“Thank you, my friend. If I can ever do you a service—”
“’Tis naught,” growled Hugi. “I do ’t for ma ain honor. And watch yer manners wi’ her, ye clumsy loon!”
4
THEY TURNED NORTHWARD and rode for several hours, most of which Hugi spent reminiscing about his exploits among the females of his species. Holger listened with one ear, pretending an awe which was certainly deserved if half the stories were true. Otherwise he was lost in his own thoughts.
As they entered higher country the forest became more open, showing meadows full of wildflowers and sunlight, gray lichenous boulders strewn between clumps of trees, now and then a view across hills rolling into purple distance. Here were many streams, leaping and flashing in their haste to reach the lower dales, rainbows above them where they fell over the bluffs. Kingfishers flew there like small blue thunderbolts, hawks and eagles soared remotely overhead, a flock of wild geese rose loud from the reeds of a mere, rabbits and deer and a couple of bears were seen in glimpses. White clouds swept their shadows across the uneven many-colored land, the wind blew cool in Holger’s face. He found himself enjoying the trip. Even the armor, which had dragged at first, was become like a part of him. And in some dim way there was a homelikeness about these lands, as if he had known them once long before.
He tried to chase down the memory. Had it been in the Alps, or in Norway’s high saetere, or the mountain meadows around Rainier? No, this was more than similarity. He almost knew these marches of Faerie. But the image would not be caught, and he dismissed it as another case of déjà vu.
Though if his transition here had taught him a new language, it might well have played other tricks with his brain. For a moment he had a wild idea that perhaps his mind had been transferred to another body. He looked down at his big sinewy hands and reached up to touch the familiar dent in the bridge of his nose, souvenir of that great day when he helped clobber Polytech 36 to 24. No, he was still himself. And, incidentally, in rather bad need of a shave.
The sun was low when they crossed a final meadow and halted under trees on the shore of a lake. The water caught the light and became a sheet of fire a mile across; a flock of brant whirred from the rushes. “We can wait here,” said Hugi. He slid to the ground and rubbed his buttocks. “Oof,” he grimaced, “ma puir auld backside!”
Holger dismounted as well, feeling a certain aftereffect himself. No reason to tether the doglike Papillon; he looped the bridle up and the stallion began contentedly cropping. “She’ll arrive soon, belike,” rumbled Hugi. “’Tis her ain nest hereaboots. But whilst we wait, laddie, we could be refreshing oorselves.”
Holger took the hint and broke out the ale. “You still haven’t told me who `she’ is,” he said.
“’Tis Alianora, the swan-may.” Beer gurgled down the dwarf’s throat. “Hither and yon she flits throughout the wood and e’en into the Middle World sometimes, and the dwellers tell her their gossip. For she’s a dear friend to us. Aaaaah! Auld Mother Gerd, a witch she may be, but a brewmistress beyond compare!”
Papillon neighed. Turning, Holger saw a long form of spotted yellow glide toward the lake. A leopard! His sword was out and aloft before he knew it.
“Nay, nay, hold.” Hugi tried to grab his arm, couldn’t reach far enough, and settled for his legs. “He comes in peace. He’ll no set on ye unless ye offer ill to the swan-may.”
The leopard flowed to a halt, sat down, and watched them with cool amber eyes. Holger sheathed his blade again. Sweat prickled him. Just when these wilds were becoming familiar, something like this had to happen.
Wings beat overhead. “’Tis she!” cried Hugi. He jumped about, waving his arms. “Hallo, there, hallo, come on doon!”
The swan fluttered to earth a yard away. It was the biggest one Holger had ever seen. The evening light burned gold on its plumage. He took an awkward step forward, wondering how you introduced yourself to a swan. The bird flapped its wings and backed away.