Three Hearts and Three Lions

by Poul Anderson

  Holger swept the landscape with a wondering look. Though the sun was hidden, the night he had feared was not fallen. He could identify no source of light, but saw almost as clearly as by day. The sky was a deep dusky blue, and the same blueness pervaded the air as if he rode under water. Grass grew long and soft, with a silvery hue overlying its pale green; white flowers starred the earth. Asphodels, Holger thought. But how did he know? Here and there he saw bushes of white roses. Trees stood alone and in copses, tall, slim, milky of bark, their leaves the color of the grass. The slow wind blew through them with a tiny ringing sound. He couldn’t gauge their distances well in this tricky shadowless light. A brook ran close by which did not tinkle but played, an endless melody on an alien scale. Phosphorescence eddied white and green and blue over the water.

  Papillon snorted and shuddered. He didn’t like this place.

  But where have I seen it before, just such a cool calm blue over wan trees and hills that melt into sky, where else has the wind blown thus singingly and the river chimed like bells of glass? Was it in a dream once long ago, half sleeping and half waking in the light summer night of Denmark, or was it in a year older and forgotten? I do not know. I do not think I wish to know.

  They rode on. In that changeless luminance, time seemed fluid and unstable, so that they might have traveled for a minute or a century, but the vague landscape slipped past them and still they rode. Until the swan came rushing down again, landed with a thunder of wings and became Alianora.

  There was fear on her face. “I saw a knicht bound hither,” she said breathlessly. “A knicht o’ Faerie. What he would, I canna tell.”

  Holger felt his heart begin a heavy thumping, but he held his outward appearance calm. “We’ll find out.”

  The stranger came over a ridge. He bestrode a tall horse, snowy white, with flowing mane and proudly arched neck; yet the beast was subtly wrong to look at, too long of leg, too small of head. The rider was in full plate armor, his visor down so that he showed no face; white plumes nodded on the helmet, his shield was blank and black, all else shimmered midnight blue. He halted and let Holger approach him.

  When the Dane was close, the knight lowered his lance.

  “Stand and declare yourself!” His voice had a resonant, metallic quality, not quite human.

  Holger reined in. Papillon whickered on a defiant note. “I was sent by the witch Mother Gerd with a message for Duke Alfric.”

  “First let me see your arms,” called the brass voice. “Hither come none unknown.”

  Holger shrugged, to disguise his own unease. Reaching down, he unbuckled the shield where it hung and slipped it on his left arm. Hugi pulled off the canvas cover. “Here you are.”

  The Faerie knight reared back his horse, spurred, and charged.

  “Defend yersel’!” shrieked Hugi. He tumbled off the saddle. “He’s after yer life!”

  Papillon sprang aside while Holger still gaped. The other horseman went past with a dull drumming of hoofs. He wheeled and came back, the spearhead aimed at Holger’s throat.

  Blind reflex, then. Holger lowered his own lance, kicked Papillon, and lifted his shield to guard himself. The black stallion sprang forward. The enemy shape grew terribly close. His lance dipped toward Holger’s midriff. The Dane brought his own shield down and braced feet in stirrups.

  They hit with a bang that sent echoes from hill to hill. Holger’s shield was jarred back against his stomach. He almost lost his lance as it caught the opponent’s visor. But the other shaft splintered, and the Faerie knight lurched in the saddle. Papillon pressed ahead. The stranger went over his horse’s tail.

  He was on his feet at once, incredible that he could do so in full armor, and his sword hissed free. There was still no time to think. Holger had to let his body act for him, it knew what to do. He hewed at the dismounted enemy. Sword belled on sword. The Faerie knight hacked at Holger’s leg. The Dane turned the blow just in time. He himself crashed blade down on the plumed helmet. Metal rang aloud, and the foeman staggered.

  Too clumsy, striking from above. Holger leaped to the ground. His foot caught in a stirrup and he went flat on his back. The stranger sprang at him. Holger kicked. Again that brazen clash; the warrior fell. Both scrambled up. The newcomer’s glaive clattered on Holger’s shield. Holger cut at the neck, trying to find an open joint in the plates. The Faerie warrior chopped low, seeking his unprotected legs. Holger skipped back. The other rushed at him, sword blurred with speed. Holger parried the blow in mid-air. The shock jarred in his muscles. The Faerie blade spun free. At once the stranger drew a knife and leaped close.

