Three hearts and three lions

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.