The Knight

“It is the designation the Angrborn use. We name them the Northern Mountains for the most part, or merely instance some individual range. Why do you think the Angrborn speak of them as they do?”

I put down the slice of bread I had been about to eat. “I can’t imagine, My Lord, unless it’s because there are many mice here.”

“There are no more than in most places, and fewer than in many. They name it as they do because of the men that you fought last night. They are the sons of the Angrborn—sons that the Angrborn have fathered upon our women. I see that I have surprised you.”

Chapter 50. Who Told My Daughter?

I took a bite of bread, chewed it, and swallowed. “I hadn’t known such a thing was possible, My Lord.”

“It is.” Beel paused, his fingers drumming the table. “I suppose it must be painful for the women, at first at any rate.”

I nodded.

“The Angrborn raid our country for women as well as wealth. It is my task to stop those raids if I can. If I cannot, to diminish their size and frequency. King

Gilling is not always obeyed, and the more remote his people are from Utgard the freer they think themselves. But if it is seen that he disapproves of their incursions, we will be subject to fewer, and they are apt to bring less strength.”

“I wish you luck,” I said, “and I mean that.”

“King Gilling has indicated that he will accept me as His Majesty’s ambassador, at least. But I was speaking of the Mice, as the Angrborn call them—of the huge men who attacked us. They are born into the households of the Angrborn, the sons of their masters by their slave women. Often they try to remain in Jotunland after the deaths of their fathers. They may offer to serve his legitimate sons, for example.”

I nodded to show that I understood.

“Sometimes they succeed for a while. They are then slaves like their mothers, swineherds or plowmen. The pigs and cattle of the Angrborn are no larger than our own, as I understand it.”

“For a time, you said.”

“Eventually they are driven out. Or killed. A king’s son, the son of a free woman, would not be treated so; but these are. Those who live pass from place to place, hunted like rats, or like the mice whose name they bear, until they reach these mountains, where the Angrborn themselves do not dwell. There are many caves—the Angrborn call them Mouseholes. The Mice live in them like beasts, and are less than beasts. What do you intend to do today, Sir Able?” I was taken aback. “Travel north with your party, I suppose, My Lord.” Beel shook his head. “We will not travel today. We’re all tired, and we must discard some supplies so the mules will not be overburdened. The responsibilities of men who died must be assigned to others, and we must find a way to carry our wounded that will not give them too much pain.”

“Then I’ll sleep this morning, and go looking for the source of the Griffin this afternoon.”

“You got little sleep last night, I imagine. Few of us got much.” I had slept, but by the time I turned in it had been a day, a night, and a day.

I was still groggy and I said so.

“I see. Would you be willing to do me a favor, Sir Able?”

“Of course, My Lord. Anything.”

“Then sleep this morning as you had planned, but give up your hunt for the source of the Griffin for one day at least. It would be a hazardous undertaking in any event. Have you given thought to the dangers you might encounter, wandering alone through these mountains?”

“I have, My Lord.” I smiled. “Also to the fact that they would encounter me.”

“That is well said. Nevertheless, I ask you to abandon your hunt for my sake.

Will you do it?”

“Of course, My Lord. Gladly.”

“You are a good bowman?”

“Yes, My Lord.”

“No beating around the bush. I like that.” For the first time that morning, one of his thin-lipped smiles tugged at the corners of Beel’s mouth. “Master Papounce has been after me to stage a match between you and Sir Garvaon. Garvaon is a famous bowman.”

“Everybody says so, My Lord.”

“He is seconded by Idnn, who hunts. She shoots well for a woman.” The thin smile turned bitter. “I refused because I felt our time might be better spent in travel. But we will not move on until tomorrow, and such a match might lift our spirits. The men who attacked us—it may suit giants to call them mice, but would seem ill from me—were high above us on the mountain. They hurled great stones down on us, and we shot arrow after arrow up at them, often seeing no more than a moving shadow. The need for expert archery can rarely have been made plainer.”

I drained my flagon and refilled it from the pitcher.

“You will do it?”

“Of course, My Lord. I said I would.”

“If you lose by but a narrow margin, no harm will be done. But should you lose badly, you may be ridiculed. It might be well for you to prepare yourself for that.”

“It might be well, My Lord, for those who would ridicule me to prepare themselves for me.”

“We cannot afford the loss of a single man, Sir Able. Please bear that in mind.”

“I will, My Lord, provided they do.”