Swan Knight's Son by John C. Wright

Author:John C. Wright [Wright, John C.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-08-31T04:00:00+00:00

8. The Discovery

Where the procession passed, battle was halted, clang of sword and battlecry fell silent. Friend or foe alike solemnly flourished lance or sword before his eyes to salute the dead, or lifted his visor on the backs of his fingers, or doffed his plumed helm entirely.

The lanterns that descended to follow the procession were now low enough to cast light into these open helmets.

For the first time Gil saw the elfin features. Their faces were those of youths, but fairer and nobler, unblemished and without spot or mole, with eyes shining with cruel wisdom. A strange and wild spirit hung about them like an inaudible music. Some were fairhaired, or dark, or had hair of blue or green, hues not found among men. Many were sharp-featured, with high cheeks and pointed chins and ears.

Not all had human faces. Gil was puzzled to see the face of a red-whiskered fox with a pointed muzzle and white teeth peering from the helm of one knight; another had the brutal features and blue cheeks of a baboon. Some who removed their helms had horns or antlers Gil had thought were part of their helmet crest.

Unfortunately, as the lanterns floated down to stream through the air after the procession, they passed near the tree where Gil sat, and the fighting in that quarter of the battlefield had ceased and was silent. So it was that when one sharp-eyed knight pointed at the tree and gave a cry, it was loud in the silence, and many eyes turned toward Gil, and the beams of the lamps of green and scarlet turned toward him, too. He was transfixed, as if with a dozen spotlights.

“Whoops,” he whispered.

Nerea slid from the tree to the ground with acrobatic grace and began running with lithe, swift steps downslope toward a nearby stream. Gil came down from the branches more clumsily but just as swiftly when the tree branch to which he clung suddenly sagged and gave way. The branch broke, and he dropped.

There came a harsh cry from behind him. He saw one of the Winter Knights, a shape in silver armor mounted on a polar bear, bearing down on him, deadly lance-head pointing toward Gil’s chest, with all the speed and weight of the charging beast behind it. Gil still had the branch in his hand, a long and stout length of wood. He parried the lance head, knocking it aside just enough so that it passed to one side of his body without piercing him.

Then, remembering his lessons, he played dead and flung himself on the ground. The rider, startled, reined up short.

Gil leaped to his feet, waved his treebranch overhead, and shouted an earsplitting shout. The bear steed reared up, shocked. With the branch, Gil smote the bear at the tender part of the neck just below the jaw, with all the force of his body, shoulders, and arms, just like a batter’s best homerun swing. The bear-steed stumbled and threw the rider, who fell over the bear’s head into a thornbush, and yowled.

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