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“What do you mean?” asked Holger respectfully. “I’m ignorant of your affairs here. Could you explain?”

He let the dwarf growl on for a long time without learning much. Hugi wasn’t very bright, and a backwoodsman as well. Holger got the idea that a perpetual struggle went on between primeval forces of Law and Chaos. No, not forces exactly. Modes of existence? A terrestrial reflection of the spiritual conflict between heaven and hell? In any case, humans were the chief agents on earth of Law, though most of them were so only unconsciously and some, witches and warlocks and evildoers, had sold out to Chaos. A few nonhuman beings also stood for Law. Ranged against them was almost the whole Middle World, which seemed to include realms like Faerie, Trollheim, and the Giants—an actual creation of Chaos. Wars among men, such as the long-drawn struggle between the Saracens and the Holy Empire, aided Chaos; under Law all men would live in peace and order and that liberty which only Law could give meaning. But this was so alien to the Middle Worlders that, they were forever working to prevent it and to extend their own shadowy dominion.

The whole thing seemed so vague that Holger switched the discussion to practical politics. Hugi wasn’t much help there either. Holger gathered that the lands of men, where Law was predominant, lay to the west. They were divided into the Holy Empire of the Christians, the Saracen countries southward, and various lesser kingdoms. Faerie, the part of the Middle World closest to here, lay not far east. This immediate section was a disputed borderland where anything might happen.

“In olden time,” said Hugi, “richt after the Fall, nigh everything were Chaos, see ye. But step by step ’tis been driven back. The longest step was when the Saviour lived on earth, for then naught o’ darkness could stand and great Pan himself died. But noo ’tis said Chaos has rallied and mak’s ready to strike back. I dinna know.”

Hm. There was no immediate chance to separate fact from fancy: But this world paralleled Holger’s own in so many ways that some connection must exist. Had fleeting contact been made from time to time, castaways like himself who had returned with stories that became the stuff of legend? Had the creatures of myth a real existence here? Remembering some of them, Holger hoped not. He didn’t especially care to meet a fire-breathing dragon or a three-headed giant, interesting as they might be from a zoological standpoint.

“Oh, by the bye,” said Hugi, “ye’ll have to leave yer crucifix, if ye bear one, and yer iron at the gates. Nor may ye speak holy words inside. The Faerie folk canna stand against sic, but if ye use ’em there, they’ll find ways to send ye ill luck.”

Holger wondered what the local status of an agnostic was. He had, inevitably, been brought up a Lutheran, but hadn’t been inside a church for years. If this thing must happen to somebody, why couldn’t it have been a good Catholic?

Hugi talked on. And on. And on. Holger tried to pay friendly attention, without overdoing the act. They got to telling stories. He dug out every off-color joke he could remember. Hugi whooped.

They had stopped by a moss-banked stream for lunch when the dwarf abruptly leaned forward and put a hand on Holger’s arm. “Sir Knicht,” he said, looking at the ground, “I’d fain do ye a guid turn, if ye wish.”

Holger kept himself steady with an effort. “I could use one, thanks.”

“I dinna know wha’ the best coorse be for ye. Mayhap ’tis to seek Faerie e’en as the witch said, mayhap ’tis to turn tail richt noo. Nor have I any way to find oot. But I ken ane i’ the woods, a friend to all its dwellers, who’d know any news abroad in the land and could belike gi’ ye a rede.”

“If I could see him, that would be a... a big help, Hugi.”

“’Tis no a him, ’tis a her. I’d no tak’ any other knicht thither, for they’re a lustful sort and she likes ’em not. But ye... well... I canna be an evil guide to ye.”

“Thank you, my friend. If I can ever do you a service—”

“’Tis naught,” growled Hugi. “I do ’t for ma ain honor. And watch yer manners wi’ her, ye clumsy loon!”

4

THEY TURNED NORTHWARD and rode for several hours, most of which Hugi spent reminiscing about his exploits among the females of his species. Holger listened with one ear, pretending an awe which was certainly deserved if half the stories were true. Otherwise he was lost in his own thoughts.

As they entered higher country the forest became more open, showing meadows full of wildflowers and sunlight, gray lichenous boulders strewn between clumps of trees, now and then a view across hills rolling into purple distance. Here were many streams, leaping and flashing in their haste to reach the lower dales, rainbows above them where they fell over the bluffs. Kingfishers flew there like small blue thunderbolts, hawks and eagles soared remotely overhead, a flock of wild geese rose loud from the reeds of a mere, rabbits and deer and a couple of bears were seen in glimpses. White clouds swept their shadows across the uneven many-colored land, the wind blew cool in Holger’s face. He found himself enjoying the trip. Even the armor, which had dragged at first, was become like a part of him. And in some dim way there was a homelikeness about these lands, as if he had known them once long before.

He tried to chase down the memory. Had it been in the Alps, or in Norway’s high saetere, or the mountain meadows around Rainier? No, this was more than similarity. He almost knew these marches of Faerie. But the image would not be caught, and he dismissed it as another case of déjà vu.

Though if his transition here had taught him a new language, it might well have played other tricks with his brain. For a moment he had a wild idea that perhaps his mind had been transferred to another body. He looked down at his big sinewy hands and reached up to touch the familiar dent in the bridge of his nose, souvenir of that great day when he helped clobber Polytech 36 to 24. No, he was still himself. And, incidentally, in rather bad need of a shave.

The sun was low when they crossed a final meadow and halted under trees on the shore of a lake. The water caught the light and became a sheet of fire a mile across; a flock of brant whirred from the rushes. “We can wait here,” said Hugi. He slid to the ground and rubbed his buttocks. “Oof,” he grimaced, “ma puir auld backside!”

Holger dismounted as well, feeling a certain aftereffect himself. No reason to tether the doglike Papillon; he looped the bridle up and the stallion began contentedly cropping. “She’ll arrive soon, belike,” rumbled Hugi. “’Tis her ain nest hereaboots. But whilst we wait, laddie, we could be refreshing oorselves.”

Holger took the hint and broke out the ale. “You still haven’t told me who `she’ is,” he said.

“’Tis Alianora, the swan-may.” Beer gurgled down the dwarf’s throat. “Hither and yon she flits throughout the wood and e’en into the Middle World sometimes, and the dwellers tell her their gossip. For she’s a dear friend to us. Aaaaah! Auld Mother Gerd, a witch she may be, but a brewmistress beyond compare!”

Papillon neighed. Turning, Holger saw a long form of spotted yellow glide toward the lake. A leopard! His sword was out and aloft before he knew it.

“Nay, nay, hold.” Hugi tried to grab his arm, couldn’t reach far enough, and settled for his legs. “He comes in peace. He’ll no set on ye unless ye offer ill to the swan-may.”

The leopard flowed to a halt, sat down, and watched them with cool amber eyes. Holger sheathed his blade again. Sweat prickled him. Just when these wilds were becoming familiar, something like this had to happen.

Wings beat overhead. “’Tis she!” cried Hugi. He jumped about, waving his arms. “Hallo, there, hallo, come on doon!”