Camelot in Orbit

by Arthur H. Landis

Lord Uurs of Klimpinge, a smiling visage of darksome plot, rose instantly to acclaim the words of Rondin-and Kol-Rebis too, and Caril. The latter’s face was so twisted in a grotesquerie of hate that I wondered that those around me seemed not to see what I saw.

  They stood to cheer and to shout and clap for the “Collin.” Need it be said that the whole hall followed suit?

  I’d been right! A diversion was in motion right now. Though the Dark One had expected me to be dead, sucked dry by that damned meeeg, he could still tie my hands-and along with me, Marack’s army, in an unending, useless battle with dead men.

  The shouting was sufficient to cause a guttering of the winter candles. Strange shadows flew and writhed on walls and ceilings. It was a beauteous and fearful sight, that wintry hall; that seated mass of warriors, knights, and ladies. It was an arras blown with snow-smells, the perfume of conifers; of wax, cooked animals, sweat-and from some, the pungent smell of awful fear.

  Neat! Oh so neat a trap! Except it was set for Fregisians, not Terran Adjusters. I’d change it all right now. I stepped to Fitz, bent to his hairy ear and spelled out precisely what I wanted. He looked to me in awe, groaned hoarsely, “Vuuns, my lord: our thirty thousand?

  Well, then we’ll see to it, Fel-Holdt and me!”

  Upon which I arose to the still thundering acclaim around me and held high my hands to the king. “Sire,” I cried, “I’ve a question. If Kelb’s attacked, what then of Ferlach, Gheese, and Great Ortmund? Have we had couriers from these lands? Do corpse-men walk upon their roads, besiege their cities? ‘Tis a thing to know. Moreover, Sire, in this last respect, since our good Lord of Great Ortmund, Breen Hoggle-Fitz of Durst, leaves at dawn’s light for that fair country to check it out. He’ll stop at Gortfin first to lend a hand if need be….”

  “Nay!” roared Hoggle-Fitz on cue, whilst rising to his feet. “I’ll not wait for dawn’s light.

  I’ll ride the night, too, sirs! And I do petition my friend and colleague, Fel-Holdt, to ride with me and to command the king’s army in this affair. For I submit, my lords, that though I love our Collin, Marack’s army should be led by Marack’s Marshall….”

  “Would you demean our risen savior?” The spittle flew with the instant shriek from Rondin’s mouth.

  By the gods, we had him!

  “Nay, nay, good Gen!” I called. “In no way doth our Lord of Ortmund demean me. I’d remind you, sir, that our Lord of Svoss is commander by right and not by accident. He’s a proven strategist, the best we have. And besides, sirs, I ride to Ferlach and Gheese with Sir Rawl Fergis. Those goodly kings, Chitar and Draslich must still be warned.” I then deliberately: spread my arms as if to encompass all within that hall and cried, “And I do assure my friend, the Lord of Rondin, that if aught befalls our army at Corchoon, I’l join them there…. He can count on it!”

  They cheered for that too and clapped again. Indeed, when Gen had asked that I command Marack’s forces, my student-warriors had leapt to their feet to offer their swords.

  Now they volunteered to accompany me south. I could see Griswall restraining them.

  Catching his eye, I beckoned him to me.

  A glance at Rondin showed him staring to Fairwyn. And that worthy, back from wherever he’d been, simply smiled. They both looked to the king who chose to ignore them, reaching instead for his flagon of sviss.

  Since I wasn’t meeeg-meat, they’d wanted me in Kelb. Still, they seemed not unhappy now that both Fel-Holdt and Fitz would be out of the way whilst I, with Rawl, would be off to the countries of the southwest. I’m sure they still thought they could plan some sort of entrapment-except, of course, we’d be in neither Ferlach nor Gheese. Nor would the Marackian army march to Kelb! I’d given Fitz his orders.

  I felt quite smug about it.

  The king arose to duly thank the heralds, his voice low, monotone. He then sent them to the warrior’s room of the chirurgeons, masseurs, and gnostics, to be bathed, massaged, and tended. He promised an early audience on the morrow.

  It was agreed then that Fel-Holdt would command. The discussion of tactics began,

  ‘neath a pall of gloom. Normally a call to battle, border skirmish, punitive expedition, or the like was cause for wassail. But now the fighting would be with the corpse-men, and there was no joy. The canons of northern chivalry had no writ for such as this. There would be no glory, only horror. The expression of each warrior and knight was of disgust, repugnance, unease. Most simply wished to be somewhere else-and not from fear.

  I told Rawl what Fitz would do. I told Griswall too, when he came to our table; also that he should prepare the mounts for our party and to somehow keep those hundred student warriors at arms and ready-until we were safely on our way.

  To my left, stout Hoggle, with a Fregisian’s mercurial ability to dispense with worry once a solution had been offered to a problem, leaned across his daughter’s pert slenderness to discourse with Rawl on the powers of exorcism as being done to a dead-alive in Ortmund.

  “But the man was a charlatan,” Fitz roared to the bored Sir Fergis. “Though a taker of drugs, he was alive as you and me.”

