A World Called Camelot

by Arthur H. Landis

  We started out in the gray dawn of the morrow. The townspeople and the castle people lined the hills to see us go, for never had they seen anything quite like it. All that night we had mustered men and mounts for the journey. Scant sleep had been given anyone. The three lords of Marack’s southern provinces who served under Fon Tweel pledged themselves fully to Rawl. And it was understood that the entire force— and we found that an additional ten thousand had been mustered and would be picked up along the way—was now under our joint command. We would ride this day, tonight, and all of tomorrow. They had accepted this new departure with well-received bravado. And on tomorrow’s eve (we hoped) we would arrive on the plain of Dunguring. I frankly don’t know which I dreaded more, the sight of a stricken field where all might be lost, or that damnable ride across six hundred miles of Fregisian terra firma.

  I managed a bit of self-hypnosis to help me survive it. Our only rest was during the four-hour dottle browsing periods. And I would point out that this applied to the night as well. Recall that Camelot-Fregis had a twenty-six-hour rotation period. Two browsing breaks of four and four left us with eighteen hours of travel time, so that at twenty miles per hour we easily made our required mileage. Despite the rest periods, the ride was still pure blasphemy to mortal flesh. As stated, stamina was one thing, strength another. On the last stretch, at the end of our thirty-one-hour run, the Collin was collapsed over his saddle, to the amusement of my companions. I cared not a Terran fig whether school kept or not I remember once during the sweating humidity of that last afternoon—the clouds were gathering again and great thunder roared around the horizon—that a gentle paw was placed upon the small of my back. A resulting surge of power ran up the length of my spinal column. I mumbled something to the effect of: “All right! All right! So you’ve got the power. Quit showing off. The one thing you could do for me is to tell me what you and your fat-fannied friends are up to. You’ll not ride with me into battle, you know. I’m not going to have you on Henery’s rump when the whistle blows, hear?” It was like talking to myself. I twisted in my saddle to stare at Hooli. Nothing had changed. He simply stared right back with his enigmatic, shoebutton eyes, and his nauseating grin… . He was beginning to reach me.

  The clouds continued, but it didn’t rain. At the last rest period—12:00 to 4:00 P.M.—we, the command group, departed one half hour before the main body: this, at my suggestion, so that upon our arrival we would have time to see the lay of the land and apportion our forty thousand warriors as they came up. In this way there would be no delay in decision, or confusion in the strengthening of this or that wing and whatever remained of the king’s center. All this with the proviso that anything remained at all.

  But it did. And it was a sight such as I will never forget; nor will anyone else who sees its reproduction in the great Ovarium at Glagmaron’s new Art Center. The plain of Dunguring was five miles in width and ten miles long. Its eastern border consisted of a high ridge sloping sharply down to the plain. At places this ridge was actually a cliff a hundred feet in height As the slopes flattened to the plain a number of small hills still jutted to continue a domination of the plain by the ridge. Beyond these hills the ground was reasonably fiat. A great part of the area had been planted to a form of maize, and it was trisected by two small streams. One of these rivers entered the plain from the southeast, circling a great volcanic cone; the second entered from the northwest They joined in the center and then flowed northeast below the base of another volcano, and thence to the sea. The “Great Road,” I noted, followed the path of this river.

  Both the volcanoes were active. The far side of the plain rose gradually to another ridge, albeit a lower one than ours. Beyond it the ground swept farther down to rolling countryaide and a final breakout to the seacoast and the port city of Corchoon some twenty miles distant.

  Approaching this ridge from the east, we passed through great meadow-speckled forests. In every meadow, indeed under every tree, there were dottles. These were undoubtedly the spares of Caronne and Hoggle-Fitz—plus the great herds of Ferlach and Gheese. Altogether there must have been better than one hundred and fifty thousand dottles. When they greeted our arrival it was as a great wind soughing softly through the tall trees. I had never heard, nor ever will again, such a sound. Their presence, however, could mean but one thing. Beyond that ridge the valiant armies of Mar-ack, Ferlach, and Gheese had not as yet gone down.

