At that very moment I was caught up beneath the armpits from either side by the strong arms of Griswall and Rawl. They whirled in a cloud of dust beneath a first flight of Omnian arrows, to carry me back across that broad expanse of bloodied field.
The cheering from our ranks was thunderous, and our lords were hard put to hold our stalwarts from charging Om head-on, so great was their enthusiasm.
And even as we rode into our lines—and though I was never one to believe in coincidence—there was a sunburst ray of yellow through those dark clouds to the south. And through that golden slot came Great Ap, Murie, and Caroween. And they flew the banners of Marack and the Dernim Tulip. … I hadn’t the slightest doubt that Hooli and his friends had provided the “slot” in the clouds.
My head was spinning from both the battle and the pounding congratulations from all on Marack’s hill. I still had time to think, Great Gods! The deus ex machina has come to Camelot1 In the sometimes ridiculous history of planets, there will be nothing to equal this!
We arrived on the hill simultaneously, Great Ap and me. And Murie ran to me, and Caroween to Rawl. As Great Ap lidded his eyes while we “rubbed and clasped,” from across the plain four thousand kettledrums began their martial beat. The massed armies of Om had no longer anything to wait for. Under the command of the five black-cowled wizards they were moving toward us. Their drums, I need hardly add, were answered instantly by our own great drums and trumpets, and by the skirling of a hundred pipes from every hill.
Murie had kissed me, holding my head in both her hands— and I did likewise. But time was short and I pulled her to me and glanced at Great Ap over her delectable shoulder. I threw out a thought to the Vuun who crouched prone upon our center hillcrest (all had withdrawn to give his leathery carcass purchase). “Great Ap,” I said. “You have been true to our bargain. Now tell me, what says the thing of Hish at your withdrawal from his cause?”
“He is sore angry, Man. He threatens an end to life for all our creatures. But we do not fear him, for he is yet weak.”
“There’s no time for talk as you can plainly see,” I told him. “But will you welcome me, and do I come again?”
“Indeed we shall, and come you not with your mating animal.”
“Hey, now, Great Ap!” I began angrily, but shrugged and said instead, “So go you now with our friendship. For if you do not, and instantly, you soon will be in the midst of the blood which you abhor. And, too, we would save you from the danger of the flights of arrows.”
“I will go then, and you will seek me out—if you conquer.”
“I promise you—and we will conquer!”
“We shall see.”
And upon that, Great Ap sprang into the now sulfurous air, and with six beats of his mighty wings he was again aloft and away.
“My lord,” Murie said against my chest, “had you converse with him? You looked as if you were away.”
“Yes,” I said. I tightened my arm about her slender figure. “And do you not forget that, despite all, he was still your friend—well, almost so. Now help me to doff this armor. For I fear that I will not be much for the battle.”
Murie examined me closely, saw my condition, grew big-eyed, determined. From her dainty lips orders rang out, and I was soon bereft of steel and padded shirt so that my right side, which was awash with blood, could be tended. I demanded that I be seated so as to watch all that would take place. They complied and I was padded about with cushions in the king’s own chair. I held the captured great sword of Om across my knees. The king stood at my back. And Rawl and Charney and Tober, and Murie and Caroween (both in small armor now), and all the lords and knights of the king’s own council and guard were gathered close to direct this battle, and to see to its end. I knew that the spot upon which I sat would be taken only if all this gallant company were slain… .
There then advanced against us all the chivalry of the Omnian allies, plus the Yorns—the janissaries of dark Om. They came as a great iron wave against the three hills. First their mounted knights and men-at-arms—of which they had only as many as we, since they had not dottles for the mounting. These charged to meet our lances; but our lances withdrew to either side of the hills. And our archers laid upon them such a rain of arrows as to darken the skies. A full quarter of their saddles were emptied before they ever reached the protection of their infantry.
And then our mounted warriors charged, coming out in six groupings from the slopes of the three hills, to smash the flanks of the three great infantry armies. They rode into them with lance and sword to slow then” charge, to destroy, and then to retreat, suffering as little damage as possible.
