Rawl and I had scarce stripped to the buff and taken a quick sponge bath to wash the dust off our fur from the forty-mile dottle ride, coming and going, when a knock introduced a student courier with the urgent demand, for our presence in the royal chambers, at once!
I’d figured as much. For the grim Fel-Holdt was not only responsible, but also persuasive. And, though he lacked the ability to grasp fully what he’d seen, his simple tested logic was sufficient to understand the quite obvious peril at its heart—for Marack!
We dressed quickly again. Outside the rain lessened, stopped. In the direction of the great snow-lands however, thunder roared and lightning played in a frenzied fire-storm all around the horizon.
We were met in the royal council hall by a somber group. Seeing their faces, I was certain that our good Fel-Holdt, and Per-Looris, had deliberately and wisely scared the hell out of them. King Olith Caronne stood tall, thoughtful and worried, to greet us. Queen Merin Tyndil, at his side, was overtly net-
vous, irritable. A simple light and airy Woman, she’d seen too much of war and very little of anything else. The king’s council, all fifty of them, waited wide-eyed, angry—and fearful. This last was an ominous portent, indeed, for I’d yet to see so many Marackians fearful at one time.
The walls of this small but beauteous room were covered with battle flags and tapestries, all woven with great love and care. They told of a myriad battles, the history of a thousand years of Marack’s kingdom. Here and there, where they hid a stone-laced window, they had been pulled aside to allow in the rain-laden night breeze so that the perfumes of various night-blooming flowers now filled the room. Moreover, as if to compete with the braces of candles in wall sconces and along the length of the double tables, there was an occasional brilliant on-and-off glow from a number of Camelot-Fregis’s large and friendly fireflies—wafted into the hall by the same breeze.
They weren’t fireflies in the ordinary sense, but rather a form of large butterfly or moth. A quite singular aspect of these beautiful insects was that they would of their own choice alight on one’s hand or shoulder; would allow themselves to be stroked, and would even take honey or nectar from a tendered finger. As pets they were truly a thing of witchcraft; easily tamed if captured directly from the cocoon. Their life-span, unfortunately, was what it was, short and ecologically meaningless—unless beauty itself is a reason for being.
We’d seated ourselves at the “high table” next to Caroween, Murie and the royal family. Hooli was there on a small dais to the rear. Jindil was with him, the second of the Marackian Pug-Boos; Jindil being distinguished by a black circle around one eye. Both were asleep, as usual, on silken pillows under the care of the court pages. Among the great lords of the council was Gen-Rondin, a stern and positive warrior-juror, Per-Kals of Longven, Kol-Rebis of Gleglyn, Gen-Toolis of Fiirs, Al Tils of Klimpinge and our own Fel-Holdt of Svoss. Per-Looris, our sorcerer, had apparently been hard at work. Indeed, he’d just completed his standard protective aura so that the last of his heavily intoned words still hung in the air as we entered.
The result of the incantation was visible in the faint mist that clung like a small cloud to all those at the high table. Physically, it was a form of “null” induced by word-sounds (Camelot-Fregis’s magick), and impenetrable to most phenomena. The area encompassed by the mist or cloud became as the faintest of bubbles, disrupting at that precise spot the matrix of planetary magnetic lines, i.e., no counter-force utilizing the energies of the same lines (the Dark One, for example) could harm or control anyone or anything within the bubble without first weakening or destroying it with counter incantations (word sounds) designed to do the job. The complexities that can arise from this form of magick are easily understood.
Watching our aged Per-Looris, I was struck by the similarity between himself and the martyred Fairwyn before him. Per-Looris, without a doubt, would do anything—give his own life if need be—to protect the bodies and the welfare of the royal family of Marack. He watched the rest of us like an aging hawk, suspicious, alert to any danger.
I had time to wonder just what he had thought of that which he’d seen through the bow of the great Deneb.