  The broadsword wasn’t meant for thrusting, but Holger saw a crack above the gorget before him and stabbed inward. Sparks poured forth. The metal form reeled, sank to its knees, fell to the grass with a last rattle, and lay still.

  Dizzily, a roar in his ears, Holger looked about. He saw the white horse fleeing eastward. Off to tell the Duke, he thought. Then Hugi was dancing and cheering around him, while Alianora clung to his arm and sobbed and exclaimed how splendidly he had done battle.

  I? he thought. No, that wasn’t me. I don’t know a thing about swords and lances.

  But who, then, won this fight?

  Alianora bent over the fallen shape. “’He’s no bleeding,” she said huskily. “Yet belike he is slain, for the Pharisees canna endure touch o’ cold iron.”

  Holger took a long breath. His mind began to clear. He saw his mistakes; yes, he should have stayed mounted and used his horse as a secondary weapon. He’d take better care next time. Briefly he wondered what the Faerie dwellers—Pharisees, as they seemed to be called, doubtless because an illiterate human population had gotten its Biblical references confused—he wondered what they used in place of steel. Aluminum alloys? Surely magic could extract aluminum from bauxite. Beryllium, magnesium, copper, nickel, chromium, manganese—

  While doubtless correct, the idea of an elvish wizard with a spectroscope was funny enough to restore a balance in Holger. He startled his comrades by laughing aloud. “Well,” he said, a bit astonished at his own callousness, “let’s see what we’ve got.”

  He knelt and opened the visor. Hollowness gaped at him. The armor was empty. It must have been empty all the time.

  7

  FAERIE SEEMED A WILDERNESS, hills and woods and uncultivated valleys. Holger asked a much subdued Hugi what its inhabitants lived on. The dwarf explained that they magicked up some of their food and drink, and got some from other realms in the Middle World tributary to them, and hunted some among the weird beasts which prowled their domain. All of them seemed to be warriors and sorcerers, their menial work done by slaves taken from the goblins, kobolds, and other backward tribes. Further questions revealed that the Pharisees knew not old age or illness, but were said to lack souls. They would not be the most pleasant company imaginable, Holger thought.

  Trying to find solid mental ground and forget that hollow armor lying in the field of asphodels, he began to theorize. He had only a fair knowledge of physics and mathematics, but he should be able to make some intelligent guesses. There had to be a rationale for this world!

  Both the similarities to home, such as the constellations, and the differences, such as now encompassed him, ruled out the possibility of another planet in space. In the same space as his own, that is. The ordinary laws of nature, like gravity and chemical combination, appeared to obtain; but here they apparently had clauses permitting, well, magic. Conceivably the magic was nothing but a direct mental control of matter. Even where he came from, some people believed in telepathy, telekinesis, and so forth. In this world, under certain conditions, mental forces could perhaps be stronger than inorganic ones... He had gotten thus far when he realized that he had gotten nowhere, merely given a different name to the same set of phenomena.

  Well, be that as it may, where was he? Or should he ask when was he? Another Earth? Maybe two objects could occupy the same space at the same time without interacting with each other
. Which meant two entire starry universes could. Any number of universes. He had fallen into one such: one so parallel to his own—in spite of the differences—that there must be some link between them. How?

  He sighed and gave up. First things first. Right now he had to keep alive in a land where a good many beings had it in for one who bore three hearts and three lions.

  The castle grew slowly out of twilight. Its walls rose dizzily high, the roofs all peaks and angles, overtopped with soaring thin towers: a wild beauty, like ice on a winter forest. The white stone seemed lacy, so fragile that a breath would dissolve it, but as he approached Holger saw how massive the walls were. A moat surrounded the hill on which the castle stood, and though no river emptied therein, the water circled endlessly chiming.

  Not far away stood another hill, covered with roses, half hidden by streamers of mist, but seeming to have the shape of a woman’s breast. Hugi pointed to it. “Yon’s Elf Hill,” he said, very low. “Inside there do the elves hold their unco revels, and come oot o’ ’t to dance o’ moonlicht nichts.” In the background, a forest so dark that Holger could scarcely see individual trees stretched north, south, and east. “There in Mirkwood do the Pharisee lairds hunt griffin and manticore,” whispered Hugi.

