He recovered some measure of sanity. Tall women had no business acting kittenish. “Look here,” he croaked, “you were with Alfric, and he tried to kill me. What have I got to do with you?”

  “What has any man to do with a maid who longs for him?” she breathed, sidling closer. Holger backed up till a tree stopped him.

  “In truth,” sighed Morgan, “I knew not who you were, Holger, so I aided Alfric all unwittingly. But when I found out, then did I haste me hither to find you.”

  He wiped sweat off his face. “That’s a lie,” he said harshly.

  “Well, we of the gentler sex must be permitted a little fancifulness,” she answered serenely. She reached up to stroke his forehead. “It is God’s truth that I have come to win you back.”

  “Win me back to Chaos!” he blustered weakly.

  “And why not? What is there about dull and stodgy Law that drives you to defend it? Why, Holger, my darling bear, you’re but bulwarking loutish peasants and fat-gutted burghers, when the laughter and thunder and swirling stars of Chaos could be yours for the asking. When were you ever one for a safe and narrow life, locked in its own smugness, roofed with a sour gray sky and stinking of smoke, you who drove armies from the field? You could hurl suns and shape worlds if you chose!”

  Her head was on his breast and her arms about his waist. “No-n-no!” he stuttered. “I don’t trust—”

  “Ah, lackaday! Is this the man who dwelt so long with me on Avalon? Have you forgotten that I gave you centuries of youth, and lordship, and love?” She looked up at him again with huge dark eyes. He tried to tell himself how corny her act was, and failed. “If you will not join with us, then at least do not fight against us. Return to Avalon, Holger! Come back with me to Avalon the fair!”

  He knew, somewhere in his buckling mind, that she was sincere for a change. She wanted him out of the way in the coming struggle, but she also wanted him, period. And why not? he thought staggeringly. What did he owe to either side, in this universe that was not his? When Morgan le Fay was in his arms—

  “All these long years,” she whispered, “and now when we meet you have not even kissed me.”

  “That,” he choked, “c-c-could be remedied.”

  It was rather like being in a soft cyclone. He couldn’t think of anything else, there was no time or opportunity or wish.

  “Ah-h-h,” she whispered at last, her eyes still closed, “my lord, my lord, do it again. Do it forever.”

  He gathered her in. A flicker of white caught the edge of his eye. Turning, he saw Alianora, mounted on the unicorn and rounding the trees. “Holger,” she was calling, “Holger, dear, where be ye—Oh!”

  The unicorn reared, throwing Alianora to the grass, let out a thunderously indignant snort, and fled. The girl bounced up, glaring. “Now see wha’ ye ha’ done!” she wailed irrationally. “He’ll ne’er come back!”

  Slowly, Holger disentangled himself. Alianora burst into tears.

  “Get that peasant wench out of here!” cried Morgan.

  “ ’Tis no for me to run!” screeched Alianora, flaring up. “Foul witch that ye be, get awa’ from him!”

  The queen’s black eyes narrowed dangerously. “If that beanpole betake herself not hence—” she muttered.

  “Beanpole!” yelled Alianora. “Why, ye overstuffed fleshpot, I’ll claw your popeyes out!”

  “Little girls shouldn’t cry,” snarled Morgan. “They’ll grow up even homelier than they are.”

  Alianora steadied herself and showed her teeth. “Better be a wee bit young than ha’ my skin sag wi’ eld.”

  “You have such a pretty skin,” hissed Morgan. “I like that peeling effect.”

  “Tell me,” said Alianora with elaborate admiration, “where did ye buy yon complexion?”

  Holger crept aside, wondering how to get out of this alive.

  “I see you’re a swan-may,” said Morgan. “Have you laid any good eggs?”

  “Nay. I canna cackle so shrill as some old hens.”

  Morgan flushed and began to make passes. “See how you like being a hen yourself!”

  “Hey!” Holger leaped forward. His hand jumped, almost of its own will, and Morgan went rolling to the grass.

  “None of that,” he gasped.

  The queen got slowly up. “So that is how it stands,” she murmured.

  “I guess it is,” said Holger, wondering if he really meant it.

  “Well, have it your way, then. We’ll meet once more, my friend.” Morgan laughed harshly and waved her hands. Suddenly she was gone. There was a small crack as air rushed back where she had been.

