The Wizard

Chapter 9. The First Knight

“You have no lance,” the Knight of the Leopards observed. His armor gleamed beneath his fur-lined cloak. “No,” I said.

“You will fight me with your sword alone?”

He was young, I thought—not much older than I—and had probably grown his thin mustache to make himself look more mature. “If I choose to draw it, yes.”

“Is it licit to fight under such circumstances?”

“It is,” I told him, “and I will not permit you to pass this place unless you fight.”

The Knight of the Leopards looked troubled. “My squire carries ancillary lances. I’ll lend you one. You may return it when we’ve ended our combat, if it has not been broken.”

Cloud danced over the snow, eager for action, and I told her she had to stand quiet. “I do not ask it,” I said aloud.

“I’ve observed that, but my honor demands that we engage on something like equal terms.”

“Do you expect to make yourself as tall as the Angrborn? Or do you think they’ll make themselves no taller than you?”

Crabwise, Uns ran to my stirrup. “Ya gotta take hit, sar. Ya be kilt.”

“I’ll be defeated,” I told him, “not killed.”

“My squire will lend it to yours,” the Knight of the Leopards ruled. “Your squire may pass it you. We’ll take our places after that, and begin when my herald sounds his clarion. Is that acceptable?”

“I have no squire,” I explained. “Uns is my servant, not a squire.”

“Have you no one but him, and those old people?”

“No,” I said. “There are others you haven’t seen.”

“But no squire?”

I shook my head.

“Your horse appears somewhat light.”

“Cloud is a better mount than yours.”

The Knight of the Leopards shrugged, and turned in his saddle to address his squire. “What do you say, Valt? Would you prefer to give a lance to one of the lackeys and have him pass it to that cripple?”

Valt, a fair-haired youngster with a good, open face, smiled. “I’m not so proud as all that, Sir Leort.” Touching his heels to his mount, he came forward until he could pass a lance to Uns, who thanked him and gave it to me with a bow.

“Now then.” The Knight of the Leopards donned his helm; it was of spotted gilt and the crest was a rampant leopard.

I retreated a good fifty paces, with Uns clinging to my stirrup, and shaded my eyes against the glare from the snow. “He looks wonderful, doesn’t he?”

“Nosar, not good as ya does, sar.”

“He looks far better than I, Uns. See the pennants! He has a herald, his squire, two pages, men-at-arms, and a whole troop of manservants.”

“Seven a’

‘urn, sar. Da sarvents.” I smiled.

“You counted them.”

“Yes, sar. But, sar...” Uns cleared his throat and spat. “‘Tisn’t him, sar. None ‘tis.”

The herald brought his clarion to his lips. I put on my helm, and couched the spotted lance Uns had passed to me.

The clarion sounded, ringing notes of blood and dust echoing and reechoing. There was no need to clap spur to Cloud; she charged as an arrow flies. For an instant that was brief indeed, the Knight of the Leopards was before me, broad shoulders, and lofty helm with yellow and black plumes streaming, bent low above his charger’s neck.

The point of my lance missed purchase on that helm, and the point of the Knight of the Leopards struck the dragon on my shield and I was dashed from the saddle. It was the first time I had been unseated since Llwch did it.

For half a minute, perhaps, I lost consciousness. When it returned, the Knight of the Leopards was standing over me, offering a hand to help me rise. “Thank you,” I said, and turning spat blood that unexpectedly but pleasantly recalled Master Thope. “I’m Sir Able.”

“You may keep your spurs,” the Knight of the Leopards told me. “And certainly you may keep your crippled servant and the old people. I don’t want them.”

Querulously, Berthold was asking, “Didn’t he win? Didn’t Sir Able knock him down?”

“But the rest I must have,” the Knight of the Leopards finished. “Give everything to my squire.”

I knelt. “I beg a boon.”

The Knight of the Leopards turned back to face me. “What is it?”

“My spurs, which you said that I might keep, are solid gold. You may have them, with all else I have, and welcome.”

“But...?”

“I beg leave to keep my mount and my sword. I beg it for my own sake, because I love them both. But I beg it for yours as well.”

The Knight of the Leopards appeared to hesitate. He removed his helm and handed it to Valt. “No,” he said. “I leave you your spurs. To that I’ve pledged myself. And your servants. But I will have everything else, and certainly I will have that horse.”

As he spoke, Gylf came to stand beside my shield.

“You won’t have Cloud,” I said, “even if I gave her to you, you couldn’t have her. You couldn’t ride her if you sat her saddle. Nor could you get into it or even catch her to mount.”

“Hand the reins to me,” the Knight of the Leopards said. “I require this mare of you.”

