The Bitterbynde Trilogy (174 page)

William looked up at the speaker. In his life, he had never known fear, yet meeting that wrathful gaze he was severely shaken. His discomfiture was compounded by humiliation and embarrassment.

‘Lord,' said he, uneasily, ‘I am most eager to make reparation for my churlishness, and would fain win your goodwill.'

‘By what means?' asked the stranger.

‘If you will give me your name, I will try to find an appropriate method,' William replied.

The tall rider answered, ‘Angavar, High King of the Fair Realm, am I called.'

Then William was in no doubt about the peril he faced.

‘Greatest of sovereigns, I wish you well,' he said. ‘I understand now that I have offended no mortal huntsman, but the most powerful of all Lords of Gramarye. I beg you to bid me do anything within my power and I shall do it, in order to regain your high regard and be of accord with you.'

‘In that case, hearken,' said the Faêran King. ‘In the Realm of Faêrie I am plagued by the Waelghast, who is Lord of the Unseelie Host. My power is greater than his, for as you know well, I am mightier than any wight, man or Faêran in Aia. Despite this he is forever trying to contend against me, and his followers challenge my knights without cease. In his folly he boasts to his entourage that I shall never overthrow him.

‘It has been decided that once in every Erithan year he and I shall encounter one another in a duel, and the winner shall be proclaimed the stronger. Already we have met once. We are to clash again, twelve of your months from this very morn. I commission you to do duty for me in that contest. If you will do this, I shall put upon you the semblance of myself, and send you forthwith to the Fair Realm, in my place. There, neither Faêran nor wight nor mortal visitor will guess it is not myself who comes home from the hunt. The glamour I will put on you cannot be penetrated by their arts.'

‘Yet, if you have not prevailed in this duel,' said William, ‘how shall I?'

‘There is one way only. With your first blow you will sorely wound the Waelghast. He will fall to his knees and cry mercy, begging you to deal him a second stroke to release him from the torment of his agony. He will be in the form of a fair and chivalrous knight, and by his words he will try to elicit your compassion. Once I submitted to his appeal, and there is a good chance I will do the same next time. Under no circumstances must you be persuaded, however. Smite him a second time and he will arise whole once more. Deliver a single stroke only, and peace shall reign again.'

‘Must Erith be ungoverned while I reside in Faêrie?'

‘As I will give you my aspect, so I will take yours. In your stead I will go this day to Caermelor, and none will suspect I am not William D'Armancourt.'

William looked down at the noble stag whose throat he had cut. No longer did it sprawl on the greensward with the blood pumping from its neck like a welter of rubies. Its hide was whole once more, white as innocence. Clambering upright, it walked to Angavar and nuzzled his hand.

‘A stag of Faêrie,' said Angavar. ‘They are bred to the chase. Countless times have I hunted this beast and much sport has he given me.' To the beast he said, ‘Go thou, Royal Cervidus. The Gate is open.' Then to William he said, ‘Make haste—we ride this hour. We must reach the outskirts of the Fair Realm before sunfall.'

Together they cantered across the countryside. William was not aware of passing through any Gate, but as the sun slid near the horizon, he perceived that the landscape had altered, and he knew he rode within the Fair Realm.

As soon as they approached within view of a mighty, ancient forest they drew rein. William looked across at the Faêran King and saw himself, astride his own horse. He glanced down, and saw the form of Angavar mounted on the grey stallion. In his amazement, his breath caught in his chest for an instant, and his heart jumped.

‘Your new abode lies before you,' said Angavar. ‘Return to the Forest of Glincuith in a year and a day. There I will meet you, and we shall revert to our true shapes.'

‘Tarry a moment!' said William suddenly. ‘One troublous matter has occurred to me. When I fight, my left hand is the dominant. You people will note this …'

‘Fear not,' said Angavar, ‘your handedness could not be more appropriate. I, too, am sinistral. Now, ride forth.'

They took their leave of one another and Angavar seemed somehow to melt into the woodlands. William, however, with the white hounds following in his wake, rode into the ancient forest.

