Gene Wolfe: The Wizard

Beel cleared his throat. “We’ve been conferring in your absence. His Majesty and His Highness think it best to ask your opinion before you hear ours. As we see it, there are three questions. First, should we attack at once? Second, if we do not, should we await an attack or retreat? Third, if we attack, in what order and with what plan?”

I was collecting my thoughts and did not speak.

“There are many other questions, granted. For example, should we parley? Should we go up or down the river and attempt a crossing at some other point? But His Majesty and His Highness—all of us, in fact—concur in thinking the three I have stated central. Do you agree?”

I addressed Arnthor. “I don’t, Your Majesty. Most of the day is before us. Will Your Majesty and His Highness wait for sunset? If you’ll wait, the answer to My Lord’s questions is that we should attack. But if you won’t, we should retreat.”

A long silence followed this, and a whispered conference between Stonebowl and Smiler. When it was over, Arnthor nodded to Beel, a nod that seemed to me to give permission to say whatever he thought best.

“It is only just that I make you privy to our opinions now—that is to say, to the opinions we voiced before your arrival. His Majesty reserved his. His Highness and his minister insisted on your presence. Her Majesty thought we should retreat. Her Highness urged that we wait, and—”

Morcaine interrupted. “I said stay here.” She laughed. “If they attack, let them try. I think we can beat them and I want to try sorcery, which takes time.”

“They will be trying it, too, Sister.” Arnthor gestured to Beel.

“Their Graces favored an immediate attack. So do I. It seems to us that our situation is more likely to deteriorate than improve. You disagree, and we would like to know why.”

Stonebowl said, “The Son of the Blood of the Skai Dragon is in agreement with your worthy self, Sirable. He wishes you to know that he will support your decision.”

I thanked Smiler in his own language.

Beel muttered, “I’d like to know how you learned their tongue,” and Morcaine laughed.

“I have not learned it,” I explained. “I understand it, but I’ve never learned it. It’s not a matter of study.”

Gaynor leaned forward as if to touch me. “You can never forgive me for imprisoning you. But won’t you forgive me for trying to avert a battle that may end my husband’s life?”

I said, “I bear no animus toward Your Majesty in that or any other matter.”

Arnthor spoke for himself. “Whatever the outcome of our council, I will have a word with you after it.”

I made him a seated bow. “I am yours to command.”

“Then tell me how you can promise victory.”

“In the same way Their Graces and Lord Beel fear defeat. They know the Caan will have called for more troops from the north. My Lord Beel didn’t say so, but that was surely in the minds of all those who urged that Your Majesty attack.”

I thought there might be contradiction, but none came. “Your Majesty, it would be folly to attack ‘til we know more about the state of the river. I have two brave young men, Squire Wistan and Squire Yond, investigating it now—I gave the order before I came. We must know how deep it is, and how swift the current is. If there are shallow reaches, we must find them. Waiting until twilight will give us time for it. We should also bring up our supply train and the women and wounded, and set a guard on them. Waiting for twilight will provide time for that too.”

I drew a deep breath, resolved to lie and made my lie come true. “Most signally,” I said, “I can promise you a thousand archers at twilight.”

Bahart, the youngest of the dukes, said, “Spun out of air in this wilderness? You’re a wizard indeed if you can do that, Sir Able.”

Marder murmured, “Wouldn’t it be better to let them make camp and get some sleep? We can attack tomorrow at sunrise.”

Thoas added, “If they’re archers, their bows will avail nothing after nightfall.”

I nodded. “I had thought their bows deadly by night, Your Grace. Doubtless you know more of Aelfrice than I.”

Arnthor’s eyes widened. “A thousand Aelf, Sir Able?”

“At least a thousand, Your Majesty. I hope for more.”

Beel coughed. “We had archers from Aelfrice when we defeated Schildstarr of Jotunland at the pass, Your Majesty. I believe I told you of it. Two score, possibly.”

I nodded again. “Those were Fire Aelf, Salamanders. It’s a weak clan, diminished by their slavery—”

Arnthor said, “To one who need not be named.”

“Your Majesty is wise. These will be Mossmen. Wood Aelf the ignorant name them, and the learned Skogsalfar.” I turned to the three dukes. “Theirs is the strongest clan. We may get help from the Earth Aelf as well, the Bodachan. They are not warlike, but their aid is not to be despised.”

There was a silence, broken only by the whispering of Stonebowl and Smiler. When they had finished, I spoke to them, repeating what I had told the others.

“You, Scatter of the Dragon’s Blood, are my ultimate ancestor,” Smiler said in response, “but let us have also the blessing of the Fox.”

I thanked him for the compliment and agreed.

“I will endeavor to obtain it.”

I rose too when the others rose to go, but I remained in the pavilion with Arnthor. He sent his servants away, saying they were not to return until I sent them to him.

“Your messenger said you wished to speak with us. Do you think us cowardly, Sir Able?”

I shook my head. “Never, Your Majesty.”

“Yet we are. The blind man you told us of killed our brother. Who will kill us?”

“I hope it will be Time, Your Majesty. I hope you will die, when you must die, full of years and wisdom.”

“We know better. Nor have we any wish to perish as you suggest. A thousand lovely virgins wait upon the Valfather.”

I did not speak.

“We know who and what you are. Do not feign ignorance. We do not fear death. We fear that not one of the thousand will stoop for us—that we will be driven over the Bridge called Swords.”

“If I could promise a Valkyrie, I would,” I told him. “I can’t.”

“Nor did we think it.” He studied me. Some instinct told me it might be dangerous to meet his eyes. I did not; yet they probed deep. “You did not lie with our queen.”

“Nor have I sought to, Your Majesty, knowing the effort would be fruitless.”

“Pah! You might go in to her tonight. She’d receive you with open arms. And legs. Will you?”

“No, Your Majesty. That I will not.”

He was silent again, searching me. At length he said, “It is not enough to die with courage, Sir Able. One must die honorably. Since we’re to die and know it, we have taken thought upon our honor. It is not unstained.”

“Nor mine, Your Majesty.” Although my thoughts raced, I could not imagine what he was getting at.

“We imprisoned you without cause, but we freed you and have raised you to honor. What more can we do?”

I said, “I did not ask to speak with you privately to beg a favor, Your Majesty, but to make you a gift. I feared you’d refuse it, as I still do. Thus I hoped to give it when no one else was present.”

“The gift of death?” He threw back his cloak and spread his arms. “Strike!”

“Never, Your Majesty.”

“You could not if you wished to, since we will not die by your hand. We wear no armor; you just observed it.”

I was more puzzled than ever.

“We wear a sword belt. Perhaps you observed that, too. We did not lie when we told you we had lost your sword. It was with our baggage, which was captured.”

I cannot write down all the hope I felt at that moment, or my gratitude to the Valfather, who orders such things.