The leader halted and bowed a little in his seat. “Welcome, Sir Knight,” he said. His voice was a beautiful thing to hear, low and singing. “I hight Alfric, Duke of Alfarland in the Kingdom of Faerie. ’Tis not oft we see mortal man come to visit us.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” The courtly phrases fell of themselves from Holger’s lips. “The witch Mother Gerd, whom I believe a humble servant of yours, commended me to you. She thought belike your wisdom could solve a grief of mine, so hither I came to beg the favor.”

  “Ah, so. Be welcome, then, you and your servitors. I bid you be my guests for as long as it pleasures you, and shall strive to aid a gentleman of your standing with all my power.”

  My standing? Holger reflected that the thing which had attacked him was almost certainly a creature of the Duke’s. Three hearts and three lions just weren’t popular in the Middle World, it seemed. The question was, did the Duke know now that Holger wasn’t the man he’d wanted to have killed? And whether he knew it or not, what plans were behind that smooth chill face?

  “I thank you, my gracious lord.” he said aloud.

  “It pains me that I must bid you leave cross and iron outside, but you know the weakness of our folk,” said Alfric urbanely. “Fear not, you shall be given weapons of our own make.”

  “In your stronghold, my lord, there is nothing to fear,” said Holger and thought what a liar he was becoming. Alianora stirred uneasily. “I’ll watch your stuff, Holger,” she said. “I’d liefer stay outdoors anyway.”

  Alfric and the other Pharisees bent their wide blank eyes on her. “ ’Tis the swan-may of whom we have so oft heard,” murmured the Duke. “Nay, fair lady, you’ve naught to fear, and we would be ill hosts did we not offer you a roof.”

  Alianora shook her ruddy head stubbornly. A little frown appeared on the Duke’s brow. “Wouldst not refuse?” he breathed gently.

  “Would,” snapped Alianora.

  “I’ll wait oot here too,” said Hugi quickly.

  “Nay, go ye with Sir Holger,” said the girl.

  “But—” said Hugi.

  “Ye heard me,” said Alianora.

  Alfric shrugged. “If you wish to join us, Sir Knight—” he hinted.

  Holger nodded, climbed down, and doffed his armor and weapons. Papillon snorted and glared at the Faerie horses. Alianora loaded the equipment on him and took his bridle. “I’ll await ye in the woods,” she said, and led the stallion off. Holger’s eyes followed her till she had disappeared.

  They trooped into the castle then. The courtyard was wide, with trees and flower-beds and plashing fountains, music breathed on the air and there was a heavy smell of roses. Holger saw the women of Faerie gathered before the main keep and, for a while, forgot everything else. Jumping Judas! It was worth crossing universes just to get a look. He bowed to them in a kind of daze.

  Alfric told off a small, green-skinned goblin slave to lead him to his quarters. “We will await you at dinner,” he said graciously. Holger, with Hugi trotting in his wake, went through unending corridors, all high and vaulted and gleaming. Through arched doorways he had glimpses of jewel-blazing magnificence. Of course, when you could conjure such things from the air—

  Up a long curving flight of polished stairs and down another hall and into a suite of rooms right out of the Arabian Nights. The goblin bowed and left them. Holger looked around at glowing carpets, jeweled mosaics, cloth-of-gold hangings, and through balcony windows at acres of gardens. There were tapers burning with a clear white light, and on one wall a tapestry whose figures moved as if they were alive. That was a jarring reminder of where he was.

  “They do theirselves richt well here, I maun say,” declared Hugi. “Still, I’d swap the whole caboodle to be back under ma ain old oak root. Here’s a tricksy place.”

  “Mmm—yeh.” Holger wandered into a bathroom that paled Hollywood. Soap and hot running water were royal blessings. There was even a mirror, scissors, and a razor. He came out feeling more human. On the bed lay a suit which must be meant for him, and he crawled into it to find it fitting him like another skin. Purple tunic, crimson hose, blue mantle, black velvet shoes, everything worked with gold thread and hung with precious stones—hm. He noticed a sword, shield, and set of armor in a corner. That was tactful of Alfric, though he could hardly carry weapons to dinner.

  “Ah, ’tis a bra figure ye make, Sir Holger,” said Hugi admiringly. “Belike ye’ll have to fight off the Faerie dames. They’re a lickerish lot here, ’tis said.”

