Gene Wolfe - The Wizard

“It seemed like there was another giant,” he told Pouk afterward, speaking though the bandages and pain when he and those still living were barricaded in the keep. “A giant the other giants couldn’t see any better than I could, and he was on our side. Was that Org?”

“There you have it,” Pouk declared. “What do you need me for, shipmate?”

“I didn’t think of it then,” Toug confessed. “I didn’t think of it until a long time after, not ‘til Sir Svon got me to look for Lady Idnn. I guess Org was traveling with us the whole time we were riding here, but I never saw him.”

Pouk chuckled. “He’s not easy to see, shipmate. Not even for me, that knows th’ rake o’ his masts.”

“Oh, Thunor!” Toug felt he could have bitten off his tongue. “I didn’t mean to—to make fun of you.”

Pouk cackled. “Think I’m blinded? Heard you say it.”

“You aren’t!”

“Not me, mate. Had to act so, just th’ same. One eye’s blind enough. See it?” Toug nodded, and then, not certain that Pouk could in fact see, said, “Yes. Yes, I do. It—it’s white.”

“Aye, like sp’iled milk. Ulfa says that. Pouk Deadeye they call me.” Toug nodded again.

“An’ t’other’s squinty. Have a close look.”

Toug did. “It’s white, too—no, it’s a real eye. I mean an eye to see out of.”

“Thought I was blind, though, didn’t ye? Here, I’ll open it wit’ me fingers.” Pouk’s eye looked white and blind—and then, abruptly, a lively brown. “You’re rolling it up.”

“An’ there ye have it, matey. They’d a whole crew o’ us, an’ him that was blindin’ complainin’ o’ the work, an’ some gets blood-pizonin’ when they blinds ’em, an’ dies. So I says, don’t have to worry wit’ me, mate, an’ I shows him like I showed you. I’m blind already, I says,’n he passes on by. I was that happy. Aye! Never so happy in me life.” Pouk’s laugh was a joyous crow. “Drink? Why, drink’s not nothin’ to it!”

“I’m happy too,” Toug told him. “I’m happy right now.”

“You’re a good hand. A stout hand, matey, an’ mebbe I kin show Org to ye someday.”

“Would he try to hurt me?”

Pouk considered. “Not wit’ me ‘round. Wit’out, well, I dunno. Best to keep a sharp watch.”

“Mani tried to tell Lady Idnn about him once—”

Toug was interrupted by Svon. “We’re meeting in the hall. All of us except the guards. That way.”

Emptied of so many Angrborn, that vast hall felt almost friendly. There was food and drink everywhere, and though much of the food was half eaten and much of the wine and beer spilled, Pouk and Toug helped themselves before going to an immense fireplace where a crowd of humans and Angrborn were gathered about the towering figure of Thiazi.

“Are you the last?” Beel asked.

“Think so, sir,” Pouk said. “Mebbe one or two more.”

Beel cleared his throat. “Lord Thiazi and I have been conferring. Sir Svon, are these all you can find?”

“Yes, Your Lordship. Possibly Sir Garvaon may bring more. I don’t know,”

Svon looked for a stool, and finding none seated himself on the hearth. There were bandages on his face and arms, and Toug sensed that he was bone weary.

Beel seemed to sense it, too. “Your wounds must pain you, Sir Svon.”

“Not so much, Your Lordship.”

“If you’d prefer to go elsewhere, someplace where you might rest...?”

“I’m resting now, Your Lordship. Sir Garvaon’s squire and—and others washed my bruises and salved them.”

“As you like, then.” Beel looked around at the giants. “I am speaking first because we are more numerous. It means no more than that.”

Toug felt the gentlest of taps upon his shoulder. He turned to see a red-haired girl holding a very large cup into which she stared demurely. “Drink,” she whispered.

Suspicious, Toug lifted her chin; her eyes were yellow fire. Her lips shaped words: “My blood in wine, Lord. It will heal you.” Toug nodded, accepted the cup, and carried it to Svon. Kneeling, he presented it.

“So our status has not changed,” Beel was saying. “I am here as our king’s ambassador.”

Svon drained the cup, nodded curtly, and set it down.

“Lord Thiazi is his king’s chief minister. Our lands are not at war.”

Beel glanced at Thiazi, who nodded agreement.

“King Gilling lies in his bedchamber,” Beel continued, “and I pray that he is resting comfortably, and that he will recover. Lady Idnn is nursing him with two of her maids, together with five women...” Beel paused, and groped for words. “Attached to this castle.”

“Me wife’s there,” Pouk whispered.

“In this grave situation, Lord Thiazi’s wishes and ours are identical. We would preserve the king’s life, steady his throne, and find the traitor who stabbed him. Lord Thiazi.”

Thiazi stepped forward. (Toug, seeing the two together, decided that Thiazi was three times Beel’s height.) When Thiazi spoke, his voice was deep and reverberant. “I am His Majesty’s trusted minister. The Sons of Angr present knew it already, and you Southlings know it now. In His Majesty’s absence, I act for him. When he’s indisposed, as at present, only I can act for him. Does anyone dispute that?”

He glared at the watching Angrborn for as long as it took Toug to draw breath; when none spoke, at Beel’s party.

Garvaon entered, alone, and after a moment’s hesitation, sat down next to Svon.

“During the melee an Aelf woman appeared,” Thiazi said. “She warned me that His Majesty was at risk and urged me to spirit him away. I’ve friends among the Aelf.” He appeared to wait for someone to object, and studied his hearers while he waited. “None, surely, are better friends than she. When I reached His Majesty, he had fallen. Stabbed by an unseen hand. We were able to get him inside and into his bed.”

A frosty smile played about Thiazi’s lips. “Lord Beel and I have taken counsel upon this attempted assassination. Lord Beel fears that one of you Southlings is the traitor.”

“A traitor to King Arnthor,” Beel explained, “who would never countenance this cowardly attack.”

Thiazi nodded. “I, on my part, fear that the traitor is one of our own people. There was rebellion in Jotunland not long ago. It may be that there is rebellion again. Thus our barred doors. Our people, I hope, do not know that the king has been wounded. The assassin may think him dead. If so, he may reveal himself within a day or two. In either case, ignorance works to our benefit. With your help, I shall maintain it as long as possible.”

Svon cleared his throat. “May I speak, My Lord?”

Thiazi nodded.

Svon rose. “You suspect one of us.”

“No.” Thiazi shook his head. “Your own lord does. I concede that he may be correct, though I consider otherwise.”

“The more reason then for me to say upon my honor as a knight that I did not strike your king. You practice magic, My Lord. So I’ve been told.”

“I am an adept, as it is called.”

“Cannot your arts reveal the assassin?”

Thiazi frowned. “I have attempted it without success. In a moment or two, I intend a further attempt.”

“I speak of magic, of which I’ve scant knowledge.” Svon hesitated. “I was once Sir Able’s squire, and I was knighted by him.”

“I did not know it and am glad to learn it.”

“Before we came into this hall to give your king our king’s gifts, I learned that your magic had told him that to secure his crown he should take Sir Able into his service.” Svon looked to Garvaon for confirmation, and Garvaon nodded.

“I believe he matched us as he did because he wanted to see whether we might be substituted for Sir Able. If that was the test, we could be.”