His words were than lost in a moaning wave of fear at what he’d said. Still, and believe~me it did my heart good, there were a few of those who arose to applaud his courage, and my own daring. For I had stepped around the tables to confront the priestwizard in the “arena.” Griswall followed. But at my signal our remaining swords stayed where they were..
The six hundred barons, knights, and ladies then became as a silent tableau, a woven arras; so riveted to their seats were they at what was happening.
I called tauntingly-“And now, Priest, what would you? Do you really believe your lord will dare to stand against us, deny us this simple act of trade in peace and freedom? You’ve drawn your sword, sir. So have your followers. Should you not at least consult your god before you’re slain?”
He’d been trying to do exactly that. Indeed, his face was already blue from a muttering of his words. And nothing had happened. The “null” of the scoutship was stronger than I had supposed. The complexity of the magnetic field had in no way been affected.
The Lords of Om, especially the tall Lord Sernas, were observing this failure with glittering eyes.
“Would you say, sir,” I baited him further, “that your Dark One had deserted you? Or is it, perhaps, that in the presence of my own god-he has no power?”
“Damn your blasphemy!” His voice trembled with rage and hate.
At our own table, I sensed that the tension within my small group was already unbearable. I could see them, poised, hands on weapons; ready to move and instantly when I gave the signal. “Smile!” I’d told them. “Convince these Omnians of our confidence in ourselves. Be friendly, but haughty; arrogant, if you will. Above all, show no fear, lest we lose the battle before ever a sword is drawn.”
I’d not told them all I’d planned. I’d saved the final ploy for their moment of darkest peril….
“Yes!” I thundered at the priestwizard. “My own, the greatest of gods. His name is ORMON! He’s of the North. The very same who scourged the Dark One’s hordes from off the bloodied plain of far Dunguring. Did you think for a single second, Priest,” I asked contemptuously, “that I could stand here and call you foul fiend and oppressor of these noble lords if our ORMON was not more powerful? Call your Dark One now! Call him! I tell you, sir, you’ll get no answer.”
And try he did, while thirty knights and lords, plus his two acolytes stepped grayfaced to join him on the flagstones. The court watched silently. No breath stirred the humid air.
Time passed ‘till I laughed derisively and shouted, “A sandclock for our wizard! How long will he take? A minute? Five? Ten?” I put my hand to my hips and played the joyous clown, even signaled Rawl to toss me his skin of precious sviss, drank deep and tossed it back….
“Hey now!” I exclaimed to the petrified audience, “Look on him.” I pointed to the bulging eyes, the rapidly bluing face. “Is this the thing that’s held you all in thrall? His power’s gone, destroyed….”
With this last jibe, however, he could stand it no longer. His eyes rolled. White spittle damped the air around him. He seized the black disc which hung at his throat, howled gibberish to his followers. They moved to form a line of bared greatswords in front of him.
On cue and instantly Rawl leapt over the table to land, sword in hand, at my right side, as did Tober, Hargis, and Charney. The joy of battle shone from their eyes. Then, and light as woodnymphs in all their rainbow colors, Murie came, and Caroween; faldirks to their left hands, swords bared and gleaming.
There was a simultaneous stirring from the tables, for us! Already the miracle was happening! In ones, twos and threes, they stood up to pledge themselves, to us; to offer us the halts of their swords in silent supplication.
Some were already moving to leap the tables. Seeing which way the wind was blowing, I shouted, “Stay, brave Omnians! Allow us to deal with this priest-madman. He’s challenged us. We’ll challenge him!”
Thus I absolved them of the peril of this new, untrodden ground, and by so doing won them all, and more! But even as I spoke the faces nearest me blanched. A rippling chorus of horror swept the hall. Turning, I saw that our wizard had broken through: The black disc no doubt. A bubble protected his head and shoulders. It expanded ever so slowly. The light within it was a hellish red, to match his crimson robe. But then it stopped, and the pall of silence returned.
Knowing then that all his magic had come a cropper, he gave up-and did the final thing. He shouted: “Kill them!”
