did, I lied." Wistan could keep silent no longer. "We can ride her through the air. You can't know how wonderful it is, Sir Leort. She carried the Son of the Dragon, because Sir Able had taken him prisoner, but she didn't like it. He couldn't ride her alone like we do." Leort wanted to know who the Son of the Dragon was, and I explained. "He's going to carve out a kingdom for himself here in the south? He'll have a hard time of it." "Of course he will," I said, "but he'll have help from Celidon. His Majesty has sworn it. A strong friend down here would be the Valfather's hand." I said nothing about Arnthor's prophecy, although I could not help thinking of it, and salved my conscience by telling myself I knew nothing beyond Gaynor's report; it might be a false prophecy or an ambiguous one, for many prophecies are. It was even possiblealmost probablethat there had been none. A matter you will readily guess troubled me much more. Lothur had promised allies and food on my own promise to break my oath. Cloud was to be returned to me when I had fulfilled my part of the bargain. By his generosity, she had been sent ahead of time. We had received the reinforcements he had promised, and I could not complain of their quality. We had food for a season, and every prospect of gaining more in Celidon when we overcame the Black Caan. All that, and I still had not fulfilled my promise. Nor did I want to. The Valfather is the kindest and wisest ruler, and the bravest. His son Thunor is the model for warriors, as is often said. A hundred times more is the Valfather the model for kings. In that time, when I thought about him often, it came to me with a shock that he was the model for fathers, too. I had told myself I never had a father. Far less than you, Ben. It was not true. He had been my father, and he had known it when I had not. I would betray him, and my honor would be forfeit. Or if I did not, my honor would be forfeit still. Lothur is the model for thieves and murderers; he would kill us or help the Caan do it, and all I hoped to do with the power Skai had given me would never happen. Wistan and I rode on Cloud's broad back, well ahead of the advance guard. Our leisurely pace was compelled by our baggage train, and by our army, too, men worn out who regained their strength through easy marches and whole days of rest. Arnthor was gaining strength as well, though his wound had been almost fatal. Once when I was with him, someone complained of the rigors of the campaign, calling it (with some justice) the worst ever fought. "Ah," said Beel, "you ought to have been with Sir Able and me in Jotunland, where our sharp-eyed bowmen were my daughter's maids, and my cook rode among my men-at-arms with a slaughtering knife." Marder laughed. "Well said. Just don't forget that I was there before it ended, and at the Forest Fight." So swiftly that it came and went like the shadow of a bat, Arnthor frowned as if he might kill him. I did not understand that look and was disturbed by it. Arnthor seldom showed his dragon side, but I had seen it plainly then. What more I might have seen had I been wearing the old helm I can only imagine; and I am glad I was not. I sought out Woddet among the wounded that evening, telling him what had transpired and asking whether he had been at the second battle Marder mentioned. "I was," he said, "and we had a bad time of it. We had gone into the wood run there, when it seemed certain the Osterlings would crush us all. There were so many trees you couldn't swing a sword. I had never used a mace sincenever mind. I used it again, and dropped it wrestling two fellows Heimir brained for me. We had no time to look for it, and I used a saxe after that. I'd not thought it more than a camp knife until that day, but I learned what it could do. I'd hold it low and rush them with my shield up. Some had mail shirts, but their legs were bare. I'd put it through the thigh and cut my way out, and go to the next." I asked whether we had gained the victory, and he said we had to retreat, but we had captured their camp and burned it. "The Black Caan thought to crush us, and win the war," he said, "but he slept on the ground that night." Etela cameLynnet was talking strangely. Etela felt I could help, so I went with her. Wistan, who had told her where she might find me, came with us. Bold Berthold was seated at Lynnet's feet, with Gerda not far away. Toug stood behind her, watching. As we came up, Lynnet said, "Your father was a fine, strong man. Not tall, though he seemed tall. There must have been a hundred times when I saw him standing with another man and noticed, the way you notice suddenly what you ought to have seen long before, that he was no taller than the other. But if you listened to them, you understood that he was much bigger. It was something you couldn't see, but it was there. The other man looked up to him, and when he did, he was looking high. All the men looked up to him, and all the women envied me. Do you remember Daddy's name, Berthold? I won't blame you if you've forgotten after all these years. Not one bit." "Black Berthold," Berthold said. "That's right, his name was Berthold, and he was a fine, strong man. The strongest in our village. Once I saw him wrestle a bull. The bull threw him twice, but he jumped up each time before it could gore him. He threw it and held it down. It struggled like a puppy, but he wouldn't let it get its legs under it again. It frightened me so much I made him promise never to do it again, and he never did. I never knew him to break a promise to anybody." Etela said, "I've brought Sir Able, Mama." Lynnet looked up at me and smiled. "Good evening, Sir