The king greeted both myself and Rawl Fergis courteously. He then suggested that I waste not a second of precious time, but that I tell them now my version of this most deadly peril to Marack and the world. “Peril and danger,” he smiled sadly, “are certainly no strangers to Marack. But coming now, when we’d thought to have some measure of peace at long last, ‘tis a most unwelcome thing to contemplate.”
I arose first to solemnly pledge them in sviss for their attention, and to establish the proper mood. I intended wasting no time in trying to get them to understand what they were absolutely incapable of understanding. I would drive straight to the heart of the matter; paint a simple picture that all could see… . Outside, as if to help me make my points, a great thunder rolled: Fregis’s thunder, like the sound of some’ monstrous Terran battleground of centuries past. Continuous lightning seemed to blast the very courtyard.
“Sire and my Lords!”.! cried above the roar of nature’s chaos. ‘Tomorrow, or the day after—or soon, one or more great ships will sail down through our skies to land at our fair Glagmaron Castle and city. The creatures that will come from within these ships will be as unknown to me in shape or form as they will be to you. But though I know them not, I do know their power. And that, sirs, will be more terrible than anything you’ve ever faced or imagined before. They win instantly set out to control this bounteous land. Their weapons will be such that to offer resistance in any way will be foolhardy, suicidal; conducive only to the inevitable destruction of Marack and possibly your world as you know it.
“And well not be the only victims. All cities in the north and south of Fregis will be likewise visited, and in like manner come under the control of these conquerors. So it will be. And my lords, there is nought we can do for the moment but to let it happen.” I paused for breath, and a first reaction.
It came, and instantly. A speech such as that and before such a gathering could elicit but one response. Shouts of anger and outrage boomed from every corner. Some came to their feet, hands on sword hafts to damn me, their Collin, as being either bewitched or deprived of my senses … “No one in all of time,” brave Rondin shouted to the king, “has cried surrender before ever the enemy was tested. How know ye of these dread weapons? Indeed, how knows our Collin?”
“But they do exist!” stout Fel-Holdt roared above the outcry. He arose to challenge the room. “Our Collin does not lie. We, the ambassadors, were witness to just such weapons in a great battle in the heavens. I believe too, with the Collin, that these same sky ships will indeed come here, and soon.”
Gen-Rondin, no stranger to fairy tales as an adjunct to Camelot-Fregis’s magick, would still have none of it. He turned to face me, his blue-purple eyes snapping, his shadow great and looming in the candle’s glow. “Hear me, Collin, and you are my friend as you are friend to Marack. Some months ago ‘twas I who was a victim to the mind control of the Dark One. Tis now that I see in you what I knew myself to be. Admit it, sir, and let us cleanse you of it—else by the gods, we’ll then take other means.”
“That you will not!” Murie leapt to her feet. “Would you put yourself against the royal house, Sir Rondin? I am your princess, and the Collin and I will soon be wed. I too have seen the sky ships and their weapons, as has your commander, the good lord Fel-Holdt and our court champion, my own good cousin Sir Rawl Fergis—and Per-Looris too. The sky ships exist. They are coming here. The question is, what shall we do?”
“Good Rondin,” Rawl called in his easy, friendly way that so often was, misunderstood by those who’d settle all quarrels with the sword, “if the Coffin’s possessed, why then so am I, and Fel-Holdt and the others….”
Rondin, stung, shouted in quick anger, “Well mayhap well quarantine the lot of you. Know that I love you, Collin.” He turned to me. “But I and mine will not sta
nd aside and let anyone or any magicked thing take from us that which is ours by right and history without a fight. Your counsel’s bad, sir, and I reject it.”
More voices rose to counter. The idea of surrender without a fight was simply unthinkable. And, I might add, it was also unthinkable to Rawl, Murie, Fel-Holdt and the others. In this matter, I knew that they’d stand with me only to a point. In the past I’d always come up with something. They simply couldn’t believe that what they’d heard from me was all of it; that I hadn’t some tricks up my sleeve whereby we could all enjoin to smash the enemy whatever his weaponry and skill. The king himself finally arose again to demand that I respond. ‘For surely,” he suggested dourly, “you must have thought on some recourse. I cannot believe you’d come before this body to plead surrender only. What say you now to these lords and me?”