  I came alive, concentrated on an adrenalin surge and got it. There remained but one hour until twilight. We literally raced the last mile to the ridge top… .

  The plain of Dunguring was a three-dimensional stereophonic etching of Best, Hell, and any Galactic god’s antithesis of Eden. It was inferno. … As far as the eye could see across that broad plain, there was bloody battle. Almost three hundred thousand men were killing and being killed. Directly below us and to the left at about two thousand yards was a small hill with a rectangular top. Upon it flew the tattered standards of Marack. The king was there. Far to the left, and perhaps a full quarter of a mile to the front, was another, larger, flat and rounded hill. And there, planted firmly, was the Dernim Tulip of Breen Hoggle-Fitz, the Black Swan of Chitar, and a half hundred other banners of Marack and Gheese. To our right, and again somewhat in advance of Marack’s center, was still another hill upon which flew the Oak Tree banners of Draslich, king of Ferlach. The three strong points were cut off from each other and sore beset by hordes of mailed pikemen and swarms of Omnian-Kelbian kinghts in full armor.

  The field for a full two miles to the front of our northern armies was strewn with the dead of the day’s battle. And even now some still fought in that far distance, cut off, surrounded in their retreat from what had obviously been the area of the north’s first stand. We gazed upon this great drama in silence. I held out both my arms as a sign that we should keep it that way, so that all might evaluate the circumstances of the scene that lay before us.

  I exacted the ultimate in magnitudes from my contacts. On. the line of our north’s first stand were the piled bodies of twice ten thousand Omnian heggles, lords, squires. Above these fallen flew the blazonry of their owners: pennons and banners attached to pikes, spears, and lances. One could follow the progress of the fighting by these great heaps of dead. There, to the right, and at a distance of two miles, was where Per-Rondin, the king’s own commander, had gone down with all his troops and guards. And the banners of the great houses of Glagmaron itself waved like a forest over the bodies of a thousand of Caroline’s picked young knights. To the south, like the dead of Per-Rondin, lay the flower of Ferlach. I could see the fallen banner of my erstwhile jolly and courageous lord, Gane of Reen, and of Her-Tils of the Gheesian city of Saks. Each pile of dead was surrounded by at least an acre of other bodies. Banners of Kelb mixed with those of the Omnian cities of Hish, Seligal, and Kerch… . Two square miles of the fallen, with here and there small groups of mounted knights still charging each other.

  And over it all, from the three hills of Marack and the north, came the faint sound of skirling pipes and the rattling of kettledrums, like summer hail. Even as we watched a force of some four thousand picked Omnian knights, flanked by two thousand brass-mailed Yorns, flew up the slopes of Garonne’s hill, to be met by a similar downward charge of Marackian knights. Om was again forced back and slaughtered on their flanks by Marack’s archers. The same held true of the hills to the south and north. All were under attack by as many as fifty thousand Omnian and allied warriors. From these hordes would come ever and again the attacking force so that the north’s defeat, in the long run, would be but a matter of time.

  But I thought as I watched them that there still seemed to be some holding back on the part of Om—perhaps for some coordinated onslaught. As if to underscore this point my eyes lifted to the Omnian war headquarters situated at the joining of the two small rivers. The distance was two miles. But this second glance, at full focus, revealed what I had passed over before. There at their insolent ease was an addition
al fifty thousand fresh Omnian warriors. They had been held back for a reason—and it came to me that the reason was ourselves. They knew of our coming! They would therefore await our full strength before committing theirs. In that way, so they no doubt reasoned, they would destroy all the forces of the north. And I knew, too, that the Kaleen had so directed… .

  Rawl grasped my arm to direct my attention to Draslich’s redoubt on our right. There were massed foot soldiers with pike and spear. They ringed Draslich’s remaining ten thousand; not only severing him from all contact with Caronne, but advancing, too, to cut the great road to the rear of our armies.

  While we watched the vanguard of our forty thousand had arrived. Rawl signaled the leading commanders to us. We had, perforce, in the meantime, sent pairs of couriers to break through to the three hills to advise them to hold; that help was coming. I had previously asked that the best trumpeters of our army accompany the vanguard group. And now, as Sir Rawl Fergis, together with the lords of Holt and Svoss in southern Marack, charged down that slope with a full five thousand of our best lances, I caused those trumpets to blast in unison.