Here was the abode of Angavar. It was a palace, but not after the fashion of the palaces of mortal Kings. Aisles of growing trees formed the corridors and halls. The chambers were greenwood bowers, hung with leaves and flowering vines instead of tapestries; floored with living mosses instead of carpets, and in places, with smooth, natural slate. This royal dwelling place was open to the sky, yet it was apparent that rain never spoiled the interior. It was lit by stars of extraordinary brilliance and by lamps hung in the trees, and by luminous flying insects. No form of comfort was lacking.

The Faêran lords and ladies welcomed him as the High King. They themselves waited on him, fetching rose-scented water for bathing, and wine for his refreshment. The dusty hunting garments they removed from him, replacing them with raiment of green and gold. Then he sat down to feast in a magnificent hall, wherein was provided every luxury a man's dreams could invent.

A company of noble lords and ladies occupied the table with William. Their voices were clear and melodious as mountain waters; their faces were fairer far than those of mortalkind, and they were dressed in the richest costumes of gold and green and silver, glittering with gems. Glamoured as they were by the power of Angavar that clung about the interloper, even the greatest among them did not know William for a mortal man, and perhaps this was also a jest on the part of the Faêran High King.

Thus William ruled as High King in the Fair Realm, and so greatly did he relish that year that it fleeted past like a stag before the hunt.

The day for his encounter with the Unseelie Lord drew nigh, and the entire Fair Realm began to seethe in a state of excitement.

The duel was to take place at a river crossing. There, the Faêran companies met the Unseelie Host, and in front of this mighty gathering, one of Angavar's knights cried loudly, ‘This is no quarrel between kindreds, but between our leaders. Hence, let an oath be sworn amongst us that we shall not offer battle to one another. Instead we shall accept the result of their combat and acknowledge the one who conquers as the stronger.'

A thundering shout of accord arose from both camps, and the Waelghast and William made ready to fight. As Angavar had foretold, the unseelie adversary appeared as a young knight of noble face and graceful bearing. His sword was buckled on his right side and his lance rest was on his left—in the nature of wights, he could choose to lead with either hand, and preferred to mirror his opponent.

Clad in elegantly sculpted armour, the opponents faced one another from opposite banks of the river and closed their visors. A horn sang loudly. At this signal, they lowered and levelled their lances, braced them firmly in the metal niches under their arms, and urged their horses forward. Glittering jets of water sprayed up from the hooves of their chargers as they pounded towards the middle of the ford. They met with a shock that drove down to the roots of William's heels, but his aim was true and he held steady. His weapon shattered the boss of the Waelghast's shield and perforated his body-armour. The tip of the lance entered just below the heart of the unseelie warrior, if such a creature could be said to possess a heart. No doubt the lance of Angavar, wielded by William, was saturated with certain qualities of gramarye, since it could inflict a wound on an eldritch entity of such essential power.

The youthful knight fell from his steed into the shallow river, and his blood mingled with the waters. William leaped from his own charger and stood over him, drawing his sword.

In evident agony the comely youth gazed up at him and cried, ‘Angavar King, I conjure you by all that you hold most dear in the Realm of Faêrie to put me out of my pain. Finish your task. Smite me a second time, and more mightily than before.'

As he gazed upon the young knight, the mortal king was reminded of the vigour, impetuousness and enthusiasm of his own recent years. He recalled many an occasion when he had stumbled at the feet of his fencing-master, or been thrown down by his comrades during a wrestling bout. For an instant he seemed to see himself lying there, reaching out his open palm to ask for help, and pity threatened to stir within his mortal breast.

The instant passed, as William recollected that his defeated opponent was not human but an eldritch wight, who had pleaded with him in the name of everything he loved in the Fair Realm.

He did not allow his stern countenance to betray his wry amusement, mingled with his natural compassion, triumph and horror. Bidding his heart petrify to frozen stone, he thought,
Had I been, in truth, the sovereign of this realm, he would have snared me easily with this sad petition. There is nothing here I hold dear. All things that I truly love are in my own mortal world of Erith.

He lowered his blade.

‘Your request,' he replied levelly, ‘is refused. I will not strike you again.'

