Three Hearts and Three Lions

by Poul Anderson

  “I would not seem overly meddlesome, Sir Rupert,” said Carahue urbanely, “yet passing strange ’tis that you too should be questing along this uneasy bourne. Pray tell me, where lies your Graustark?”

  “Oh, somewhat south,” mumbled Holger. “I made a... a vow. The swan maiden kindly agreed to help me fulfill it.”

  Carahue arched his brows. Plainly, he didn’t believe a word of that. But he merely smiled. “Come, shall we take pleasance with a song or two? Perchance you know a ballade, villanelle, or sirvente which would fall sweetly on ears too long accustomed to howling wolves and rainy winds.”

  “We can try,” said Holger, glad to change the subject.

  They traded songs for some hours. This required plenty of wine, to moisten the throat and lubricate the brain. Carahue was delighted with a rough translation of “Auld Lang Syne.” He and Holger woke the household singing it when they helped each other, somewhat unsteadily, up the stairs and to bed.

  17

  HOLGER’S HEAD THUMPED next noon when he made his way to Martinus’ shop, and Alianora was considerately silent. They left Hugi and the horses at the inn, for the landlord had been giving them suspicious looks. He had probably had experience with guests who were long on nobility and short on cash.

  The wizard beamed at them. “Ah, I think you’ve looked into the flowing bowl once too often, my young friend,” he chuckled, in the offensively patronizing manner of those who have not. “Eh, eh, boys will be boys, hey, my girl?” He picked up a bottle. “Now as it happens, I have here a very good and reasonably priced specific for bilious humours, bunions, rheums, leprosy, agues, plagues, and hangovers. Just toss down this tumblerful... There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  The pick-me-up did, indeed, remove Holger’s pangs on the instant. He thought that if only he could get the formula and it worked in his universe, his fortune was made. But Martinus had turned grave again. The small man paced the shop with his hands behind his back, stared at the floor, and said low:

  “I could not learn your identity, Sir Holger. A geas has been laid on every being which might have told me. That suggests you are indeed someone of importance. The enemy did not think of everything, however. I raised the fleet spirits of air, even called in Ariel as consultant, and they were still able to find where Cortana lies buried. The place is not overly far from here. But it’s no trip I’d like to make.”

  Holger’s heart thuttered. “Where?”

  Martinus glanced at Alianora. “Do you know the church of St. Grimmin’s-in-the-Wold?” he asked.

  She bit her lip. “I ha’ heard tell o’ ’t,” she admitted.

  “Well, that’s where the sword is,” said Martinus. “I imagine the Middle Worlders choose a site here in the east to get it far from its rightful owner, and St. Grimmin’s specifically to make his quest hard should he ever get on its track.” He shook his bald head. “I can’t honestly recommend you go there, young fellow.”

  “What is this place?” asked Holger.

  “An old abandoned church in the uplands north of here. Centuries ago it was raised as a mission, in the hope of converting the savage tribesmen thereabouts, and for a while it did have a congregation. Then a raiding chief murdered them all and the church has been in ruins ever since. They say the chief defiled the altar with a human sacrifice, so the building is no longer holy, but has become the biding place of evil spirits and bad luck. Not even the savages go near St. Grimmin’s any more.”

  “Hm.” Holger looked at his feet. He felt as if a weight lay on him. Martinus wasn’t kidding.

  For a moment he wondered why he should bother. Why should he even want to return home? What was there that drew him?’ Oh, yes, friends, memories, well-loved scenes, but to be completely honest, no one and nothing he would miss beyond endurance. War, hunger, drabness, depersonalization. Why, if he did succeed in returning, he might find himself at the same instant of space-time as he’d left. The conservation laws of physics suggested he would. And he and his fellows had been pinned down on a beach, knowing they were to die, hoping with a rapidly fading hope that they could stay alive just long enough for that one boat to reach the Swedish shore.

  Hell, everything pointed to the other world’s not even being his own. He belonged here, in this Carolingian universe; the other had been a place of exile. In so many ways this was a better and cleaner abode—No, said his stubborn truthfulness, that wasn’t fair. This cosmos had its own drawbacks. But simply by virtue of being different, didn’t it promise him more adventure and opportunity than the best of the other earth?