  Somehow, and I knew instantly why, the notes of those twenty trumpets were amplified. And zooming to the raging battles on the three hills, I saw that men had heard, and stood apart, and were looking back to us. And when Rawl’s five thousand smashed into and through that mass of Kelbian-Omnian soldiery surrounding Draslich, there arose such a cheer as to be like a rolling thunder across that bloodied plain. The cheers were also amplified! I looked then to Hooli, who had been joined by Jindil, since Rawl had dashed off to battle. They both grinned back at me—and Hooli winked.

  “Great Gods!” I exclaimed. “And will that be your total contribution?”

  There was then no time for further nonsense. We, Sir Griswall and sundry lords of Marack, conferred briefly; deciding which route to take to the three besieged hills, and how many men should be sent to each, and how many held as reserve so as to settle the battle in our favor for the night. Lord Ginden of Klimpinge, a burly giant of a man, took the next five thousand in the wake of Rawl. We followed with the remaining warriors, ten thousand to join with Chitar and twenty thousand to reinforce the center hill of King Caronne. We left but two hundred dottle wardens to care for our eighty thousand spares. These went to join their fellows in the woods beyond the ridge. I looked to Hooli, Jindil, Pawbi, and the rest to go off with the dottles. But such was not to be. Pug-Boos were, apparently—and for the first time—going to war! Hooli and Jindil clung to Henery’s rump, and the other three remained in their places behind Charney, Griswall, and Hargis.

  As we rode down the slope of the ridge, trumpets blaring, pipes skirling, and kettledrums thumping, the hosts of Om withdrew slightly from contact with the defenders of the hills. Then they withdrew still further; after which, couriers having reached them, the whole mass of foot and cavalry— numbering some one hundred and fifty thousand men—moved back across the plain to a distance of a half mile.

  Though we felt as rescuers, it gave us little pleasure to come upon those stricken hilltops. We rode over the bodies of the fallen, the slaughtered, and the wounded alike. I thought of the night and of dead-alives. I conjured up a fantastic scene of the mass of dead from this great abattoir, all converging upon us in the small hours. Then I remembered the Pug-Boos. And somehow I knew this could not happen.

  Rawl returned victoriously from Draslich’s hill to rejoin our command. He had doffed his helm, and other than sweat beading his face, he seemed none the worse for wear and tear. He met us at the base of the ridge, as we turned left toward Garonne’s hilltop.

  And now great Fomalhaut blazed a hellish red on the western horizon. And this coloration, tinting all the clouds a scarlet hue, together with the belching flame from the two volcanoes, lent an atmosphere to that place to exceed the twisted imagery of anyone’s dementia. From the king’s hilltop the great plain was as easily seen as from the ridge. And it remained what it had been at first sight—an inferno!

  As we rode along the hill’s crest, the warriors of Marack who had fought so well that day cheered our coming. And we, to show our appreciation and respect for them, did likewise. Caronne and the sorcerer, Fairwyn, and the remaining lords of Glagmaron stood out to give us greeting. And we dismounted and shook hands and put our arms about each other. And when the banners of our forty thousand were enjoined with those on the three hills, swords and spears were brandished again against the enemy. The clamor of sword against shield, and pike butt against the hardened earth, was thunderous—and all false pomp and ceremony went by the board.

  The aftermath of this great day-long hacking and hewing saw a fantastic hustle and bustle around us. Tents for the king and for his staff and entourage were produced and set up. Cooking pots had been hauled out. And what with dottle-briquettes, jerked gog-meat, and various bundles of dried vegetables and spices, a savory meal would be in the offing soon.

  Both Rawl and I strained our eyes to popping for a first view of Murie and Caroween. They were not there, and Rawl looked at me, sore afraid. “Nay,” I cautioned him. “The Vuun, Great Ap, is trustworthy. He will bring them, and on the morrow. And perhaps, friend, when you think on it, it may be best that he has delayed his coming.”

