A World Called Camelot

by Arthur H. Landis

  I rode straight and tall, glowing shield slung from my -back. My left hand was buried in my dottle’s fluffy mane to guide her. My right hand was on the hilt of-my great sword. They fell away from me in awe, first cooks and helpers, then whole coveys of archers and men-at-arms. Most made the circle and the cross of Ormon; some kneeled and bent their heads. Finally, at the great block of tents surrounding that of the king, I was given escort. Knights and lords not summoned to the council ringed around me—not closely but at a distance. Nevertheless I was ringed. And I wondered if, despite then-magic and/or gods, they would attack me if they deemed it necessary. The answer was undoubtedly “Yes.” For, as the lord Per-Rondin had said, “And if their magic prevail over ours, then will we fight them with our blood and with our hearts.” And so it was on Camelot.

  As I neared the entrance to the king’s tent, those in front turned around and ranged themselves before me, swords drawn. They would defy me. Inside, the kings’ council, attracted by the hubbub, sent forth certain lords to inquire as to the reason. Needless to say, the guard of Chitar, also in the proximity of the royal tent, drew their swords, too, in defense of aught that might befall their king. I sat my small dottle silently, stared boldly at the lot of them. Then I dismounted, shooed my petite one off, turned around, placed my two hands upon my belt, leaned back my head, and bellowed: “Wow hear me all! Great lords, knights, and warriors! I am the Collin of Marack, come to have converse with your kings and with my friend. Sir Rawl Fergis, who is even now within that tent… . In this last respect, I would have him forth, and instantly!.

  The name of the Collin was known throughout the northern lands. Indeed, it was a mythos owned by all above the river-sea; therefore my presumption struck home. Some fell back and some drew sword in anger at my quite, to them, audacious claim. One knight stepped forward, threw back his cloak, held his sword in readiness, and demanded loudly, “How dare you, sir, to take the name of Collin, and to approach us thusly? Speak out and clear yourself, or I shall clear your head from your body despite its glowworm shine.”

  He was a brave man and I didn’t wish to kill him. I didn’t have to. …

  “Leave be!” The voice was Rawl’s. He had stepped from the tent’s interior followed by two broadly grinning students of the tournament of Glagmaron. I noted then that there were others of Rawl’s hundred scattered through the crowd. They made way for him, my saffron-furred friend; even the lord who had challenged me. For Rawl was the emissary of Marack, which gave him much stature and substance. He came directly to me through the line provided, stared me fully in the eyes, his own half twinkling at my shining, half fearful of what he did not understand. He asked simply, “How now, my lord?” and fell to one knee before me. His students did likewise. Then he arose and faced the others. “Whatever you may think,” he cautioned them bluntly, “this great warrior is the Collin! He will now join me in council, and I offer my life in forfeit that he comes in goodwill; that no harm but rather sooth shall reign throughout for the fact of his presence here. Now make us way, my lords.”

  “Indeed make way!”

  The voice was strong and came from a giant of a man with black eyes, a great curling beard, and a mop of ebon hair with rampant fur to match. Thus had I heard Draslich described. “I would see this Collin,” he continued, shouting, “about which our young lord of Marack has spoken so well. And so would my bold companion here.” He nodded in the direction of a squat and heavily muscled torso topped by a leonine head with piercing eyes. This I took to be Chitar, king of Cheese. Behind the both of them two tall, cloaked figures stood: kings’ sorcerers by their garb. Though their presence canceled each other, I had time to wonder whether they would try their tricks on me. I was glad for the slightly ruptured field around me, for if they tried they would soon see that all their wiles would come a cropper.

  Rawl reached to take my hand, felt the strange dissonance of the field, and dropped it sharply. “Fear not.” I looked him in the eye. ” Tis but a passing thing.” He nodded and Draslich bade us enter the tent, so that he led off and I followed.