  “I wish I knew just why everyone’s so friendly,” said Holger. “The Pharisees are generally on pretty uneasy terms with mankind, aren’t they? Then why should Alfric put himself out this way for me?”

  “No telling, lad. Mayhap ’tis but a means to entrap ye. Then again, it may amuse him to do ye a kindness. Ye canna tell what the Faerie dwellers think or what they will do themselves. They know not theirselves, nor care.”

  “I feel guilty about going to dinner and letting you sit here and Alianora out in the woods.”

  “Och, they’ll gi’ me summat t’ eat, and the lassie’s happier where she is. I ken wha’s in her mind. I’m t’ help ye wi’ rede and deed herein, whilst she waits ootside to do wha’ she can if ’tis needed.”

  A goblin appeared to announce obsequiously that dinner was served. Holger followed him down long smoky-blue halls and into an enormous vaulted chamber. The lords and ladies of Faerie were like a melting rainbow where they sat at table. Goblin servants harried about them, and music came from somewhere, and there was a buzz of talk and laughter.

  Holger was seated at Alfric’s left, between the Duke and a girl introduced as Meriven. She gave him a smile that turned his knees to rubber; he sat down in a stunned fashion and tried to make conversation.

  Faerie talk, Holger gathered vaguely, was an art in itself: swift, witty, cynical, always a hint of poison and delicate malice, always with elaborate rules he didn’t begin to understand. Well, probably immortals who had nothing to do but hunt, magic, intrigue, and wage war, would develop sophistication in sheer self-defense. They hadn’t heard of forks here either, but the food and wine were a symphony. If that Meriven weren’t so distracting— This was an embarras de richesses.

  “Truly,” she murmured, holding him with those curious eyes that, in her, no longer bothered him, “you are a bold man thus to venture hitherwards. That stroke you gave your enemy, ah, a thing of beauty!”

  “You saw that?” he asked sharply.

  “By magic, yes. As to whether we but jested, or meant it in earnest, Sir ’Olger, ’tis not good for a young man to know too much. A trace of puzzlement keeps him from stodginess.” She laughed sweetly. “But tell me, what brings you hither?”

  He grinned. “Nor should a young lady know too much,” he answered.

  “Ah, cruel! Yet am I glad you came.” She used the intimate pronoun. “I may speak to you thus, fair sir? There is a kinship between us, even if we find ourselves at war now and again.”

  “Dearest enemy,” murmured Holger. She lowered her eyes, smiling appreciatively. His own eyes had a tendency to drop too—that décolletage of hers— He searched around in his mind for more cribs from Shakespeare.

  They continued the flirtation throughout the banquet, which seemed to take hours. Afterward the company went into an even vaster hall for dancing. Duke Alfric drew Holger aside as the music started.

  “Come with me a moment, if you will, good sir,” he smiled. “We’d best talk over your problem now, so that I can think on it a while; for I foresee that our ladies will give you little peace.”

  “As you will,” said Holger, a trifle grumpily. He didn’t much care to remember realities just now.

  They strolled into a garden and found a bench and sat down. A fountain murmured whitely beside them, and the liquid voice of a nightingale was in the willows. Alfric leaned gracefully back. “Say what you will, Sir ’Olger,” he invited.

  Well—no use holding anything back. If the Pharisee did have power to return him, he’d probably have to know everything. Only how do you describe an entire life—an entire world?

  Holger did his best. Alfric guided him with a few penetrating questions. At the end, the Duke looked thoughtful. “A strange tale,” he said. “I have never heard a stranger. Yet methinks there is truth in it.”

  “Can—can you help me?”

  “I know not, Sir ’Olger—for so it still seems natural to call you. I know not. There are many worlds, as any sorcerer or astrologue is aware, but a plurality of universes is another tale. Yet some things in old writings do hint of it. I myself have speculated that another Earth such as you describe might indeed exist, and be the source of myths and legends—like those told of Frederik Barbarossa, or the great epical romances about the Emperor Napoleon.”

  After a silence, he went on: “I shall raise spirits which can give counsel. It will no doubt take a little time, but we shall strive to guest you well. I think there is good hope for success.”

