Read Online Three Hearts and Three Lions by Poul Anderson - Free Book Online Page A

conversation.
    She responded readily, despite the feebleness of his efforts. From what he overheard Holger gathered that talk was a high art here: swift, witty, poetic, cynical, always a hint of delicate malice, always with elaborate rules he didn’t begin to comprehend. Well, he thought, immortals who had nothing to do but hunt, magic, intrigue, and wage war, would develop sophistication out of sheer necessity. They hadn’t heard of forks here, but the food and the many wines were a symphony. If only Meriven weren’t so distracting. This was a classic embarras de richesses.
    “Truly,” she breathed, holding his gaze with those curious eyes that, in her, no longer bothered him, “you are a bold man thus to venture hitherwards. That death-stroke you gave your foe, ah, ’twas beautiful!”
    “You saw?” he asked sharply.
    “In the Black Well, yes. I watched you. As to whether we but jested, or intended your life in earnest, Sir ’Olger, ’tis not good for a young man to know too much. A trace of puzzlement keeps him from stodginess.” She laughed sweetly. “But what does bring you here?”
    He grinned. “Nor should a young lady know too much,” he answered.
    “Ah, cruel! Yet am I glad you came.” She used the intimate pronoun. “I may address you thus, fair sir? There is a kinship of spirit between us, even if we find ourselves at war now and again.”
    “Dearest enemy,” said Holger. She drooped her lids, smiling with appreciation. His own eyes had a tendency to fall too that décolletage of hers. He searched his mind for more cribs from Shakespeare. The situation was made to order.
    They continued the flirtation throughout the banquet, which seemed to take hours. Afterward the company went into an even larger chamber for dancing. But as the music started, Duke Alfric drew Holger aside.
    “Come with me a moment, if you will, good sir,” he said. “We’d best talk over your problem at once, under four eyes, so that I can think on it awhile; for I foresee that our ladies will give you scant peace.”
    “Thank you, your grace,” said Holger, a trifle grumpily. He didn’t much care to remember realities just now.
    They strolled into a garden, found a bench beneath a luminous willow, and sat down. A fountain danced before them, a nightingale sang behind. Alfric’s black-clad body leaned back in one supple motion. “Say what you will, Sir ’Olger,” he invited.
    Well, no use holding anything back. If the Pharisee did have power to return him, he’d probably have to know the whole situation. Only where to start? How do you describe an entire world?
    Holger did his best. Alfric guided him with occasional penetrating questions. The Duke never showed surprise, but at the end he seemed thoughtful. He leaned elbows on knees and drew the knife of white metal which he carried at his waist. As he turned it over and over, Holger read the inscription upon the blade. The Dagger of Burning. He wondered what that meant.
    “A strange tale,” said Alfric. “I have never heard one more strange. Yet methinks there is truth in it.”
    “Can... can you help me?”
    “I know not, Sir ’Olger—for so it still seems natural to call you. I know not. There are many worlds in space, as any sorcerer or astrologue is aware, but a plurality of universes is another concept, only darkly hinted in certain ancient writings. If I heard you without being made helpless by amazement, ’tis because I have myself speculated that another Earth such as you describe might indeed exist, and be the source of myths and legends, such as those told of Frederik Barbarossa, or the great epical chansons about the Emperor Napoleon and his heroes.” As if to himself, Alfric murmured a few lines:
“Gerard Ii vaillant, nostre brigadier magnes,
tres ans tut pleins ad esté an Espagne
combattant contre la Grande-Bretagne.”
    He shook himself and went on more briskly: “I shall raise spirits which can give counsel. No doubt that will take