Just.
When the fever abated, Alfric did not ask what had happened. Not at first. But his mother put his spectacles in place, which told him, at the very least, that someone had found the slaughter-sight, and that something at least had been recovered from the forest.
Later, when Alfric was feeling stronger, his father came to his side. And Alfric at last asked what had happened. He thought it best to ask until he knew what other people knew. Once he knew that, then he would know what lies he would have to tell, though he hoped he would not have to lie to his father.
‘You quested against the vampires,’ said Grendel Danbrog. ‘Do you remember that?’
‘That, yes,’ said Alfric. ‘I remember that much.’
‘You succeeded. You must have. For the sword Kinskorn was recovered from the forest.’
‘Recovered?’ said Alfric.
‘I found it myself,’ said his father. ‘When you did not come back, I went looking for you. I tracked you through the forest. I came to a scene of fight and of slaughter.’
‘Oh,’ said Alfric.
He remembered.
Despite his fever, he remembered very clearly. All was clear until the time he had come to the fire by the sea. After that, things were nightmarish. Either he had or had not been summoned to the shore by a coven of witches. Either he had or had not embraced a woman with a face too desolate for love. Either he had or had not been summoned to the sea for that precise purpose.
‘A wolf was there,’ said Grendel.
‘A wolf?’ said Alfric.
‘In the forest,’ said Grendel. ‘Its throat tom open.’ ‘Oh,’ said A lfric. ‘Yes. A stick. I did that with a stick. Sharpened with a knife. ’
‘I guessed as much,’ said Grendel. ‘The wolf was clothed in the ruins of garments belonging to Muscleman Wu, so I had it brought back to Galsh Ebrek and named as Wu’s corpse. The family Norn has not sought to deny it.’
‘You had it brought back?’
‘My comrades helped me. A dozen of the staunchest of the Yudonic K nights.’
‘Good,’ said Alfric, weakly. ‘Good.’
‘That’s shut them up, I can tell you,’ said Grendel. ‘Not much noise from the Noms now one’s proved a shape-changer.’
‘Norns, plural? Surely Ciranoush is the sole survivor, singular.’
‘Is it a pedant I’ve bred? For sure, Pig Nom is dead and Wu Norn likewise. For sure, Ciranoush Nom was one of three. But brothers have fathers and cousins and uncles and nephews and cousins once and twice and thrice removed, and I bid you tread carefully unless you want to embroil us in feud.’
‘I’ll tread very carefully,’ said Alfric, shrinking more than slig htly from his father’s anger.
‘Good,’ said Grendel. ‘Good.’
‘I didn’t… I didn’t choose battle,’ said Alfric. ‘Not then. Not in the forest.’
‘I guessed that,’ said Grendel. ‘But regardless of what you chose, you did well. Another corpse we found. The corpse of Pulaman the Tracker. You know him?’
‘No,’ said Alfric.
‘That’s no loss,’ said Grendel. ‘He was a nasty piece of work. Good with his tracking but reckless in combat. A sword was in his guts. Kinskom was that sword. You must have killed him.’
‘I did,’ said Alfric. ‘I remember.’
It was true. He remembered perfectly. And was disappointed to leam that he had killed a stranger, this Pulaman the Tracker of whom he had never heard. He had really thought it was Ciranoush Zaxilian Nom who had died on the end of Kinskom, and life would have been much simpler if Ciranoush had died.
‘I pulled free the sword and brought it back here,’ said Grendel. ‘I knew it to be yours to claim.’
‘You have it here?’
‘I do,’ said Grendel.
‘May I see it?’
‘But of course.’
The sword was produced, and Alfric fondled it lovingly, and only broke off his fondling when his mother started ladling soup into his mouth.
‘I would have thought,’ said Alfric, speaking between mouthfuls of soup, ‘that you would have taken this blade already to Saxo Pall.’
‘Think less and eat more,’ said his mother.
Soup engulfed Alfric’s vocabulary.
‘To take in the sword is your privilege,’ said Grendel. ‘Thus I kept it here for you.’ ‘How long have I been here?’
Grendel told him.
‘You were found on the beach by the seaweed scavengers. You were by a fire. Amidst footprints. Who was it found you?’
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Alfric.
‘But you have a mouth,’ said Gertrude. ‘Open it!’ Alfric yawned, w as souped, swallowed.
‘You were nine parts dead when found,’ said Grendel. ‘A blanket upon you, but nothing else. And a fever had you, oh yes, a wicked fever. But they brought you to me and we’ve cared for you nicely since.’
‘How was it,’ said Alfric’s mother, ‘that you came to be naked?’
‘I thought they had dogs,’ said Alfric. ‘The hunters, I mean. I heard them. Tracking me. I took off my clothes, meaning to confuse the scent. Mud, that was going to be next. Mud on my flesh for warmth and disguise. Slip round behind them, mud in the shadows. Finish the men, the dogs.’
‘But there were no dogs,’ said Gertrude.
‘Peace, woman,’ said Grendel. ‘We weren’t there. We don’t know what there was or wasn’t.’
‘Maybe there weren’t dogs,’ said Alfric. ‘Maybe I imagined them. But imagining’s no crime, is it?’
‘No,’ said Gertrude. ‘But it’s a crime to starve when there’s food here in plenty. Come on. Open your mouth!’
Alfric obeyed, and was fed, and thus began the completion of his recovery; and three nights later he felt strong enough to march upon Saxo Pall.
So forth from his father’s house went Alfric Danbrog, returning to Galsh Ebrek to declare his triumph in the third of his quests. A triple triumph! That meant he was king. The Wormlord would receive his gift; would praise him and crown him; and then would ride forth to meet his death at the hands of Herself.
So thought Alfric, exulting in visions of his own grandeur as he strode through the mud of the streets of Galsh Ebrek. Such was his intoxication that he walked right into a zana, and the wild rainbow stung him savagely. That sobered him somewhat; and he was sobered more to find no welcome in Saxo Pall, but, instead, hostile servants and surly guards.
‘What is going on?’ said Alfric, when Guignol Grangalet came forth to meet him. ‘Have I offended the throne in some way?’
‘That is not for me to say,’ said the Chief of Protocol evasively. ‘Best we go to the throne room.’
‘Indeed!’ said Alfric.
So there they went. But there was no sign of the Wormlord. Instead, a blonde and full-breasted woman sat upon the throne. It was Ursula Major, the Worm-lord’s daughter. Alfric was outraged to see her thus seated, but controlled his temper nicely.
‘Good evening, aunt,’ said Alfric, knowing full well that Ursula Major hated to be addressed as aunt. He bowed slightly then said: ‘Lo! I have brought the brave sword Kinskom!’
Loudly he declaimed those words; loudly and proudly. But, somehow, they fell flat.
‘Thank you for the sword,’ said Ursula coolly. ‘The gift is welcome.’
‘The gift has a price,’ said Alfric. ‘The price is the chair in which you sit.’
‘You have no chairs of your own?’ said Ursula. ‘How sad! Never mind. If yoti’re truly here to beg for a bit of furniture, no doubt my good man Grangalet can find you a stool to take home.’
Alfric did not appreciate this clumsy joke. He was starting to get angry.
‘I claim the throne,’ he said. ‘I am now rightfully king of Wen Endex.’
‘The king, are you?’ said Ursula Major.
‘I am,’ said Alfric, ‘unless the Wormlord has repudiated his words. Where is he? Where is the Wormlord? Is he dead?’
‘He is poorly,’ said Ursula Major.
Her dulcet voice was cool, controlled. Even so, Alfric heard her fear. She was frightened. Of him.