Drunk with my own arrogance, my boasting, I was caught napping. The lords literally hurled themselves across the space of twenty feet…. The first of the screaming, yornlike trio (he wore a birny of iron rings sewn to leather), brought his heavy blade in a sweep from across his shoulder to take my head. I moved fast to come up beneath it, intending to gut him. I slipped, ands fell! I had time only to catch his weapon, to turn the edge, no more. The flat of it came on, grazed my head. My face was instantly awash with blood. The room grew red then black before my eyes. I awoke seconds later flat on the rush-strewn flagstones, with the clash of steel-on-steel around me. I sought instantly to rise. But my howling shield-maiden (she’d thought me dead for sure), leaped to my back, and from there still higher so’s to plunge her sword in maddened fury straight through the beardringed teeth and skull of my supposed slayer.
“Die, you cursed bastard!” she screamed. “You’ve killed my lord! You’ve killed the Collin!” And than, as if her sword thrust were not enough, she shoved her faldirk with unbelievable strength right through sewn-plate and leathern hauberk to pierce the brute’s heart. She was immediately drenched with pumping blood.
Not knowing, I’d braced myself, preparing once more to rise. When she disengaged from the falling body, her foot touched my shoulder so that she lost balance, fell back upon me; whereon I shouted ungraciously, “By the fiends of hell, my princess, you do make it difficult for my sword to reach those sons-of-bitches!” I then helped her up while she stared at me, unbelieving.
The roar of battle was hellish tight around us. Wiping blood from my eyes so I could see, I took a moment to press upon my torn scalp to stanch the flow. I could have lasered the lot of them, but I would not. To have done so would, in the long run, have cost me more than I would gain. Not a single one of my stalwarts was down; not so the others. Twelve of theirs were slain, or so sorely wounded as to be incapacitated. Evan as I watched, Rawl, with a meaty bit of bravado, plunged his greatsword to the halt through the heart of the last of the trio of giants to shout: “From boasting, sir, I’ve shut your mouth full up!”
Young Charney, I noted, had just completed a similar thrust. And while Hargis protected his back, he stood on the man’s very feet so’s to get better purchase to withdraw his sword…. Griswall and Tober, the both of them bleeding from sundry wounds, advanced slowly on the wizard’s remaining twenty or so who, touched with the deadly fear of death, could now scarce stand to fight. Indeed, Griswall, with a lightening play of sword and faldirk, killed two more whilst I fumbled for the ion activating stone upon my belt.
I found it. And need I say that this time my fine meshed steel shone with a brilliance to match the sainted Galahad?
All action stopped. My four in front, seeing the tableau of my shining self, with Murie and Caroween to either side, simply made the sign of Ormon upon their breasts, and waited. I doubt not that for a single second they also thought I’d risen from the dead….
Horror had swept the hall at sight of the priestwizard’s bubble. Now, at sight of me, the glowing phoenix, there came a not unpleasant, whispered sighing, as of some great and soothing breeze.
The priestwizard, hearing it, screamed out, his face enpurpled, maddened. He’d recognized it for what it was-a first manifestation of timid belief in their new god, Ormon. He desperately tried to save himself.
“I call you now,” he shouted, “to join with me in the slaying of these apostates of our Darkest Majesty. And do you not, I promise you such a death as will live on in the memory of men wh
en the stones of this castle are sand ‘neath the feet of all true believers!”
He would have said more had I not interrupted. I’d stepped to the fore of my stalwarts, bidding them hold while I went on. Twelve paces I took, then stood, feet planted, to stare into the eyes of the two acolytes and the ten remaining lords. I said simply, “Throw down your swords, else give your souls right now to Ormon’s hell!”
