Swan Knight's Sword (Moth & Cobweb Book 3) Read online

  All three knights stood, offended at the effrontery. Gil poured the delicious scented wine from the upper world into their goblets one by one. Gil then looked toward Mathuin Moth, Alberec’s butler, and smiled. Without a word, the butler handed him a goblet, into which he poured some of the wine.

  Gil shouted, “A toast to Erlkoenig!”

  Erlkoenig said in his cold and emotionless voice, “Hold, Sir Knight. Do you seek to insult me by throwing a corpse before me, befouling his body with a savage blow, and calling on my vassals and followers to drink your triumph? What if this hairy man had been a servant of mine? Or had been someone you swore you would spare?”

  Gil bowed, “I proffer no insult of any kind, Imperial Majesty. For I made certain that this wild and hairy man was no servant of yours before I slew him. Indeed, he boasted of his disloyalty to you in my ear while we fought.”

  A rustle went the chamber, the noise of many small sounds of surprise.

  “A loyal servant of yours would not have drawn this sword to slay me, who just this fortnight did a great and memorable service for your Imperial Majesty. A loyal servant would have laid it at your feet. Moreover, had you sent him to fight me, I would be dead, for you would not have allowed foolishness and anger to decide your tactics, but Guynglaff allowed nothing but. And any oath I might have made to spare him was foresworn by Guynglaff, who betrayed the terms his master laid on him. Why did he not present that sword to you if he thought I was dead? For whose hand did he keep it?”

  Gil pointed at the dimly burning sword piercing the corpse on the marble floor. “There is a sword that can slay giants. Can it not slay kings?”

  There was much murmuring and muttering at this question.

  Gil raised his voice, “These were the very words of Guynglaff to me before he died! We are stronger than Erlkoenig and all his court! The spirit of anarchy is loosed in the world and will topple all kings, break all covenants, and end all faithfulness!”

  Now the musical voices of the elfs held a note of rising anger, and there was a hushed note of fear behind it.

  Gil said, “My dread lord, all in this chamber hear the truth in my words. I deceive no one. So Guynglaff spoke. Was he your servant in truth?”

  Erlkoenig raised a finger. All in the chamber fell silent so quickly Gil wondered for a moment if he had been struck deaf.

  Erlkoenig said in a cold, soft voice, “You recall, Sir Knight, what words we exchanged when we met outside this chamber and the bargain we struck? A loyal servant of mine would have kept my word whole and offered no dishonor to me, to make me seem a liar.”

  Gil said, “Neither will I offer you dishonor, lord.”

  He had been schooled by his mother to say this, for Ygraine predicted Erlkoenig would not admit in open court that his servants disobeyed him. She predicted also Erlkoenig would be grateful for Gil’s silence.

  Erlkoenig said, “Guynglaff Cobweb was no servant of mine.”

  Gil saw that three colored shadows now occupied the spots where the three Cobwebs had been seated. He alone could see Rotwang and Lucien, each with an arm under the thin shoulders of decrepit Zahack, silently sneaking out of the hall.

  Gil said, “Guynglaff will not strike against anyone again. Have I permission to call for a toast to your Imperial Majesty? I was first enrolled on your lists as a knight before any other power recognized me. It was by that courtesy I was brought into the chamber last year, and by this good hap I was present to defy the Green Knight, who shamed all chivalry gathered here, your knights as well as those of the other kings and lords at this feast, from greatest to humblest. It would be base indeed were I to claim all honor to myself and forget Alberec and Erlkoenig, at whose behest and high command all these things were done.”

  Erlkoenig said carefully, “I know you to be a very honest man, and a stalwart knight, and such as ye be hard to turn from their purposes. Why do you offer the wine to those three knights of Alberec, instead of to us? For its savor is very sweet.”

  Gil said, “First, I ask to serve the wine to the knights of Corbenec as I was commanded by my mother, whom I dare not dishonor nor disobey, not even for fear of kings.”

  The elfs laughed.

  Gil said, “And second, these were the three knights of all knighthood I first saw when I climbed a mountain to see the elves. I wrestled Sir Dornar and overthrew him fair and square even though I was unarmed and unhorsed and him armed at all points. Because of that, I knew I had the strength to be a knight, and a good one.”

