Gene Wolfe: The Wizard

Each of us retreated ten paces. The Nykr King of Arms raised the staff with which he would strike the roadway, and the minister with the sword lowered the sword he would raise. I could not see our pursuivant up on the cliff, but no doubt he raised his trumpet. At that moment Gylf howled. I had been obliged to chain him, for he had sworn that he would not stand by and see me killed; but he knew the battle was about to be joined, or so it seemed. His was the howl of no common dog, and I saw its effect on my opponent.

No sooner had I put on the old helm than I saw more. I saw that for all his fanciful armor and flat face my opponent was a bold knight who would add real force to our charge when we faced the Osterlings—force that would be forever lost if I killed him. I took my lance from Wistan.

My opponent, Ironmouth, cut through it at once; I have seldom seen so good a blade. I knocked that blade from his hand with the butt of my lance, tripped him, and almost pinned him. In a moment more he had nearly pinned me, for he was a fine wrestler. As we struggled, I caught sight of Lothur’s inferno upon the cliff.

We parted, rushed at each other, and Ironmouth by an unexpected slight threw me down not a hand’s breadth from a sheer drop. I regained my feet, but not quickly enough.

I snatched air, caught thick, coarse, white stuff—I knew not what—and clung to it for dear life.

A great thought, kind and warm and wonderful, filled my mind, crowding out the fear; and the thought was this: Can you not run on this as Gylf and I do?

And I could have. It would have been a violation of the oath; but I intended to violate it.

I did not do it then, but climbed on Cloud’s back, a back no longer gray; it was spangled with ice crystals as well, for she had been far above the clouds a moment before.

We are born dark, she explained. We reach our true color with age. I am nearly grown now.

Like a cloud, she rose into the sky, carrying me with her. The Caan had elephants; they were nothing before her. We talked. I told her of all that had befallen me since we parted, and she told me of strange adventures in the east, of her return to Skai, of what she had told the Lady there (for the Lady had stabled her), and what the Lady had taught her. Below, the sea-blue flag of Celidon snapped in the breeze, flaunting its nykr to the dragon that was Celidon’s new foe, a dragon of red and black on a wheaten field. Woddet came forth to fight, and fell, and Hela bore him away.

“Lothur has promised us the victory,” I told Cloud, “so we must prevail.”

Given a mount and a stout lance, I would have matched Kei against a hundred; with the sword he was no match for Ironmouth. He fell, and I watched him die. After which, the Dragon Soldiers raised a great cheer, bellowing and beating their shields, and I saw the minister who bore the sword and the Nykr King of Arms come together, and the latter bow his head. Neither could have understood the other, but they had little need to as Cloud and I galloped down the sky.

With one hand I held her mane. With the other, I caught Smiler, and pulled him onto her back. “We’re going to Skai,” I told him, “where time runs fast. We’ll find Lothur, or if not Lothur, Angrboda, and confront her together.”

It did not prove necessary, for Lothur found us.

As I have said, we had crossed the Greenflood on our march south. When we turned back north we knew we must encounter it again. We had burned the bridge we built, a bridge that could not have stood another week in any event. More significantly, we had swept the sea-lands of food, buying or pillaging all its fishing villages had.

The minister who bore the sword (Stonebowl was his name) told us his men had found more inland; they had captured five towns, all well-stocked, and had taken the coast road only after gaining food enough to carry them to next spring. Beel agreed, pointing out that Osterland’s raiders frequently harried the coast, sailing as far north as Irringsmouth or farther. This stretch would see them often.

Knowing that the Greenflood would be nearer its source, and unwilling to deplete our allies’ stores more than we had to, we turned east as soon as we came upon a passable road, and engaged local people to guide us. Some were reliable, others less so. Too often we found ourselves marching south or southeast when we would have preferred to turn north.

Before long we gained a reinforcement of one knight and six men-at-arms; and though it was so small it cheered me, for it was the Knight of the Leopards. Sandhill had held off the Osterlings, who had failed to carry it by storm and been forced to lift a siege by thirst. Shepherds whose flocks we had bought had reported that the king was in the south, two days’ ride below the river; and the Knight of the Leopards had gotten his father’s permission to join us with a few men.

“Now I know we’ll win,” I told him. “There’s a tide in war not even Overcyns can turn aside. It’s making—I feel it in my blood.”

He was looking up at Cloud. “If that grand beast obeys you, I do not matter. Nothing could stand against it.”

“Don’t you recognize her?” I said. “She’s Cloud, the mount I rode in Jotunland.”

“That’s no horse!”

“Why no. She never was a horse. I doubt I ever said she was, but if I did, I lied.”

Wistan could keep silent no longer. “We can ride her through the air. You can’t know how wonderful it is, Sir Leort. She carried the Son of the Dragon, because Sir Able had taken him prisoner, but she didn’t like it. He couldn’t ride her alone like we do.”

Leort wanted to know who the Son of the Dragon was, and I explained.

“He’s going to carve out a kingdom for himself here in the south? He’ll have a hard time of it.”

“Of course he will,” I said, “but he’ll have help from Celidon. His Majesty has sworn it. A strong friend down here would be the Valfather’s hand.” I said nothing about Arnthor’s prophecy, although I could not help thinking of it, and salved my conscience by telling myself I knew nothing beyond Gaynor’s report; it might be a false prophecy or an ambiguous one, for many prophecies are. It was even possible—almost probable—that there had been none.

A matter you will readily guess troubled me much more. Lothur had promised allies and food on my own promise to break my oath. Cloud was to be returned to me when I had fulfilled my part of the bargain. By his generosity, she had been sent ahead of time. We had received the reinforcements he had promised, and I could not complain of their quality. We had food for a season, and every prospect of gaining more in Celidon when we overcame the Black Caan. All that, and I still had not fulfilled my promise. Nor did I want to.

The Valfather is the kindest and wisest ruler, and the bravest. His son Thunor is the model for warriors, as is often said. A hundred times more is the Valfather the model for kings. In that time, when I thought about him often, it came to me with a shock that he was the model for fathers, too. I had told myself I never had a father. Far less than you, Ben. It was not true. He had been my father, and he had known it when I had not.

I would betray him, and my honor would be forfeit. Or if I did not, my honor would be forfeit still. Lothur is the model for thieves and murderers; he would kill us or help the Caan do it, and all I hoped to do with the power Skai had given me would never happen.

Wistan and I rode on Cloud’s broad back, well ahead of the advance guard. Our leisurely pace was compelled by our baggage train, and by our army, too, men worn out who regained their strength through easy marches and whole days of rest.

Arnthor was gaining strength as well, though his wound had been almost fatal. Once when I was with him, someone complained of the rigors of the campaign, calling it (with some justice) the worst ever fought.