Their faces drained of blood, their legs all trembling, the ten lords kept their swords, but fled behind the wizard. I let them go. Only the red-robed acolytes remained. They raised their weapons against me. But their hearts weren’t in it; their faith was gone. I reluctantly killed the two of them with a whistling blow to right and left. There was then no one but the priestwizard himself. He stood to oppose me. The bubble was still there, as a giant inverted flshbowl upon his shoulders. I sheathed my faldirk, taking the greatsword into my two hands as would a first millennia Terran Samurai. My blade, despite its weight, had a cutting edge to halve a pillow. I’d honed it to that perfection myself. The wizard screamed and whirled his greatsword clumsily…
And I did exactly what I’d told my stalwarts I would do. I simply stepped in, went to one knee-and laid open his middle to the very spine. In effect, I’d killed him in a way that no one who witnessed it would ever forget…
As he fell forward into the instant puddling of his own intestines, I sheathed my sword and held up my arms in a plea for all to watch. Upon which I lasered both the bubble and the head inside it so that all disappeared in a crackling blueness replete with an ozone smell to burn one’s nostrils.
And should I say that already the laser beam seemed weaker?
The ten lords who had foolishly kept their swords were then killed by any Omnians who could get at them first; among these our quite delighted young Sernas. Needless to say, I would not have had it so.
I’d risked the depleted laser beam for one reason only-to impress them with my magic where the Dark One’s had failed. I’d already won them with the contradictory promise of power and freedom. Now they would fear me too; long enough; I hoped, for me to do what had to be done.
Around us bedlam had claimed its own. How else can one describe the effect of the destruction of the emissary of an incarnate god, evil or otherwise, upon his erstwhile worshipers?
The atmosphere was mass insanity; directionless, purposeless-dangerous. They would not cease their shouting, their paeans of praise for me and mine; nor did they cease their drinking.
We returned to our seats at the high table first to drink deeply and then to rinse our faces and hands of blood and sweat while the bloodied corpses of the wizard-priest and his supporters were being dragged from the makeshift arena. At that point Lord Akin Sernas asked me the one question I had hoped to avoid.
“My Lord,” he queried bluntly, “when your princess slew Lord Gol-Tais, thinking he’d killed you, she was heard by all to shout: ‘You’ve killed the Collin!’ What, sir, did she mean by that?”
I looked at him querulously, hoping still to put him off. “Does it really matter?”
He frowned and bowed his head obsequiously.
But a second lord intervened. He was smiling but the challenge behind his eyes was hardly veiled. He said, “Tis that we’ve heard of the Collin, sir.”
A large group of the most important lords of Om had now joined us at the high table.
Their splendor in dress, their poise, their demeanor, all suggested that here, whether I liked it or not, was the only general staff I’d have to work with in the coming hours. Sernas’
question had been their question, actually; it demanded an answer.
I sensed my seven swords going all tense again around me. Murie’d placed her hand lightly upon my forearm. Since they were in the most part standing, we too arose.
I said, “I am also known by the name of Collin.”
“What then of the other?” Sernas asked-“that you are a prince of the Selig Isles?”
I smiled. “In the Seligs, sirs, all men are princes.”
Sernas’ brow darkened. He ventured angrily, “You jest. No matter, for we’ve seen your power, my lord. But you should know, sir, that we’ve no desire to - exchange one master for another. Be ye wizard, god, or devil, it is not right to cozen us.”
The ring of bearded, black-browed faces nodded seriously, giving each other courage. I was reminded of an Adjuster axiom: that slaves, once freed, quite often attack the limited controls of their saviors with a courage never shown their true oppressors….
“What would you, then?” I demanded. “Nothing’s changed. The question of free trade remains-jointiy administered ‘twixt North and South. I can arrange it.”
“And it we choose to do it on our own?”
“So be it. You’ll be the loser by your stubbornness.”
There was a muttering at that and they would have gone on but I continued, saying, “I think me, sirs, that there’s something you’ve overlooked-in your greed.”
They waited, an island of silence in a sea of shouting chaos.
“The Dark One still lives, sirs. And in the few hours ‘twixt now and daylight he will have learned of the plea of his priestwizard-the aid which you denied him. The Kaleen’s the unforgiving sort, I’m told. How did your wizard say it? That you will be put to death in such a way-“
“Nay, prince.” Lord Sernas raised a hand, while the others paled. “We remember it all too well. Indeed, we’re not children, sir, and we know that the battle’s just begun. ‘Tis that we had a need to tell you what we did.”