“I wouldn’t treat you so. As for this sword, if I were to give it to you, you’d throw it away. Or it would throw you away. That wouldn’t be pleasant.”

“I am a lawful knight. I had supposed you were one as well.”

“I am.”

He shook his head. “It appears otherwise.”

“If I may tell you about something that happened to me first,” I said, “I’ll give you Cloud as you ask. Otherwise you’ll have to catch her yourself. Will you listen?”

“Relate the incident.”

“It will be short unless you pepper me with questions. Once the king I served sent me to the court of another king, a king who commanded many brave knights like yourself.”

“Continue,” the Knight of the Leopards said.

“I mocked their courage. I challenged them to choose a champion, saying he might strike off my head if he presented himself to me in a year’s time and let me strike off his.”

“You are a brave man if you indeed spoke thus.”

“It took no courage. A knight came forth. I knelt, bent my head, and told him, ‘Strike!’”

A slight smile played about the lips of the Knight of the Leopards. “But he did not.”

“You’re wrong. He had a good sword with good edge. One blow clove this neck of mine and sent my head bouncing across the rush-strewn floor. I got to my feet, retrieved it, and tucked it beneath my arm.”

“You expect me to believe this?”

“I told him about a ruined castle in which he was to meet me in a year’s time. He came, and he found me there. Do you understand this story?”

“Hand over your horse and your sword,” said the Knight of the Leopards, “with all else that is yours.”

I nodded, unbuckled my sword belt, and gave it to him, with Eterne still in her scabbard.

“Is that gold I see in your hauberk?”

“Yes,” I said, “every fifth ring is gold. It’s the mail worn by Sir Skoll. There’s no magic in it, yet the wearer is blessed.” I pulled it off and dropped it at the feet of the Knight of the Leopards.

Gerda, who had been watching and reporting our actions to Blind Berthold, came forward. “For your mother’s sake, you take that an’ forget the sword an’ go your way.”

“My lady mother would not have such a woman as you for her scullery maid,” the Knight of the Leopards told her.

“Take it back!” Heimir, nearly naked and bearing a very large club, stepped from the opening in the cliff in which I had ordered him to hide himself. Hela followed. The men-at-arms, who had been lounging in their saddles, readied their lances and rode forward, then halted, possibly because I had raised a hand to stop them, possibly only because they had caught sight of Gylf.

“Take it back!” Heimir repeated, and aimed a blow at the Knight of the Leopards that would have felled a bull.

“Heimir!” Gerda shouted. “Heimir, stop!”

There was an impressive hiss of steel as the Knight of the Leopards drew his sword. He tried to parry Heimir’s next blow with it, however, which proved to be a mistake.

I caught Heimir’s arm. “That will do. That’s enough.”

“Make him take it back!”

Hela said, “Heimir speaks for me, Sir Able. But if your foe will not,” she smiled, “we may feast right royally here, my brother and I on them, and our mother and new father, with you and Uns, upon their beasts. Wilt join us in taking these birds,” she nodded at the men-at-arms, “‘fore they fly?”

I shook my head. “Sir knight—what’s your name?”

“He’s Sir Leort, a right noble knight!” Valt announced.

“Sir Leort,” I said, “you must look Heimir here in the face and swear on your honor that your mother would welcome such a woman as Gerda into her service. If you do not, I cannot speak for the result.”

Instead, the Knight of the Leopards dropped his broken sword, and so quickly and skillfully that anyone might have supposed he had done it a thousand times, drew Eterne.

Phantom knights thronged him. Their swords menaced his face, and their empty eyes spoke threats more daunting than any sword. Into their unnatural silence came the drumming of spectral hooves. Cries no living man had heard were borne on the cold wind. I laid a hand upon his shoulder. “Sheath your sword. Sheath it now.”

He knelt instead, and held out the sword Eterne, her blade flat across his hands. I took it, and the phantom knights drew back. The jeweled scabbard and the sword belt lay in the snow. I brushed them to dislodge the snow that clung to them, and as Eterne shot into her scabbard every phantom vanished.

“I yield,” the Knight of the Leopards said. “I beg you spare my life, and Valt’s.”

“You beat me,” I said, but he shook his head violently.

“Can I kill him?” If Heimir had been taken aback by the phantom knights, nothing in his brutish face showed it.

“May,” I said. “No. Or at least not yet.”

“I have insulted your lady mother,” the Knight of the Leopards declared bravely. “It was foolish of me, and I tarnished my honor by besmirching a woman who’d done me no hurt. May I speak with her?”

Heimir looked to Hela. Hela nodded; and Heimir nodded reluctantly as well.

