Gene Wolfe - The Wizard

“Arise, my daughter.”

She did, slowly and hesitantly.

“Open your eyes.”

“I’m afraid, Father.”

“Do you think you must die if you behold my face? I am not the Most High. Look upon me.”

It was a hard as anything she had ever done. “Do you know my voice?”

“It is the wind, Father. I did not know it was your voice, but I have heard it many times.”

“Look into my eye. Have you seen it?”

“Yes, Father. It is where the sun lives.”

“I am...?”

“The Wanderer.” Her knees shook until it seemed she would surely fall. “You are King of the Overcyns.”

“Am I to be so feared?”

“Yes, Father.”

He laughed, and it was the laughter of a torrent.

“Y-you’re displeased with me.”

He laid his hand upon her shoulder, and strength poured from it to fill her. “Do you truly believe, Queen Idnn, that I am seen like this by those who displease me?”

“No, Father. I know you are not.”

“Then what reason have you to fear? Is it because your husband is of the blood of Ymir?”

“Yes, Father. For that reason and many others.”

“My own have wed the Giants of Winter and Old Night, Queen Idnn, and they us more than once. If I bless you, will you serve me? My blessing brings good fortune ever after.”

She knelt, though not as Uri had, and the face that she turned up to him shone. “I’ll do you whatever service I can, Father, now and always. With your blessing or without it.”

He blessed her, giving her the blessing of Skai and the promise of a seat at his table, laying the hand that had held her shoulder upon her head and tapping her right shoulder and her left with his staff.

“Rise, Queen Idnn. You have a place with me always.”

She stood. Weeping, she could not speak.

“I have a friend. I will not name him, because the name he bears here is not the name he bears among us, where he is Drakonritter. The dragon stands upon his helm, and coils on his shield.”

Still weeping, Idnn nodded.

“I let him return that he might regain his only love. Help him, Queen Idnn.”

She shut tight eyes from which the tears still streamed, and labored to bring fair words into the world: “F-F-Father. I—I—I am your slave.”

Opening her eyes, she found that she stood alone in the pavilion that had been Marder’s. Gerda slept still at the foot of the folding bed. Of the Wanderer, there was no sign. Nor was there any sign of Uri the Aelfmaiden, save that the candle burned with a long, smoky flame.

Wrapping herself in a blanket, Idnn went to the door. It was closed and tied so with five golden cords. She loosed the knots and drew back its bear-colored velvet. Uns lay across the doorway with a stout staff beside him. A bowshot down the slope of winter-brown grass and broken snow, beyond the dead campfires and the sleepers cocooned in whatever covering they had been able to find, green-robed spruce and white-limbed birch stirred in a dawn wind that repeated—once only—the blessing she had received.

Returning to her bed, she pulled the blanket from her maid. “Wake up, Gerda! The sun’s up. Help us dress before Berthold and Uns strike our tent.” The dawn wind, entering the pavilion, extinguished the candle.

Etela, clean and a little damp, was drying herself in the turret room. “Where you going?”

“Back into town.” Toug tried to smile, and succeeded.

“What for?”

“To buy things. Lord Thiazi’s given us money—that’s Sir Svon and me. This castle’s running short of everything.”

“Coming with!”

“No, you’re not.”

“Am so! I know where everything is, the whole market.”

“Put your coat on.” Toug buckled on his sword belt and loosened Sword Breaker in her scabbard. “What if somebody were to see you with your gown sticking to you like that?”

“They won’t. You’ve got the thing on the door.”

“The bar.” Toug picked up the dagger that had been the Angrborn smith’s, and eyed it with disfavor. How was he to carry a sword as long as an ox goad? “It won’t be there in a minute. I’m going, and it’s too heavy for you.”

“Wait up. I’ll be really quick.”

“You’re not going. Lord Thiazi and Lord Beel said Sir Svon and me. Nobody else.”

“Want me to show you how to carry Master’s big knife?”

“How would you know?” Toug, who had taken it from its place in the corner leaned it against the bed.

“’Cause I’m smart. Watch.”

Before he could stop her, she had drawn his dagger and ducked under one of the oversized chairs.

“What are you doing down there? Don’t cut that!”

“I already have. This’s really sharp.”

“I know, I sharpened it. Be careful.”

“This stuff’s kind of worn, I guess. It’s pretty soft.” Etela emerged from under the chair waving a narrow strip of thick leather. “Now sit on the floor so I can do this.”

“Do what?”

“Fasten on your sword. You’ll see. Now sit!”

Reluctantly, Toug did. “I don’t have a lot of time. Sir Svon’s probably waiting for me this minute.”

“We’ve already spent more time talking.”

He felt a tug at the buckle of his shoulder strap.

“See, you’ve got this so you can make it shorter or bigger, and the sword’s got a ring up here where Master tied it on his belt. You cut the thong, remember?”

Toug said, “Sure.”

“Well, these chairs have big straps underneath to hold the cushions. So I cut a piece off the side, and I’m tying your sword on the buckle.”

“Can you tie good knots, Etela?”

“I can crochet!”

The knot was tightened with a vengeance. “Now get up.”

He did, and small hands made a final adjustment. “See? It hangs right down your back, slantwise so the handle’s not behind your neck. Reach up.”

His hand found the long bone grip he planned to shave smaller. He drew the sword, sheath and blade leaving his back together until the sheath fell with a slap.

“It’s heavy, isn’t it?”

Half an hour later, as he and Svon finished saddling, he remembered Etela’s question and his answer, which had been a lie. “Sir Svon?”

Svon looked up from his cinch. “What?”

“I was wondering how long it took you to get used to wearing mail.”

“I never have.” Svon swung into the saddle as if mail, helmet, and sword weighed nothing at all.

“You haven’t?”

“Not yet. I’m always conscious of it, and glad to get it off. Ask Sir Garvaon.” Svon paused. “I’m glad to put it on, too. Are you afraid you can’t mount with that war sword? Hang it from the pommel like your shield. Many men do that.”

Thug’s left foot was already in the stirrup; with a firm grip on the saddle, he mounted with everything in him.

“The weight wasn’t as bad as you thought, was it?”

Toug shook his head.

Svon made a small noise and eased his reins; Moonrise trotted into the deserted courtyard, eager to be off. “You know what’s a lot heavier?”

Toug hurried after them. “Your helm?”

“No. This burse.” Its strings were tied to his belt; Svon shook it and it chinked melodiously. “If I were to lose my helm or my shield, I’d go on without them. Lose this, and who would trust me afterward?”

“I would.”

Svon laughed. “Nicely spoken. To tell you the truth, few trust me now.” For a few minutes and more, Svon rode on in silence. “Duke Marder’s coming. Sir Able said so.”

“I don’t know him.”

“I do, and he thinks he knows me. He was my liege, but he never trusted me.”

Side by side they rode through the gate of Utgard, and out on the echoing bridge Toug had crossed on foot the night before, and recrossed with a war sword on his shoulder and Etela skipping after him.