Gene Wolfe - The Wizard

“We go into danger. You fought a Frost Giant and won. We may be fighting a score before noon. When we do, you may live and I may die.”

“I hope not, Sir Svon.”

“I’ve no wish to die. None at all. If we fight, I hope for victory. I’ll do all I can to see that we’re victorious. You have that mace.”

“Yes, Sir Svon. Sword Breaker.” Toug held her up.

“Where is the dagger you took from the Angrborn smith? You showed it to me—a dagger as big as a war sword. Have you still got it?”

“It’s back in my room unless somebody took it.”

“Bring that too. Bring them both.”

“I will, Sir Svon.”

“If I die and you live, Toug, you’ll have to face a foe more terrible than the Angrborn, and more subtle. Whispers, sly smiles, sidelong looks. Do you understand me?”

“I think so, Sir Svon.”

“You’ll have to fight them, and you fight them by finding a battle to die in, and not dying. By doing that over and over, Toug.”

“Yes, Sir Svon.”

“You’re a peasant boy? As Sir Able was?”

“We’re not as bad as you think, Sir Svon.”

“I don’t think it.” Svon sighed, and it came to Toug that Svon’s sigh was the loneliest sound he had ever heard, a sigh like a ghost’s, a sound that would haunt the cavernous halls of Utgard longer than the bats. “I was brought up by my father’s servants, Toug. Mostly Nolaa and her husband. They were proud of me, and taught me to be proud of myself. It helped, and for years it was the only help I had. Has anyone been proud of you? Besides me?”

Toug gulped. “I wouldn’t have been able to kill Logi if it hadn’t been for Org, Sir Svon. He was fighting him first to protect us, and he did more than I did. Only you said I wasn’t supposed to tell about him.”

Svon smiled; it was not a warm smile, but it made him handsome. “I’m proud of you just the same. More proud, because you told the truth when the temptation to lie must have been great. I’ve lied often and know that temptation. Who besides me?”

“My sister, Sir Svon. Ulfa, when she found out I was a squire, and might be a knight someday.”

“That’s good, and Ulfa and I may be enough. Sir Ravd was never proud of me, and I was never as proud of him as I should have been. Here I feel I should order you to remember him, but you never knew him.”

“I saw him, Sir Svon, when he came to our village and talked to people.”

“Then remember that, and remember what I’ve told you about him.”

They separated; but Toug, instead of going to the turret he shared with Mani and Etela, stood and watched Svon’s back as Svon strode away down that lofty hall, a hall empty of all beauty and comfort, ill-lit by such daylight as found its way through the high windows on one side.

And it seemed to Toug that at its termination he saw a knight with a golden lion rampant on his helm and a golden lion on his shield—and that Svon did not see him, though Svon was so much nearer. Toug turned away muttering, “This whole keep’s haunted.”

Later, as he was starting up one of the endless flights of stairs, he said, “Well, I hope we don’t have to fight at all. That we just get the slaves, and that’s all there is.”

Still later he added, “I wish Mani was here.”

Summer in the midst of winter. Idnn sat upon a bench of white marble, delightfully cool, beneath wisteria; and though it was too dark for her to see the face of the young man beside her, she knew the young man was Svon. A nightingale sang. They kissed, and their kiss held a lifetime of love, throbbing and perfumed with musk.

For eons it endured, but ended far too soon. She woke, and held her eyes tight shut, and would have given all that she possessed to return for one hour to that dream—drew the blanket tight around her, and knew the febrile heat of her own loins, where something as old as Woman wept.

Gerda muttered in her sleep, turned, and lay quiet.

“Your Majesty...”

The voice had been real, not Mani’s, not Gerda’s or Berthold’s, and certainly not Uns’. Idnn sat up.

A naked girl with floating hair knelt at her bedside. “Your Majesty. Your servant is Uri. Did you like the dream I brought you?”

Idnn caught her breath.

“I hoped it might entertain Your Majesty. Your servant Uri is a waif of Aelfrice, one who seeks to please you in every possible way and asks no more than a smile. One kind word in a year, but only if Your Majesty is so inclined.”

Idnn did not feel capable of indignation, but mustered all she had. “Must we have a sentry at our door, even here?”

“Your Majesty does.” Uri gestured. “There he lies, sound asleep beside his cudgel.” She giggled. “I skipped over him.”

Idnn swung her legs over the side of the bed that had been Marder’s. “Rise. We wish to see you better.”

Uri did, wand-slender and no taller than Idnn herself. “Shall I light the candle? Am I fair to look upon?”

“The sun’s up.” Vaguely, Idnn wondered what had become of her nightdress, then remembered she had brought none. “We will see you well enough in a minute or two.”

“In sunshine? Your Majesty would scarcely see me at all.” A flame sprang from the candle wick.

“You claim you are an Aelf?”

Uri bowed, spreading her hands and inclining her head.

“Your hair—it’s very beautiful, but we have to admit it doesn’t look human. May we touch it?”

“And more, Your Majesty.”

Idnn did. “It has no weight.”

“But little, Your Majesty, and so is stirred by every breeze. I am the same.”

“Your eyes, too. You don’t like to look at us.”

“Your Majesty is a queen.”

Idnn touched Uri’s chin. “The queen orders you to look her in the face. You will not be punished.”

Uri raised her head, and Idnn found herself looking into eyes of smoky yellow fire. “You are what you say.” A trifle light-headed, Idnn seated herself on the bed again.

“Would you like to see my true self, Your Majesty? I took this so as not to frighten.”

“We would not have been afraid,” Idnn declared stoutly, “but my servants may wake. Better that you stay as you are.”

“They will not, Your Majesty, unless you wish it.”

“Remain as you are, Aelf. What do you wish from us?”

“A smile.”

“All right.” Idnn shrugged. “You’ll get it if you’ve earned it. Have you?”

“My dream,” Uri began.

“We had no dream! What else?”

“Your servant Uri also brought a dream to Sir Able. It was of Glas, an isle well known to your servant. If he wants to revisit it, as I trust he will, he will have to remain in Mythgarthr. Thus, I hope to have him enter your husband’s service and remain there. Does that please Your Majesty?”

“Certainly. If it’s true.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. Your servant Uri also seeks to warn you of an ill-intentioned person who seeks the life of your royal husband. His Majesty has been stabbed. You, Your Majesty, were present on that sad occasion.”

“Are you saying we stabbed him? You lie!”

Uri crouched, her hands raised as if to ward off a blow. “Your servant proclaims your innocence, with her own. Your servant has come to tell you the name—”

Something (afterward Idnn puzzled long over just what that something had been) drew Idnn’s attention to the door of her pavilion; it stood open, though it ought to have been tied firmly with five golden cords—a discrepancy which at the time failed to disturb her. Through it, silhouetted against the sun, she saw a tall man with a staff. He wore a gray cloak and a wide hat, and he was walking toward her.

Their gazes locked, and she rose from the bed, naked as she was, and trembled until he stood before her. Naked, she knelt and pressed her forehead to the rich, uneven carpet of the floor.