  A trumpet sounded from the castle, far and cold, like rushing water. Now they’ve seen us, Holger thought. He dropped a hand to his sword. Alianora fluttered down to turn human beside him. Her expression was grave.

  “You and Hugi—” He cleared his throat. “You’ve guided me here, and I thank you a thousand times. But now perhaps you’d best go.”

  She looked up at him. “Nay,” she said after a moment, “I think we’ll stay a bit. Mayhap we can help ye.”

  “I’m no one to you,” he faltered. “You don’t owe me a thing, while I owe you more than I can ever repay.”

  The gray eyes remained serious. “Methinks ye’re summat more than no one, e’en if ye dinna ken it yoursel’,” she murmured. “I’ve a feeling about ye, Sir Holger. So I, at least, will stay.”

  “Well,” puffed Hugi, though not so happily, “ye didna think I’d turn caitiff noo, did ye?”

  Holger didn’t urge them. He’d done his duty, offering them an excuse to leave; and God, was he glad they hadn’t taken it!

  The castle gates opened and the drawbridge came down, noiselessly. Trumpets blew again. A troop rode forth with banner and scutcheon, plume and lance, to meet him. He reined in and waited, his hand tight around his own spear. So these were the masters of Faerie.

  They were clad in colors that seemed luminous against the twilight, crimson, gold, purple, green, but the hue of each garment shimmered and flickered and changed from moment to moment. Some wore chain mail or plate, argent metal elaborately shaped and chased; others had robes and coronets. They were a tall people, moving with a liquid grace no human could rival, nor even a cat. A cold haughtiness marked their features, which were of a strange cast, high tilted cheekbones, winged nostrils, narrow chin. Their skin was white, their long fine hair blue-silver, most of the men beardless. When they got close enough, Holger thought at first they were blind, for the oblique eyes held only an azure blankness. But he soon realized their vision was better than his.

  The leader halted and bowed a little in his stirrups. “Welcome, Sir Knight,” he said. His voice was beautiful to hear, more like song than speech. “I hight Alfric, Duke of Alfarland in the Kingdom of Faerie. ’Tis not oft that mortal men come to guest us.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” The polished phrases fell of themselves from Holger’s lips. “The witch Mother Gerd, who I believe is a humble servant of yours, commended me to your grace. She thought belike your wisdom could solve a grief of mine, so hither I came to beg the favor.”

  “Ah, so. Well met, then. I bid you and your servitors remain for as long as it pleasures you, and shall strive to aid a gentleman of your standing with what power I may have.”

  My standing? Holger reflected that the thing which attacked him was undoubtedly a creature of the Duke’s. Three hearts and three lions didn’t seem at all popular in the Middle World. The question was, did Alfric now understand that Holger wasn’t the man he had wanted killed? And whether he knew it or not, what went on behind that smooth chill face?

  “I thank your grace,” said Holger aloud.

  “It pains me that I must bid you leave cross and iron outside, but you know the unfortunate weakness of our race,” said Alfric urbanely. “Fear not, you shall be given arms in exchange.”

  “In your stronghold, my lord, can be nothing to fear,” said Holger and thought what a liar he was becoming.

  Alianora shifted from foot to small foot. “I’ll watch your stuff, Holger,” she said. “I’d liefer stay outdoors anyway.”

  Alfric and the other Pharisees turned their wide blank eyes on her. “’Tis the swan-may of whom we have heard,” smiled the Duke. “Nay, fair damsel, we would be ill hosts did we not offer you too a roof.”

  She shook her ruddy head stubbornly. A frown touched Alfric’s brow. “Wouldst not refuse?” he breathed.

  “Wouldst,” snapped Alianora.

  “I’ll abide oot here wi’ her,” said Hugi quickly.

  “Nay, go ye with Sir Holger,” said the girl.

  “But—” said Hugi.

  “Ye heard me,” said Alianora.

  Alfric shrugged. “If you wish to join us, Sir Knight—” he hinted.

  Holger climbed down and doffed his armor. The Pharisees looked away when he touched his cross-hilted weapons. Papillon snorted and glared at their horses. Alianora loaded the equipment on the stallion and took his bridle. “I’ll await ye in the woods,” she said, and led the charger off. Holger’s eyes followed her till she had disappeared.