Able. I had a son of that name once. You aren't my son, I know, but I'd like to think of you as a son. May I?" I had not noticed Vil until then, because he was farther from the fire than any of the others; but he stepped forward when she said that. Blindness had let him forget to control his expression, and it was a look of mingled hope and fear such as I have seldom seen. I sensed what he wanted me to say, I believe, and said it gladly. "I'd be proud to be called your son, Lady Lynnet, and proud to call you mother." "My name's Mag." She smiled. "But you may call me Mother, or anything you like, Able. You've always been my boy, because I love the boy you were before I met you." I sat at her feet beside Bold Berthold. "Something's troubling me, Mother. Perhaps you can explain it. Do you recall the Room of Lost Love?" She shook her head. "I've never heard of such a place." "What about the Isle of Glas?" "Ah," she said. "You recall it." I looked up at her. "Do you remember how I came there? How we met, and what you told me?" Her smile saddened. "My son Able came to me in that beautiful, terrible place, Sir Able, not you. I was chained there, and though I would willinglyoh, very, willinglyhave come away with him, I could not." Although I often have strange dreams, I have tried not to pester you overmuch with them, Ben. Here I am going to make an exception, not because the dream in question seems specially significant, but merely because I remember it so vividly. Go to the next section if you are impatient. I was in the Forest Fight with Woddet and the others. Either I had no sword, or I could not use it. Perhaps I had a dagger or Sword Breaker. I cannot be sure. There were green bushes and spindly trees all around me. I struggled to push through, afraid that the king would leave me behind. Frantically, I threw myself forward, striking the saplings that obstructed every step, and making leaves fly. As I went farther, I realized that I was not on the ground, nor was I obstructed by brush. I was in the treetops, fifty feet up. If the twigs and small limbs that held me back had not been so thickif they had not been almost impenetrableI would have fallen. No sooner had I understood this than I reached the edge, standing high in a great tree and looking out across the open countryside. A pavilion of black silk had been pitched in a meadow. I knew that Eterne was in there. I also knew Eterne was my true sword; I bore no sword until I had her, and should have borne none until I got her back. I had taken another sword, and could never be shriven of that guilt. Beyond the black pavilion was a highway. Cars, trucks, SUVs, and minivans all sorts of vehicleswere traveling on it, going so fast that it seemed certain they would crash. There was a school bus, a red hook-and-ladder, a black-and-white police car, and a white ambulance. Those stand out even now. The ambulance rocked from side to side as it tore along with its light bar blazing and its siren screaming. I climbed down and went to the highway. The drivers would not stop for me, and I shouted at their cars, thinking how far the ambulance was getting ahead of me. Ablethe real Ablewas in that ambulance. I knew that, and I wanted to help him. I woke up. "Baki?" Someone was stroking me. "Guess again." I thought it a better dream than my dream of the treetop and the crowded highway, my dream of the Forest Fight.
CHAPTER THIRTYNINE IT THIRSTS
From time to time Wistan and I met others on the road, often people fleeing the Osterlings. We spoke kindly to them, and though the news of the enemy they had was far from dependable we heard them gladly. That morning it was a fine young man, lean and dark, who fell to his knees. "Sir! Sir! Can you spare a scrap of food? It's been two days and three nights." Cloud crouched, and I dismounted. "Tell me something of value, and you'll get a good meal. Are you from Celidon?" Reluctantly he said, "This is my country. Here." "Then your countrymen should feed you. Can't you work?" He stood, abashed. "I'm a herdsman. Onlyonly . . ." The dry brush stirred, and I knew we were watched. "Only I never saw a animal like that, sir." "Nor will you ever see another." Wistan pointed. "How'd you get that scar?" "A arrow. Sometimes people steal our cattle, or try." I said, "You yourself never cross the river into Celidon to steal cattle, I'm sure." "Would you kill me for it? Now?" I shook my head. "My children, sir, and my wife. They haven't had a thing to eat. Not today, and not yesterday neither. If you'll give something, sir, anything we can eat, and tell us what cattle's yours? I'd never bother one head of yours. Never again." He looked up at me hopefully. "Who has your herd?" "Them from across the mountains. I won't never touch a animal of yours nor fight your herders. By wind and grass!" "If I give you something now. Something to eat." He fell to his knees again, hands outstretched. I doubt that he had begged before; certainly he knew little about it. I made him rise. "Tell your wife and children to come out. I won't hurt them and I want to see them." She was tall and graceful, darker than he; her eyes were the sky at moonrise. Their boys were about four and five. "I don't have food," I told him, "but I can see you get plenty if you'll earn it. There's a knight behind me. Do you know what a knight is?" He nodded, a little hesitantly. "A man like me, with a painted shield. His has leopards on it. Tell him you've talked to me, to Sir Able." The woman said, "Sir Able." "Right. Make him the promise you offered me. Tell him you'll fight the men from over the mountains with us if he'll feed you and your family and give you