So they made an early start, and Alianora in swan shape studied their best route from above. She came back to sit behind the saddle, arms around Holger’s waist (which compensated for a lot of nuisances), and guided him. By dusk she hoped they could reach the pass and tomorrow the edge of human habitation. There were still many miles of wilderness to travel on the other side of the range, but she had seen a few clearings, isolated farmsteads and hamlets. “And where’er several men dwell, if they be not evil doers, will belike lie hallowed ground—a shrine, if naught else—which most o’ the creatures that dog us dare no approach closely.”
“But in that case,” Holger asked, “how can the Middle World even think of seizing human land?”
“By help o’ beings who need no fear daylicht or priestcraft. Animals like yon dragon; creatures wi’ souls, like bad dwarfs. However, such allies be too few, and mostly too stupid, to have more than special use. Chiefly, methinks, the Middle World will depend on humans who’ll fight for Chaos. Witches, warlocks, bandits, murderers, ’fore all the heathen savages o’ the north and south. These can desecrate the sacred places and slay such men as battle against them. Then the rest o’ the humans will flee, and there’ll be naught left to prevent the blue gloaming being drawn over hundreds o’ leagues more. With every such advance, the realms of Law will grow weaker: not alone in numbers, but in spirit, for the near presence o’ Chaos must affect the good folk, turning them skittish, lawless, and inclined to devilments o’ their own.” Alianora shook her head, troubled. “As evil waxes, the very men who stand for good will in their fear use ever worse means o’ fighting, and thereby give evil a free beachhead.”
Holger thought of his own world, where Coventry had been avenged upon Cologne, and nodded. His helmet felt suddenly heavy.
As much to escape that remembrance as for any other reason, he turned back to immediate things. The powers of his persecutors were not unlimited, or he would have been stopped long ago. What were the limits, then? Curiously, for beings said to be soulless, the Faerie race were under severe physical handicaps, and must rely mainly on guile. Except for being fast and supple, none of them were anywhere near a match for a normally strong man. (To be sure, giants, trolls, and various other Middle World beings did have more brute power than humans, but Alianora said they were slow and clumsy.) None could endure the sun; hence their excursions into the human domain could only take place after dark. Even at such times they must avoid sacred objects. Their spells would bounce like billiard balls off anyone in a state of grace; simply the usual modicum of decency and determination would get a man through. You could be killed by them, or through their machinations; you could be fooled, dazzled, victimized; but in a certain ultimate sense, you could not be conquered unless you wanted to be.
Also, the force of a spell seemed to depend on distance. The farther he got from Faerie, the safer Holger would probably be from its inhabitants.
Not that Alfric could be laughed off. On the contrary. He was not the head of the enemy. Morgan le Fay outranked him, and beyond her must be others, clear on to a final One whom Holger did not wish to think about. But Alfric had many powers, he was wily and skillful, and he had not given up. Morgan had hardly begun yet.
If I only knew what they want me for.
That whole day the horse climbed. As the sun went down, Holger drew rein atop the pass. Grass grew in sparse clumps among strewn rocks, otherwise the place was bare. A bleak wind ran up the cliffs, and over the ridge. Papillon blew out his lips in a sigh. His head drooped.
“Poor beastie.” Alianora stroked the velvet muzzle. “We’ve used ye hard, have we no? And naught better tonicht than a few dry weeds.” She found a rock with a depression on top and poured patiently from a waterskin till he had drunk enough.