As they went through the pine wood, the twilight closed in like stormclouds. It deepened with every muffled step. Holger wondered whether they would be able to see at the end of the trip. His scalp prickled at the thought of groping blind through a country of trolls and werewolves and God knew what else.
The air grew warmer as they descended. When at length they emerged from the forest, the atmosphere was balmy, laden with incense-like odors of blossoms unknown to Holger. They entered an open, rolling valley, and Hugi gulped. “Noo we be within Faerie,” he muttered. “Hoo we gang oot again be another tale.”
Holger swept the landscape with a wondering look. Though the sun was hidden, the night he had feared was not fallen. He could identify no source of light, but saw almost as clearly as by day. The sky was a deep dusky blue, and the same blueness pervaded the air as if he rode under water. Grass grew long and soft, with a silvery hue overlying its pale green; white flowers starred the earth. Asphodels, Holger thought. But how did he know? Here and there he saw bushes of white roses. Trees stood alone and in copses, tall, slim, milky of bark, their leaves the color of the grass. The slow wind blew through them with a tiny ringing sound. He couldn’t gauge their distances well in this tricky shadowless light. A brook ran close by which did not tinkle but played, an endless melody on an alien scale. Phosphorescence eddied white and green and blue over the water.
Papillon snorted and shuddered. He didn’t like this place.
But where have I seen it before, just such a cool calm blue over wan trees and hills that melt into sky, where else has the wind blown thus singingly and the river chimed like bells of glass? Was it in a dream once long ago, half sleeping and half waking in the light summer night of Denmark, or was it in a year older and forgotten? I do not know. I do not think I wish to know.
They rode on. In that changeless luminance, time seemed fluid and unstable, so that they might have traveled for a minute or a century, but the vague landscape slipped past them and still they rode. Until the swan came rushing down again, landed with a thunder of wings and became Alianora.
There was fear on her face. “I saw a knicht bound hither,” she said breathlessly. “A knicht o’ Faerie. What he would, I canna tell.”
Holger felt his heart begin a heavy thumping, but he held his outward appearance calm. “We’ll find out.”
The stranger came over a ridge. He bestrode a tall horse, snowy white, with flowing mane and proudly arched neck; yet the beast was subtly wrong to look at, too long of leg, too small of head. The rider was in full plate armor, his visor down so that he showed no face; white plumes nodded on the helmet, his shield was blank and black, all else shimmered midnight blue. He halted and let Holger approach him.
When the Dane was close, the knight lowered his lance.
“Stand and declare yourself!” His voice had a resonant, metallic quality, not quite human.
Holger reined in. Papillon whickered on a defiant note. “I was sent by the witch Mother Gerd with a message for Duke Alfric.”
“First let me see your arms,” called the brass voice. “Hither come none unknown.”
Holger shrugged, to disguise his own unease. Reaching down, he unbuckled the shield where it hung and slipped it on his left arm. Hugi pulled off the canvas cover. “Here you are.”
The Faerie knight reared back his horse, spurred, and charged.
“Defend yersel’!” shrieked Hugi. He tumbled off the saddle. “He’s after yer life!”
Papillon sprang aside while Holger still gaped. The other horseman went past with a dull drumming of hoofs. He wheeled and came back, the spearhead aimed at Holger’s throat.
Blind reflex, then. Holger lowered his own lance, kicked Papillon, and lifted his shield to guard himself. The black stallion sprang forward. The enemy shape grew terribly close. His lance dipped toward Holger’s midriff. The Dane brought his own shield down and braced feet in stirrups.