Gene Wolfe - The Wizard

“I’ll be blunt.” Thiazi stooped to the woodbox, and picking up a log twice the size of a man, tossed it on the fire, where it raised a cloud of sparks and ash. “The spirit I spoke to did not indicate you or your fellow.”

“Sir Garvaon.”

“It had nothing to say about either of you. I offer no criticism of your valor or your skill. They are inarguably great. Nor do I accuse you of stabbing His Majesty. I say simply that in my judgment you cannot be substituted for Sir Able. This I told His Majesty plainly when he proposed the ill-starred trial of arms in which you took part.”

Svon nodded. “I agree, and want to suggest that someone be sent to bring Sir Able here. It is what your magic showed we should do, and I think your magic correct. I volunteer to go.”

Thiazi addressed Beel. “If the test shows him to be guiltless...?”

“No,” Beel said. “Or at least, not until after the wedding.”

The clouds had sailed above me in scores of fantastic shapes, and I had not known them for the lands of Skai; yet they had told my fortune as well as they could.

I shut my eyes and wished those prophetic clouds and that kindly sky back, but all that I saw was darkness. Only in my imagination: the Valfather’s flying castle. Eyes open, I saw the stars. If clouds were the mountains and meadows of the Overcyns of Skai, weren’t all these stars the country of winged people like Michael? No, because the stars had been the wildflowers in the Lady’s meadow...

“Lord?”

I was sleepy enough to believe for half a minute or twelve that the word had been addressed to somebody else.

“Lord?” A winged figure bent above me, blotting the stars. Its wings dwindled; its muzzle melted into a face.

“A Khimaira? What has a Khimaira to do with me?”

“I am Uri, Lord. There is a plot, and I have flown here to tell you of it.”

I sat up and found that Gylf was on his feet already, not quite showing his teeth, but near it.

“If you will hear me out, Lord, and ask no questions until my tale is done, it will go faster.”

I nodded.

“Garsecg you know. He taught you. You think he lied, feigning to be one of the Water Aelf. It was not feigning, though he dwells in Muspel. The Sea Aelf have welcomed him and made him greater than their king, calling him Father. How then is it false for him to wear their shape?”

“If I am not to question you,” I said, “it might be best if you don’t question me.”

“As My Lord wishes. Vile, I remain your slave.” Uri knelt. “As I am Garsecg’s. Indeed, I serve My Lord because Garsecg will have it so. My Lord recalls that when Baki and I were ill on the Isle of Glas, My Lord left us in Garsecg’s keeping. As Setr he had us serve you, saying that we who had been his slaves were to be yours. We were not to tell you of his gift, for Garsecg does good in secret when he can.”

“You’ve asked no question,” I remarked, “and I ask you none. I’ve got a comment, though. You haven’t obeyed him.”

“If he punishes me, I will bear it, or try. If you punish me, I will do the same. I disobey because the matter is deadly, and one that Garsecg himself, though the wisest of men, cannot have foreseen. I will not ask whether he has been a friend to you, you know your answer. Nor will I ask whether you swore to fight Kulili for his sake. You did, and though I do not know it as well as you yourself do, Lord, I know it well enough.”

I groped for Eterne, and found her. “He summons me.”

“No, Lord. He does not. Did I not speak of a plot? It is my sister’s.”

Gylf growled, “Get to it.”

“I serve no dogs,” Uri told him, “not even you.”

“Worse!”

She sighed, and there was more despair in her sigh than speech could express. “Now we know what your dog thinks of me, Lord. You may agree, knowing I betray my sister.”

I wrapped the blanket about me, for the wind was cold.

“Baki plots to send you against Garsecg. To that end she has stabbed King Gilling, who lies near death. And to that end she has enlisted Toug and his sister. The witch’s cat helps too, I would guess from malice. Now my tale is done. Lord, will you give me your word that you will never slay Garsecg? Or try to?”

“No.” I lay down and studied the stars.

“Did you not give your word to Garsecg, as I said? To war on Kulili? Alone if need be? Upon your honor?”

“I did. Does he summon me?”

“No, Lord.” Uri’s voice sounded faint and far away. “He fears you too much for that, Lord.”

We were too many for one fire; but Woddet and Yond, and the Knight of the Leopards and Valt, ate at mine, with Hela, Heimir, Gerda, Bold Berthold, and Uns, who had made it. When venison was on my trencher and wine in my flagon, I said, “I have news. It may mean a lot or a little to us—I don’t know. Neither do I know it’s true. It was told as true, no pledge of secrecy was asked, and it would be wrong not to share it. Believe it or not, as you choose.”

The Knight of the Leopards asked, “When came this news?”

“Last night.” I forked meat into my mouth on my dagger.

“We must set a better watch. My men were our sentries.”

“I don’t say they slept,” I told him.

Woddet looked from one to the other. “Who brought it?”

“Do you have to know? It’ll mean useless argument.”

“No argument from me,” Woddet declared.

Hela swallowed a great gobbet of meat. “He trusts not the bearer. Do thou, most dear knight, trust me?”

Woddet flushed. “I do. Though you lack gentle blood, you are a true maid, I know.”

“As for blood, I have seen thine. You think my lineage foul. Does Sir Able here, a wiser knight, think it foul, too? I am of the blood of Ymir, Sir Able, for so my ancestress Angr was. Did you not tell me once that blood has drenched your sword arm to the elbow? That foul blood?”

I nodded, for I had told her things that had happened in Skai. “Say fell blood, rather.”

“You are kind.” She turned back to Woddet. “Dearest knight, as I am a trusty maid I counsel you to ask nothing, save you stand ready to credit any answer. Fell blood? Fell swords are here. Which swordsman would you see fall?”

“None.” Woddet smiled ruefully. “What is your news, Sir Able, if it will not provoke strife?”

I sipped my wine, put down my flagon, then sipped again. “We agreed that if the Angrborn march south we’d resist them together, even though you and Sir Leort are my prisoners.”

Woddet and the Knight of the Leopards nodded.

“This news may bear on it, if it’s true. In fact it may bear on it if it’s false, if it’s believed. It is that the Angrborn king has been stabbed and lies near death.”

Bold Berthold did not raise his blind eyes, but his voice was warm. “Who did it?”

“The sister of the person who told me. So she said.”

Gerda ventured, “A slave woman?”

“Yes, but not King Gilling’s or any other giant’s.”

Hela said, “You know her, sir knight. Your voice speaks louder than your words.” I nodded.

“I have no sister, and am glad of it. Sisters are talebearers always. You know her and are her friend. What think you? Would she do a deed of blood? Strike a throne?”

“She might,” I said slowly. “If she were provoked or desperate, she might. If a particular youth were threatened, for example. If she had a good reason.”

“I have one more question.” Hela grinned, revealing crooked teeth in a mouth the size of a bucket. “Ere I ask, I give you thanks for suffering me as you have. If ‘twas for Sir Woddet’s sweet worth, why fiddle-de-day. Suffer me you did. Why did her sister hasten here, taking her news to you? Do you know?”