Gene Wolfe - The Wizard

Not since I left Skai had I fought as I fought then, charging down screes of air to drive lance or sword into the upturned faces of the sons of the Giants of Winter and Old Night. The blows before Utgard, if I described them all, would fill a hundred pages. I will say only that once Eterne clove the skull of a Frost Giant to the jaw, and that though I tried to sweep the heads of Orgalmir and Borgalmir from their necks with a single blow, I failed, and that giant who had been two-headed fought on with one, though blood spurted from the severed neck as though to dye Mythgarthr.

Upon that and other blood, the grim ghosts brought by Eterne’s baring feasted, so that in the level rays of the morning sun they seemed no less than men, and their spectral blades rent palpable wounds, at which their owners grinned that cheerful grin we see in skulls, and slew again.

I have been writing too much about myself. Let me write about others. First, Marder. No one who saw him could have guessed there was white hair and a white beard under his helm. A lance and horse better managed I have never seen.

Beel fought too; and we who thought him dead found him under the corpse of Thrym, and gloried, laughed, and shouted to see him blink and gasp for air.

Toug, who had sworn never to fight again, fought and fell, and would I think have died that day were it not for Gylf—bigger than any lion, and more fierce—who stood over him until Wistan dragged him to safety.

As for the Knight of the Leopards, a leopard from his shield might have sprung to life. Lance broken and helm gone, he fought on; and I have rarely seen a brand fly that fast or cut that deep.

Wounded more sorely even than Toug, Woddet fought with Heimir to his left and Hela on his right. Three Angrborn fell to them, which should be one for each; but someone who swears that he knows (and should, since he watched from my saddlebag) said one was Woddet’s and two were Hela’s.

That I can well believe. The Lady stands shieldmaid to the Valfather, and I cannot compare Hela to her. But think of the goddess of a ruder nation, thick-limbed, tall as any rearing mare, with ravening mouth, flying hair, and blood-drenched spear. If I met Hela in battle, I might turn aside.

Marder and the Knight of the Leopards surprised me. I hope I have made that plain. Idnn surprised me too, plying her bow like the best, and taking cool aim when the battle was hottest. But no one surprised me that day more than Garvaon. I knew him for an able swordsman. I had thought him a prudent knight, careful and perhaps a bit cautious. He fought as furiously as Hela, with helmet and no helm, as he and Svon had fought King Gilling’s champions. Unhorsed, he fought all the harder, caught a horse whose rider had fallen, and charged into the thick of the fight once more.

So we had our furious fighters; no doubt I was one. We had our rocks as well. The Angrborn would have killed Idnn and scattered her bowwomen a dozen times had it not been for Svon and the servingmen he led, and in all honesty I doubt that Toug would have gone into the fight without his example.

It was, in short, one of those rare battles in which nearly everyone fought (although Berthold and Gerda did not, nor did the blind slaves, Etela and Lynnet, and the slave women), and in which everyone who fought, fought well. That said, it seemed to me that without Garvaon and the Knight of the Leopards we could not have won, and it was only through the Valfather’s grace that we won with them.

After the battle I took the rear guard—the Knight of the Leopards and his men, and ten of Marder’s; thus I had no chance to speak with the rest until we camped. It was late, black night, for we had ridden far, fearing pursuit. Pouk helped me out of my armor and began to clean and polish everything while Uns (returned by Idnn as she had promised) cooked for us. Persuaded by Berthold and Gerda, I lay down, and half asleep heard the whisperings of my bowstring: the lives and deaths of many men and women, and children, too—lives of toil mostly, of poverty and hunger. Perhaps I had just closed my eyes. Equally, I may have closed them an hour before. In any case, I was roused by Beel’s valet, who shook my shoulder calling, “Sir Able? Sir Able, sir?”

I sat up and asked what he wanted.

“It’s His Lordship, Sir Able. He’s—His Lordship would speak with you. His Lordship is far from well.”

Still half asleep, I stood. “Dying?”

“Oh, no, sir! I hope not, sir. But he—he cannot walk far, Sir Able. I mean, he would try, but we won’t let him. They won’t, sir. He wanted to come here, sir. He wanted me to support him so he wouldn’t fall. They wouldn’t allow it, Sir Able. The Queen, Sir Able, and His Grace. And I had to agree. So I came.” He paused, and cleared his throat. “If I give offense, sir, the fault is mine.”

Uns was trying to give me a bowl of stew and a spoon. The stew smelled delicious, and to silence him I accepted both and began to eat.

“If you would come, Sir Able...? I—I am aware you owe me nothing, but—”

“Nonsense. You spoke boldly in my defense, Swert. Do you think I’ve forgotten that?”

“You recall my name, Sir Able? That is—is... Well, sir, I—I confess—”

“Have you eaten?”

“I? Why, ah, I don’t think so, Sir Able. Not since we left that horrid castle, sir. I’ve—we’ve been caring for His Lordship, and there’s been no time.”

I gave him my spoon and what remained in the bowl, a bit more than half, and munched the piece of coarse bread quickly offered by Uns. Thus, both of us eating (and eating as fast as we could), Swert and I made our way through the discomfort and disorder of the camp to Beel’s pavilion.

I had hoped to find him asleep, but he was awake and propped in his folding bed, with Idnn on a stool at his bedside and Marder in a chair eating porridge.

“Sir Able.” Beel managed a smile, although I could see he was in a lot of pain. “Be seated, please. You must be tired. All of us are.”

I looked to Idnn, and received a glittering nod. Marder nodded as well. Swert brought in a folding chair, and I sat down. “To see you sitting up and smiling is worth hours of rest to me, My Lord. I imagine Her Majesty and His Grace might say the same.”

“I killed Thrym, the captain of the King’s Guard.”

“So I heard. I congratulate you, My Lord.”

“I don’t congratulate myself.” Beel was silent for a moment, adjusting his position in his bed, his mouth twisted with pain. “You weren’t present when he halted us outside Utgard, Sir Able. Neither was His Grace. But you may have heard of it. King Gilling had been told—though I can’t imagine who his informant may have been—of Her Majesty’s cat. You gave her that cat, I believe.”

Idnn said, “We asked for Mani, Father, and he gave him to us.”

“Exactly. Exactly. He wanted to see the cat, and keep us waiting outside. I stood there in the road, in the wind, and talked with Thrym for an hour. Trying to get us in, you know. He was a monster, the largest of them all. I was terrified of him and tried not to show it.”

Idnn said, “Father, you weren’t!”

“Yes, I was. Shaking in my boots.” He smiled. “If you had told me I’d have to fight him, I would have slashed my wrists. If you’d told me I would win, I’d have said that all prophesy is moonshine, even mine. You know me, Your Majesty. I bounced you on my knee and played hide-and-seek. Am I a man of war? A knight, or anything like one?”

Idnn shook her head.

“Now I’ve killed the captain of King Schildstarr’s Guard. That wasn’t what we wanted to talk to you about, Sir Able, though it may bear upon it. But I did it, and I can’t keep quiet about it. Killing one giant, even the captain of the Guard, can’t mean much to you. How many did you kill this morning? A score?”