owner.” He grinned. “And I said a great many other complimentary things about you. She was quite taken with you already, and she lapped it up.”

  “I suppose I should thank you.”

  “Not necessarily. Ingratitude is my lot in life, and I became reconciled to it long ago.”

  I had buckled my belt. Before I spoke again, I worked my feet into my boots. “I’ll try to make my gratitude a lot more tangible, but it may take a while.”

  “Well, you could let me keep talking to Idnn. If you don’t, I’ll have to avoid her, and that’s bound to be awkward at times.”

  I pointed my finger at Mani’s neat black nose. “You know perfectly well that you’d talk to her even if I told you not to.”

  “I’d have to, wouldn’t I? I mean if she cornered me. She’d say, ‘I know perfectly well you can talk, Mani, and if you won’t talk to me I’ll have my father’s archers use you for practice.’ Then I’d say, ‘Oh, My Lady, please!’ And the fat would be in the fire.”

  “Okay,” I decided, “you may talk to her when there’s no one else around. Except for me. You may talk to her when I’m there, or Gylf.”

  Mani made me a mock bow. “My Lord.”

  “Don’t do that. It reminds me of Uri and Baki, and I don’t like it when they do it.”

  “Your wish is mine, Great Owner.”

  I knew Mani was trying to get my goat, but it was hard not to laugh. I said, “In return for being so nice to you, I’d like you to answer a few questions. Will you?”

  “Anything, More Than Divine Master.”

  “You told me once you weren’t from Aelfrice. Do you stand by that?”

  “Correct.”

  “Are you from Skai, then?”

  “I’m afraid not.” Mani began to wash his right front paw, a small and surprisingly neat pink tongue darting in and out of his large, scarred face. “Wouldn’t it be simpler to ask what world I was born in?”

  “Then I do.” I picked up my hauberk and wiggled into it.

  “Just out of curiosity, do you intend to wear that when you shoot against Sir Garvaon?”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “What in the world do—well, all right. Back to the subject, Mani. I was born right here in Mythgarthr, although I’ve been to Aelfrice a couple of times. Next you’ll want to know how it is that I can talk. I don’t know. Some of us can, though not very many. Some dogs can, even, but not all of you can understand us. My late mistress knew how to give a talking spirit, and she gave one to me.”

  “You’re saying Gylf was born here, too.”

  A man-at-arms thrust his head into the tent. “They’re about ready for you, Sir Able.”

  “I’ll be out in a moment,” I told him.

  “I’m not saying that,” Mani said when the man-at-arms had gone, “and I don’t think it’s true. I’ve never seen him eat his own droppings, for one thing.”

  I put on Sword Breaker. “I was once told that no one could travel more than one world from the one that he—or she—was born in.” Mani nodded. “One hears all sorts of things.”

  “I’ve learned since that it isn’t true. You were a witch’s cat, so you ought to know all about it. Will you tell me? The truth?”

  “If you insist. First I ought to say that you shouldn’t be mad at the person who told you that. He was just trying to keep you from getting in over your head.” Mani smirked. “Here are the facts. You can believe me or not, whatever you choose.”

  I found my bow and strung it. “Go on.”

  “In theory,” Mani said smugly, “anybody can travel to any of the seven worlds. You can’t go lower than the first, though, or higher than the last, because there’s nothing below or above to go to.”

  “I understand.”

  “In practice, it’s hard to go up but easy to go down, just like climbing a hill. Do you have much trouble getting to Aelfrice?”

  “My problem is staying out of it,” I said.

  “Exactly. You wouldn’t have much trouble going from Aelfrice all the way down, either. But you might never get back.”

  Nodding, I picked up my quiver and left the pavilion.

  Garvaon met me. “We’ve all shot except you,” he said. “You and I are to have five arrows each. Did Lord Beel tell you what the prize was?”

  I shook my head.

  “It’s a helmet, a particularly nice one with a lot of gold trim. Not gilt, gold.”

  “That’s good, I’ve lost mine.”

  “I know. When we fought the big men.”