  “You—you are much too kind—”

  “Nay, not at all.” Alfric waved a languid hand. “You mortals know not how tedious undying life can become, and how a riddle such as this is greeted with gladness. ’Tis I should thank you.”

  He rose, chuckling. “And now, methinks you’re fain to go back to dancing,” he said. “Good pleasaunce, my friend.”

  Holger returned slowly. It looked as if he’d been too hasty in judging the Middle World. Surely no one could have been more gracious and hospitable. Damn it, he liked the Pharisees.

  He found Meriven in the ballroom. “I know not if I should greet you, Sir Knight,” she pouted. “Off you went, with never a word, and left me all alone.”

  “I’ll try to make up for that,” he said.

  He didn’t know any of their stately figure dances, but Meriven caught onto the tango at once; he’d never had a better partner. He wasn’t sure how long the ball lasted. They may have left before it broke up. His memories of the rest of the night were remarkably pleasant.

  -8-

  Here there was no real morning or evening, day or night; the dwellers seemed to live according to whim. Holger woke up slowly and luxuriously, to find himself alone again; at exactly the right moment, the door opened and a goblin entered with a breakfast tray. Someone must have used witchcraft to learn his American tastes: ham and eggs, toast, buckwheat cakes, coffee, orange juice. By the time he was up and dressed, Hugi came in, looking worried. “Where were you?” asked Holger.

  “Ah, I slept in the garden. It seemed the richt thing to do when ye were, uh, busy.” The dwarf sat down, an incongruous brown blot in all the gold and scarlet and purple, and tugged at his beard. “I dinna like the air here. There’s summat afoot, and ’tis an ill thing.”

  “You’re prejudiced,” said Holger, lighting his pipe from a candle and thinking mostly of a date he’d made to go hawking with Meriven.

  “Och, they can put on a bra show here and bedazzle ye wi’ all manner o’ fine wines and loose lasses,” grumbled Hugi, “but in all time there’s been little friendship atwixt men and Faerie, and least of all noo when Chaos gathers for war. As for me, I ken wha’ I ken. And this is what I spied as I lay in yon garden. Great flashes o’ lightning and smoke from the topmost tower, a demon figure flying, and the smell o’ witchcraft so rank it nigh curdled ma bones. And later from the west there came summat else, another flying figure, which landed on the tower and went inside. I think yon hexish Duke Alfric ha’ summoned a weirdie to his aid.”

  “Why, of course,” said Holger. “He told me he’d have to.”

  “Go on,” muttered Hugi. “Have yer fun. Be gay in the teeth o’ the lion. But when yer dead body lies oot for ravens to tear, say no I didna warn ye.”

  Holger’s stubbornly objective mind made him consider the dwarf’s dour words as he went downstairs. It could be. This might all be a gimmick to keep him from thinking until it was too late. Too late for what? Surely, if they intended evil, it would be simple to stab or poison him. He’d stood off one of their champions—who had probably only attacked him because he bore the arms of the mysterious paladin of the hearts and lions—but he wouldn’t have a chance against a dozen, he dropped hand on the elf sword. It was a comforting thing to carry.

  Meriven hadn’t set a definite hour; time seemed forgotten here. Holger dawdled through the main hall. It occurred to him that he might look up the Duke and ask if there was any news. Let’s see now, where would he be? On inquiry from a sullen kobold slave, Holger learned that the master’s apartments were in the north wing, second floor. He mounted a flight of stairs three at a time, whistling cheerily.

  He came out on the landing just as the Duke and a woman stepped from a door. He had barely a glimpse of her, she went swiftly back again, but it was stunning. This world seemed full of extraordinary lookers. She was no Faerie woman, she was taller and more full-bodied, her hair long and midnight black, her pale face curve-nosed and arrogant. A golden coronet was on her head, and a white dress swept the ground. Hm! The Duke was a lucky fellow.

  Alfric’s face smoothed itself out; Holger caught only the last fleeting sign of a scowl. “Good morrow. Sir ’Olger. How fare you?” As he bowed, he was making curious passes with his hands.

  “Excellent well, my lord. I trust you too—”

  “Ah, there you are, my naughty one. Wouldst run away from me?” Meriven took Holger’s arm. Now where the devil had she come from? “Come, the horses are ready, we’ve some falconry to do.” She bore him off almost before he could draw breath.