  All and sundry had been at sup. And, in true Camelot-Fregis style, after I had seated myself between Rawl and Chibu, one of our newly heggled students, the meal commenced again. I truly think that if the Kaleen himself had joined a Marackian, Gheesian, Ferlachian, Kelbian, and Great Ortmundian dinner, naught would be said about sundry quarrels and differences until after the final course of fruit and sviss. I was indeed hungry. My slight magnetic rupture hindered in no way the passing of gog-meat to gullet… .

  I noted, too, that neither of the Pug-Boos, Mool of Ferlach or Riis of Gheese, were present. Then I remembered that Pug-Boos did not go to war.

  There had to be an end to the feasting, however. And when it came, King Draslich wasted no time in dissimulation. He simply arose, begged Chitar’s permission, as was proper, and spoke directly to me.

  “Sir Collin,” he said—and there was no hint of sarcasm in his voice. “We have heard something of you from yon young emissary of our brother, King Caronne. So we think that we know you, somewhat… . We are gathered here this night —with our common sport most sadly interrupted.” He looked around the seated host at this sally, for expected applause, and got it “We are gathered here at the call of your young lord who, we might add, is most persuasive. He has told us on the one hand of a threat to all the lands above the river-sea. He has also suggested that there be forces from Marack on the way here which”—he smiled broadly—”could add influence to a settling of differences so that Cheese and Ferlach would see Marack’s wisdom in asking for unity in the face of a common peril. To date, Sir Collin, and you, Sir Rawl Fergis, though we are aware of the danger from the forces of the Kaleen, we have yet to see the arrival of our brother’s thirty thousand under the lord Fon Tweel. In fact, if the circumstances were not what they supposedly are, we would find ft difficult to forgive our brother king this overt pressure. In short, sirs, though we have been told of deadly peril, we still see only this young man with his command of youthful knights and squires—and now you, Sir Collin, all aglow, to emphasize Marack’s concern. Perhaps now, Collin, you can inform us further of the intricacies of these strange happenings—inclusive of your arrival upon a saddleless dottle—and where, mayhaps, all this will lead.”

  He sat down and there were shouts all around, friendly and otherwise, making me aware, and strongly, that this was not the feast hall of Olagmaron, but the campaign tent of two waning kings. Rawl looked to me anxiously, as did his Marackian student-heggles. I smiled benignly back at them to give them confidence. I rose slowly. When fully on my feet I moved from the table to the open space within the large inverted “U” of wood and trestled tables.

  Again I placed my hands on my hips and stared them straight in the eyes; not with arrogance, but with an intensity and a seriousness which I hoped would serve to set them all on edge. I began: “My good king of the land of Ferlach, my good king of the land of Gheese, my lords all, and knights, and all true warriors within my voice’s-range—hear me. lust as there be traitors in Kelb and Great Ortmund—and I speak of the kings Harlach and Feglyn—so are there others in Marack, and perhaps in your own tight domains. In Marack’s case, I refer specifically to Fon Tweel, lord of Bist Six days have passed since decisions were made in Glagmaron castle. The armies of Marack have already been in battle, at Gortfin, and this day, too, before the Veldian Pass in Great Ortmund. King Garonne’s major forces are even now deploying before the great plain of Dunguring in Kelb. But even now, forsooth, I, too, see no king’s emissary—other than Sir Fergis—at your council; nor do I see this emissary’s minions camped beyond the hills. Nay, sires! The lord Fon Tweel is not here. And he will not be here. For his forces have yet to decamp from Glagmaron—and there is no longer time. I say to all of you, therefore, that this is treason of the foulest sort; not just to Marack, as you shall see, but to all the lands of the north.”

  I took a deep breath and held them silently with what I hoped w
as a steely, commanding glare. Adjusters are, above all else, consummate actors. “So be it!” I then announced firmly. “It is enough that you now know that King Caronne, his sorcerer Fairwyn, the great lord Per-Rondin, and sundry other councillors were most wise in sending our gracious young knight, Sir Rawl Fergis, to implement the diplomacy of Fon Tweel. Perhaps they knew of Fon Tweel’s leanings. And Sir Fergis, it appears, has done his job, and well.