  Another murmur of laughter ran through the chamber, and the music of the elfish laughter seemed to effect Dornar like a charm. He grew pale and trembled at the sound of shame.

  Aglovale said, “You? That was you? That boy was the Swan Knight?”

  Dornar, pale and shaking, said, “Of course it is not him! He is the Swan Knight’s son. Look at the hue of his hair! Look at his eyes, the shape of his jaws and lips, and then look in a mirror, you fools! The lies arise to haunt us!”

  Aglovale said, “Brothers, do not say in this place anything we cannot unsay!”

  Lamorak said in a voice of lilting nonchalance, “Oh, come! It cannot be! This man is dressed in disguise to impersonate a character from a story! The Swan Knight is a fiction, a false tale invented by our mother to cover her shame! She slept with the Wild-Man-o’-Wood and bore to him a hairy whelp, more monkey than human…”

  Aglovale put his hand on Lamorak’s shoulder to warn him not to speak, but it was too late, for Gil in anger drew up Lamorak’s goblet carrying the celestial wine and dashed it into Lamorak’s face.

  A few drops must have entered Lamorak’s mouth because his whole demeanor changed. Instead of wrath at the great insult done him, he grabbed for the goblet and sought to bring it to his lips, yearning for other droplets of the heavenly wine. Gil politely handed him his own goblet, which Lamorak drained.

  Erlkoenig turned his mask of ice toward Alberec, as if expecting him to object or intervene when one of his own knights had been insulted, slung with wine. But to the surprise of everyone there, Alberec said, “A toast to the Swan Knight! A toast to the Emperor! Blessings and honor and glory and power upon them!” And he picked up his own cup and put it to his lips.

  But King Brian, the diminutive redhaired red-faced king next to Erlkoenig said, “Hold and halt! Sir Lamorak acts strangely. See how he guzzles and laps at the wine. Perhaps it is enchanted—or poisoned!”

  Gil said, “Each time I speak a lie, every ear within earshot knows. I swear by Heaven that the wine contains no venom, but only a blessing.” And he poured wine from the bottle into his mouth and swallowed.

  Gil turned to his brothers, “Drink the toast! And I offer one toast more! Gentlemen: a toast to the mother of the knights of Corbenec, Ygraine the Wise, Ygraine of the Silver Locks, the gentlest, best, most truthful, truehearted, and kindhearted mother under Heaven! Drink! Will you not drink to your own mother, gentle knights, or will you insult her before all this fine company? Drink!”

  Aglovale said, “Sire, I suspect some deceit is here! Excuse me from this toast.”

  But Alberec said, “Drink!”

  Aglovale and Dornar both warily sipped the wine but, finding it savory beyond all measure, drank heartily and deep.

  Lamorak said gaily, “That is the finest of wines ever I drank! I taste the courage of heroes burning like fire in this wine! Where does it come from?”

  Aglovale said soberly, “I taste tears in this wine. The smell and savor reminds me of when I was a small child and my mother held me. What is in this wine?”

  Dornar said sullenly, “I taste blood! You who forced this wine down our throats. Who are you?”

  And then the brothers looked at each other in horror, and the chamber looked on in wonder, for every word out of the mouths was true, and everyone heard and knew it.

  Alberec said, “Swan Knight! Answer the questions asked of you.”

  Gil raised his head and spoke in a voice like a trumpet.

  “The w
ine comes from Sarras, the City in the Summer Stars, the home of Ygraine of the Swan Wings.

  “Those wings your father, Alain le Gros, stole and thereby forced Ygraine into his marriage bed unlawfully, uncouthly, and against nature, for Ygraine is the sister to Alain’s mother, Elaine of the Sea. Nonetheless, in return for his hand, Alain rendered to her the Tower Dolorous in Terregaste.

  “When the Wild Man stole Ygraine, you were too weak to stop him, so you concocted the tale that she ran off willingly with him; and when she returned with babe in arms, you concocted the tale that the babe was the child of Guynglaff.

  “Your father threatened to have the child done away with, so to protect it, Ygraine took the boy and fled through the trackless air, for the boy had unwittingly discovered for her the hiding place of her swan robe.

