Three hearts and three lions

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?”

He grinned. “Nor should a young lady know too much,” he answered.

“Ah, cruel! Yet am I glad you came.” She used the intimate pronoun. “I may address you thus, fair sir? There is a kinship of spirit between us, even if we find ourselves at war now and again.”

“Dearest enemy,” said Holger. She drooped her lids, smiling with appreciation. His own eyes had a tendency to fall too that décolletage of hers. He searched his mind for more cribs from Shakespeare. The situation was made to order.

They continued the flirtation throughout the banquet, which seemed to take hours. Afterward the company went into an even larger chamber for dancing. But as the music started, Duke Alfric drew Holger aside.

“Come with me a moment, if you will, good sir,” he said. “We’d best talk over your problem at once, under four eyes, so that I can think on it awhile; for I foresee that our ladies will give you scant peace.”

“Thank you, your grace,” said Holger, a trifle grumpily. He didn’t much care to remember realities just now.

They strolled into a garden, found a bench beneath a luminous willow, and sat down. A fountain danced before them, a nightingale sang behind. Alfric’s black-clad body leaned back in one supple motion. “Say what you will, Sir ’Olger,” he invited.

Well, no use holding anything back. If the Pharisee did have power to return him, he’d probably have to know the whole situation. Only where to start? How do you describe an entire world?

Holger did his best. Alfric guided him with occasional penetrating questions. The Duke never showed surprise, but at the end he seemed thoughtful. He leaned elbows on knees and drew the knife of white metal which he carried at his waist. As he turned it over and over, Holger read the inscription upon the blade. The Dagger of Burning. He wondered what that meant.

“A strange tale,” said Alfric. “I have never heard one more strange. Yet methinks there is truth in it.”

“Can... can you help me?”

“I know not, Sir ’Olger—for so it still seems natural to call you. I know not. There are many worlds in space, as any sorcerer or astrologue is aware, but a plurality of universes is another concept, only darkly hinted in certain ancient writings. If I heard you without being made helpless by amazement, ’tis because I have myself speculated that another Earth such as you describe might indeed exist, and be the source of myths and legends, such as those told of Frederik Barbarossa, or the great epical chansons about the Emperor Napoleon and his heroes.” As if to himself, Alfric murmured a few lines:

He shook himself and went on more briskly: “I shall raise spirits which can give counsel. No doubt that will take time, but we shall strive to show you hospitality. I think we have good hope of ultimate success.”

“You are much too kind,” said Holger, overwhelmed.

“Nay.” Alfric waved his hand. “You mortals know not how tedious undying life can become, and how gladly a challenge such as this is greeted. ’Tis I should thank you.”

He rose, chuckling. “And now, methinks you’d fain return to the dance,” he said. “Good pleasance, my friend.”

Holger returned in a haze of joy. He’d been too quick to judge this Middle World. No one could have been more kind or courteous than the Pharisees. He liked them!

Meriven headed off several other ladies as he entered the ballroom. She pounced on his arm and said archly, “I know not why I do this, Sir Knight. Off you went, with never a word, and left me forsaken.”

“I’ll try to make up for that,” he said.

The elfin music surrounded him, entered him. He didn’t know the stately figure dances he saw, but Meriven caught on to the fox trot at once; he’d never had a better partner. He wasn’t sure how long the ball lasted. They slipped out into the garden, drank from a fountain of wine, laughed, and did not return. The rest of the night was as much fun as any he had ever spent, or rather more so.