Neither slowly nor swiftly the Knight of the Leopards walked to the sheltered spot where Gerda sat with Berthold, and knelt. “I spoke hastily, My Lady. Your son is angry with me, as he has full right to be. I have nothing to give beyond my apology—everything I brought from home belongs to the Knight of the Dragon now. But—”

“I don’t want anything,” Gerda said. “Nothing from you, though ‘tis kind of you to offer.”

“My sire has a manor in the south,” the Knight of the Leopards told her. “Sandhill Castle is its name. It’s neither large nor rich, yet it is snug enough. If you and your husband will come there with me, he will lodge, clothe, and feed you as long as you wish to remain.”

Berthold rumbled, “You couldn’t speak fairer than that.”

“Do you want to go?” Gerda asked.

“We might have to.”

“My invitation will never be withdrawn,” the Knight of the Leopards assured them. He turned back to me. “Will you let me keep my spurs?”

“We have to think about this,” I told him. “What is mine is yours. You won fairly.”

“I’ve begged for quarter,” the Knight of the Leopards replied. “I’m at your mercy. I only ask my spurs, and that you set a ransom my family can afford.”

“It’s nearly sunset. I’m hungry and so are my servants. Our animals are about starved. Will you feed us?”

“Gladly.”

Visions of southern pastures filled my mind, rich fields of ripe green grass spangled with buttercups and crossed by purling brooks; but I said nothing of them, only, “Then we’ll talk about this in the morning.”

The wind was cold; but we had a roaring fire, with meat, bread, and wine, and oats in plenty. One by one the diners fell away, retiring behind walls of canvas to wrap themselves in blankets and such dreams as visit weary travelers in a cold land, until only Hela (nodding over wine), the Knight of the Leopards, and I were left.

I looked up, calling, “Uri? Uri?”

There was no reply; the Knight of the Leopards said, “Is that one of your servants? I’ll fetch him for you.”

“Can you go to Aelfrice?”

The Knight of the Leopards smiled and shook his head.

“I can. I should be there now and wish I were.”

Hela looked up. “She’s a her.”

“Do you fear I’ll kill you while you sleep?” I asked the Knight of the Leopards. “Or are you waiting to kill me?”

He shook his head again. “I’m not fool enough to think I could kill you.”

“Then go to sleep.”

He hesitated. “I’d hoped to have a word with you while the rest slept.”

“I’ll sleep soon’s I finish this one,” Hela told him. Her voice was thick.

“You must speak now,” I said, “or not speak at all. If Uri won’t come, I’ll have to find a spiny orange without her, one that’s tall and straight. I planted some in a time I’ve almost forgotten, and I’ll see if any will serve.”

“I have heard of that,” the Knight of the Leopards said. “Men make bows of it, sometimes.”

“I have one I made. If you’d let me keep Cloud and my sword, it would be yours. Maybe it’s good you didn’t.”

“You purposed to let me defeat you.” If hot irons had drawn the words, they could have been no more agonized. “I know you must have. Why did you do it?”

“I meant you no harm.”

Hela looked up from her wine. “Hesh not like you.”

The Knight of the Leopards nodded. “Truth from the cup, my father would say. I’m young, Sir Able, but you are not like any other man I’ve seen.”

“You’re young.”

“Four and twenty summers,” he said.

“But I’m just a kid, no older than Toug. I forget it sometimes, and sometimes it seems to me that the Valfather, who forgets nothing, forgets it too.”

“You owe me no boon,” the Knight of the Leopards said, “yet I beg you to answer my question. When you have, I’ll be able to sleep, perhaps.”

Hela belched as horses do. “He don’ never sleep.”

“I’m troubled at times. That’s all.”

“If you’d prefer we spoke in the morning—”

I shook my head. “We’ve got other things to talk over then, or there are things I meant to talk over. You wanted to go into Jotunland. Why you wanted to go there is none of my business, but I’ll answer your question, honestly and in full, if you’ll answer mine first. Will you?”

“Certainly. I was knighted at nineteen. You’ll say that’s early, and it may have been too early. I don’t know. Early or not, I was overjoyed. I felt—no, I boasted—that by my twenty-fifth year I would be famous, that hearing my name on every side, King Arnthor would send for me. War is constant in our part of the country. The nomads raid us and we raid them. I couldn’t tell you how many skirmishes I’ve taken part in.” The Knight of the Leopards shrugged. “Half a dozen arrows, and they run. If you’re lucky, you may cross swords now and then. I’ve done it thrice and once I put my lance through a chieftain.” He sighed.