  “But now I say to you all, Sir Knights and my lords and kings—there ts no more time to waste! For at this very moment there comes to our northern coasts, to the great harbor of Corchoon in Kelb, thrice one thousand long-ships—with two hundred and fifty thousand Omnian warriors; among which are some fifty thousand Yorns with sundry cavalry. This force, added to that of Kelb and Ortmund—an additional fifty thousand men-at-arms, archers, and belted knights— should be something for all to ponder.”

  A murmuring swept the assemblage inside the tent and beyond… . “And confronting this mighty host, my lords,” I continued, “barring the road to Marack, and to Gheese and Ferlach-—and, yes, to the domination of all our foes and northern shores—there now stand but forty thousand noble warriors of our brave Marackian king.” I paused again, then said, “And this is it, my lords—and I be blunt and brief. You know the enemy. You know now the stakes—namely your lives and your countries! Will you sit idly here in dalliance with but sundry games of flats across yon creek while this greatest battle of all time is fought? Will you, indeed, when all is done, present your necks like idiot gogs at slaughter time for the Kaleen’s pleasure? Will you allow this glory to be Marack’s alone—If victory comes and you be not there to share it? What say you to this, my lords?”

  I stepped back, raised my two hands, fists clenched dramatically, and slowly pivoted to face them all. The yelling was thunderous. And some were against me for what they said was my insulting tone. Their hands even went to sword hilts, but others held them back. Outside the tent, the word having been passed instantly with the telling, additional howls mixed with shouts of approbation, and defiance of Om came like waves from the farthest perimeter of the camps.

  The sorcerers of Ferlach and Gheese had arisen. And as they moved around the tables the yelling quieted so that an equal wave of silence followed their gliding figures. They were of the same mold as Marsck’s Fairwyn and Goolbie, skinny, ethereal, self-contained, wary—and curious. Their hands were upraised. And thus the silence. They approached to within a few feet of me and halted. One could have literally heard a dubot squeak… .

  They looked me in the eye, and there was no fear in them. “The auras,” the tallest of the two said finally and in a clear, high voice, “are most evident here, my lords. But there is no evil. This young man, who glows with the light of Ormon and Harris, seems not quite of this world.”

  There was a muttered roll of “ahs” and “ohs” at that and the shorter of the two stepped one pace forward. Apparently they had arranged some test between them for, just as they had thrown a field of force about their kings and another around themselves, they sought to do some thing to me. This second sorcerer—he was of Ferlach and his name was Gaazi, and his taller companion was called Plati—began his words, to be joined in measured cadence by Plati. They watched me sharply. I smiled evenly back at them. Their own protective aura was something other than the null magnetism I was using. What they intended was powerful, though not deadly; this I found out later. Whatever it was, however, did not work. After the required number of seconds, so that they would know they had been given every chance, I smiled and stepped back. I then, bowed in the graceful sweep, swirl, dip, and general genuflection which was Fregis’s gesture of respect and, in some cases, obeisance …

  “It is not wise,” I said to them, “to tarry longer with your enchantments. They will have no effect on me, though I know not why. Indeed, as our good sir Rawl Fergis will tell you, there are things about me that I do not know at all. Perhaps ‘tis true that I am possessed, that in this time of need and peril for all a part of that ancient Collin’s power has been given to me. And perhaps ‘tis true that for this special time I am as I did proclaim—the Collin.”

  At this last—said somewhat more softly, you may be sure—I dropped my head in a most humble attitude, and all began to cheer again.