  Alianora began to cry in earnest, leaning disconsolately against a tree. When Holger went up and laid a hand on her shoulder, she shook him off. “Go away,” she whispered. “G-g-g-g-go off wi’ your w-w-w-witch, sith she p-p-pleases ye so well—Uh-h-h-h—”

  “Look here,” said Holger helplessly. “It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t ask her to show up.”

  “I willna hearken, I tell ye. Go away.”

  Holger sighed. He had troubles enough without a hysterical female on his hands. He pulled her around, shook her, and said between his teeth: “I had nothing to do with this. Hear? Now will you come along with me like a grown-up human being, or must I drag you back?”

  Alianora looked at him with wide eyes. Then she dropped her lashes. “I’ll come wi’ ye,” she said meekly.

  Holger got his pipe going again and strode moodily toward camp. Damn, damn, damn, and damn! Almost, there with Morgan le Fay, he had remembered that other life, almost it had come to him, only—

  Well, too late now. From now on, she’d doubtless be his bitterest opponent. But it was probably a good thing that they’d been interrupted; he couldn’t have held out against her blandishments very long.

  And the hell of it was, he rather wished he hadn’t. Who was it had that line about nothing being so futile as the memory of a temptation resisted?

  Too late. He’d just have to carry on.

  His buried memory shot a fact up into his conscious mind, and he knew why the unicorn had departed. Morgan le Fay must have been the last straw on its outraged sensibilities—or the last dozen straws. That made him chuckle, and he reached out to take Alianora’s hand. They walked back to camp side by side.

  -12-

  With only one mount, progress was slow, but Holger found the next several days pleasant. They drifted through hills and valleys and forests, holing up somewhere when it rained, pausing at lakes to fish and swim, now and then glimpsing the white shape of a nixie or a woods-fay or a griffin hot and golden against the sun. And the Middle Worlders let them alone.

  To be sure, Alianora, though a fine and lovely girl, had some drawbacks as a traveling companion. Her forest friends would show up from time to time: a squirrel bearing an offering of fruits was all right, but it was disconcerting, to say the least, when a lion stalked into camp and laid a fresh-killed deer at her feet. That wasn’t too bad, the change of diet was welcome; Holger was bothered more by her own attitude toward him. Damn it, he didn’t want to compromise himself with her. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them, when he meant to leave this world at the first chance. But she made it hard for him to remain a gentleman. She was so shyly and pathetically expecting him to take her.

  He drew Hugi aside one evening. He’d just spent an hour kissing Alianora goodnight, and it had needed all his will-power—or won’t-power—to stop at that and pack her off to sleep. “Look,” he said, “you see how it is between us.”

  “Aye, so I do,” grinned the dwarf. “And a guid thing ’tis. She’s been living too long amongst beasts and the wee folk.”

  “But—but— You warned me, before, to behave myself with her.”

  “That were afore I kenned ye well. Noo I think ye’re a richt guid man for her. She and ye could reign o’er us in the woods, we’d be glad to ha’ ye.”

  “Good grief!” Holger turned away. “You’re no help at all.”

  “I been as helpfu’ as could be,” said Hugi in an injured tone. “Ye dinna know hoo oft I turned ma face, or wandered off into the woods, to leave ye two alone.”

  “That isn’t what— Oh, never mind.”

  Holger lit his pipe and stared gloomily into the fire. He wasn’t any Don Juan. It didn’t make sense that one woman after another, in this world, should throw herself at him. Meriven the Pharisee and Morgan le Fay had had good practical reasons, but there’d been personal motives too; Alianora had quite simply fallen in love with him. Why? He had no illusions about his own attractiveness.

  But, of course, that alter ego of his, that could be another story. He imagined that it showed in numberless subtle ways which transformed the total impression he made. What had he been like, this knight of the hearts and lions?

  Well, let’s see. Obviously a mighty warrior, which was what counted most in this world. A gusty, good-natured bruiser, not especially nimble-witted, but of likable manners. Something of an idealist, presumably: Morgan had spoken of his defending Law even if he stood to gain more from Chaos. He must have had a way with the ladies, or so wise a jade as she would hardly have taken him off to Avalon. And—And— That seemed to be about all he could figure out. Or remember?

