“Nay, go ye with Sir Holger,” said the girl.
“But—” said Hugi.
“Ye heard me,” said Alianora.
Alfric shrugged. “If you wish to join us, Sir Knight—” he hinted.
Holger climbed down and doffed his armor. The Pharisees looked away when he touched his cross-hilted weapons. Papillon snorted and glared at their horses. Alianora loaded the equipment on the stallion and took his bridle. “I’ll await ye in the woods,” she said, and led the charger off. Holger’s eyes followed her till she had disappeared.
The party trooped into the stronghold. A courtyard stretched wide, with arbors and flowerbeds and splashing fountains, with music and a heavy smell of roses on the air. Before the main keep Holger saw the ladies of Faerie gathered to watch. For a while he forgot everything else. Jumping Judas! It was worth crossing universes just to get a look. He bowed to them in a daze.
Alfric told a short, green-skinned goblin slave to lead him to his quarters. “We will await you at dinner,” he said graciously. Holger, with Hugi trotting in his wake, passed along labyrinthine corridors, high and vaulted and dimly gleaming. Through arched doorways he glimpsed rooms ablaze with jewels. Of course, he thought, trying to maintain equilibrium, when you could conjure such things from the air—
Up a long, curved flight of stairs, down another hall, into a suite of rooms right out of the Arabian Nights. The goblin kowtowed and left them. Holger looked around at glowing carpets, mosaics of precious stones, cloth-of-gold hangings, out balcony windows to acres of garden. Tapers burned with a clear unwavering light. On one wall hung a tapestry whose figures slowly changed, acting out a story from which he looked away with a slight shiver.
“I maun say they do theirselves richt well here,” declared Hugi. “Natheless, I’d swap the whole caboodle to be back under ma ain auld oak root. Here’s a tricksy bigging.”
“No argument. Holger wandered into a bathroom which offered him every comfort of home, soap, hot running water, scissors, razor, a glass mirror, and yet was like nothing from home. Nevertheless he came out feeling much refreshed. On the bed lay a suit which must be meant for him; when he donned it, he was fitted as if with another skin. Full-sleeved silken shirt, purple satin vest, crimson hose, short blue mantle, black velvet shoes, everything worked with gold thread and jewels, trimmed with soft strange furs, boosted his morale still higher. He noticed a set of military gear in a corner, including a sword with a crescent-shaped guard. That was tactful of Alfric, though one could scarcely carry weapons to dinner.
“Och, ’tis a bra figure ye cut, Sir Holger,” admired Hugi. “Belike ye maun fight off the Faerie dames. They’re a lickerish lot here, ’tis said.”
“I wish I knew why everyone’s turned so friendly,” said Holger. “Aren’t the Pharisees on uneasy terms with mankind, at best? Why should Alfric put himself out like this for me?”
“No telling, lad. Mayhap ’tis but a snare for ye. Then again, it may amuse him to do ye a kindness. Ye canna guess wha’ the Faerie folk will think or do. They know not theirselves, nor care.”
“I feel guilty about letting you sit here and Alianora camp out in the woods.”
“Oh, they’ll gi’ me summat t’ eat, and the lassie’s happier where she be. I ken what’s in her mind. I’m t’ help ye wi’ rede and deed herein, whilst she waits ootside to do wha’ she can if need should arise.”
A goblin appeared, to announce obsequiously that dinner was served. Holger followed him down smoky-blue halls and into a chamber so huge he could scarcely see the end or the ceiling. The lords and ladies of Faerie surrounded the table like a melted rainbow. Unhuman slaves scurried about, music came from somewhere, talk and laughter danced above a somehow unbroken hush.
Holger was conducted to Alfric’s left, with a girl introduced as Meriven on his other side. The impact of her face and figure was such that he scarcely heard the name. Rubber-kneed, he sat down and tried to make conversation.
She responded readily, despite the feebleness of his efforts. From what he overheard Holger gathered that talk was a high art here: swift, witty, poetic, cynical, always a hint of delicate malice, always with elaborate rules he didn’t begin to comprehend. Well, he thought, immortals who had nothing to do but hunt, magic, intrigue, and wage war, would develop sophistication out of sheer necessity. They hadn’t heard of forks here, but the food and the many wines were a symphony. If only Meriven weren’t so distracting. This was a classic embarras de richesses.
“Truly,” she breathed, holding his gaze with those curious eyes that, in her, no longer bothered him, “you are a bold man thus to venture hitherwards. That death-stroke you gave your foe, ah, ’twas beautiful!”
“You saw?” he asked sharply.
“In the Black Well, yes. I watched you. As to whether we but jested, or intended your life in earnest, Sir ’Olger, ’tis not good for a young man to know too much. A trace of puzzlement keeps him from stodginess.” She laughed sweetly. “But what does bring you here?”
He grinned. “Nor should a young lady know too much,” he answered.
“Ah, cruel! Yet am I glad you came.” She used the intimate pronoun. “I may address you thus, fair sir? There is a kinship of spirit between us, even if we find ourselves at war now and again.”
“Dearest enemy,” said Holger. She drooped her lids, smiling with appreciation. His own eyes had a tendency to fall too that décolletage of hers. He searched his mind for more cribs from Shakespeare. The situation was made to order.
They continued the flirtation throughout the banquet, which seemed to take hours. Afterward the company went into an even larger chamber for dancing. But as the music started, Duke Alfric drew Holger aside.
“Come with me a moment, if you will, good sir,” he said. “We’d best talk over your problem at once, under four eyes, so that I can think on it awhile; for I foresee that our ladies will give you scant peace.”
“Thank you, your grace,” said Holger, a trifle grumpily. He didn’t much care to remember realities just now.
They strolled into a garden, found a bench beneath a luminous willow, and sat down. A fountain danced before them, a nightingale sang behind. Alfric’s black-clad body leaned back in one supple motion. “Say what you will, Sir ’Olger,” he invited.
Well, no use holding anything back. If the Pharisee did have power to return him, he’d probably have to know the whole situation. Only where to start? How do you describe an entire world?
Holger did his best. Alfric guided him with occasional penetrating questions. The Duke never showed surprise, but at the end he seemed thoughtful. He leaned elbows on knees and drew the knife of white metal which he carried at his waist. As he turned it over and over, Holger read the inscription upon the blade. The Dagger of Burning. He wondered what that meant.
“A strange tale,” said Alfric. “I have never heard one more strange. Yet methinks there is truth in it.”
“Can... can you help me?”
“I know not, Sir ’Olger—for so it still seems natural to call you. I know not. There are many worlds in space, as any sorcerer or astrologue is aware, but a plurality of universes is another concept, only darkly hinted in certain ancient writings. If I heard you without being made helpless by amazement, ’tis because I have myself speculated that another Earth such as you describe might indeed exist, and be the source of myths and legends, such as those told of Frederik Barbarossa, or the great epical chansons about the Emperor Napoleon and his heroes.” As if to himself, Alfric murmured a few lines: