Swan Knight's Son by John C. Wright
“What say you, Doolaga?”
The second one had a high-pitched voice, wheezing, “Thornstab left a mandrake root in the place of the changeling babe, which is a fair and even trade. We cannot be accused of theft! The mother’s eyes were held, so that the root looked like a babe in all ways; unreasonable if she is not satisfied!”
Then, Gulaga spoke again, rearing up and whirling the club in the air. “Once we have him out of his armor, we will gnaw his flesh raw!”
Doolaga said, “Let him die a messy, screaming death with much blood! Too much blood! It will entertain the Winterking!” He also began hooting, and jumping up and down, and pounding himself in the chest.
Gil said, “Sir! I ask for single combat, one on one!”
Erlkoenig said, “The honors given to the nobly born cannot be granted to the base born, for then no reward would be worth risking life and limb to obtain. Knights do not fight for gold nor gain but for such things as have no price and cannot be bought. Can you buy a father for gold? I would sell you mine if I could.”
Gil said, “No, sire. But three against one is unfair, and they are invulnerable.”
Erlkoenig said, “Unfair? It is unfair to deny you your due, but are you due the treatment owed those born to high estate? Who is your father? If you cannot say your name, then who can say your lineage?”
And, when Gil had no answer, Erlkoenig said, “Guynglaff, Gulaga, and Doolaga, you are dismissed. Be about your business.”
The three woses came loping forward.
Gil knew his sword could not cut their furry hides. They were taller and stronger than he was and more agile. Without hope, yet without fear, he raised his sword and readied his shield to receive their charge.
5. Bloodshed
Gil heard a shrill noise above him. “Climb! Climb, you fool!”
In his helm and neckpiece, he could not turn his head without turning his back, and to do that meant to commit himself to running. He had either to trust or not to trust the voice based on the voice alone.
“Take the child and climb to my nest!”
Gil did not hesitate. He had already picked out the path from tree limb to tree limb. He turned and flung away the shield, which he could not hold while climbing. Ruff saw, and barked, and picked up the shield in his mouth by the straps, and ran toward the wood separating the common green from the rest stop, the shield clattering and banging behind him. Not looking back at the monsters rushing so swiftly upon him, with cool deliberation, Gil sheathed the sword, stooped, and picked up the baby. He folded his surcoat in two to make a pocket and used his warbelt and baldric strap to pin the folded fabric against his chestplate, so there was no way for the child to slip out.
Up he went, branch to branch, only banging his helm every now and again. The little lights on their green electric cords flashed cheerfully.
Then, he saw the bird. For a moment, he thought it was a Santa Claus ornament, so bright and red was he. “A cardinal!” said Gil. “You do not migrate, do you?”
“What? Depart the Carolinas? A spot more fair the Creator created not on Earth! My work is here. Now climb! Climb for your life! Do not slack nor stop until I say!”
Gil could hear the breathing and rustling below him and felt the whole tree shake. The woses laughed. One wheezed in a shrill voice, “Who leaps from branch to branch with more ease than a Wild-Man-o’-Wood? He cannot outclimb us!”
“Perhaps he seeks to dangle from a slim branch, thinking we cannot follow?” said the second, Gulaga. “The weight of his armor dooms him!”
“Not so fast, my brothers! Toy with him! Let him despair!” Gil recognized the voice of Guynglaff, which was deeper than the other two. “Let him leap to his death, that he slay himself, and be damned to the dark realm!”
Gil leaped from branch to branch as quickly as the heavy armor allowed, painstakingly careful not to let anything touch the warm burden cuddled against his chest. The pine branches shook beneath his gauntlets and boots as the monsters closed on him. It was maddening that the helm so limited his vision, and he could not turn his head enough to look behind. From the grunts and hisses of the woses brothers, he could tell they were near.
Suddenly, the tree began swaying widely, wildly, dangerously. He was nearing the top, and the branches were getting smaller, less able to bear his weight.
“It is too far!” said Gil. He could not see where the cardinal was.
“Climb! Do not slow!”
Gil could hear the woses behind him. Up he went. The tree swayed alarmingly. Gil saw the star at the crown of the tree waving back and forth dizzily.
“Here!” called the cardinal, flapping before his eyes and landing. “This branch! Here! Out on the branch!”
It looked far too narrow to hold his weight. He decided to trust the cardinal. This branch was near the top, with few other branches within reach. Gil crept on hand and foot along the narrow length. Then, he clung with both hands, for the branch was shaking in his grip. He turned. A woses was coming swiftly and surefootedly along the branch, his prehensile toes gripping the tiny circumference of the branch like fingers, his arms out to either side to help him balance. He had neither club nor iron cap, so this was Doolaga.
The cardinal landed on the next branch up. “Stand up!” The little voice said. The warm little babe was still snugly held against his chest by his baldric and warbelt in an enchanted sleep.
Gil rose up unsteadily, reached overhead, did a pull-up. He kicked his legs away from the tree and threw his leg over the upper branch on the side father from the bole. His weight caused the narrow branch to bend so severely that he sank down below the first branch.
The surprised apelike face of Doolaga slid past his vision, rising, as the thin branch to which Gil clung fell down.
Then, he was below the creature. He saw that the sole of its foot was naked of any fur, bare like the sole of a man.
Clinging to the bending branch with one arm and both legs, Gil drew the sword, and stuck. Both branches were waving, so his aim was thrown off. His blade skittered off the furry calf of Doolaga without cutting. Doolaga, agile as a monkey, leaped neatly down the branch, away from the sword but also away from the bole of the tree so that he was bobbing up and down as Gil was. Gil half-lunged and half-fell, with his left hand grabbing the branch on which Doolaga the woses precariously stood. The motions of both branches, rocking and pitching like a ship at sea made Doolaga collapse to all fours and grab the branch with both hands and both feet.
Gil looked down. The big one, Guynglaff, was yards away, but he was directly below Doolaga, his brother. Gulaga, meanwhile, was at the same height as Gil, having climbed the far side of the tree, and now he was circling, coming toward Gil, leaping swiftly from branch to branch with only three limbs (for he clutched his club in one foot).
Gil let go his legs. The branch, released of his weight, snapped upward and to the left. Gulaga ducked as a lone and thin pine branch of shepherds, kings, and blinking lights whipped passed his head.
Gil, meanwhile, flung by the same force in the opposite direction, did a neat spin around the branch in his hands and landed on the top. It was better than anything he had ever done in gymnastics on the uneven bars, and he could not restrain a laugh of victory. He lifted himself precariously to his feet. “Ta DAH!” he shouted.
Doolaga was before him, and reared up on his hand-like hind paws. “Do not be of good cheer, weak Son of Adam!” he wheezed in an odd, shrill voice. “Your weapon cannot cut the fur of woses!”
Gil said, “It cuts wood!” And he took the sword in both hands and chopped at the branch just before his toes. A large chip of pine flew into the air.
Doolaga, seeing what was happening and feeling the thin branch on which they were both balanced shaking, now dropped to all fours, clutching the wood with hands and feet and ran forward as fast as he could, charging Gil.
Then, he reared up, looming over the boy, tall, broad, and immense in the glittering colored lights. Gil put the point of hi
The tip of the blade could not penetrate his fur, but the force of the thrust could push on his chest. Doolaga fell in a half-circle and now was hanging upside down by his feet, still directly above Guynglaff, who looked up, shock in his eyes and fear for his brother. Guynglaff began taking prodigious leaps upward and did not see the danger to himself.
Gil carefully put the tip of his sword against the naked sole of Doolaga’s foot, where there was no fur, and shoved the blade into the flesh. Doolaga screamed, his foot bloody, his blood catching fire, and he fell.
Doolaga struck Guynglaff, who was in mid-leap, and they were both flung out of the tree by the impact and plunged downward. The sword burst into brilliant white flame, intolerably bright.