  Holger sighed.

  They traveled on, and now they began to enter lands of men. The forest thinned out to copses and groves, and the rolling land was covered with small fields of grain and with pastures where shaggy little horses and cattle grazed. Peasants’ wood and earth huts appeared, smoke rose against the sky. The people themselves came out to gape at the wanderers: women in long wadmal dresses, with a brood of half-naked children clustered about their knees; men in rough coats and legginged trousers, bearded and long-haired. They were all a blond, sturdy folk, with a stolid look about them. Holger noticed that the men always went armed, even when working in the fields—conditions on the marches were too uncertain. He would have liked to stay with some of them, talk to them, but Alianora was unhappy at the idea of sleeping in their grimy homes, and they in turn regarded her and the dwarf with suspicion. To Holger they made clumsy bows.

  It was toward evening when the party entered the town called Tarnberg. Alianora had said a magician lived there, a rather small practitioner but at least trustworthy. The town was hardly more than village, a few score thatched, rammed-earth buildings, with dogs and pigs and children playing in the unpaved streets, and a wooden church rather like a Norwegian stave kirk. The men were mostly out in the fields yet, and Papillon stepped through a chattering swarm of women and children, carrying all three travelers. Holger had covered his shield and wrapped a mantle about his face, no sense advertising himself; but Alianora was plainly known here, and they hailed her.

  “Hoi, there, swan-may, what brings ye hither?”

  “Who’s yon knight wi’ ye?”

  “What’s new in the woods, swan-may?”

  “Know ye aught o’ the hosting in Faerie?” An anxious voice, that.

  “Is’t a lord ye bring to ward us?”

  They wound through the narrow, twisting streets until they came to a house with an overhanging second story. A signboard creaked above its door, and Holger found he could read the language too.

  MARTINUS TRISMEGISTUS

  Magister Artis Magicae

  Spells, Charms, Prophecies, Healing, Love Potions

  Special rates for parties

  “Hm,” he said. “Looks like an enterprising fellow.”

  “Oh, indeed,” said Alianora. “He is also Tarnberg’s apothecary, dentist, scribe, dowser, and horse doctor.”

  Holger wasn’t sure if he wanted to trust his secret, such as it was, to a small-town wizard. It might leave a wide-open trail for any enemy— No, what the devil, Alfric and Morgan could find him any time and the rest hardly mattered. And Alianora, on hearing his story, had recommended this Martinus rather highly.

  The girl swung lithely down with a flash of long bare legs. Holger followed, looping Papillon’s bridle to the hitching post. A few idlers lounged across the way, watching intently. “Keep an eye on him, Hugi,” he said.

  “Why, if any tried to steal this brute, I’d bewail ’em,” answered the dwarf.

  “Ja, that’s what I’m afraid of,” said Holger.

  A bell jangled as he and Alianora entered the shop. It was a gloomy and cavernous place, thick with dust. Shelves and tables held an incredible jackdaw’s nest of bottles, flasks, mortars, alembics, huge leather-bound books, skulls, stuffed animals, and Lord knew what else. An owl on a perch hooted and flapped its wings, and a cat leaped from their path.

  “Coming, coming, good sirs, one moment please.” The voice was high and thin. Master Martinus trotted out from the rear of the shop, rubbing his hands together. He was a small man in a shabby black robe, with a round bald head and a wispy beard; his eyes blinked weakly at them, and he smiled effusively. “Ah, how do you do, how do you do? What can I do for you?” Peering closer: “Why, it’s the little swan maiden. Come in, my dear, do come in.”

  “We’ve a task for ye, Martinus,” said Alianora. “It may task ye in truth, but we’ve no got aught else to turn to.”

  “Well, well, well, I shall do what I can, my dear, and good sir. I shall do what I can. Excuse me.” Martinus wiped the dust off a parchment hung on the wall, which was one way of drawing Holger’s attention to it. It seemed to be a diploma from the University of Cipangu, declaring that whereas Martinus filius Holofii had met the standards set by the examining board, etc., etc., the degree of Magister was hereby conferred upon him in the field of Magic, with all its privileges and obligations, etc., etc.