  I nodded again.

  “So His Lordship thinks you’re going to win, and has put up this helmet for you.”

  We had been striding along, and had reached the crowd that had collected to watch us shoot, archers and men-at-arms, servants, and muleteers. Beyond their milling ranks, I saw the prize helmet atop a pole, and Beel himself.

  “So I propose a side bet between you and me,” Garvaon was saying. “A boon. If you win, I’ll be honor bound to do you whatever favor you ask. When I win—and I warn you I will—you’ll owe me a favor in the same way.”

  “Done,” I said.

  We shook hands, smiling, and walked through the crowd shoulder-to-shoulder. There was an embroidered banner hanging from the trumpet Master Crol blew, turning north, east, south, and west, and holding the notes so the silvery challenge of civilized war filled the mountain valley and echoed from rock to rock. When he finally took the trumpet from his lips, he shouted, “Sir Garvaon of Finefield! Sir Able of the High Heart!”

  At this last, the string of my bow seemed to catch the sound, humming as the strings of a lute do when the orchestra speaks without her.

  I’m a knight, I thought. I am a real knight at last, and there’s no one here who wouldn’t swear to that.

  I stood a little straighter then, looked up, and squared my shoulders; and for the first time really realized that I overtopped Garvaon by a good three fingers, though Garvaon’s conical steel cap made him look taller than I was.

  “There is the target, my good knights,” Beel was saying. He pointed as he spoke. It was a round shield with an iron boss at the center. It hung from a scrubby tree at the end of the valley, at least two hundred yards away.

  “You will shoot alternately, until each has shot five arrows. Sir Garvaon, Sir Able, and Sir Garvaon again until ten arrows have flown. Is that clear?”

  Garvaon said, “Yes, Your Lordship.”

  “Those arrows that fall short will count for nothing. Those that reach the target, but do not strike it, will count for one. Those which strike it, two.” Beel paused, looking from face to face. “And those which strike the iron center, if any do, will count as three. Do you both understand?”

  We did.

  “Master Papounce stands ready to ride.
”

  Looking around, I saw him at the fringe of the crowd, on foot but holding the reins of a nervous roan.

  “If there is a question as to whether a shot reached the target, Master Papounce’s testimony will settle the matter.”

  A murmur of excitement swept the crowd.

  “Sir Garvaon! You are the senior. Step to the line.”

  Garvaon did, taking from his quiver a shaft fletched with gray goose and tipped with a war point. When he drew, he drew and let fly in a single, smooth motion, the nock pulled back to his ear—the arrow disappearing like magic. His bowstring sang.

  All of us tried to follow the high arc of the arrow as its faint whistle faded to silence. Down on the brown target it plunged, like a falcon on a rabbit.

  We all gasped. Garvaon’s first arrow had hit the target midway between the edge and the iron boss. It stayed there, sticking in the target.

  “Sir Garvaon has two,” Beel announced. “Sir Able? Will you shoot?”

  As I stepped to the line, Idnn appeared with Mani on her shoulder; she held out a green silk scarf. “Will you wear my favor, Sir Able?”

  It surprised me so much I could not say a word. I took her scarf and knotted it around my head the way I had seen scarves—red, blue, pink, yellow, and white—tied around the helms of knights at Sheerwall.

  Someone raised a cheer for Lady Idnn, caps were thrown into the air, and for half a minute or more I thought about the way I would feel if my shot did not match Garvaon’s.

  It’s up to me, I told myself. I direct the arrow, and it’s not a matter of chance.

  There was a slight breeze, just enough to stir Idnn’s scarf. It was close to squarely at my back, but over so long a course it was bound to drift the arrow just a trifle to the left.

  I chose a long, pale shaft of spiny orange, one I had shaped myself and knew to be as straight as my eye and hand could make it. Seeing it, I remembered the wild swan whose feathers had fletched it. How proud I had been of it! And how good it had tasted when Bold Berthold and I had roasted it over the fire that night!

  The arrow was at the nock already, as if the string had gone looking for it.