“Yes.”
“So do I. Do you know what it is doing?”
“It‘s looking for me.”
“Yes, I feel that, too. Why?”
“Perhaps to test my strength. It knows that I am here. If I am a new ally come to Ganelon, it must wonder what I represent, who I am. . .”
“Is it the horned one himself?”
“I don‘t know. I think not, though.”
“Why not?”
“If I am really he who would destroy it, it would be foolish to seek me out here in the keep of its enemy when I am surrounded by strength. I would say one of its minions is looking for me. Perhaps, somehow, that is what my father‘s ghost . . . I do not know. If its servant finds me and names me, it will know what preparations to make. If it finds me and destroys me, it will have solved the problem. If I destroy the servant, it will know that much more about my strength. Whichever way it works out, the horned one will be something ahead. So why should it risk its own pronged dome at this stage in the game?”
We waited, there in the shadow-clad chamber, as the taper burned away the minutes.
She asked me, “What did you mean when you said, if it finds you and names you . . . ? Names you what?”
“The one who almost did not come here,” I said.
“You think that it might know you from somewhere, somehow?” she asked.
“I think it might,” I said. She drew away from me then.
“Don‘t be afraid,” I said. “I won‘t hurt you.”
“I am afraid, and you will hurt me!” she said. “I know it! But I want you! Why do I want you?”
“I don‘t know,” I said.
“There is something out there now!” she said, sounding slightly hysterical. “It‘s near! It‘s very near! Listen! Listen!”
“Shut up!” I said, as a cold, prickly feeling came to rest on the back of my neck and coiled about my throat. “Get over on the far side of the room, behind the bed!”
“I‘m afraid of the dark,” she said.
“Do it, or I‘ll have to knock you out and carry you. you‘ll be in my way here.”
I could hear a heavy flapping above the storm, and there came a scratching on the stone of the wall as she moved to obey me.
Then I was looking into two hot, red eyes which were looking back into my own. I dropped mine quickly. The thing stood there on the ledge outside the window and regarded me.
It was well over six feet in height, with great branches of antlers growing out of its forehead. Nude, its flesh was a uniform ash-gray in color. It appeared to be sexless, and it had gray, leathery wings extending far out behind it and joining with the night. It held a short, heavy sword of dark metal in its right hand, and there were runes carved all along the blade. With its left hand, it clutched at the lattice.
“Enter at your peril,” I said loudly, and I raised the point of Grayswandir to indicate its breast.
It chuckled. It just stood there and chuckled and giggled at me. It tried to meet my eyes once more, but I would not let it. If it looked into my eyes for long, it would know me, as the hellcat had known me.
When it spoke, it sounded like a bassoon blowing words.
“You are not the one,” it said, “for you are smaller and older. Yet . . . That blade . . . It could be his. Who are you?”
“Who are you?” I asked.
“Strygalldwir is my name. Conjure with it and I will eat your heart and liver.”
“Conjure with it? I can‘t even pronounce it,” I said, “and my cirrhosis would give you indigestion. Go away.”
“Who are you?” it repeated.
“Misli, gammi gra‘dil, Strygalldwir,” I said, and it jumped as if given a hotfoot.
“You seek to drive me forth with such a simple spell?” it asked when it settled again. “I am not one of the lesser ones.”
“It seemed to make you a bit uncomfortable.”