The Knight

When I woke up next morning, Uri and Baki had gone. That was generally the way it was any time that they were with me, so I might as well explain it now, and later I will not say much about it. They did not like our sun. Sunlight hurt them, and if they stood in it you could hardly see them. So they went back to Aelfrice, mostly, when it got light, unless it was a dark day with lots of clouds. If they had to stay, they stood in the shadows or tried to. I did not understand that then, and thought I might have dreamed them.

I was going to get out of bed to see if Sword Breaker and my bow were really under it, when there was a knock at the door. I said, “Come in!”

He was bigger than I am, really huge, and blond, with a thick mustache that was not a lot darker than his hair. I liked him right away, because I could see he wanted to be friends but he was not too sure how to go about it. (I am like that pretty often myself.) He said, “I didn’t wake you, I hope.”

I was not sure whether he had or not, because he might have knocked before, but I said no. Looking at how bright my room was and sort of smelling the air, I decided it was the middle of the morning.

“I’m Sir Woddet of East Hall.” He held out his hand.

I sat up and took it. “Sir Able.”

“I’m not supposed to be here.” He looked around and found a little stool. “All right if I sit?”

I said sure.

“No visitors by order of His Hungryhunks, but that’s because he’s afraid somebody will kill you.” Woddet shoved out his lower lip and pulled his mustache, something I saw a lot of afterward. “Someone might, too. Not me, someone else.”

About then I woke up enough to remember what Modguda had said. “You saved me.”

“I tried to. So did some others.”

“Your squire threw himself on top of me so they wouldn’t hit me. That’s what somebody said. I don’t remember it.”

“You were down by that time.” Woddet pulled at his mustache some more. “That’s the trouble with a fight like that. No gentle right. Not that they’d have accorded it to you, I’m afraid.”

I did not know what he was talking about, but I said, “I guess not.”

“I was fighting you, too. You got me right here.” He pointed. “Knocked the wind out. By the time I could stand straight again, they were going for you with swords. I shouted stop, and that’s when Yond threw himself on you.”

I said, “I owe you. I owe my life.”

“No, you don’t.” He shook his head. He was really big, and all that tow-colored hair made his head look about a size eleven. “Master Thope and Master Agr were trying to protect you, too. Some wretch put his blade into Thope’s back for striving to preserve the honor of His Grace’s household.”

“Yeah, I heard about that. I’m going to pay him a visit today.”

Woddet looked surprised. “Glad to hear you’re up to it. I never wanted to kill you. Just thrash you, and I tried. You are a man of your hands, Sir Able.”

“Only not of the lance.”

Woddet grinned. “No.”

“Not yet, but I will be. Why’d you want to thrash me?”

He looked at me, trying to size me up. “Are you of gentle blood?”

“Is that like noble? No.”

He shook his head. “Noble blood means an inherited title, and lands. Knighthood’s not inheritable. Gentle blood simply means your ancestors were never in trade or worked with their hands.”

I explained that our grandparents had been farmers, and our dad had run a store. “I’d really like to tell you I’m some king’s lost kid,” I said, “but there wouldn’t be a word of truth in it.”

He had trouble looking at me. “Well, you see, Able, when someone is of gentle blood—”

“Sir Able,” I told him.

“All right. But when someone is of gentle blood, as I am and the others, and someone else who isn’t claims it, or claims to be a knight when he is not, for instance ...”

“For instance what?”

“Well, we’re supposed to beat him. Not kill him, thrash him. Or if he says someone who is of gentle blood hasn’t got it, that’s the same thing.”

“Okay. There was somebody there that said I wasn’t a real knight, and I said I was but he wasn’t.”

Woddet nodded. “We couldn’t be certain you weren’t a knight yourself, though none of us believed you. But when you said Sir Hermad wasn’t, that loosed the string.”

“I see. I really am a knight. If you don’t believe me, we’ll fight.”

Woddet smiled. “With lances?”

“Here. Right now. You’ve got a sword. Are you too scared to use it?”

“Not I!” He drew his sword faster than he stood up, and he stood’up fast. It was just a blur of steel and the point was pricking my throat. He said, “You declare yourself a knight, however. I can’t kill an unarmed knight. Gentle right.”

“I told you about my folks. I haven’t got gentle blood.”

“But I do.” Woddet sheathed his sword almost as quickly as he had gotten it out. He was trying not to grin. “I’ll have to ask His Grace’s herald.”

I said I would rather we were friends.

“I’ve given you my hand.” He shrugged. “Still I wish you had ancestors, Sir Able. It would make everything much easier for both of us.”

“I’m an ancestor,” I told him.