I shrugged. “Relax. I’ve no desire to be your master; nor would the countries of the North. A man is free who keeps his freedom with the sword. You’ve yet to earn your’s. In this we’ll help, for ‘tis in our interest to do so. After? Well, afterwards, sirs, we’ll live in peace without the help of wizards….
They seemed to literally chew on that, with a sigh or two and a rustling of armor. Lord Sernas finally said, “So be it! What now, Prince of Selig?” He’d adroitly transferred responsibility to me.
I laughed. “Prepare for battle. And you’ve not much time. Don’t wait for the Dark One’s anger. Send now for all those not yet gathered who can wield a sword. By dawn’s light, sirs; no later, you should have this army already on the march to Hish. There’ll be no time for drawn-out tactics and strategy. One blow will do it all-and if we lose, we lose. How many can you rally?”
“All told, in the time allotted-twenty thousand at best.”
“Good. Then we have a chance. Indeed, if that were not so, we would not be here.
But whatever the odds, they will still be based on honest battle, and if but one captain shirks his duty-“
Again there was a rustle of swords at my implication. But Sernas-he’d been staring at me as would a Loki to an Aesir-simply threw his head and laughed.
“By whatever gods you serve, my prince,” he managed, when he’d wiped the tears from his bulbous eyes, “you’ve caught us fair. Indeed, Cares, or Collin, you’ve set us up.
We’ve nowhere else to go now-save to follow you!”
There were lords and barons though who’d still have fought us, in anger that they’d been tricked. Some reached for their swords to do exactly that-as did my seven, to defend ourselves. But Sernas dissuaded them, roaring: “Have done with nonsense! We have to fight, no matter what. Better this prince be with us than against us. ‘Tis our only chance. ‘Tis also true that if we win, we win our souls, and if we lose-“
But that was it. A majority grasped their sword hafts and pledged themselves on the spot, followed then by the others.
We settled to the job of it. Maps were produced amid all the howling and the drinking, and couriers of the four hundred lords and barons were sent post haste through the still raging storm to every fortress, keep, or great estate, summoning all men-at-arms and warriors to rally on Castle Sernas. Each man was to be mounted. Moreover, as per my orders, all dottles penned or in the fields were to be taken along. These
would be, hopefully, for my thirty thousand Marackians. When asked the reason, I answered simply “‘Tis a surprise, sirs, for when we’ll need it most.”
With each order issued the battle fervor of my lordlings mounted. The promise of bloody carnage, especially its preparation, forever elicits an almost childlike enthusiasm among humanoids. The release of adrenaline brings a glint to the eye, a spring to the step-and subliminal, emotional flashes of omnipotence and righteousness. Oft’ times even the most placid is metamorphosed to a raging tiger, kaati, meeg-all thirsting for blood.
And so it was at great Castle Sernas. I egged it on, orchestrated it, actually. Indeed, I gave a speech remembered from my studies at Foundation Center. The original was designed, as some Terran war chronicler put it, “to make the very dead fall into line.” I succeeded to such a degree that I was psyched by my own rhetoric. At one point my eyes were seen to flash (contact control), my pulses rose, and my face flushed a bright red. When I finished, to thunderous applause, Murie, o’erwhelmed with the sheer macho of it, seized me in her arms in an uncontrolled display of aroused passion.
Her beauty; indeed, her obvious, downright lust, was so apparent to all who watched that the very walls were like to split from their shouts and applause.
But then something happened to put all my panegyrics to shame. In the midst of that ongoing cacophony of six hundred shouting voices there appeared the unexpected, the catalyst to gel our Omnian anarchy into something manageable-Hooli!
He was just suddenly there! In the open space where we had fought. And he was accompanied by four facsimiles, one with a circle around one eye. Hooli, of course wore his tam-and a single blue bootie.
My seven exclaimed in awe; Rawl crying aloud, “By the gods, Collin, the power of Marack has come to Om. Look! Jindil is there too.”
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