That they waited, teeth bared and eyes smoldering, was the first evidence of the deadly frustration that would seriously compound our danger.
For whatever reason, I looked to Hooli before replying. At that precise moment a golden butterfly-firefly with red striations across the abdomen came fluttering to settle softly upon my sleeve. Marack’s warrior-lords all oohed and ahed at this, considering it some sort of omen. The Pug-Boo, Hooli, was awake, staring in my direction. I probed him, mentally. “You back, bag-ass? Anything you can tell me that will help?” And then, “Do something. Wink. Wave a paw.”
No way. Damn him! I could never depend upon him. He’d play it his way or not at all. All eyes were on the great firefly. I stroked its back. Its huge wings moved slowly up and down. More. A full half-inch of the red-gold abdomen glowed purple-white, went on and off, on and off. I couldn’t help myself. I looked again at Hooli—and saw an amused glitter in his little beady eyes.
The insect lifted, beat the air to hover directly over my head. It then flew slowly three times around my shoulder-length black hair, dipped, hovered, went on and off before my face (Hooli’s contribution) and flew suddenly through the nearest window.
There wasn’t a man of the council who hadn’t raptly traced the circle of Ormon upon his breast. There was even a small ripple of applause at this obvious manifestation of Ormon’s grace. I sighed. If nothing else, Hooli’s game’s-ploy had soothed that half-centurea of thirsty swords.
And he was back. Still, my relief was overshadowed by the knowledge that the little bastard was, as usual, not helping, but instead attempting to use me. The goal was the same for both of us; we’d no problem there. The question, however, was apparently and again: who would be using whom (and he was forever making it this way) to win the victory?
The battles that Hooli and I had fought and won together had each time been a risk of world-death; more, an entire system had been at stake, as it might be now. Each time, too, our victories had involved a bloodbath. I did not want that now.
They were waiting stoically for my answer to Ac king. Since I had none, really, I’d no choice but to repeat myself. “Sire and my Lords,” I said, “to know nothing of one’s enemy excepting his strength, and that a thousand times more than your own, and still to prepare to offer battle is to add idiocy to idiocy. To respect his strength and then to begin the search for his weakness is the path of wisdom-And I would remind you now that I have not called for surrender. I’ve simply asked that we not resist; that we seek out this weakness that must be there before we join in battle… .
‘To know the “why* of it all,” I dared explain solemnly, “is perhaps to know yourselves, the Dark One and this new enemy too; for your fate has been linked with theirs for a full five thousand years.”
I then told them, generally, what the Pug-Boos had told me, making it as simple as I could so they’d understand at least a part of it: that the Dark One, a single entity of an alien life form, had been the first of his kind to pass through from his parallel universe to -the Fomalhaut binary system. A warp, or “gateway” had been created on the planet Alpha of Fomalhaut II for this purpose. As the first of a potential horde, the D.O.’s purpose had been to seek proper hosts among Alpha’s humanoids. But, strange quirk of fate, the D.O. had passed through the gateway and directly into the midst of a nuclear holocaust, unleashed by Alpha’s warring nations.
Enter the Pug-Boos, the Universal Adjusters—as opposed to our simple galactic status. The Boos had been keeping a close eye on Alpha. At the last moment they’d moved to transfer all humanoid remnants to Fregis, Fomalhaut I’s second planet. They sought to save these few thousands—while destroying their memories so they would be forced to evolve again. To guarantee that there would be no life of any kind for future aliens to occupy, they sterilized Alpha!
Unbeknownst to the Pug-Boos, however, the alien, the Dark One, had escaped prior to destruction and had successfully occupied a single Alphian life form. The Boos had provided twelve great ships wherein the Alphians had crossed the void to Fregis. The Dark One had seized one of the ships. If landed in the far south—and Hish was founded. The great Reptillian Vuuns seized one—and thus their caretakers. One crashed, with a subsequent release of radioactive materials— and thus the mutant Yorns. Six of the remaining nine landed in the north, on the continent of Maract—thus the men of Marack, Ferlack, Kelb, Gheese and Great Ortmund. The remaining three came to ground on the isles and southern shores of the River-Sea—thus Kerch and Seligal.