Gil turned. Gulaga with his club was now picking his way quickly from branch to branch, once more approaching Gil from the left. Gil retreated closer to the bole of the swaying tree, reached up, grabbed the electrical wires leading to the huge white star at the very top, and yanked. The huge and heavy ornament came free. He swung it by the wires in a huge circle over his head, yodeled, and threw it at the woses. It shattered into a spray of glass. Gulaga staggered, screaming in fear, but caught a branch with a hand and a foot, and saved himself from falling.
Gil now saw a lower, wider branch and jumped down to it with a loud clang and clatter.
Gulaga made an acrobatic flip and landed on the branch just above Gil. The monster smote down with his club with all the power of his thickly muscled leg. Gil’s helmet saved his life: it rang like a bell, and he knew a huge bruise would spread across his face, and it felt like his nose was broken, but at least his skull was not shattered.
Gil struck with the sword, but Gulaga parried it with the club, fell prone, and reached down, striking unexpectedly with the claws of his hands. Gil was afraid for the baby and curled his arms before his chest. The claws did not hit the child but tore through Gil’s shoulder-armor, mail, and flesh. Blood flowed freely.
Gulaga said, “Even that sword cannot pierce us!”
Gil jumped down another branch, wincing at his wound.
The cardinal was on the branch with him. “Here is my nest. Light it afire.”
It was a dry circle of twigs with no eggs in it. Gil wondered why any bird built a nest in winter. He did not see the point of lighting it afire, but he did not question. Gil held his white flaming sword beneath, and the nest ignited merrily. Black smoke poured up. He now saw this one branch was dry and brown, long dead but held in place by its neighbors.
The cardinal said, “The tree will burn.”
“This tree is too green to burn,” Gil said.
The cardinal said, “The tree says he will help. Do not demean his act of sacrifice. Christmas trees are not like common trees.” And the red bird flew away.
Gulaga was baffled by the growing fire and had to climb sideways to go around the burning branch. But he was still coming swiftly after Gil.
Gil descended another branch or two, and he saw that any needles he brushed with his sword, even though they were green and should not have burned, ignited suddenly, as if they had been coated in oil and were blazing like candles.
Gil swung the sword left and right, igniting all he touched. Branches flared into red fire and poured up black smoke. He chopped one thick green cable in half in a spray of sparks and then another. He noticed the blade flared up brightly when it touched a live wire. Perhaps electricity acted like blood? Gil looked up. The fire was spreading far more rapidly than it should; Gulaga was lost in the cloud of smoke. The cheerful lights looked eerie in the smoke, like little bright stars throwing out wavering beams.
He felt sorry for the tree and wondered in awe why it had volunteered to help him and at such a price.
Gil stepped away from the bole to where the branch was narrow and unsteady. He drove the point of the flaming sword through a thick cable and into the branch beneath and left it there. The flame flickered but did not go out, and sparks danced around the tip where it pierced the live wire.
Then, Gil stepped back toward the bole in a spot where the tree lights had gone dark. He waited. Gulaga, coughing against the smoke, dropped down lithely to the branch and saw the light of the sword. This time the club was in both hands, and he was whirling it menacingly.
Gulaga raced quickly toward the brightly burning blade, club held high, as the narrow branch dipped and sagged alarmingly. Gil took a step, put his hands up, grabbed the club, and yanked. Gulaga did not let go of the club, but staggered backward and began to fall. His feet flew from the branch. He let go of the club and grabbed for the branch with arms and legs, twisting in midair.
Gil, finding the club free in his hand, now thrust the wooden length into Gulaga’s grasp. The monster’s fingers closed about it instinctively. For a frozen second in midfall, Gulaga stared in dumb surprise at the club in his hands, which Gil thrust away from himself with a hearty shove, crying, “Heave HO!”
Down plunged the woses, falling across a line of lights and dragging them with him, bouncing from branch to branch. A shower of glass balls, cows, donkeys, shepherds, angels, and drummer boys fell after him.
Gil crept out to the end of the unsteady branch and recovered his sword, which he sheathed. He inched back to safety, shaking and sweating. He doffed his gauntlet, reached into the fold of his surcoat, and felt the baby. She was still warm and breathing, and her heart was beating. He donned the gauntlet and began climbing down quickly, trying to keep the weight off his hurt shoulder.