  A sunbeam straggling in a window touched Alianora’s locks with fire. He’d never known a girl like her. If he chucked this whole stupid quest and went off with her, he could just about write his own ticket. King of the woods, or he could doubtless carve himself a realm in these turbulent borderlands, or if he wanted high civilization he could go with her to the Empire and—

  And what? Chaos was still readying for battle. He thought of Alianora’s idea that the Pharisees might draw their own twilight across the whole planet. He remembered what Morgan had mentioned about heedless play with worlds and suns, about men and their homes and hopes engulfed in destruction.

  No, he really had no choice. No honorable man did, in such a time. He must do his best to get Cortana and give the weapon back to its rightful owner, or wield it himself if he was the one. Afterward, if there was an afterward, he could decide whether to continue attempting a return across the universes.

  He looked up. “I’ll go,” he said.

  “We will,” corrected Alianora.

  “As you wish,” said Martinus gently. “And I pray for your fortune, Sir Holger. God be with you, God be with you, for I think you ride on behalf of us all.”

  He wiped his eyes with his sleeve. Then he donned a smile, rubbed his hands, and said, “Well, so much for that. Now about the bill, since you are bound on a perilous journey, I trust you wish to settle such matters at once?”

  “Um, uh,” said Holger.

  “We’ve no the brass now,” said Alianora. “But if ye’ll send the score later, I’ll see ’tis paid.”

  “I’d say you have plenty of brass,” Martinus bridled. “See here, this shop does not give credit and—”

  “But your sign says you can conjure up ever-filled purses,” Holger began.

  “Advertising,” Martinus admitted. “Corroborative detail intended to lend artistic verisimilitude.”

  “Oh, come, dear old friend.” Alianora smiled and took the magician’s hand. “Ye’d no dun the man who’s about to save the whole world, would ye? Why, your runes be your own share in the great emprise. They’ll sing your name for aye.”

  “That won’t pay my creditors,” protested Martinus.

  “Ah, but is ’t no true that a noble deed is worth many riches?” Alianora stroked his cheek.

  “Well,” faltered Martinus, “there are words to that effect in Scripture, but—”

  “Oh, my friend, thank ye! I knew ye’d agree! Thank ye!”

  “But,” bleated Martinus. “But you can’t—I won’t allow—”

  “Nay, nay, no another word from ye. I wouldna dream o’ taking more help than ye’ve already gi’en. Farewell, sweet man.” Alianora kissed him roundly and, before he could recover, hustled Holger out of the shop.

  Women! thought the Dane.

  When they got back to the inn, they found Carahue lounging in the courtyard. He rose and bowed. “Your dwarfish companion intimated you would soon resume your travels, mademoiselle and Sir Rupert,” he said.

  “Yes,” said Holger. He caught the landlord’s fishy glance and added, “Maybe.”

  Carahue stroked his beard with a slim bejeweled hand. “Might I make bold to ask which way you fare?”

  “North, I guess.”

  “Into the wilds? Truly a memorable adventure, if anyone survive to remember.”

  “I told you I’ve made a vow,” grunted Holger.

  “Pray pardon, friend,”
said Carahue. “ ’Twould be discourteous to ask further when you are reluctant to speak. Yet may I offer some counsel? If you wish to preserve the secret of your goal, leave not quite so much room for speculation. Tongues will wag more when no firm facts bind them. Thus, some folk will guess you intend a knightly exploit like slaying one of the trolls which infest yonder uplands, often—as I’ve heard—stealing humans to eat; though the local people with whom I’ve chatted maintain such trolls are unkillable. Then again, other folk will insist that Sir Rupert went to beard the king of the heathen. But the peasant mind being what ’tis, most will believe you seek a treasure of gold buried somewhere there. And yet, how reconcile any of these objectives with the young lady’s accompaniment of you? So folk will gab in idle hours, and the tale will spread like wildfire. If you’d hush the gossip, you must give a solid reason, preferably such an uncanny one that people would liefer not mention the affair.”

  Alianora fell for the line and blurted, “Och, ’tis a kittle enough journey, to the damned kirk o’ St. Grimmin’s.”

  Holger covered as best he might, “I swore a pilgrimage thither, in hopes of, uh, recovering what churchly vessels might remain. I, uh, I’d rather not speak about it because, uh, the reason for the penance is one I’d rather not speak about.”

  “Ah, so. Forgive me.” The Saracen’s gaze rested inscrutably on Holger. “Do you know, that’s one part where I never thought to carry my own search? It seemed unlikely my man would appear there, when he returned. Yet now you make me wonder if indeed he might not. Besides, if I could help in a virtuous enterprise, my credit in Heaven would perchance rise above its present woeful level. Good company shortens the miles, to say naught of making them less dangerous. Perhaps we could travel together?”

  Alianora traded a look with Holger. You know him, said her eyes. You must decide.

  He hesitated. “There are more than bodily dangers,” he said. “I think we may encounter black magic.”

  Carahue waved a negligent hand. “Your sword is straight and mine is curved.” He smiled. “So between them they should fit any shape of foe.”

  Holger tugged his chin. He could certainly use another man. At the same time he knew Carahue must have reasons for dealing himself in.

  Could he be an agent of Chaos? That was possible, but Holger’s half-memories, which he was coming more and more to trust, said otherwise. He put himself in the Moor’s place: out hunting an important man for some important purpose, failing, and then encountering another knightly vagabond with a rather thin story. Yes, memory said Carahue had that kind of mind, a curiosity which darted everywhere. Besides, he might well have guessed that Sir Rupert of Graustark had some connection with the person he himself sought: might perhaps know where that person was. Even if that turned out to be wrong, the uplands were worth a search. In every event Carahue had sound motives to string along with Sir Rupert.

  “I very much wish the favor of your company,” urged the Saracen. “Still more, of course, the favor of yours, most charming damsel. So much do I wish this that if you will agree of your great kindness, I shall insist on your being my guests as from last night... No, no, protest not, I’ll hear of nothing less.”

  Holger and Alianora gave him a look which he returned blandly. He must be pretty damn sure they were broke, and laughing up his flowing sleeve. Still, the prospect of leaving Tarnberg without having to fight the landlord was well-nigh irresistible.

  “Done!” Holger stuck out his hand. Carahue grasped it. “Shall we swear comradeship?”

  “Aye. Upon my knightly honor.”

  “And upon mine.” Holger felt his decision had been good. Carahue would probably abide by the oath while the trip lasted; and once he, Holger, had Cortana in his hands, the Saracen would hardly be a menace. He said impulsively, “Bare is brotherless back.”

  Carahue started. “Where did you learn that?” he snapped.

  “Why, well, it just came to me. Why do you ask?”

  “I knew a man once who used that saying. The man I seek, if truth be told.” Carahue’s eyes lay keenly on them for a moment before he turned. “Well, let’s dine and then make ready to depart. I think tomorrow dawn were best for that, eh?”

  He was entertaining company at lunch, with jokes and songs and somewhat risque reminiscences. Afterward he and Holger checked what equipment they had. His armor was a steel corselet, flaring at the shoulders and elaborately arabesqued; a spiked helmet with chainmail earflaps; greaves atop boots of tooled leather. His shield bore a six-pointed star argent on a field azure, border gules fleury or; his weapons included a bow and arrows; he rode a slim white mare. Alianora’s dun gelding he declared to be good horseflesh, but added they had better acquire a mule, on which Hugi could ride with ample food supplies. He spent most of the afternoon talking down the prices of these items.

  They went early to bed, but Holger lay awake for an hour. Despite every precaution, he knew Morgan le Fay would learn where he was bound, if she didn’t already know—and would do something about it.

  18

  FOR TWO NIGHTS they stayed with peasants. Holger, who was not quick enough in the tongue to invent plausible details on the spot, must say as little as possible lest he betray himself to Carahue. The Saracen made conversation enough for both, sprightly, gallant, and aimed increasingly at the girl. This drove Holger still deeper into glum silence. He tried to push down his jealousy—what claim did he have on her?—but it bounced right back.