  The party trooped into the stronghold. A courtyard stretched wide, with arbors and flowerbeds and splashing fountains, with music and a heavy smell of roses on the air. Before the main keep Holger saw the ladies of Faerie gathered to watch. For a while he forgot everything else. Jumping Judas! It was worth crossing universes just to get a look. He bowed to them in a daze.

  Alfric told a short, green-skinned goblin slave to lead him to his quarters. “We will await you at dinner,” he said graciously. Holger, with Hugi trotting in his wake, passed along labyrinthine corridors, high and vaulted and dimly gleaming. Through arched doorways he glimpsed rooms ablaze with jewels. Of course, he thought, trying to maintain equilibrium, when you could conjure such things from the air—

  Up a long, curved flight of stairs, down another hall, into a suite of rooms right out of the Arabian Nights. The goblin kowtowed and left them. Holger looked around at glowing carpets, mosaics of precious stones, cloth-of-gold hangings, out balcony windows to acres of garden. Tapers burned with a clear unwavering light. On one wall hung a tapestry whose figures slowly changed, acting out a story from which he looked away with a slight shiver.

  “I maun say they do theirselves richt well here,” declared Hugi. “Natheless, I’d swap the whole caboodle to be back under ma ain auld oak root. Here’s a tricksy bigging.”

  “No argument. Holger wandered into a bathroom which offered him every comfort of home, soap, hot running water, scissors, razor, a glass mirror, and yet was like nothing from home. Nevertheless he came out feeling much refreshed. On the bed lay a suit which must be meant for him; when he donned it, he was fitted as if with another skin. Full-sleeved silken shirt, purple satin vest, crimson hose, short blue mantle, black velvet shoes, everything worked with gold thread and jewels, trimmed with soft strange furs, boosted his morale still higher. He noticed a set of military gear in a corner, including a sword with a crescent-shaped guard. That was tactful of Alfric, though one could scarcely carry weapons to dinner.

  “Och, ’tis a bra figure ye cut, Sir Holger,” admired Hugi. “Belike ye maun fight off the Faerie dames. They’re a lickerish lot here, ’tis said.”

  “I wish I knew why everyone’s turned so friendly,” said Holger. “Aren’t the Pharisees on uneasy
terms with mankind, at best? Why should Alfric put himself out like this for me?”

  “No telling, lad. Mayhap ’tis but a snare for ye. Then again, it may amuse him to do ye a kindness. Ye canna guess wha’ the Faerie folk will think or do. They know not theirselves, nor care.”

  “I feel guilty about letting you sit here and Alianora camp out in the woods.”

  “Oh, they’ll gi’ me summat t’ eat, and the lassie’s happier where she be. I ken what’s in her mind. I’m t’ help ye wi’ rede and deed herein, whilst she waits ootside to do wha’ she can if need should arise.”

  A goblin appeared, to announce obsequiously that dinner was served. Holger followed him down smoky-blue halls and into a chamber so huge he could scarcely see the end or the ceiling. The lords and ladies of Faerie surrounded the table like a melted rainbow. Unhuman slaves scurried about, music came from somewhere, talk and laughter danced above a somehow unbroken hush.

  Holger was conducted to Alfric’s left, with a girl introduced as Meriven on his other side. The impact of her face and figure was such that he scarcely heard the name. Rubber-kneed, he sat down and tried to make conversation.

  She responded readily, despite the feebleness of his efforts. From what he overheard Holger gathered that talk was a high art here: swift, witty, poetic, cynical, always a hint of delicate malice, always with elaborate rules he didn’t begin to comprehend. Well, he thought, immortals who had nothing to do but hunt, magic, intrigue, and wage war, would develop sophistication out of sheer necessity. They hadn’t heard of forks here, but the food and the many wines were a symphony. If only Meriven weren’t so distracting. This was a classic embarras de richesses.

  “Truly,” she breathed, holding his gaze with those curious eyes that, in her, no longer bothered him, “you are a bold man thus to venture hitherwards. That death-stroke you gave your foe, ah, ’twas beautiful!”

  “You saw?” he asked sharply.

  “In the Black Well, yes. I watched you. As to whether we but jested, or intended your life in earnest, Sir ’Olger, ’tis not good for a young man to know too much. A trace of puzzlement keeps him from stodginess.” She laughed sweetly. “But what does bring you here?”