  “I—” Holger cleared his throat. “I’m afraid—” He was about say he had no money, his few Danish coins and bills weren’t usable here, but Alianora dug an elbow in his ribs.

  “There be frichtful secrets i’ this yarn,” she said for him. “ ’Tis no for a common hill-wizard to scorch his soul with.” She gave the magician a dazzling smile; even Holger, standing on the fringes of it, felt a little sandbagged. “So I brocht the knight hither to ye.”

  “And very wisely, my girl, very wisely, if I do say so myself. Come in, please, come into my office and we will talk it over.” Martinus puttered ahead of them. His office proved to be a narrow cubicle no less grimy and cluttered. He dumped books from chairs, muttering something apologetic about his housekeeper, and piped aloud: “Wine! Bring wine for the guest!”

  Holger lowered himself onto one of the chairs, which creaked alarmingly under his weight; Alianora poised on another, flickering her eyes about, not too happy at being penned in here. Martinus found a third seat, sat down, crossed his legs, and made a bridge of his fingers. “Now, good sir,” he said briskly, “what seems to be your problem?”

  “Well—” More and more, Holger felt he was on a wild goose chase. It didn’t seem that this goat bearded shopkeeper could even understand his story, let alone do anything about it. “Well, it began back when— Oh, hell. I’ll have to explain first.”

  “Would you like a couch to lie on?” asked Martinus solicitously.

  A bottle and three dirty goblets floated in through the door and landed on the table. “About time,” grumbled the wizard. After a moment, when the invisible servant was presumably gone, he went on: “I declare, there is no decent help to be had these days. That sprite, now, he is quite impossible. Improbable, at least,” he qualified. “Not like when I was a boy. And as for herbs, and graveyard mould, and powdered toad, why, they just don’t put the sort of stuff into them they used to. And the prices—! My dear sir, you’d scarce believe it, but only last Michaelmas—”

  Alianora coughed. “Oh, pardon me,” said Martinus. “I ramble. Bad habit. Must make a note not to ramble.” He poured the wine and offered it around. It was drinkable. “Now do go on, good sir, and say what you will.”

  Holger sighed and launched into the same story he had told Alfric and Alianora. Surprisingly, Martinus’ questions and comments were as shrewd and knowing as the Faerie duke’s had been. When Holger came to his stay with Mother Gerd, the sorcerer shook his head. “I know of her,” he said. “Not good. Not at all surprising you got into trouble. She traffics with black magic. It’s these unlicensed practitioners who give the whole profession a bad name. But go on, young man.”

  At the end, Martinus pursed his lips. “A strange story,” he said. “Yes, I think your supposition is right. You are the crux of a very large matter indeed.”

  Holger leaned forward, trembling a little. “Who am I?” he asked. “Who bears three hearts and three lions?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know, Sir Holger. I suspect it is, or was, some great man in the western lands, France for example.” Martinus looked pedantic. “You see, the world of Law, of man, is hemmed in with strangeness, it is like an island in the ocean of the Middle World. North of us live the giants, south of us fire-demons. Here we are close to the eastern edge of the world, and know well of such places as Faerie and Trollheim. But news travels slowly and thinly, so we have only vague, distorted rumors of the western realms, the Holy Empire or the Middle World kingdoms like Avalon, Lyonesse, and Huy Braseal. I could not say who this knight, who seems in some manner to be you yourself, might be; nor do I think the information is in my books.

  “However”—he grew earnest, and some of his fussiness was lost—“I think I know what has happened. This western knight would have been too great a foe for Chaos to meet. Quite likely he was one of the Chosen of God, like Carl or Arthur or their greatest paladins. Therefore he had to be gotten out of the way. Morgan may have done that herself, by burying his past life in him beyond the aid of any ordinary spell, turning him into a child, and projecting him into this other world, in hopes that he would not return until Chaos had won its battle. Why she did not merely kill him, I cannot say. Maybe she didn’t have the heart to. Or perhaps, being one of the Chosen, he was shielded by a greater Power than hers. In any event, the same Power may have brought him back in the hour of man’s need, and now the Middle World is using all its arts and strength to block him. Or you, as the case may be,” he finished anticlimactically. “That is only a theory, my dear sir. Only a theory. But it does seem to fit the facts, if I do say so myself.”