There were fantastic feats of heroism upon that field. Whole squadrons of our men would be cut off in the flank charges; cut off, surrounded, and slain. And oftentimes the plumes of the young warriors—of Ferlach, Marack, and Gheese—would seem to float, as if upon a sea of armor, only to falter, drop, and disappear from sight.
Then, as per plan, our mounted knights withdrew to our left—since we had noted that theirs had withdrawn to the right. And once this was done the Omnian footmen and Yorns advanced upon our pikemen at the hill’s base. Again they were met with a cloud of arrows. And again, to our left—where Chitar and Hoggle-Fitz fought—there did advance our thousand mounted archers. These poured flight after flight of arrows at close range into their mass of soldiery.
When the archers withdrew, and before this infantry had time to steady itself, they were hit hard by our twenty-five thousand remaining mounted armor. The effect was devastating. The entire Omnian right flank hesitated, crumbled, and fell back across that bloodied ground.
To our right, in the area of King Draslich’s hill, all went .not so well. There, other than the king’s own squadrons of knights and lords, all was pike, sword, and arrow. And all were surrounded now by a full fifty thousand warriors of Kelb and Om. On the hill’s slope nearest ours—and still too far for an arrow’s flight—were the colors of Harlach, king of Kelb, and the black-browed Keilweir, his son. These advanced against Draslich’s final line, cutting their way through the bodies of hundreds of Ferlach’s finest. Draslich’ held. But it seemed that he wouldn’t for long. And though each minute saw terrible losses to the attacking Omnians, so was it with Draslich also.
It was then that Sir Rawl, Sir Griswall, and the lord Krees of Klimpinge begged leave to take the king’s two thousand knights, held in reserve, to cut a way to Draslich, and thus bring him and all who could be saved from that blood-soaked hill. Permission granted, it took but seconds for those two thousand to stream to the aid of Draslich, so well trained were Fregisian warriors.
I watched the drama unfold. Murie stood at my back, small hands upon my neck and shoulders. Caroween, as she had sworn she would, had ridden to battle with Rawl. And the banners of the Dernim Tulip—so evident on our left where Hoggle-Fitz fought—were now with Rawl’s three scarlet bars on Draslich’s hill.
I think that Rawl had had other purpose than just to rescue Draslich. He had thought strongly on that battle in Goolbie’s courtyard and the abduction of his lady; he had a score to settle. Both the king and the prince of Kelb did die that day. And Keilweir at Rawl’s hands. Kelb did thereby gain her freedom.
Marack’s two thousand seemed inspired. They never once stopped, but rather cleaved their way through the very heart of that weighty mass of metal, hewing and hacking so vigorously that none could stand before them. It was the lord Krees of Klimpinge who cut down the Kelbian king. The fight was bloody but short. And when Krees held Harlach’s head above those bloodied slopes, Keilweir, maddened still further by the sight—if such could be possible—went berserk. He laid about him in such frenzy as to slay two of his own before Rawl’s sword cut him down in turn, severing his head and sword arm before all that swarming host
Then contact was achieved with Draslich’s remnants, so that all together beat a fighting retreat to our hill, carving their way again through that mass of Om’s warriors. Of Rawl’
s two thousand, he brought back but fifteen hundred. Of Draslich’s fifteen thousand, but six thousand lived to join our redoubt
The “conquering” enemy, however, were content to stay upon their captured hill, which was their great mistake. Had they rushed their remaining fifteen thousand to join with Seligal and Kerch before our hill, we might have been overrun. But such was not the case. Like the reluctant Ortmundian warriors on our left—who had contributed largely to the rout of that flank—they, too, were denying Om their strength at this critical moment
Below our hill and to its front there raged a battle between our twenty thousand and a full thirty thousand warriors of Seligal and Kerch; amid these the banners of the great lords Roume-Fir and Fousten, of those allied countries, were most prominent But they had yet to break our line. Indeed, they had hardly forced it.
