“Hm, yes. Though I’m afraid we’ll get lost in the fog.”
“I’ll fly above from time to tine to get bearings,” Alianora said. “Thus we’ll outtrick them who conjured it up.”
They trotted on through the wet soundless murk. Holger began to feel the reaction to battle. It took the shape of a conviction of his own worthlessness. What was he good for, except to drag fine resourceful people like Alianora into peril of their lives? What had he done, even, to earn the food he’d eaten so far? He was the merest pensioner, a bumbling idiot kept alive by charity.
He remembered a question that had touched his mind. “Hugi,” he asked, “why was it dangerous for me to go into that hill?”
“Know ye na this?” The dwarf raised his thick brows. “So yon’s why they lured me from ye! So I couldna give warning… Well, then, know that time is strange inside Elf Hill. They’d ha’ held ye there wi’ one nicht o’ merrymaking, and when ye came oot again, a hundred years would ha’ passed here. In the meanwhile the Middle Worlders would ha’ been able to do whate’er ’tis ye noo stand in the way o’.”
Holger shuddered.
But this did throw a new light on his own status. It was unthinkable that Alfric and Morgan could have continued to mistake him for some champion whose arms he bore. Therefore he himself, Holger Carlsen, orphan and exile, he was in some way a focal point of the gathering crisis. How, he couldn’t imagine. Possibly his coming from another universe gave him—what? An aura? At any rate, the forces of Chaos had to win him to their side or, failing that, get him out of their way.
The lavish hospitality, including Meriven, had obviously been an essay at the first. It had also served to hoodwink him while Alfric summoned Morgan le Fay and conferred with her. Evidently they had decided to take no chances, but use his ignorance to shelve him in Elf Hill for the next century or two.
But why hadn’t they just slipped a knife in his ribs? That should have been easy enough to do. Indeed, the attack of the hollow knight must have been such an attempt. When that failed, Alfric had changed tactics and used guile. How had the Duke known about him in the first place? Mother Gerd, of course. The demon she raised must have told her something about Holger which made her direct him to her powerful acquaintance in Faerie. No doubt she sent the news of him ahead by magical means. She must have hoped Alfric could take care of him.
But what had the demon said? And, murder and trickery having failed, what would the Middle World try next?
Anyhow, this avenue of return to his world was closed. He’d have to cast around for another way. Judging from what he had seen and heard, there were white magicians as well as black. Maybe he could consult one of them. He had no intention of mixing into the struggle here if he could avoid it. One war at a time, please! Alfric would have done best to act honestly and send him home as he asked.
Which consideration fairly well proved Alfric was unable to.
Something laughed in the fog, low and hideously. Holger started. Hugi clapped his hands to his ears. They heard leather wings pass overhead. Still all they could see was the dripping grayness.
“The thing seems to be in front of us,” muttered Holger. “If we turn aside—”
“Nay.” Alianora’s lips trembled, but she spoke gamely. “’Tis a trick to get us off the path. Once lost in these clouds, we’re indeed without hope.”
“Okay,” said Holger out of a sandy throat. “I’ll go first.”
That was a nerve-racking ride, where shapes went slipping and sliding on the fringe of sight, where the air was evil with slitherings and hissings, howls and laughs. Once a blind horrible face appeared before him. It hung in the vapor and mouthed. He plowed stubbornly ahead and it receded before him. Hugi shut his eyes and chanted, “I ha’ been a guid dwarf. I ha’ been a guid dwarf. I ha’ been a guid dwarf.”