The Knight

“Aye, sir. A sheep with big horns, sir, only they wasn’t big enough.”

“We’ll have it painted over. Three streets up the hill, and four west.”

Pouk nodded, looking dubiously at his own mount. “Sign o’ th’ Hammer an’ Tongs, sir.”

“Can you lead two horses, Pouk?”

“If they’ll tow, I can, sir. Some will an’ some won’t, an’ you never know ’til you try.”

The armorer with whom we had left my mail shirt was larger, younger, and slower of speech than Master Mori. He held up my new hauberk, whistled to himself, and carried it to a window where the light was better.

I said, “I got it from Sir Nytir, if that’s of any help.”

“Double mail. Not our work, but ‘tain’t bad.”

“If you can let out the shoulders and the arms—”

“‘Deed I can, Sir Able. But it’ll cost.”

“Those mail trousers. I don’t even know what you call them. I’ll give them to you if you’ll let out the hauberk for me.”

He gave me his hand. “I got to take your measures, Sir Able. I’ll give you a final fittin’ when you come get it, ‘n have it done that day if you come in the mornin’.”

Pouk said, “Ask him ‘bout this shield, sir. You say you like it.”

“I do.” I took it from him and held it up. “Can you paint out the ram without making it look bad?”

“‘Deed we can.” The armorer accepted and examined it. “Leather over willow. Pro’ly double willow.” He looked up at me. “Grain up-’n-down ‘n crosswise so’s not ter split. Only I’d have to get the leather off ter see for sure. He was a nice workman, though, ‘n wouldn’t ‘a used single. I won’t look ‘less you want it, just repaint the face. What you want ‘stead a’ the ram?”

When I did not reply, Pouk said, “What about a heart, sir? A heart wit’ th’ sun under. That oughta do it.”

I shook my head.

“Charges up or down,” the armorer said, “dependin’ on the design. Harder my artist’s got ter work, the more I got ter charge. There was one wanted three hearts ‘n three lions, all on the one shield. We done it, but it cost the world.”

I said that I would never use a lion.

“Well, what would you? That’s the question.”

I thought about stars and stripes, and I remembered that all the teams at school had been Bobcats, but nothing seemed right.

Pouk had wandered over to the wall and taken down a long knife. Its blade was black, and Pouk examined it curiously.

“Aelf work,” the armorer told him. “Only one like that I got. You ever see anythin’ like this, Sir Able?”

“No, but I’d like to.”

Pouk passed me the knife.

“They like them leaf-shaped blades. Drive me crazy.”

“Looks all right to me,” Pouk said.

I was turning the black blade this way and that to get as much light as I could on it. “There are swirls in the steel, like the currents in a creek.”

The armorer nodded. “Mixed metals. We try ter mix metals ‘n they run together like you’d mix water ‘n vinegar. Aelf got some way ter mix ’em like oil ‘n water. They mix, only they stay separate. See what I mean?”

“I do,” I said. “I’m looking at it.” I was not sure I ought to say more, but I did. “You believe in the Aelf. A lot of people don’t.”

The armorer shrugged. “I know what I know.”

Pouk began, “My master—”

I shut him up with my hand. “His master does too. You must know a bit about swords. Have you heard of one called Eterne?”

“Famous. Poetry about it.”

“Do you know where it is now?”

The armorer shook his head. “Fire Aelf work, like that knife. King a’ ’em made it, ‘n he put magic in it. Can’t break, can’t bend. Need a dragon’s claw ter sharpen it, only it don’t never have ter be sharpened. Famous men’s owned it, kings ‘n knights ‘n like that, ‘n come back if you draw it. Only I don’t know who’s got it. It’s somewheres in the Aelf world, pro’ly.”

Pouk said, “That’s called Aelfrice, ain’t it, sir?”

The armorer nodded again. “I know. Only I didn’t think you would. This here’s Mythgarthr. Know that?”

Pouk shook his head.

“Figured you didn’t.”

I ventured, “You said Eterne had been made by the King of the Fire Aelf. I was told that a man like us made it, a man called Weland.”

“That’s his name all right,” the armorer said, “only he was King a’ the Fire Aelf like I told you. King Weland. Dragon got him, but people still talk about him.”

“That is true,” a soft voice behind me whispered. “We speak of him and mourn him, even now.”

I nodded to show that I had heard. Out loud I said, “The shield I brought you. Will you paint it green?”

“Green now, sir. What do you want on it?”

“Plain green,” I told him. “I want nothing on it. Paint out the ram so that you can’t see it at all.”

It felt cooler when we left the armorer’s shop; and at first I thought the change—a great improvement—was due merely to our getting away from the heat of the forges. As Pouk and I rode out of the city, however, a west wind sent the bay’s long mane flapping around his eyes and made my cloak billow about me like a sail until I closed it and tied the cords. That wind was chilly, and no mistake; it came pretty close to cold.

“Skai help them what’s at sea,” Pouk muttered.