Holger shuddered.
But this did throw a new light on his own status. It was unthinkable that Alfric and Morgan could have continued to mistake him for some champion whose arms he bore. Therefore he himself, Holger Carlsen, orphan and exile, he was in some way a focal point of the gathering crisis. How, he couldn’t imagine. Possibly his coming from another universe gave him—what? An aura? At any rate, the forces of Chaos had to win him to their side or, failing that, get him out of their way.
The lavish hospitality, including Meriven, had obviously been an essay at the first. It had also served to hoodwink him while Alfric summoned Morgan le Fay and conferred with her. Evidently they had decided to take no chances, but use his ignorance to shelve him in Elf Hill for the next century or two.
But why hadn’t they just slipped a knife in his ribs? That should have been easy enough to do. Indeed, the attack of the hollow knight must have been such an attempt. When that failed, Alfric had changed tactics and used guile. How had the Duke known about him in the first place? Mother Gerd, of course. The demon she raised must have told her something about Holger which made her direct him to her powerful acquaintance in Faerie. No doubt she sent the news of him ahead by magical means. She must have hoped Alfric could take care of him.
But what had the demon said? And, murder and trickery having failed, what would the Middle World try next?
Anyhow, this avenue of return to his world was closed. He’d have to cast around for another way. Judging from what he had seen and heard, there were white magicians as well as black. Maybe he could consult one of them. He had no intention of mixing into the struggle here if he could avoid it. One war at a time, please! Alfric would have done best to act honestly and send him home as he asked.
Which consideration fairly well proved Alfric was unable to.
Something laughed in the fog, low and hideously. Holger started. Hugi clapped his hands to his ears. They heard leather wings pass overhead. Still all they could see was the dripping grayness.
“The thing seems to be in front of us,” muttered Holger. “If we turn aside—”
“Nay.” Alianora’s lips trembled, but she spoke gamely. “’Tis a trick to get us off the path. Once lost in these clouds, we’re indeed without hope.”
“Okay,” said Holger out of a sandy throat. “I’ll go first.”
That was a nerve-racking ride, where shapes went slipping and sliding on the fringe of sight, where the air was evil with slitherings and hissings, howls and laughs. Once a blind horrible face appeared before him. It hung in the vapor and mouthed. He plowed stubbornly ahead and it receded before him. Hugi shut his eyes and chanted, “I ha’ been a guid dwarf. I ha’ been a guid dwarf. I ha’ been a guid dwarf.”
It seemed forever before the mist lifted. That was on the border of the dusk land. Papillon and the unicorn were first to scent the sun. They broke into gallop, burst out and neighed at the light.
The time was nearing evening. They had emerged at a different point from where they entered. Long shadows of crags and conifers fell across bills rough with gorse. The wind slid thin and cold around Holger; he heard the boom of a waterfall. Nonetheless, after—how many days?—in Faerie, the natural world was a sight to catch at a man’s heart.
“Yon Pharisees can pursue us after dark,” said Alianora. “Yet their spells be less strong out here, so we’ve better hope.” Her tone was dull with weariness. Holger began to feel how tired he was too.
They urged their mounts forward, to get as far as possible before sundown. When they made camp, it was high on a slope overgrown with pines. Holger lopped two saplings with his sword and made a cross of them, which he planted near the bonfire they’d keep going all night. Hugi’s precautions were more pagan, a ring of stones and iron objects laid down with incantations.
“Now,” said Alianora, “methinks we’ll last the dark hours.” She smiled at Holger. “I’ve not yet told ye how valiantly ye fought, back there at the castle. Ho, ’twas a bra sight!”
“Why, uh, uh, thanks.” Holger looked at his feet, which dug at the ground. He didn’t really mind being admired by a pretty girl, but—he wasn’t sure what. To cover his confusion, he sat down and examined the dagger he had won from Alfric. A bone handle and a disproportionately large basket hilt were fixed to a thin blade which he decided must be magnesium. The pure metal was too soft to make a very good weapon, not to mention being inflammable; but since Alfric had evidently set store by the knife, Holger would keep it. He rummaged in his saddlebags and, besides some homely equipment like a jar of oil, turned up an extra misericord. Hugi could wear that unsheathed. Holger scabbarded the magnesium blade to his belt near his steel knife. By then, Alianora had prepared dinner from what supplies remained.
Night stole over them. Holger, who would take the third watch, lay his length on the soft needles of the forest floor. The fire burned warm and red. One by one his nerves eased. To be sure, he couldn’t fall asleep. Not under these circumstances. Too bad. He needed his sleep...
He woke with a jerk. Alianora was shaking him. In the restless light he saw her eyes grown enormous. Her voice was a dry whisper. “List! There’s summat out there!”
He got up, sword in hand, and peered into the gloom. Yes, he could hear them too, the pad-pad-pad of many feet; and he saw the light gleam off slanted eyes.
A wolf howled, almost in his ear. He leaped and slashed with his sword. Laughter answered, shrill and nasty. “In nomine Patris,” he called, and was mocked by the noises. Either those things were immune to holy names, or they weren’t close enough to be hurt. Probably the former. As his eyes adapted, he saw the shadows. They glided around and around the charmed circle. They were monstrous.
Hugi crouched by the fire; his teeth clapped in his head. Alianora moaned and crept into Holger’s free arm. He felt how she shuddered. “Take it easy,” he said.
“But the sendings,” she gasped. “Night-gangers on every hand, Holger! I’ve never erenow been under their siege. I canna look.” She buried her face against his shoulder. Her fingers tightened on his arm till the nails bit.
“This is new to me also,” he said. Funny how unfrightened he was. The prowlers were horrible to see, of course, but why watch them? Especially when he had Alianora to watch instead. Thank God for a phlegmatic temperament! “They can’t get at us, dear,” he said. “If they could, they would. Therefore they can’t.”
“But—but—”
“I’ve seen dammed rivers that could drown a whole valley. No one worried. They knew the dam would hold.”
Privately, he wondered what the safety factor of the camp’s charms was. No doubt magicians in this world had their equivalent of the Rubber Handbook, with tables of such data. Or if not, they jolly well ought to. He had to go by God and by guess, but somehow—another buried memory?—he felt their defenses were strong enough.
“Just take it easy,” he said. “We’ll be all right. They can’t do more than keep us awake with that infernal racket.”
She was still atremble, so he kissed her. She responded with an uncertain, inexperienced clumsiness. He grinned out at the hosts of the Middle World. If they were going to sit and watch him neck, he hoped they’d learn something.
10
BEFORE DAWN THE ENEMY departed. Hugi said they must get back to their lairs in plenty of time. Holger wondered what they couldn’t stand about sunlight. Actinic radiation? If so, he wished he had an ultraviolet lamp.
Hoy, wait! That explained Alfric’s magnesium dagger. The thing was only incidentally a stabbing weapon. If hard pressed by his Middle World rivals, the Duke could ignite the metal. The hilt would shade his hand from the intense ultraviolet emission; no doubt he’d pull a cloak over his face with the other hand. His opponents would have to flee. Well, such an emergency aid was nice for a mortal man too.