  The third day they left roads and fields and houses behind them. That night they stayed in the hut of a shepherd, who told some grisly tales about savage raiders, worse ones about the trolls who sometimes ventured this far toward the valley. His was the last human habitation on their route, except for the cannibal villages.

  Again they climbed mountains, steeper and higher than those to the east. Alianora said they were in the foothills of the titanic Jötun range. “And beyond is nobbut cold and dark and ice, lit by northern lights, for ’tis the home o’ the giants.”

  Their goal was not quite that far, on a plateau short of the ultimate heights. But it was at least a week’s journey, through a land harsh enough.

  They rode between glacier-scarred boulders and wind-gnawed crags, up and up the long slopes, over razorback ridges and through ravines so narrow they were almost lightless. The woods thinned out into rare clumps of twisted scrub oak; grass grew sparse and stiff ; the air was chilly by day and cold by night, with clouds scudding over the pale sun and the bitterly brilliant stars. Often they had to ford streams that torrented from the peaks. It was all their animals could do not to be yanked away to drowning. Hugi, whose short legs hardly came below the packs on which he rode, was the only one who didn’t get drenched. He would shout jovial remarks like “Ship ahoy!” and “Stow the mizzenmast!” which got little appreciation. Carahue snuffed and sneezed and swore imaginatively at the weather (he denied that this land had climate), but he stuck with the others.

  “When I get home,” he said, “I shall lie under orange blossoms in the sun. Slave girls will play me music and drop grapes in my mouth. To keep fit, I shall take exercises: twice daily will I twiddle my fingers. After a few months I will weary of this and set forth on a new knightly quest: let us say, as far as the nearest coffee shop.”

  “Coffee,” sighed Holger. He was even running low on Unrich’s tobacco, or whatever the stuff was.

  Alianora turned swan from time to time and flew ahead to check their course. When she was gone from view, the fourth day in the wilderness, Carahue regarded Holger with unaccustomed sobriety. “Despite her taste in clothes,” he said, “that is a girl whose like is rarely found.”

  “I know,” nodded Holger.

  “Forgive my impudence in asking, but God did give me eyes to see with. She’s not your leman, is she?”

  “No.”

  “The more fool you.”

  Holger couldn’t quite resent that. It was probably correct.

  “’Tis wha’ I ha’ been telling hi
m and telling him and telling him,” rumbled Hugi. “Yon knichts be an eldritch breed. They’ll cross the world to rescue a maiden, and then dinna know aught to do wi’ her but take her home and mayhap beg a bit o’ hair ribbon to wear on their sleeve. ’Tis a wonder their sort ha’ no died oot erenoo.”

  Alianora came back toward dusk. “I’ve seen the kirk from afar,” she reported. “I saw also, closer to us, two strongholds o’ the wild men, wi’ skulls on poles all around, and the folk in a bustle as if readying for war.”

  “They are.” Holger nodded.

  Alianora frowned. “I’ve scouted a way for us through one pass, up onto the wold. No settlements lie near, belike because a troll dwells in some cave thereabouts. Yet the widely ranging huntsmen may spy us e’en so, and bring a party to capture us for our flesh.”

  “Ha, a sad end to a valiant knight, barbecued in his own armor,” said Carahue. He grinned. “Though methinks Sir Rupert and Hugi and I would prove tough steaks, nothing like your tender pretty limbs.”

  Alianora smiled in a confused way and blushed. Carahue took her hand. “Come worst to worst,” he said gravely, “you must fly and not heed us. The world can well spare our sort, but would become dreary indeed without you to light it.”

  She shook her head, tongue-tied, and did not quickly withdraw her hand. This boy, thought Holger, is an operator. He couldn’t find any words of his own, and couldn’t stand to listen. So he rode ahead, his mood thickening by the hour. Carahue was not poaching, he told himself; but himself paid scant attention. Didn’t the guy have any sense of decency or whatever? Didn’t Alianora have any sense, question mark? . Well, how could she? She’d never been exposed to this sort of thing before. She’d take the most worn-out flatteries for wit and honest sentiments. Blast his soul, Carahue had no right to shoot a sitting swan like that. Besides, on a trip as dangerous and important as this, no one had a right to—to—Oh, damn it all, anyway!