  “You searched and found proof that this was so, that she would surrender name and fame and titles and all to preserve the babe at her breast.

  “But you were so ashamed that she protected your brother, whom you did not protect, that you declared the child dead and her a murderess for having abandoned him, and also called her adulteress and traitress to her lord husband, and many worse things beside.

  “She flew back not to paradise, but to a life of menial chores, unthanked labor, and constant fear and uncertainty, knowing that if she were found, the child’s life was forfeit.

  “But the child’s true father armed and equipped him for battle, and the child slew the Wild-Man-o’-Wood you failed to slay, and with that charm, which only comes to a hero when he slays his first monster in his first fight, three blessings were given to me.

  “You ask what is in the wine? What is in this wine is the last and the greatest of those blessings, which is that all who hear you can hear the truth you speak so that no man can pretend to doubt your word! It is a princely gift, and freely I share it with my brothers. It will be your blessing until you die!

  “Who am I you knew the moment you saw for the first time the hair of my head, which I have kept hidden all this year. I was born Gilberec Parsifal Moth, son of Ygraine of the Wise Reeds and the Swan Knight; and now I am the Swan Knight in my own right, and Sir Gilberec of the Court of King Arthur.

  “And I am one thing more: the Lord of the Tower Dolorous and possessor of all the rights and lands that go with it, for I have here in hand the peppercorn which is due and owing to Alberec, the King of the Fortunate Elfs, by whose law those lands are mine.”

  He stepped over, bowed, and placed the silk bag containing the peppercorn before the plate of Alberec.

  Alberec said, “How shall I accept this token since you have not sworn fealty to me?”

  Gil said, “I swore to Arthur. Ygraine told me that would satisfy you.”

  Alberec’s one eye glinted strangely, and he laughed. “I had forgotten the sensation of what it felt like to be outsmarted by Ygraine! The memory returns. Knights of Corbenec! How do you answer all these charges and calumnies heaped upon your name by the Swan Knight of the Tower Dolorous?”

  Gil said, “Begging your majesty’s pardon. It is the Tower Joyous now, for Ygraine no longer weeps tears there.”

  Alberec nodded, and a small, tight smile slightly made his lips thin. He called out, “Corbenec! Answer him!”

  Aglovale said, “None of his accusations can be proved.”

  Alberec said, “A nicely worded answer, but one which says nothing.”

  Lamorak laughed, “They say there is truth in wine. Wine this good must have truth more potent! I will bring no curse on myself. I have no answer, my lord.”

  Alberec said, “This wording is even nicer, and even less was said.”

  Dornar shouted, “I say the Swan Knight lies! He is a base knave and…”

  And all the elfs laughed because the falsehood that rang from his voice was obvious and clear to one and all.

  Dornar gritted his teeth and said, “If we have lost the power to tell lies, then we cannot live among the elfs!”

  The elfish laughter died at these words because their truth was also obvious.

  “So my only answer is this!” And Dornar drew his dirk and came over the table toward Gil.

  But Gil was wearing armor from heel to neck, and had not spent the last nine days drinking, and was not maddened with wrath. He coolly caught Dornar by the shoulder, and toppled to the ground with him, driving his armored elbow joint into his solar plexus, and in a trice had him in a bear hug, as he had been taught. He banged Dornar’s head against the marble floor, until it was bloody, and Dornar in misery called out, “It is true! It is all true! What the Swan Knight says is true!”

  Gil growled in his ear, “Swear it! Swear in the name of Christ that it is true and Mother is innocent!”

  Tears drew trails in the blood covering his face. Dornar shouted and sobbed, “I swear by the name of Christ that all my brother said is true! And that Ygraine was innocent of all we claimed! Everything we said was a lie, a damned lie!”

  And all the animals in the chamber yowled in pain at the name of Christ.

  Gil let go of Dornar, but the other knight did not get to his feet. Instead, he knelt. “I beg your pardon, too, Sir Knight. You have defeated me in combat. How many I ransom my life?”

  Gil realized, to his shock, what Dornar meant. He said, “You are my brother, and I would not kill you.”