But now, as if to bring things to a final denouement, there advanced across that plain the black-armored soldiery that I had seen yesterday, and today. The pride of Om, and the very flower of Hish. They had as yet to see battle. They were fresh, rested. They were also seasoned warriors who, among all that great host, believed most strongly in their cause. They were fifty thousand men. And in their front ranks rode their black-cowled wizards. I had time to wonder and to suggest to Murie that perhaps those cowls were akin to the armor of Gol-Bades—that there might be nothing beneath them.
On our left, the lord Breen Hoggle-Fitz, seeing his advantage, had ridden out to parley with the dissident Ortmundians. He told me later that he figured that even if he could not talk them into switching, he would at least hold them from battle. I worried at the time, however, that they would turn on him, and take his life. But even as Fitz parleyed, the burly leader had shifted his three thousand archers to join our own. Indeed, his twelve thousand pikemen and spearmen were poised to do exactly the same thing; still, and hovering on our left flank, was the entire strength of our mounted knights and lords… . Great Gods! I wondered. Did not Om see this? Was the Kaleen so blind to what could happen? Evidently he was! Either that or contact with alien life was so tenuous, really, that he was incapable of understanding its complexities —inclusive of its tactics in war and peace.
Unless the Omnian flanks joined quickly in the advance of the Hishian soldiery, there was an even chance that we could smash this onslaught. I noted that the distance between Chitar’s force and ours was half again less than the distance from Chitar’s hill to the warriors with whom Hoggle was talking. It was quite evident to me that Chitar was readying his men to come to our aid.
The commanders of Om threw out a heavy screen of riders to cut down our archers. But a few thousand of our lancers rode these down at full charge. The enemy continued to advance, however, slowly, inexorably. … In a way, Seligal and Kerch did Om no favors. For upon the approach of these fresh thousands, they fell back to either flank and left the center open. The Omnian mass had barely moved into this vacuum when they were met with great flights of arrows from our hill’s base—aimed solely at them. None were wasted longer on Seligal or Kerch. Which, when you think about it, was excellent psychology, since the warriors of these two nations were instantly aware that a lessening of their own fervor in battle would guarantee that Om receive the greater punishment.
And then the Mishian warriors charged. And if there had been carnage before, the base of the hill now ran red with blood. Over it all were the constant drums and the mad skirling. Once the battle had been joined with Om’s main force, Caronne ordered all archers to shift to the right to ward off the Kelbian-Omnian forces from that direction, should they stir off Draslich’s hill; or to feather Omnian cavalry, should their remnants charge. In the meantime, Chitar, judging that those with whom Hoggle-Fitz parleyed would be delayed by their very distance in attacking him, came directly to the aid of Marack’s hill. Chitar smashed into Om’s flank with all his strength.
And suddenly, except for Murie who stood next to me, bared sword in hand—my shield maiden—I was alone upon that hill. The lords and knights of Caronne’s council had all gone down to enter battle. And every lackey and cook went with them. It would never be said that Caronne, among all those kings, sat idle throughout the final battle of Dunguring plain… .
I followed their proud banners with my eyes. The king’s great standard of a Winged Castle upon a purple field. The Oak Tree of Draslich, the Blue Birds of Fell-Holdt of Svoss, the Riven Shield of Al-Tils, son of Fel-Tils of Saks in Gheese; the gonfalons of Klimpinge, Bist, Fleege, Keeng, and of the provinces of Ferlach and Gheese—all the brave banners!
Did I say I was alone with Murie? Well, we were, but not quite. Fairwyn was there, and Plati and Gaazi. They were doing their best to see (from a distance) that no harm came to their kings, though it was doubtful that their spells would prevail in the midst of such carnage. I suggested to them, quite forcefully, that their powers could best be used against those black cowls of Hish, whose very presence was an abomination.
They joined forces for this purpose and had some degree of success—for one cowl at Om’s center went up in flames of a strange and greenish hue… .
What can one say, really, of such a melee? Before me at the base of the hill, and stretching as far as the eye could see, was an ocean of swords, axes, spears, and shields, all rising and falling. The screaming of the wounded and the dying was as an incessant ululation, so predominant was the sound. And parallel with it were the usual shouts and cries of battle, and the pipes and the kettledrums.
