Gene Wolfe - The Wizard

She had a tower of her own, as His Grace’s lady had at Sheerwall, and she received us in the great room of it, a room richly hung with black velvet in which censers strangely shaped hung smoldering. I did not like it and neither did Gylf, who sniffed behind every arras while she and I spoke.

“We are met again, Sir Able.” She gave me her hand.

I said, of course, that I was thrice honored.

“Why would you not come alone?” This with some pouting.

“Your beauty, Your Highness, is such that I feared for my self-restraint.”

“Liar. I would be your friend, Sir Able, if I could. You fear no magic.”

“That’s far from true, Your Highness.”

“Don’t toy with me. We both know—what we both know. If the dead walk at my command, what is that to you?”

“A lot, Your Highness. The dead aren’t always to be commanded. I fear for you.”

“As do I.” Her chair was like a throne, and the dais it stood on enhanced the impression. She rose, stepped from the dais, and stood swaying before me, a full head taller. “Don’t you think me a servant of the Most Low God, Sir Able?”

I shook my head. “He’s no god, Your Highness. Nor do you serve him.”

“You’re right, though I’ve considered it. I seek to do good by my sorcery. You need not believe it. I’ll prove it as the opportunity arises. You bent the knee to me.”

“You’re royal, Your Highness.”

“I deserve it. Not because I’m royal—” She laughed. “But because I’m good. You wish audience with my brother.”

“I do, Your Highness. Can you arrange one?”

“I could, but I won’t. Riddle me this—why is Sir Gerrune a champion when you are not?”

I shrugged. “He was proclaimed so, Your Highness. Why I cannot even guess.”

She laughed, beautiful and mirthless. “My brother ordered it. You wear the queen’s favor, Sir Able; do you suppose his queen opens to every knave in the scullery?”

“Of course not, Your Highness. I would kill any man who defamed her in that fashion.”

“Then you’ll have to kill quite a lot of them. They tell my brother that and worse. He half believes them. Will he receive a knight who wears her favor, do you think?”

“Not often, Your Highness, though I try.”

She took my hand. “Well said. There are few at court who love me, Sir Able, and none who trust me. If I were to tell my brother he must speak to you, it would go ill with the case you come to plead. Besides, you’ve worn his queen’s favor in his great tournament. Will the Valfather help you?”

“I doubt it, Your Highness. I hope so.”

“So do I, you need it. Meantime, I’ll help if I can.” Her voice fell. “So will the Earl Marshal, if he dares. Think of us as Skai’s agents. It may comfort you.” She spoke to Wistan. “Your education proceeds apace.”

He knelt. “It does, Your Highness.”

“One may stab with a bodkin, Squire, or throw it. Let’s throw one. The dead walk at my command. So I told your master, and so it is. He warned me of the danger, it being a knight’s business to protect the fair.” She turned her head to let Wistan inspect her profile. “Do you think me fair?”

“Never have I seen a fairer lady, Your Highness.”

She laughed. “In that case Sir Able will protect me.” So saying, she turned her back, muttered something I could not hear, and mounting the dais again resumed her seat.

From the floor came the sound of a great door shut hard, and she smiled. “Perhaps you had news of our tournament last year, Squire?”

“I was here, Your Highness. I served Sir Garvaon. He shot, engaged with the halbert, and jousted too.”

“What of the melee? So redoubtable a knight would wish to take part in that, surely.”

“He did, Your Highness. But we couldn’t. It’s forty per side and the scroll was full.”

“Sir Able is more fortunate.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Do you know why?”

Wistan’s voice dropped to a whisper, “Because I signed it. For him, only I don’t want him to die. I know that’s what you think, but I don’t. You haven’t seen him fight.”

Morcaine turned to me. “This is your first tournament?” I confessed that it was.

“There are knights, Sir Able, who know they’ve no chance in the earlier events. Was this Sir Garvaon a good bowman?”

“A very good one, Your Highness.”

“Many are not, and do not wish to be humiliated. You knew something of humiliation when your string broke.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Beyond Morcaine, Baki peeped from behind a black velvet curtain. Her face was stricken.

“Suppose all three had missed the straw. Many would stand no chance against Sir Gerrune with poleaxes, and less against Sir Kei in jousting. Yet they would be ashamed to come and take no part. So they fight in the melee. It is the most dangerous of all, but luck plays a large part.”

“I understand, Your Highness.” As I spoke I heard footsteps, heavy and slow, and Gylf growled.

“Weapons are blunted, and no mace may be used. Still, a knight or two is killed each year. Perhaps you didn’t know.”

I said I had not, but that it did not matter.

“Now if I’ve timed our talk correctly...” She laughed. “Sir Lich died in the melee, but his name—ah, here he is.”

A trap in the floor rose. The knight who raised it and stepped forth was plainly dead, and had been dead for some time, his body stored in a dry place. There were maggots in his flesh, but they had not done great execution there.

‘Would you fight him? In defense of my fair person?”

“Certainly,” I said. There was a faint noise behind me, and Wistan tugged my sleeve.

“Bear in mind that you could not kill him.”

“If he’s a threat to Your Highness, I’ll do what I can.”

“He is none. Let’s let him rest.”

Perhaps she murmured some further word I failed to hear. The dead knight fell, his face striking the flagstones with such force that a maggot was thrown from it.

“Sir Able’s servants have fled—what of you, Squire? Has your education progressed sufficiently for this day?”

Wistan’s voice shook, but he answered that it had. The boy who had run from Huld’s ghost was held in check.

“What did you think of the messengers I sent for you and your master? Didn’t they set your teeth chattering, too?”

“No, Your Highness, they were Aelf, Sea Aelf, my master says. We saw Aelf in the mountains, Your Highness, and they helped us against the Angrborn.” He finished bravely enough. “They were fine archers, Your Highness.”

“You were unafraid?”

“Not—I was at first, Your Highness. A little.”

“Sir Lich’s worm affrighted you. I saw it. When next you meet my messengers, recall that they were made by worms. Sir Able, I asked you here so we might take counsel, knowing that my brother hates you for the queen’s favor and knowing too that he will love you no better than me if you come under my auspices. If you’ve the ear of the Valfather, will you beseech him to grant my brother issue?”

The change of topic discomfited me, but I said I would.

“Beseech the queen as well. You’ve her ear.” Morcaine had been bolt upright to that moment; she slumped almost as abruptly as the dead knight. “Our queen’s a strumpet, he thinks, and I a murderess who would slay my brother for his throne. She is not, Sir Able. Nor am I.”

I nodded and said, “I believe you, Your Highness.”

“I thank you. He may kill me, fancying he defends his life. He may kill her to get a queen who’ll bear him sons. She’s no friend of mine.” Morcaine straightened up, eyes blazing. “My brother is my brother, the playfellow of my childhood. I love few, but I love him. Do you understand?”