The Knight

“Oh, no, sir. I don’t know where he’s at, sir. It’s the man I told you about, him I was going to marry all that time ago. He’s got took now, sir, if you can believe it. Got took for fighting them like he did, with a white beard, if you can believe it. An’—an’ I hope your horse don’t fright him, sir. The noise a’ it, I mean.”

I smiled. “He clops along no louder than other horses, I hope, and somebody with guts enough to fight the Angrborn isn’t likely to be afraid of any horse. Besides, he’ll see you on his back, unless the moon—”

“Oh, no! He won’t, sir. He can’t, sir. It’s—it’s what makes him think, sir, deep down, you know ...”

The old woman sounded as if she were choking, and I glanced back at her. “Makes him think what?”

“That I’m like I was back then, sir. You—you’re young yet, sir.”

“I know, mother. Younger than you can guess.”

“An’just to have him think like he does, deep down ... Oh, I’ve told him, sir. I couldn’t lie about nothing like that. Only when he sees me inside a’ himself—an’ that’s the only way he can, sir ....”

“You’re young again. For him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Sometimes I’d like to be young again myself, mother. Young outside as well as inside. I take it he’s blind?”

“Yes, sir. They blinds ’em, sir, mostly. The men I mean. Big as they are, they’re a-feared a’ our men.” The old woman’s pride kindled new warmth in her voice. “So they blinds ’em, an’ they blinded him, old as he was. He sees me, sir—”

Whining, Gylf had trotted out of the night.

I dropped the reins and laid a hand on Gylf’s warm, damp head. “You found someone.”

Although I could scarcely see Gylf’s nod, I felt it.

“Dangerous?”

A shake of the head.

“A blind man with a white beard?”

Gylf nodded again.

From the white stallion’s back, the old woman said, “Up there’s where we meet, sir. See that big tree up against the sky? It’s on top a’ a little hill, only we got to go through the ford, first.”

“We will,” I told her.

Chapter 65 I’ll Free You

The ford proved shallow when we reached it, its gentle, quiet water scarcely knee deep. On the other bank, I dried my feet and legs as well as I could with a rag from my saddlebag, and pulled my stockings and boots back on.

“It’s deeper in the spring,” the old woman explained. “It’s the only place where you can cross, then. Will you help me down, sir?”

I rose. “On the War Way I saw a ford so deep we didn’t dare ride across it for fear we’d be swept away.” I took the old woman by the waist and lifted her down. “We had to hold each other’s stirrup straps and lead our horses, while the water boiled around us.”

“You couldn’t have got across, sir, in spring. Only the giants.”

I nodded.

“From here I’d better go ahead, sir. I’ll walk fast as I can, if you’ll follow me. You won’t leave me, will you? I want you to see him, sir, an’—an’ you an’ him talk.”

“I won’t,” I promised. “I need to speak to both of you about the road to Utgard.”

“You an’ your horse’ll have to go pretty slow or else get to where he is afore I do.”

I nodded as I watched her vanish into the night. Under my breath I said, “We’d better wait here for a minute or two, Gylf.”

“Yep.”

“Was there just the one old man?”

“Yep. Good man.” Gylf seemed to hesitate. “Let him pet me.”

“Was he strong?”

Gylf considered, “Not like you.”

Some distance off, a hoarse voice called. “Gerda? Gerda?”

“Close now,” Gylf muttered.

“Close enough for him to hear her footsteps, anyway. And for us to hear him.” I picked up the lame stallion’s reins.

“Hungry.”

“So am I,” I conceded. “Do you think they might find a little food for us? There ought to be tons in the house of one of the giants.”

“Yep.”

“Where is the house, anyway? Did you see it?”

“Other side of the hill.”

I tossed the reins onto the stallion’s neck and mounted. “There should be sheep and pigs and so forth, too. If worst comes to worst, we can steal one.” I touched the stallion’s sides with my spurs, and he set off at a limping trot.

“Got your bow?”

Bow and quiver were slung on the left side of my saddle; I held them up. “Why do you want to know?”

“They blind them,” Gylf said, and trotted ahead.

The hill was low and not at all steep. I stopped near the top to take a good look at the black bulk of a farmhouse a good way off that seemed, in the moonlight, too big and too plain.

“Over here, sir,” the old woman called. “Under the tree.”

“I know.” I dismounted and led the stallion over.

“Dog’s here already.” It was a man’s hoarse voice. “Nice dog.”

“Yes, he is.” Wishing I had a lantern, I joined them, leaving the stallion to get whatever supper he could from the dry grass. “I’m a knight of Sheerwall Castle, father. Sir Able of the High Heart is my name.”

“Able,” the old man said. “I’d a brother a’ that name.”

I nodded. “It’s a good one, I think.”

“His name’s Berthold, sir,” Gerda said. “Bold Berthold, they called him when we was young.”

Ia a little spot of moonlight, I could see Bold Berthold’s hand grope for hers, and find it.

Chapter 66. Which Am I?