  Aglovale said, “You must ask something of him, or else it dishonors him, that you think his life worth nothing.”

  Gil said, “Arms and armor I have, and finer than any I have seen, and a horse and hound I envy no man’s. So I will ask my brother for something more painful to surrender: go, be baptized, go to confession, and seek the forgiveness and peace and pardon found there.”

  Alberec said, “You render him worthless to me.”

  Gil said, “To the contrary, sire, he will be a better knight than before.”

  But Dornar, ignoring Alberec, looked up from the floor and spoke. “Yes. I agree. By tree and fountain, star and blood, I swear it….”

  Gil held up his hand. “I hear the truth in your voice. Your yes is enough. You need swear by no pagan things.”

  And he helped him to his feet.

  Gil turned to Alberec, “Sire! I believe I have provided the adventure and the deed of arms you require to feast on the golden meat…?”

  But Ethne the May Queen interrupted them, her voice filled with hauteur, “Not so fast! There is a law that no Moth and no son of Twilight can enter this land without binding himself with unbreakable oaths to the Lord of Elfland! I have heard no oath given to Erlkoenig! And how dare a mere half-breed wear those spurs and carry that sword! They are treasures of our world!”

  But Erlkoenig said, “Was it not I who first ordered Sir Gilberec enrolled as a knight on my rolls? All the proper forms and legalities have been satisfied.” He pointed his finger at the diamond wine bottle, which still had some left in it. The bottle flew threw the air into the central fire pit, where it shattered in the tiny, glittering shards, and the precious wine with its lovely scent of Heaven was split and mingled with the ashes, and perfumed steam rose up hissing.

  Erlkoenig raised his hand, “But the May Queen raises a question not to be turned aside. Sir Gilberec is a Moth, a lesser race, wherein dirty and diseased human blood is mingled with the ethereal ichor of finer beings to produce a mongrel race that is welcomed nowhere. How should one of our finest treasures be found in his hand? What do my lords and gentlemen advise we should rule?”

  Gil said, “Begging your Imperial Majesty’s pardon, but I believe a higher power has already adjudicated the matter.”

  Erlkoenig said, “What mean you?”

  Gil pointed again at the dim and smoking blade protruding from the corpse. “Let him who is worthy draw the sword from the belly of the beast.”

  3. The Trial of the Fair White-hilted Sword

  Nothing of Erlkoenig’s face could be seen but the glitter of his eyes, so, when he did not speak, it was unclear what thought held him back. He said
slowly, “What is your counsel, oh ye sovereigns sworn in fealty to me?”

  Little king Brian Brollachan of the Autumn Elfs said, “Some spry trick or turn is here, my lord. This little boy has returned as a squire of the Green Knight and knows his tricks!”

  Sir Bertolac’s gold eyes flashed, and he spoke up, “Forgive me, lords, if I speak out of turn, but let some volunteer, unasked and uncommanded, step forth to grasp the blade and take it up. Then, if that one fails, it was not at the command of any king. In such as wise no knight will be shamed should he fail.”

  Balor of the Evil Eye, the giant coated in rime and frost with four men standing on his knee propping up his horrid eye in a beam now called for a fifth to step onto his knee, and put his back into pushing the pole so that Balor could lift his eyelid more widely open and glare. “What? I will volunteer!”

  Erlkoenig said, “No, let this be done in order. I call forth my champion, Pwyll Penannwn, who once clasped living arms about the queen of the dead.”

  The knight who stood was white haired, and his face was lined and scarred with grief and wound, and his eyes haunted with strange things. His cloak and cloakpin were of plain wool and green copper. Adjacent tables, as if by an inner spirit, moved their legs to make a space where an elf could step without flying over or ducking under. Pwyll put his hand to the great sword Dyrnwen.

  Immediately, the blade burned with a blue-white flame, bright as twenty torches, and the elfs put their hands before their eyes, the efts hissed, the Nephilim cursed, and the pookas and lesser servants squinted and yowled.

  A terrible stench rose up from the corpse of the yeti as Guynglaff caught fire.

  Pwyll pulled. The sword moved by not so much as a hairsbreadth. He put his foot on the corpse, put both hands on the hilts, and yanked again.