He hesitated. “There are more than bodily dangers,” he said. “I think we may encounter black magic.”
Carahue waved a negligent hand. “Your sword is straight and mine is curved.” He smiled. “So between them they should fit any shape of foe.”
Holger tugged his chin. He could certainly use another man. At the same time he knew Carahue must have reasons for dealing himself in.
Could he be an agent of Chaos? That was possible, but Holger’s half-memories, which he was coming more and more to trust, said otherwise. He put himself in the Moor’s place: out hunting an important man for some important purpose, failing, and then encountering another knightly vagabond with a rather thin story. Yes, memory said Carahue had that kind of mind, a curiosity which darted everywhere. Besides, he might well have guessed that Sir Rupert of Graustark had some connection with the person he himself sought: might perhaps know where that person was. Even if that turned out to be wrong, the uplands were worth a search. In every event Carahue had sound motives to string along with Sir Rupert.
“I very much wish the favor of your company,” urged the Saracen. “Still more, of course, the favor of yours, most charming damsel. So much do I wish this that if you will agree of your great kindness, I shall insist on your being my guests as from last night… No, no, protest not, I’ll hear of nothing less.”
Holger and Alianora gave him a look which he returned blandly. He must be pretty damn sure they were broke, and laughing up his flowing sleeve. Still, the prospect of leaving Tarnberg without having to fight the landlord was well-nigh irresistible.
“Done!” Holger stuck out his hand. Carahue grasped it. “Shall we swear comradeship?”
“Aye. Upon my knightly honor.”
“And upon mine.” Holger felt his decision had been good. Carahue would probably abide by the oath while the trip lasted; and once he, Holger, had Cortana in his hands, the Saracen would hardly be a menace. He said impulsively, “Bare is brotherless back.”
Carahue started. “Where did you learn that?” he snapped.
“Why, well, it just came to me. Why do you ask?”
“I knew a man once who used that saying. The man I seek, if truth be told.” Carahue’s eyes lay keenly on them for a moment before he turned. “Well, let’s dine and then make ready to depart. I think tomorrow dawn were best for that, eh?”
He was entertaining company at lunch, with jokes and songs and somewhat risque reminiscences. Afterward he and Holger checked what equipment they had. His armor was a steel corselet, flaring at the shoulders and elaborately arabesqued; a spiked helmet with chainmail earflaps; greaves atop boots of tooled leather. His shield bore a six-pointed star argent on a field azure, border gules fleury or; his weapons included a bow and arrows; he rode a slim white mare. Alianora’s dun gelding he declared to be good horseflesh, but added they had better acquire a mule, on which Hugi could ride with ample food supplies. He spent most of the afternoon talking down the prices of these items.
They went early to bed, but Holger lay awake for an hour. Despite every precaution, he knew Morgan le Fay would learn where he was bound, if she didn’t already know—and would do something about it.
18
FOR TWO NIGHTS they stayed with peasants. Holger, who was not quick enough in the tongue to invent plausible details on the spot, must say as little as possible lest he betray himself to Carahue. The Saracen made conversation enough for both, sprightly, gallant, and aimed increasingly at the girl. This drove Holger still deeper into glum silence. He tried to push down his jealousy—what claim did he have on her?—but it bounced right back.
The third day they left roads and fields and houses behind them. That night they stayed in the hut of a shepherd, who told some grisly tales about savage raiders, worse ones about the trolls who sometimes ventured this far toward the valley. His was the last human habitation on their route, except for the cannibal villages.
Again they climbed mountains, steeper and higher than those to the east. Alianora said they were in the foothills of the titanic Jötun range. “And beyond is nobbut cold and dark and ice, lit by northern lights, for ’tis the home o’ the giants.”