Perceiving the steel lacing the King's eyes, the Unseelie Lord called to his followers and bade them carry him from the ford, for he knew that before sunset all his power would fade and he would thereafter be but a shadow of his former self, a ragged, flapping, almost mindless thing, no greater than the least of eldritch wights.

Thus, with one blow, did William of Erith defeat the Waelghast, fulfilling his promise to Angavar and bringing peace back to the Kingdom of the Faêran. The Unseelie Host knelt before him to pay homage, and celebration blossomed throughout the realm. William, however, did not tarry longer than was necessary. He had kept his word and now his sojourn was at an end; he was eager to return to home and hearth. Excellent beyond description was the Fair Realm; yet it was not home to him.

Alone, he rode away to the Forest of Glincuith, seeking the glade wherein he had first set eyes on the High King of the Faêran. There, beneath the nodding boughs heavy with foliage, a horseman silently waited for him; Angavar, in his true form. Glancing down, William discovered that his own shape was already on him once more.

Their second meeting was in striking contrast to the first. This time the two Kings hailed one another in a spirit of joyous camaraderie. There was no need for Angavar to ask how William had fared in the duel; he was aware of all that had passed in the Fair Realm during his absence. Nevertheless, he listened with delight as William recounted his story, and he laughed, congratulating Erith's King-Emperor on his success.

‘For my part, I have ensured your kingdom's prosperity and freedom from strife these past four seasons,' said Angavar. ‘You may be assured that your subjects have not suffered during your absence.'

‘Sir, I doubt you not!' said William earnestly. ‘On my life,' he added, with a grin, ‘I never had such remarkable adventures as I have enjoyed this past year in your domain. I am forever grateful, and I swear friendship to you for as long as I live.'

‘And I to you!' replied Angavar. ‘Rarely have I encountered a man so worthy of honour. Now we must part, but there is something I must do first, if you are to live contentedly from this hour.'

Placing his hand upon the head of William, he said softly, ‘Forget. Forget desire and delight in the land beyond the stars.'

With that they bade farewell to one another, and William rode with haste to Caermelor. When he arrived his guards saluted him, and his household welcomed him back as though he had only departed that very morning. He exulted at the sight of his people and his home, but he was heedful also, and concealed his happiness.

On the following day he called his advisers together and asked them to tell him how they had liked his rule during the past year. They were silent for a moment, pondering why he should ask such a question, then the most venerable among them said, ‘My liege, since you succeeded to the throne you have ruled justly and effectively, but in the year just past you have displayed greater statesmanship and discretion in all affairs of government than ever before. Not until this year have you hearkened so intently to the wishes of the people, and never to my knowledge have the known lands flourished as well as they do now. Appropriately have your subjects named you William the Wise.' Bending into a deep bow, he subjoined, ‘May it please Your Majesty to continue to govern as you have governed this past twelvemonth.'

‘I shall honour your request,' said William. ‘Glad indeed am I to hear your report.' He looked at the honest faces of the councillors before him and noted the faint signs of perplexity written there. Merriment welled up in him until he could contain and hide it no longer. William was not a man who loved deception, and he had had his fill of it that year. ‘No more secrets,' said he, laughing aloud, and to the amazement of his advisors he proceeded to recount the tale of his prolonged visit to the Fair Realm, concluding with the wonderful tidings of his alliance with Angavar, High King.

His audience rejoiced, yet they kept it a secret amongst themselves, and it was not revealed until after the King-Emperor's death many years later. For the rest of his long life, William retained his fast friendship with Angavar. It became their custom to meet from time to time and together hunt the Faêran stag in the Forest of Glincuith. Occasionally they would give presents to one another.

William the Wise did not die until after the great Closing of the Gates between the Fair Realm and Erith. Before the Closing, Angavar gave his mortal friend the Faêran-wrought gift of sildron, and advised him how to manage the shang winds which would be released by the rupturing of the borders between the worlds. After the Closing, Angavar in exile knew that some day he would enter the Pendur Sleep, the more easily to let the centuries roll past. Therefore he gave to William the Coirnéad, a hunting-horn of Faêran craftsmanship, promising his help to him and the sons of the House of D'Armancourt, should they ever sound the horn in sore need.