The Knight. Part 40

"No." I tied my underwear and straightened out a fresh pair of socks. "She told her father things she'd heard from you, and he's been trying to find out how she learned them."

"Oh." Mani stretched, throwing his tail into S curves. "Did you tell him?"

"No."

"Probably for the best. You don't mind if I tug your blanket a little?"

"Try not to tear it." I pulled on my socks.

"All right." Mani tugged; his claws were big, sharp, and black.

"This is going to sound pretty silly, but I didn't know you were going to talk to anybody except me."

"Because your dog doesn't?" Mani yawned. "He could talk to some other people, too. He just doesn't want to. Are you mad because I talked to Her Lady - 356.

s.h.i.+p? You didn't tell me not to."

"I--no."

"I told her you were my owner." He grinned. "And I said a great many other complimentary things about you. She was quite taken with you already, and she lapped it up."

"I suppose I should thank you."

"Not necessarily. Ingrat.i.tude is my lot in life, and I became reconciled to it long ago."

I had buckled my belt. Before I spoke again, I worked my feet into my boots.

"I'll try to make my grat.i.tude a lot more tangible, but it may take a while."

"Well, you could let me keep talking to Idnn. If you don't, I'll have to avoid her, and that's bound to be awkward at times."

I pointed my finger at Mani's neat black nose. "You know perfectly well that you'd talk to her even if I told you not to."

"I'd have to, wouldn't I? I mean if she cornered me. She'd say, 'I know perfectly well you can talk, Mani, and if you won't talk to me I'll have my father's archers use you for practice.' Then I'd say, 'Oh, My Lady, please!' And the fat would be in the fire."

"Okay," I decided, "you may talk to her when there's no one else around. Except for me. You may talk to her when I'm there, or Gylf." Mani made me a mock bow. "My Lord."

"Don't do that. It reminds me of Uri and Baki, and I don't like it when they do it."

"Your wish is mine, Great Owner."

I knew Mani was trying to get my goat, but it was hard not to laugh. I said, "In return for being so nice to you, I'd like you to answer a few questions. Will you?"

"Anything, More Than Divine Master."

"You told me once you weren't from Aelfrice. Do you stand by that?"

"Correct."

"Are you from Skai, then?"

"I'm afraid not." Mani began to wash his right front paw, a small and surprisingly neat pink tongue darting in and out of his large, scarred face. "Wouldn't it be simpler to ask what world I was born in?"

357.

"Then I do." I picked up my hauberk and wiggled into it.

"Just out of curiosity, do you intend to wear that when you shoot against Sir Garvaon?"

"Yes. I do."

"What in the world do--well, all right. Back to the subject, Mani. I was born right here in Mythgarthr, although I've been to Aelfrice a couple of times. Next you'll want to know how it is that I can talk. I don't know. Some of us can, though not very many. Some dogs can, even, but not all of you can understand us. My late mistress knew how to give a talking spirit, and she gave one to me."

"You're saying Gylf was born here, too."

A man-at-arms thrust his head into the tent. "They're about ready for you, Sir Able."

"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."

358.

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 Lords.h.i.+p 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 banner hanging from the trumpet Master Crol blew, turning north, east, south, and west, and holding the notes so the silvery challenge of civilized war filled the mountain valley and echoed from rock to rock. When he finally took the trumpet from his lips, he shouted, "Sir Garvaon of Finefield! Sir Able of the High Heart!"

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 s.h.i.+eld 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 359.

Able, and Sir Garvaon again until ten arrows have flown. Is that clear?" Garvaon said, "Yes, Your Lords.h.i.+p."

"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 announced. "Sir Able? Will you shoot?" As I stepped to the line, Idnn appeared with Mani on her shoulder; she held out a green silk scarf. "Will you wear my favor, Sir Able?" 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 Idnn, caps were thrown into the air, and for half a minute or more I thought about the way I would feel if my shot did not match Garvaon's.

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 Idnn's scarf. It was close to 360.

squarely at my back, but over so long a course it was bound to drift the arrow just a trifle to the left.

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.

361.

CHAPTER 52.

TO POUK.

"M issed!" 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 Lords.h.i.+p 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."

362.

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."

"The king had one like it made for King Gilling," Crol explained. "Bigger than my washbasin. His Lords.h.i.+p liked it so much he had one made for himself." Crol gestured toward the helmet on the pole. "That's it up there. King Gilling's is on one of the mules."

"It will look good on you," Garvaon told me, "but you'll have to beat me first."

Papounce had mounted again and was trotting back to the camp. Idnn caught my sleeve and pointed.

"Yes," I said. "We'll know soon, My Lady." She got up on tiptoe; I saw she wanted to whisper and bent so she could talk into my ear. "Something's happened! He's not galloping. He needs time to think." I stared, then bent again.

"Your cat told me, and he's right! Trotting, with Father's eyes on him? Some- thing's afoot!"

Papounce dismounted and drew Beel aside. For at least two minutes they conferred, and I (I had been trying to edge nearer) caught Beel's incredulous, "Split the rock?"

Then he raised his hands for silence. "Sir Able has three." There were murmurs and shouted questions, all of which he ignored. "Sir Garvaon has the next shot. Clear the way for him!"

It missed the target, falling to the right.