An ships were then destroyed by the Boos, as were all memories of Alpha … All this I told them, except I made no mention of the Boo? influence! The ships, I told them, were theirs, for such was their greatness then.
The new enemy, I said, was either more creatures such as the Dark One—or something else, the like of which I knew not.
“And ‘tis for this reason,” I continued, “that I now counsel you to greet without arms that which will ensue from the ships when they land. We must, whether we like it or not, be the first to extend the hand of friendship. I repeat. His strength is such that he has already, and in the sight of your ambassadors and your princess, struck down a great sky ship whose master and crew were men such as yourselves; men possessed of great weapons too. Still they are lost and the enemy lives. Greet him therefore in peace… .
“Help us to buy time to study him, to see what he is and who he is—and where his weakness lies] Since time began there has always been a flaw in any people. We have such a flaw; so, too, does he. I repeat. Allow us time to find his before he destroys us. That, sirs, should be our only priority!”
How much of their history had reached them I didn’t know. I was met with a vast and stony silence; few brows seemed perplexed or wrinkled in thought at the mystery of it all. No doubt, I’d gotten through to some of them. But for a Fregisian—read Alphian—to be helpless in the face of danger means, essentially, that he’s already dead. To be forced to put one’s self wholly within the armed grasp of the enemy is unthinkable.
Still, there was nothing now for them to say. After all, I was Marack’s savior. Indeed, I’d just been given the sign of Ormon’s favor. Who could argue with that? The king was silent; lips pursed, eyes flat Murie was silent too, as was the commander of Marack’s host, Fel-Holdt.
They had never been that way before.
The meeting broke up amidst a shaking of heads. The council members straggled out to the great hall for sup. With Murie on my arm and with Rawl, Caroween, Sir Dosh and Fel-Holdt to our rear, we joined the king’s entourage and went to eat Our entry to the tables must have seemed as a funeral march to the row upon row of happy trenchermen and roisterers. From that point on there was little gaiety.
Even later, when I’d traversed the labyrinth of corridors within the castle’s hulk so’s to knock on my lovely’s door, I was hastily told by a simpering maid that she’d gone to tend her lady mother who’d become ill with a “blues” that only a daughter could cure.
‘To ghast with the bastards!” Rawl shouted, long-faced and angry. Caroween had slammed the door in his face too. He’d then inveigled me to go with him to the common room for some serious dri
nking. On the way we’d collected the willing Sir Dosh from an apartment he shared with five knights of Great Ortmund, a part of his sister’s entourage. A pervasive gloom touched the three of us. For me it was exacerbated by a picture I’d seen from the comer of an eye as I’d left the council chamber. It was of Jindil, Hooli’s twin. That miserable little bastard had awakened just in time to snatch an absolutely beautiful, rainbow-winged firefly from the air. Its antennae still probed the scented breeze as the rest of it went down the greedy Boo’s throat. I was tempted to drink myself drunk.
The common room was in its usual state of bedlam, but more so. Knights, warriors, and boisterous men-at-arms fought for a place at the two dozen or so tables. Competing minstrels tried hard to be heard above the roar of yells and curses. Incessant peals of great thunder drowned it all.
Still, it was the one place in all the castle where one could be truly alone with one’s friends. Tossing a foursome of maudlin drunks to the rushes, we took their places; this to the hails of “Collin!” “Fergjs!” “Hoggle-Fite!” from various well-wishers. We ordered, drank—and ordered again.
“Blast them!” Rawl roared a second time, alluding to the councilmen. “You’ll see, old comrade. They’ll come crawling back, the bastards, when the true plan’s disclosed. And then, by the gods, well make them eat their words!” His eyes glittered and he smacked his lips at a personal imagery of dripping swords and well-thumped pates.
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