weapons." He grinned and rubbed his hands. "They're close behind us, Sir Able," his wife said. I promised her that she and her children would be safe with us if her husband fought for us. We met the first at noon, a small group I thought was a patrol. Cloud charged, and I made good use of a new string while wishing I had Parka's. They scattered, we topped a ridge and saw the advance guard of the Host of Osterlanda hundred horsemen, a horde of famished spearmen, and two elephants. Cloud impaled an elephant and tossed it, men and weapons scattering the way water scatters from a trout. The other fled, and we returned to our own advance guard and sent a man to warn Arnthor that the enemy was at hand. There was a brisk fight that afternoon. The open, arid desert is perfect for cavalry, but the Knight of the Leopards and I had few horses, and those we had were not in the best condition. The Caan's horsemen flanked us, charging our shield-wall and nearly breaking it, scattering when I charged from between our ranks and re-forming behind their infantry. Our bowmen made good practice, and each charge cost men and horses. When the last had been repelled, their infantry showered us with sling-stones. We advanced and were met with the kind of wild attack we had come to know so well. The Knight of the Leopards and I fought on foot before the shieldwall, and though the questing blade Baki had found for me was not Eterne, it drank blood to its hilt, drawing me step by step in search of the life it was destined to end. "I tried to keep pace with you," the Knight of Leopards said afterward, "and so did the men. They could keep up with me, but not with you." "I was scarcely able to keep up with my own sword." He laughed. "But you were Able. How's Gylf?" "He'll live, I'm sure, if we can keep him from fighting 'til he's well. Wistan's with him, and I'll sleep by him." "You thought he couldn't be hurt." It was said soberly, and was not a question. "Yes," I said. "I suppose I did." "Anyone can be hurtanyone. That includes you." "I've learned I can be killed." To tell the truthand I have tried throughout this whole account to tell you the truth, Ben, as I knew it at the timeI expected an attack that night. The Osterlings, I thought, would be eager to bring us to battle. In this I was misled by my ignorance of the early stages of the war and the battle on the wooded slopes of the Mountains of the Sun that came after. I had not experienced it as the Caan had. Osterland had been beaten by Celidon (decisively, it no doubt seemed) at Five Fates, the battle that had cost him his father and brothers and made him Caan. He had regrouped, beaten Celidon at the passes, and pressed on, his army gorged on flesh and ready for battle on any termsa battle he must have felt sure would be the last. The result had been the Forest Fight, over which neither he nor Arnthor had exercised control. He had won in the end; but his camp had been sacked, and the war that seemed nearly over had become a long struggle. He had outflanked Arnthor and taken Kingsdoom and Thortower, had sacked them both and butchered thousands, and so regained the prestige he had lost in the Forest Fight; but Arnthor had refused battle again and again. Driven south, then west, then south again, Arnthor had yielded the Mountain of Fire, retaken it, yielded it again at my urging, retreated, and now returned renewed, proving a dangerous and persevering enemy. A night attack might have become the sort of uncontrollable clash the Forest Fight had been; and even if Osterland prevailed, a night attack would be more apt to disperse than to destroy us. None of which I knew when I lay listening to Gylf's labored breaths and wondering whether I had cleaned his wound well enough. Knowing that even if I had, he might die. "Able?" "Yes," I told him. "I'm right here." "Ears up." "Are they coming?" I sat up. Some strident insect was singing. Much farther away, sentries bawled the numbers of their posts to prove they were awake and in position. Cloud slept; her dreams were of elephants and starry meadows. "Ears up," Gylf repeated. "What is it?" I asked him; Uns stirred in his sleep. "Master," Gylf muttered. "He walks." The insect had ceased buzzing, and the sentries fallen silent. No wind disturbed the dry brush or moaned among the naked rocks; and in that charmed silence I came to understand that Gylf was right. Someone far bigger than Heimirsomeone far bigger than Schildstarrhad left the seat from which his single eye beheld Skai and Mythgarthr. His ravens flew before him, and their all-seeing eyes were his. His wolves trotted at his heels, winding the blood that had not yet dyed the Greenflood. I shivered with fear, and drew my cloak about me. Gylf slept, but it was hours before I did. I dreamed of the Caan's sea rovers; my mind was full of them when I woke. The brave blood runs first, we say, and mean that someone who has taken a wound never fights boldly again. No doubt there is truth in it, as in many sayings; but I have never found it a good guide. The older a man is, the more cautious he is apt to be, but that is true whether he has been wounded or not; and it was slaughtering so many enemies, not wounds, that had sobered Woddet. How did it feel to be a man as large and as strong as he, and to lie with a woman half again your size, a woman who could snap pike shafts? How did it feel, for that matter, to lie with any woman? Disiri had been humanor humanlike for me so long ago. Seeking any distraction, I rose and donned the old helm. Gylf was a sleeping beast far mightier than he had appeared, but wounded still; no strength was left in the jaws that had shaken men like rats.