  They had a good time, loosing their birds at cranes and wild peacocks and less familiar prey. Meriven chattered gaily all the while, and he had to laugh with her. That anecdote about the hunting of the basilisk—well, it was hardly fit for mixed company, but it was funny. Holger would have enjoyed himself more if memory hadn’t been nagging at him again. That woman with the Duke—damn it to hell, he knew her!

  He’d only had a flying look at her, but the image was sharp for him, and he knew that her voice would be low and her manner proud, capricious, sometimes kind and sometimes cruel, always strong and wild. Meriven seemed a rather pale creature beside—beside—what was her name?

  “You’re sad, my lord,” said the Pharisee woman, laving a hand on his.

  “Oh, no—no—I was just thinking.”

  “Fie on you! Come, let me make a charm to drive thought away, ’tis the child of care and the father of sorrow.” Meriven snapped a branch off a tree, bent it, and gestured with some mutterings. It became a small harp, and she played it while singing him love songs. They did lull him, but—

  As they neared the castle, Meriven caught his arm and pointed. “Nay, see! A unicorn! They’ve become rare hereabouts.”

  They glimpsed the graceful white beast gliding between the trees. A stray wisp of ivy had caught on its horn. Wait— He peered through the half light. Wasn’t that something walking beside it?

  A huntress look tensed Meriven’s face. “If we steal close—” she whispered. Her horse moved forward on soundless feet.

  The unicorn stopped, looked back, saw them and was away, a white shadow rapidly lost to sight. Meriven swore with unladylike imaginativeness. Holger said nothing, for he had seen what had been accompanying the unicorn. For just a moment he had locked eyes with Alianora, and then she was also gone.

  “Well, lackaday, such is life.” Meriven came back to him, and they rode together. “Be not so downcast, my lord. Mayhap we can get up a party and run the brute down sometime.”

  Holger wished he were better at deception. It wouldn’t do to let the Pharisees guess his own suddenly rising suspicions, and at the same time he had to think them through. Not that he had any more reason than before to think badly of Faerie, but the sight of Alianora had triggered something in him.

  “If you will forgive me, my lady,” he said, “I’ll go bathe before dinner.”

  “Oh, my bath is large enough for us both,” she said innocently.

  Holger wished he had a helmet to cover his ears, they felt pretty hot. “I’d like a short nap too,” he said clumsily. Inspiration: “I must be at my best for you later on. There’s so much competition.”

  He beat a retreat before she could insist, and almost ran to his apartments. Hugi looked up from the bed, where he had curled himself. Holger bent over him.

  “I saw a woman this morning,” he said, fast and softly; and he described her, not from the bare glimpse he had had but from a memory which seemed to stretch over many years. “Who is she?”

  “Why—” Hugi rubbed his eyes. “It soonds like ye’ve spied Queen Morgan le Fay. Could it ha’ been her whom Alfric summoned last night, from far-away Avalon? Aye, it must be, and then there’s deviltry abroad for fair.”

  Morgan le Fay! That was it, he knew it with a certainty beyond knowledge. And Avalon, yes, there had been an island of birds and roses, rainbows and enchantment, but where and when and how had he been there? “Tell me about her,” he urged. “Everything you know.”

  “Ho, is’t yon doxy ye hanker after noo? She’s na for the likes o’ ye, lad, nor even for Duke Alfric. Cast no yer eyes too high up, lest the sun blind ’em.”

  “No, no, no! I just have to know, that’s all. Maybe I can figure out why she’s here.”

  “Well, noo—I dinna ken too much. Avalon lies far, far in the western ocean, ’tis a part o’ the world wha’ we’ve only old wives’ tales about here. But all know that Morgan le Fay is sister to Arthur, the last great king o’ the Britons, though in her the Faerie strain in yon family runs stronger and weird. She’s the michtiest witch in Christendie or heathendom, and could belike match hersel’ wi’ aught in the Middle World. Immortal, she is, and a strange sort; none know if she stands wi’ Law or Chaos. ’Tis said she bore off Arthur when he lay grievous wounded, to heal him and keep him against his time to return; but it could be that were but a sly-tongued excuse to hold him from just such a coming back. Aye, she’s a kittle dame, and I’m no gleeful to be under one roof wi’ her.”