From far to our right we heard the distant “A -la-la-la! A-la-la-la- A-la-la-la!” of a small, stouthearted band who had been cut off and were fighting to the death. And Murie turned to me with a shake of her golden-wreathed head to dash the tears from her purple eyes. The chant reminded her, no doubt, of our fight at Goolbie’s keep. And I think her tears were in memory of skinny Ongus… .
And then a wave of yelling from far off to our left. It came as a shout for Hoggle-Fitz and for Great Ortmund! We were not to learn until later that Fitz had challenged and slain the false king, Feglyn, before the very eyes of the Ortmundian host. They then vowed to follow him to the rescue of Marack. But it was not to be. For in their forward movement they were in turn attacked by the remnants of Om’s right flank, which had been with them from the beginning—a full thirty thousand warriors of Seligal and Kerch.
Until the end our good Breen Hoggle-Fitz had all he could do to hold his own.
Twice they drove us back so that it seemed to me that they would overrun our hill. But each time they were driven off. And through the two hours of noon they fought so that one wondered how any man could still lift sword and hold shield. One thing became quite obvious, though—if we had not lost, Om had certainly not won! And Om would not be given a second chance.
Two things happened then. And when I think back on it, both were expected; overdue, in fact. We would have been fools to think otherwise. The rationale, of course, is that one, is never quite sure before the fact… . The clouds, gray-black, grew blacker still. A roaring then seemed to fill the very heavens. It decreased to a thrumming such as I had heard twice before: on the south road two weeks before, and at Goolbie’s keep.
Then the roaring returned. And all that I had heard before was as nothing compared to it. I arose in absolute horror, clutching Murie to me, throwing a null-magnetic field instantly around the both of us. “By Great Ormon!” I shouted to the three sorcerers. “If you would live, know, sirs, that the thing of Hish, the thing of Om, has come to us—is with us now! If there are spells or enchantments to counter this— use them! If there are not, then indeed are we doomed, and all our efforts lost. Now tell me! What will you do?”
“What would you have us do?” Fairwyn cried. He stood paralyzed, seemingly helpless, as were his two quite terrified cohorts. “We have no power against this.”
“Tis as he says,” Gaazi moaned, “and, we are indeed doomed.”
“But you know of this magic,” I shouted. “I, myself, have been its victim twice.”
&n
bsp; “Aye. We know of it. But not at such a level of strength,” Fairwyn replied.
“Could you have bested that of the lady Elioseen?”
“Aye.”
“Then the three of you together, you can try!”
“Yes,” Plati whispered, looking at the others. “We can try.”
“Try now then, damn it!” I literally screamed at them. “It gets worse. Do you understand? There is no time to lose!”
And so they tried. And I could tell by their very movements that the first twinges of paralysis were beginning to reach them. I, too, had not thought the thing of Hish to have such power as to match himself against the entire life-strength of the north. If he succeeded … in my mind’s eye I could see these entire five square miles filled with the slaughtered. A complete generation of males would have disappeared from the northlands.
And around us now, on the hilltop, were groups of wounded who had escaped the battle below. They looked to me in terror. I watched them closely, steadily. So far the paralysis seemed not to have gained, though the sound around us—as of a thousand banshees—still prevailed. I looked to our three sorcerers where they stood in a row on the hill’s crest. Their hands were clasped and they screamed their words against the banshee keening, and the first drops of rain fell from those lowering clouds. And they kept shouting them over and over and over again, so that their words became a sound beat, too, and the beat became a song—and the song was amplified! I lifted my eyes to those rainclouds and that terrible keening. And this time, because I faced to the rear, I saw our hundred-foot ridge in the passing. And there on that ridge, perched lazily on the rumps of five dottles—including Henery with a bandaged ear-stump—were Hooli, Pawbi, Jindil, Chuuk, and Dakhti. And even as Murie and I shifted our gaze from the Pug-Boos to our three screaming sorcerers, and back to the Boos, and back to the sorcerers, the keening and the thrumming died. And the first tiny fingers of paralysis seemed to leave them.
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