The Knight

“I’ll be out in a moment,” I told him.

“I’m not saying that,” Mani said when the man-at-arms had gone, “and I don’t think it’s true. I’ve never seen him eat his own droppings, for one thing.”

I put on Sword Breaker. “I was once told that no one could travel more than one world from the one that he—or she—was born in.” Mani nodded. “One hears all sorts of things.”

“I’ve learned since that it isn’t true. You were a witch’s cat, so you ought to know all about it. Will you tell me? The truth?”

“If you insist. First I ought to say that you shouldn’t be mad at the person who told you that. He was just trying to keep you from getting in over your head.” Mani smirked. “Here are the facts. You can believe me or not, whatever you choose.”

I found my bow and strung it. “Go on.”

“In theory,” Mani said smugly, “anybody can travel to any of the seven worlds. You can’t go lower than the first, though, or higher than the last, because there’s nothing below or above to go to.”

“I understand.”

“In practice, it’s hard to go up but easy to go down, just like climbing a hill. Do you have much trouble getting to Aelfrice?”

“My problem is staying out of it,” I said.

“Exactly. You wouldn’t have much trouble going from Aelfrice all the way down, either. But you might never get back.”

Nodding, I picked up my quiver and left the pavilion.

Garvaon met me. “We’ve all shot except you,” he said. “You and I are to have five arrows each. Did Lord Beel tell you what the prize was?”

I shook my head.

“It’s a helmet, a particularly nice one with a lot of gold trim. Not gilt, gold.”

“That’s good, I’ve lost mine.”

“I know. When we fought the big men.”

I nodded again.

“So His Lordship thinks you’re going to win, and has put up this helmet for you.”

We had been striding along, and had reached the crowd that had collected to watch us shoot, archers and men-at-arms, servants, and muleteers. Beyond their milling ranks, I saw the prize helmet atop a pole, and Beel himself.

“So I propose a side bet between you and me,” Garvaon was saying. “A boon. If you win, I’ll be honor bound to do you whatever favor you ask. When I win—and I warn you I will—you’ll owe me a favor in the same way.”

“Done,” I said.

We shook hands, smiling, and walked through the crowd shoulder-to-shoulder. There was an embroidered ba

At this last, the string of my bow seemed to catch the sound, humming as the strings of a lute do when the orchestra speaks without her.

I’m a knight, I thought. I am a real knight at last, and there’s no one here who wouldn’t swear to that.

I stood a little straighter then, looked up, and squared my shoulders; and for the first time really realized that I overtopped Garvaon by a good three fingers, though Garvaon’s conical steel cap made him look taller than I was.

“There is the target, my good knights,” Beel was saying. He pointed as he spoke. It was a round shield with an iron boss at the center. It hung from a scrubby tree at the end of the valley, at least two hundred yards away.

“You will shoot alternately, until each has shot five arrows. Sir Garvaon, Sir Able, and Sir Garvaon again until ten arrows have flown. Is that clear?”

Garvaon said, “Yes, Your Lordship.”

“Those arrows that fall short will count for nothing. Those that reach the target, but do not strike it, will count for one. Those which strike it, two.” Beel paused, looking from face to face. “And those which strike the iron center, if any do, will count as three. Do you both understand?”

We did.

“Master Papounce stands ready to ride.”

Looking around, I saw him at the fringe of the crowd, on foot but holding the reins of a nervous roan.

“If there is a question as to whether a shot reached the target, Master Papounce’s testimony will settle the matter.”

A murmur of excitement swept the crowd.

“Sir Garvaon! You are the senior. Step to the line.”

Garvaon did, taking from his quiver a shaft fletched with gray goose and tipped with a war point. When he drew, he drew and let fly in a single, smooth motion, the nock pulled back to his ear—the arrow disappearing like magic. His bowstring sang.

All of us tried to follow the high arc of the arrow as its faint whistle faded to silence. Down on the brown target it plunged, like a falcon on a rabbit.

We all gasped. Garvaon’s first arrow had hit the target midway between the edge and the iron boss. It stayed there, sticking in the target.

“Sir Garvaon has two,” Beel a

As I stepped to the line, Id

It surprised me so much I could not say a word. I took her scarf and knotted it around my head the way I had seen scarves—red, blue, pink, yellow, and white—tied around the helms of knights at Sheerwall.

Someone raised a cheer for Lady Id

It’s up to me, I told myself. I direct the arrow, and it’s not a matter of chance.

There was a slight breeze, just enough to stir Id

I chose a long, pale shaft of spiny orange, one I had shaped myself and knew to be as straight as my eye and hand could make it. Seeing it, I remembered the wild swan whose feathers had fletched it. How proud I had been of it! And how good it had tasted when Bold Berthold and I had roasted it over the fire that night!

The arrow was at the nock already, as if the string had gone looking for it.

Forget the people, forget the girl with the cat. Think only about the target.

They gasped, and I lowered my bow and took a good, deep breath. That flat-flying arrow could never reach so far. I shut my eyes, knowing that in a second or two I would have to smile and shrug, and get myself set for my next shot.

A faint noise, like the noise that a pebble might make if it were dropped into a tin cup, reached us from far away.

Chapter 52. To Pouk

“Missed!” somebody shouted.

“Hit!”

“Hit the center!”

That too was contradicted, and I opened my eyes.

Frowning, Beel had raised both hands for silence. “If Sir Able’s shot struck the iron boss of the target, his arrow will have rebounded, and there will be damage to the point. The iron may be scarred as well. Master Papounce? Will you investigate for us?”

Papounce was in the saddle already. At Beel’s nod he galloped away. Someone near me said, “If it hit the middle it would’ve bounced off and I’d have seen it.”

“The distance was only a hundred paces when my archers and I were shooting against each other,” Garvaon whispered. “His Lordship had it moved way back for you and me, but he wouldn’t hear of Papounce standing near it and signaling any more. Armor and a few steps away, and he’d have been safe enough.”

I did not think so, but I nodded out of politeness; I was watching Papounce, who had reined up at the target and dismounted, seemingly to look at its boss. While I watched him, he walked behind it, and seemed to look at the trunk of the tree from which the target hung. “Going to win that steel cap, Sir Able?” It was Crol, still carrying his trumpet.

I tried not to smile. “I doubt it. To tell the truth, I’ll be happy if I don’t disgrace myself.”