  Draslich arose, tall, black, and commanding. He waved a hand and a cushioned chair was brought to me. A flagon of sviss was brought, too, and I drank. “Sir Harl! Sir Collin!” the king said. “My lord Gane of our great city port of Keen” —and he gestured toward a black-furred grinning giant— “tells me that you fought bravely with him some three years ago against the Selig pirates. He says he remembers you as a loudmouthed, courageous youth with much spirit and few brains. He informs me”—the king smiled—”that you are much changed.”

  Laughter spread around like summer rain, and I joined in. “Refer me kindly to my lord,” I said. “He may still be right. Indeed, when this affair is over I just may revert to being as addle-pated as before. If such the case, or otherwise, I would still call him friend, and he but call me his.” I basked in the resultant smattering of applause.

  Chitar arose then, red hair a flaming aureole about his equally flaming face. He paused to finish a draft of sviss before speaking, then wiped his lips with a sleeved arm. “I would simply ask,” he said quietly, “how you know all this. I have seen much magic in my day. … I doubt not that the Kaleen prepares for battle, nor that your king, Caronne, intends to oppose him. But how know you, sir, the scope of the present fighting? And how know you of the ships and men of Om, and of the mustering of the warriors of Kelb and Great Ortmund? How know you all these things?”

  “My lord,” I answered bluntly. “I know not how I know, except to say that with these eyes I saw the force of Marack and Kelb this very morning. And if perchance you were to meet the lord Breen Hoggle-Fitz of Durst in Great Ortmund at some future date, he will tell you that I fought at his side on this very day before the pass of the Veldian mountains. Think on that But not for long. For if I know not the answer, sirrah, how can you?”

  At that exact moment I caused the ion-beam to intensify so that my armor glowed more brilliantly. Then I let it die; but not before a chorus of “ohs” and “ahs” came from my audience at both my glowing and my words… . And this, too, in a growing candlelight, since all without was total darkness now.

  I stood up again to continue—strongly, as if in anger and frustration. “There is this, too, oh great king of Gheese. If your warriors do not leave in haste and at once for the field of Dunguring, then, come what may, to Marack will fall the total honor. And if we go down to bloody death—alone— yours will be the shame, in that the countries of the northlands were put in Omnian chains by you, for all eternity.”

  There was a roar then from those inside and from the others beyond the tent And some were for instant departure. And some were for personal battle with me. I stood silently until finally, above the crash of sword on shield and pike butt against hardened earth, the voices of Draslich and Chitar prevailed. Draslich, after short consultation, summed it up in one brief paragraph. “We shall go to Dunguring, Sir Collin,” he said. ‘Together we are a host of forty thousand. We shall arrive on the eve of the third day, for ‘tis a full six hundred miles, and even noble dottles cannot travel faster, though we mount all our men as is our wont”

  “If it will be three days,” I said solemnly, “you will most likely arrive to a stricken field. Om and the Kaleen have counted on the fact that the five countries of the northland be split; that if they do join finally in mutual pact, that it cannot be implemented in sufficient time to matter. Marack stands before Dunguring now! It marshals its array for battle, now! Our king has but twenty thousand men. The lord Hoggle-Fitz rides to him with the lords of Keeng, Fleege, and Klimpinge, and another twenty thousand. They will join in two days. However, my. lords, the forces of Om will land in Corchoon on the morrow. And I suspect that on the third day a great joining of battle will take place.
And if all— including you—can hold through that third day, then will arrive with the thirty thousand who now camp before fair Olagmaron under the false lord, Fon Tweel.”

  All at the tables had seated themselves again, since councfl had seemingly begun in earnest Chitar, chin cupped on palm, asked curiously, trying to probe behind my eyes, “You have not said, Sir Knight, how we may cross six hundred miles in but two days. I would be apprised of this.”

  “You have sufficient dottle herds for hard riding?”

  “We do indeed.”

  Then, my lords, you ride at night as well.”

  “At night?”

  “Aye.”

  “Are you some fiend of Ghast? What are you, truly, sir?”

  “I am the Collin! And if you truly seek to aid the north, then, great sirs, you will ride at night—”