The Knight

“Thanks. Don’t he now, and we can be good friends. Do you know where your husband is? I’d like to talk to him.”

“I haven’t no notion, Sir Able. He’s gone out, seems like.”

“Yeah, it does. Before he left, he told me about a dog that came here. He said it was a big brown dog with a spike collar.”

She nodded. “And a bit of chain hanging off it, where it had broke.”

“I see. Your husband thought it might be mine, and I’ve been hoping he was right. I lost my dog a while ago. Do you know where it is?”

“No, sir. I seen it yesterday, only I don’t know where it’s got to. We was all chasing it and trying to get the roast it took back, and it run off. Real big, it was, drop ears and thick in the chest.”

“That sounds like Gylf. If he comes back, be nice to him and send word to me. I’ll be at Sheerwall Castle.”

“I’ll try, sir.” The i

“I know it will be in the way—” I began.

She shook her head. “They’ll come in to see it, Sir Able, and have one or two while they gawk and we tell about it. It’ll be money in our pocket.”

“I hope so. But when Sir Nytir comes back, you’ll have to let him take it. Tell him that I didn’t want it and left it there for him.”

“Is he a friend of yours, Sir Able?”

Pouk laughed.

“He had it in for me,” I told her. “He must’ve followed me here, and he seems to have scared your husband away before we had it out. Did you notice what we did to the doorframe?”

Reluctantly, she nodded.

My bill was where I had left it. I got it and showed it to her. “Your husband and I were talking this over. He made it five scields. I didn’t think that was fair.”

She examined it. “He goes too far, sometimes, Sir Able, Gorn do.”

“No doubt we all do. Can you write?” She nodded.

“Then I’ll pay you four scields in good silver if you’ll write ‘paid in full’ across this and sign your name. You’d better date it, too.” She hurried away to fetch ink, sand, and a quill.

Chapter 37. A Green Knight

I’d been riding a lot that day; I was sore, but I got my left foot in the stirrup and swung myself into the saddle almost as if I knew what I was doing. The horse Nytir had ridden was a cobby bay stallion with a big white blaze, nervous and energetic, but not big enough or strong enough for a charger. A green lance (with pe

The bay skittered sidewise, iron-shod hooves clattering on the cobbles.

“Glad you got to ride him an’ not me,” Pouk said, as he finished tying Nytir’s shield onto the pack horse’s pack.

“Be careful with that,” I told him. “It’s the only piece that fits.”

“Got his mark on it though, sir.” Pouk was tightening the last knot.

“His arms, you mean.” I held the bay hard.

“Aye, sir. A sheep with big horns, sir, only they wasn’t big enough.”

“We’ll have it painted over. Three streets up the hill, and four west.”

Pouk nodded, looking dubiously at his own mount. “Sign o’ th’ Hammer an’ Tongs, sir.”

“Can you lead two horses, Pouk?”

“If they’ll tow, I can, sir. Some will an’ some won’t, an’ you never know ’til you try.”

The armorer with whom we had left my mail shirt was larger, younger, and slower of speech than Master Mori. He held up my new hauberk, whistled to himself, and carried it to a window where the light was better.

I said, “I got it from Sir Nytir, if that’s of any help.”

“Double mail. Not our work, but ‘tain’t bad.”

“If you can let out the shoulders and the arms—”

“‘Deed I can, Sir Able. But it’ll cost.”

“Those mail trousers. I don’t even know what you call them. I’ll give them to you if you’ll let out the hauberk for me.”

He gave me his hand. “I got to take your measures, Sir Able. I’ll give you a final fittin’ when you come get it, ‘n have it done that day if you come in the mornin’.”

Pouk said, “Ask him ‘bout this shield, sir. You say you like it.”

“I do.” I took it from him and held it up. “Can you paint out the ram without making it look bad?”

“‘Deed we can.” The armorer accepted and examined it. “Leather over willow. Pro’ly double willow.” He looked up at me. “Grain up-’n-down ‘n crosswise so’s not ter split. Only I’d have to get the leather off ter see for sure. He was a nice workman, though, ‘n wouldn’t ‘a used single. I won’t look ‘less you want it, just repaint the face. What you want ‘stead a’ the ram?”

When I did not reply, Pouk said, “What about a heart, sir? A heart wit’ th’ sun under. That oughta do it.”

I shook my head.

“Charges up or down,” the armorer said, “dependin’ on the design. Harder my artist’s got ter work, the more I got ter charge. There was one wanted three hearts ‘n three lions, all on the one shield. We done it, but it cost the world.”

I said that I would never use a lion.

“Well, what would you? That’s the question.”

I thought about stars and stripes, and I remembered that all the teams at school had been Bobcats, but nothing seemed right.

Pouk had wandered over to the wall and taken down a long knife. Its blade was black, and Pouk examined it curiously.

“Aelf work,” the armorer told him. “Only one like that I got. You ever see anythin’ like this, Sir Able?”

“No, but I’d like to.”

Pouk passed me the knife.

“They like them leaf-shaped blades. Drive me crazy.”

“Looks all right to me,” Pouk said.

I was turning the black blade this way and that to get as much light as I could on it. “There are swirls in the steel, like the currents in a creek.”

The armorer nodded. “Mixed metals. We try ter mix metals ‘n they run together like you’d mix water ‘n vinegar. Aelf got some way ter mix ’em like oil ‘n water. They mix, only they stay separate. See what I mean?”

“I do,” I said. “I’m looking at it.” I was not sure I ought to say more, but I did. “You believe in the Aelf. A lot of people don’t.”

The armorer shrugged. “I know what I know.”

Pouk began, “My master—”

I shut him up with my hand. “His master does too. You must know a bit about swords. Have you heard of one called Eterne?”

“Famous. Poetry about it.”

“Do you know where it is now?”

The armorer shook his head. “Fire Aelf work, like that knife. King a’

’em made it, ‘n he put magic in it. Can’t break, can’t bend. Need a dragon’s claw ter sharpen it, only it don’t never have ter be sharpened. Famous men’s owned it, kings ‘n knights ‘n like that, ‘n come back if you draw it. Only I don’t know who’s got it. It’s somewheres in the Aelf world, pro’ly.”

Pouk said, “That’s called Aelfrice, ain’t it, sir?”

The armorer nodded again. “I know. Only I didn’t think you would. This here’s Mythgarthr. Know that?”

Pouk shook his head.

“Figured you didn’t.”

I ventured, “You said Eterne had been made by the King of the Fire Aelf. I was told that a man like us made it, a man called Weland.”

“That’s his name all right,” the armorer said, “only he was King a’ the Fire Aelf like I told you. King Weland. Dragon got him, but people still talk about him.”

“That is true,” a soft voice behind me whispered. “We speak of him and mourn him, even now.”

I nodded to show that I had heard. Out loud I said, “The shield I brought you. Will you paint it green?”

“Green now, sir. What do you want on it?”

“Plain green,” I told him. “I want nothing on it. Paint out the ram so that you can’t see it at all.”

It felt cooler when we left the armorer’s shop; and at first I thought the change—a great improvement—was due merely to our getting away from the heat of the forges. As Pouk and I rode out of the city, however, a west wind sent the bay’s long mane flapping around his eyes and made my cloak billow about me like a sail until I closed it and tied the cords. That wind was chilly, and no mistake; it came pretty close to cold.