  Though dead-alives seemed no longer feared—what with the presence of the sorcerers of Marack, Ferlach, and Gheese, plus the great armies deployed by both sides—it seemed, still, that night fighting was unheard of on Camelot. Indeed, the night was such that an enemy didn’t exist. And the space between the two armies was inviolate… .

  And so we ate and held council, and Draslich came and Chitar, and Hoggle-Fitz, and all the remaining lords of the three countries. But, as Rawl said, “One would weep to see , the banners of those no longer present.” A full half of the northern chivalry were slain. And of the eighty’ thousand men of the three countries, but fifty thousand remained alive. It was not enough that the enemy had lost twice again that amount, so that a full sixty thousand of theirs would never see their homeland—our coming had but made up, with a little over, for the day’s losses.

  And we told them of Rawl’s slaying of Fon Tweel, and of the ride from Glagmaron; at which Draslich and Chitar shook their heads in commiseration. And I told them of the coming of Great Ap on the morrow, with Murie and Caroween, and that they were not to feather the Vuun’s hide with arrows. This last knowledge—that we were not to be attacked by Vuuns, but rather would have one as an ally— cheered them considerably. Still, though our total report was accepted, I noted that sundry lords of the north now looked at me with a certain trepidation.

  I did suggest in council that we dare the night for the simple task of collecting arrows; that on the morrow we would have great need of them. I also suggested that whole companies of our archers be kept in a state of mobility, and that at least a thousand of these be mounted on dottles so as to bring their weight to bear upon the most threatened point. We had, actually, ten thousand archers—without armor, easy prey to men-at-arms and knights. Because of this I further suggested that a number of squadrons of our lancers be set aside solely for our mobile archers’ protection.

  My thinking was looked upon as somewhat strange. But the tactic seemed reasonable to Chitar and Caronne, and the others acquiesced.

  Before we slept I walked with Rawl to our hill’s slope, and saw the unforgettable sight of the wounded who could still walk or crawl. All went toward the rear; to beyond the ridge where they could escape the morrow’s charge of frenzied, blood-crazed warriors and swinging swords. They sought, I imagined, to die in peace—or perhaps, even now, to live.…

  Dawn on Camelot, when the skies were cloudless, was a beauteous thing. Conversely—and so it was on our day of battle—when clouds were dark and lowering, there was a thing of ominous portent most active in the air. The volcanoes flamed to the north and south, joining with the blood-red orb of Fomalhaut to pearl the clouds for a full half of the eastern sky. I had hoped for clouds, however, since the r
ising sun on this sword-whetted day of Camelot’s armageddon was to our enemies’ backs and not in our favor.

  Rawl, Griswall, and Charney, as well as our students, had chosen to stay with Marack-‘s king as a part of his command council. We armed ourselves in that gray-red dawn, drank hot sviss, ate bread, and moved to our center position under King Garonne’s standard of the Winged Castle.

  Our front of the three hills extended a full mile and better. As many as twelve thousand mailed spearmen were before each redoubt now: a wall of shields and pikes for almost a full circle around each hill. Our archers were posted higher on the slopes. And between the hills ranging in squadrons and full companies, were our remaining lords, knights squires, and mounted men-at-arms. These numbered a full forty thousand. They were kept at the command of the center, under Marack.

  Because of the clouds and the lack of sun, the plain seemed as a steel-point etching in its total clarity. Despite our losses the army of the north was a glittering array of steel and bright banners, for a full half mile to either side of our center’s martial pomp.

  This scene was duplicated across that half mile of intervening space. Om’s center command, I noted, had moved up during the night.

  If our array was both splendid and terrible to see, so, indeed, was theirs. On our left flank Hoggle-Fitz and Chitar were faced with no fewer than twenty thousand warriors of Great Ortmund, plus thirty thousand of Seligal and Kerch. Draslich, on our right, faced an equal number, inclusive of ten thousand Yorns and twenty thousand of the flower of Kelb; among these being Prince Keilweir himself and his father, Harlach. Their black banners and black and silvered armor, tinted now with red highlights from the southern volcano, gave to their entire line a most sinister quality.