6. Noble Blood
Soon he was on the ground. After the glare and fury of the sword, it was dark here, and Gil could only see Gulaga, who had fallen practically at the roots of the tree, with a line of Christmas lights still twined around him, winking and blinking. Instead of the shattered skull and fractured limbs he was expecting, the woses was intact. Gil drew his sword and ran up to Gulaga, who seemed only stunned. Gulaga opened his eyes as Gil stepped over him, and Gil saw the fire of the treetop reflected in the black pupils. He drove the sword point into the eye socket and killed him instantly.
In the light from the sword, he now saw the other two. Both were lying motionless, but they did not seem dead. Guynglaff, the taller one, had fallen farthest from the tree. His bronze cap was lost. Gil saw the light glinting on his bald spot. The bronze cap covered a spot on his head where he had no hair.
The other woses had a bloody foot and a burned calf. The fire had gone out, and there was a splatter of blood on the grass around his ankle. This was Doolaga, and he was stirring feebly.
Doolaga woke as Gil was running up, and he opened his huge ape-muzzle in a yowl, baring his yellow teeth. Gil drove the point of the flaming sword into the mouth and out the back of his neck. The blood in the monster’s body ignited and began to burn.
Gil spun toward Guynglaff, but now a tall dark figure in a pallid mask stood in the way. Erlkoenig had dismounted from his mammoth. He raised a pale and slender hand. In his other arm, cradled against his elbow, was Sally, the baby.
Gil reached into the fold he had made with his surcoat. His fingers met a bulbous root bigger than a turnip.
Erlkoenig said, “Gentle right, Sir Knight! In the name of your noble blood, I ask for your courtesy. Allow Guynglaff to ransom his life!”
Gil was panting. “Sir! My grievance against Guynglaff is very great!”
“And you have slain his brothers. Is this not enough? I am Imperator, Caesar, and King of all the Elfin races of the Night World, and many in the Twilight also bow to me. Name what ransom you demand. this is the noble custom.”
“Imperial Majesty! How am I so nobly born, now, all of a sudden? Before this, I was chopped liver.”
“You fight like one born to kings and champions, and that sword burns brightly indeed in your hands. I will tell my heralds to enroll your escutcheon into the rolls, and all my court will recognize your birth as worthy even if your lineag
Gil looked at the baby in Erlkoenig’s arms. Had he climbed and fought so fearfully, carrying his precious burden, and it was a root all that time? Or was this the illusion now?
Gil said, “A life for a life. Give me the child, and cast no more illusions, charms, chants, or spells neither on her nor any of her family, sisters or brothers, parents or grandparents, cousins, and, if she weds, on her husband, on her children or grandchildren to four generations. I want Loobie and her family to be immune and sacrosanct to all elfin meddling, tricks, and sleights of hand.”
“Granted!” intoned the elfin king. Unseen hands now wafted the baby gently across the air to Gil, who sheathed his sword to take the child. The firelight vanished. The child was in his arms. When he looked up again, blinking, a thick mist was blowing along the ground, and Erlkoenig, Guynglaff, and the bodies of Doolaga and Gulaga were gone.
The cardinal landed on the grass to one side. “Here! Quickly! Daub your eyes and ears and tongue in the blood of the first enchanted monster you have slain. Haste! This time comes but once!”
Gil saw a splatter of blood on the grass, and some burn-marks where Doolaga had been smoldering a moment before. He knelt, put the baby down, put down the root (he put it down gently, just in case it was still Loobie in disguise), and undid his helmet and gauntlets. He plucked the grassblade where a drop of blood had gathered. “Why, exactly, am I doing this, again?”
The cardinal said, “Taste the blood, that all who hear will hear the truth in your voice.”
Gil did not hesitate. He always told the truth, and no one believed him. If this charm would make the truth be heard, it was a gift beyond price. He put the grassblade, blood and all, into his mouth, and chewed and swallowed. It tasted terrible.