The Knight

“Certainly. It’s one of the things a knight must learn to do.” Ravd sighed. “Many years before either of us was born, a wise man said that there were only three things a knight had to learn. I believe I told you a week ago, though it may have been more. Can you tell me what-they are now?”

“To ride.” Svon sounded as if it were being dragged out of him. “To use the sword.”

“Very good. And?”

“To speak the truth.”

“Indeed,” Ravd murmured. “Indeed. Shall we begin again? Or would you prefer to omit that part?”

If Svon said anything, I could not hear it.

“I’ve been sitting here awake since you ran away, you see. Talking to our guide at first, and talking to myself after he went to sleep. Thinking, in other words. One of the things I thought about was the way he threw your sword. I saw it. Perhaps vou did as well.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Then you need not. But I will have to talk about it more, because you won’t. When a man throws a heavy object such as a sword or spear for distance, he uses his whole body—his legs and torso, as well as his arm. Able did not do that. He simply flung your sword away as a man might discard an apple core. I think—”

“Who cares what you think!”

“Why, I do.” Ravd’s voice was as smooth as polished steel, and sounded a good deal more dangerous. “And you must, Svon. Sir Sabel beat me twice, once with his hands and once with the flat of his sword. I was Sir Sabel’s squire for ten years and two. No doubt I’ve told you.”

Maybe Svon nodded. I could not see.

“With the flat of his sword because I attacked him. He would have been entirely justified in killing me, but he was a good and a merciful knight—a better knight than I will ever be. With his hands for something I had said to him, or something I had failed to say. I never did find out exactly what it was. He was drunk at the time—but then we all get drunk now and then, don’t we?”

“You don’t.”

“Because he was, I found it less humiliating than I would have otherwise. Perhaps I said that I cared nothing for his thoughts. That seems likely enough.

“Able flung your sword as a man flings dung, or any such object. I believe I said that. He merely cast it from him, in other words, making no effort toward great distance or force. If you were to cast a hurlbatte so, I would chastise you. With my tongue, I mean.”

Svon spoke then, but I could not hear what he said.

“It may be so. My point is that your sword cannot have been thrown far.

Three or four strides, I would think. Five at most. Yet I didn’t hear you searching for it in the dark, and I expected to. I was listening for it.”

“I stepped on it,” Svon said. “I didn’t have to look for it at all.”

“One resolves not to lie, but one always resolves to begin one’s new truthfulness at a later time. Not now.” Ravd sounded tired.

“I’m not lying!”

“Of course you are. You stepped upon your sword, four strides southeast of where I sit. You uttered no grunt of astonishment, no exclamation. You bent in silence and picked it up. You would have had to grope for the hilt, I believe, since you would not wish to lay hands on a sharp blade in the dark. You then returned it to its scabbard, a scabbard of wood covered with leather, without a sound. After that, you returned to our camp from the west, tripping over something with such violence that you almost fell into the fire.”

Svon moaned like one in pain, but spoke no word.

“You must have been running to trip as hard as that and come near to falling. Were you? Running through a strange forest in the dark?”

“Something caught me.”

“Ah. Now we’re come to it. At least, I hope so. What was it?”

“I don’t know.” Svon drew breath. “I ran away. Was your churl chasing me?”

“No,” Ravd said.

“Well, I thought he was, and I ran right into somebody. Only I don’t think it was really a person. A—a ghost or something.”

“Interesting.”

“There were several.” Svon seemed to have taken heart. “I can’t say how many. Four or five.”

“Go on.” I could not tell whether Ravd believed him.

“They gave me back my sword and brought me here, and they pushed me at our fire, hard, just like you said.”

“Saying nothing to you?”

“No.”

“Did you thank them for returning your sword?”

“No.”

“Perhaps they gave you a charm or a letter? Something of that kind?”

“No.”

“Did they take our horses?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Go now and see to them, please, Svon. See that they’re well tied, and haven’t been ridden.”

“I don’t—Sir Ravd ...”

“Go!”

Svon cried, and right then I wanted to sit up and say something—anything that might make him feel better. I was going to say that I would go, but that would just have made him feel worse.

When he stopped crying, Ravd said, “They frightened you very badly, whoever they were. You’re more afraid of them than you are of me or our guide. Are they listening to us?”

“I don’t know. I think so.”

“And you’re afraid that if you confide in me they’ll punish you for it?”

“Yes!”

“I doubt it. If they are indeed listening, they must have heard that you didn’t confide in me. Able, you are awake. Sit up, please, and look at me.”

I did.