“Long rides by night, in fear of ambushes that rarely occur. Longer rides under a sun—this is not the place to complain of it. Heat and thirst, sweat to rust your armor, and a scarf tied over your face to keep out the dust. What fame do you think I had from all that?”

I said, “None, I suppose.”

“Exactly right. My mother had a letter from her sister at court. An embassy was going to Utgard, and a relative—distant, but a relative—would be in charge. I left next day.” Frowning, the Knight of the Leopards stirred the fire. “I was too late at Kingsdoom, too late again at Irringsmouth but gaining. I thinks he’s only a day or two ahead of me. Now this.”

“He is a week ahead of you at least.”

“You know that?”

I nodded.

“Yet there might still be a name to be won.”

“By diplomacy?”

“Against the Angrborn. I might best their champions or defend the embassy. They are lawless folk.”

“In which case you could hardly expect their champions to fight fairly.”

“To fight fairly is to fight as well as one can, among other things. Why did you let me defeat you?”

“Hesh deep.” Hela slapped the Knight of the Leopards’ shoulders hard enough to shake him, then rose and stumbled away. Her voice came floating back: “You wash out.”

“I’ll explain. I warn you that you won’t find anything interesting in my explanation.”

“I doubt that.”

“We’ll see. I love Disiri, the Queen of the Moss Aelf. I have all my life, or anyway that’s how it seems now.”

The Knight of the Leopards did not speak.

“You don’t believe in the Aelf. I’ve been to Aelfrice and she’s been with me here. You’ll say I should know other women. I couldn’t love them, and nothing they did could make me stop loving her.”

“You are a fortunate man,” the Knight of the Leopards told me. “Most of us never find such love.”

“Maybe you’re right. Once I nearly forgot her. I was far away from her. Very far.”

“I would think this would be far enough.”

“This is near. That wasn’t—it’s where she can never go. I thought I was happy and others thought so, too. I had strong friends, and they wanted me happy and did everything they could for me.”

An owl hooted and I heard Cloud stamp, ready to gallop.

“Something gnawed me. I woke up crying and couldn’t remember the dreams. Here I don’t sleep. Not like you do.”

“Something was said about that earlier.”

“Then I probably lied, but I promised the truth now. A wise friend saw I wasn’t really happy, though I didn’t know it. He returned to my mind a thousand things I’d forgotten.”

“Were you on the Isle of Glas?”

Surprised, I looked up. “I have been. Why do you ask?”

“An old woman who used to tell me stories said that men there forgot their lives and were only happy and foolish.”

“I know nothing about that,” I said slowly, “but I’ve been there and I’d like to go back someday. When my memories returned, you see, I knew that what I’d thought was happiness was just oblivion. I could never be happy without Disiri.”

“You’re fortunate, Sir Able, exactly as I said.”

“I’m glad you think so. Here I returned bound. I don’t intend to talk about the restriction put on me by my friend. It’s another restriction that concerns you. I gave my word to Duke Marder, swearing I’d go to these mountains, take my stand, and hold the pass against every other knight ‘til ice floated in the harbor at Forcetti.”

“Or your arms were forfeit.”

“Right. With helm, mail, and shield gone, I couldn’t hold the pass. I’d promised to fight, but not to fight well. You unhorsed me—”

“She’s here.” The Knight of the Leopards pointed. “I never knew a horse could walk as silently as a doe.”

Cloud came to me, lowering her head for me to stroke.

“Does she understand what we say?”

“More than a child, but less than a woman. But she understands us better than a woman would, and beyond that I can’t say. I’d planned to give her to you. My sword too. The sword is the ancient brand Eterne.”

The Knight of the Leopards paled.

“It was too late when I saw I couldn’t—that it was a coward’s path I followed with a thief’s conscience. How long ‘til ice fills Forcetti’s harbor?”

He shook his head. “No man alive knows less of ice and snow than I, Sir Able.”

“That’s the dead of winter. Six weeks. Two months, maybe. ‘Til then no knight gets past me. Then I’ll be free, and find Queen Disiri...”

“As you hoped to do today.”

“Right. I need a lance—a better one than the one I got from you, though I beg your pardon for saying it.”

“My pardon will be gladly given, if you will tell me what ails mine.”

“They’re ash or worse, and too long. Is it by breaking his lances that a knight gets glory?”

“In part, it seems.”

“In other words, they’re lances made to break. I don’t want glory. I want victory, and spiny orange.”

The Knight of the Leopards fetched Cloud’s blanket, and I my war saddle. While I was tightening the cinch, he got her bridle, but I waved it away.

I swung into the saddle, and we galloped up a hill of air. When we reached its summit, we stopped. I whistled, and Gylf ran up it to trot at Cloud’s heels.