  Rawl screwed up his eyes. “Did he actually lay claim to being a dead-alive?”

  “Nay,” Fitz said. “‘Twas that he was accused.”

  “Then he was no charlatan.”

  “But indeed he was, sir,” Hoggle shouted.

  “You say ‘accused.’ How then, sir? ‘Twas no idea of his?”

  “Why the guilt’s clear. He acted thusly, when actually he wasn’t. That’s when the priest was called.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? To drive the demon from him. And I must say that our good priest of Dernim Church arrived none too soon.”

  “What demon, sir?”

  “The one that made him take the tistle-weed, the drug.”

  “Then surely,” Rawl opined, grinning widely, “if he’d not himself laid claim to being a corpse-man; if in fact a demon had made him take the weed in the first place-then how, sir, can he be called a charlatan?”

  Hoggle-Fitz breathed deeply at that and batted his large and bulbous eyes. He finally said sternly to Caroween, “Keep a close rein on this one, my dear. He has much to learn and I’d not see you burdened with the foolishments of an addlepate.”

  “Your pardon, father-in-law to be,” Rawl said with a straight face. “‘Tis as the world knows, I’ve only that of the ‘sviss’ to my credit…”

  Hoggle guffawed. “Would you could do it with water, sirrah! A well’s oft’ more handy than a mooly-gog’s udder.” He arose then to make his arrangements with Fel-Holdt for departure, pausing to whisper in my ear. “What we do, Collin,” he said, “is rebellion. If you’re wrong, ‘twill mean our lives.”

  “‘Tis no rebellion,” I replied shortly. “The king’s a captive now. Believe me. We’ll come to you, my lord. You can count on it.”

  He breathed deeply, pressed my shoulder and continued to his task. Upon which, Murie, no longer able to contain herself, pulled my face around to stare into my eyes. She: hissed, “All right, my love, you’ll tell me now what I must know-right now!”

  Beneath the table my hand quick-grasped her silky thigh, moved up to her silky belly.

  “Hey,” I said. “My every thought’s for you. You know that.”

  “Hey, yourself. And I do not know that.”

  “Some things are not easily explained, here-and there’s little time.”

  “Well try, you bastard!” Her blue eyes were flashing fire. For a second I thought he’d got her, the Dark One. But we were still on “null”

  I put my mouth to a delicately pointed ear as if to kiss her. Instead I whispered, “List well, my love. Though I’ve volunteered to go with Rawl to Gheese and Ferlach, we’ll not be going there.”

  A surge had begun toward the entrance to the hall. More and more followed; each first bending the knee to the king. The thing of the corpse-men was oppressive, a thing they knew not how to deal with. Many were off to the temp
les in the city below to purchase spells and amulets from the priests, and to pray, perhaps, that a loved one was not among the risen dead, I watched from the corner of one eye as some of the finest knights In Marack made bold to take their leave….

  Murie’d lifted her chin. “Is my father, at least, to know your destination?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “By the gods, Collin, you tell me nothing.”

  “I mean to see you shortly, when we’ve retired.”

  A smattering of applause swept the tables. We rose with the others to bow our heads to the queen’s passing. Some of her ladies followed-a signal for Murie and Caroween. Rawl captured Caroween’s hands against her departure.

  Murle’s eyes searched mine. “Do you mean in my rooms?”

  “Or in mine.”

  She frowned, then licked her lips thoughtfully. “By Ormon, love, you’re suddenly waxing bolder. Could it be,” and she raised an appraising eyebrow-“that what’s been needed is a small crisis to stir your ballocks?”

  I could only look at her and gape-stupidly.

  ‘Well, really,” she said, with a certain accusing testiness alluding obviously to the fact that we’d not bedded since the posting of banns, “Where have you been?” And since we’d both risen, she stood on tiptoe to brush my lips with hers and to laugh and to seize Caroween’s hand and follow in the wake of the queen.

  I stared after her, helpless, damning my conditioned adherence to protocol-my idiot abstinence. And she had the effrontery, the absolute gall to pause, look back, and make a moue.

  A moue, to the uninitiated, is an expression, a weapon, really, used only by the female of the species. Supposedly it absolves them of responsibility for anything…. Beyond the petulant grimace, as it is so described by the dictionary, a moue is actually the alpha and the omega of insouciance. It is, in the archaic, the facial expression of “Not tonight, Henry!” “Go to your room!” and, “Oh, it’s you!”

  By the gods! I thought, if I was off to die in the Dark One’s city, and there was every chance that I would, I’d sure as hell not was not going to leave her here. “Stop them, Rawl,” I said flatly, “and hold them ‘til I return.”

  He left instantly to do my bidding, whilst I hurried to the group around the king. “Sire,” I said, when I’d shouldered my way through the press of bodies, “I’ll take my leave, too, since your nephew and myself will be leaving at the same time as our Lords of Svoss and Ortmund.”

  He studied me thoughtfully, sadly; or so it seemed. The glowering Gen-Rondin and the reedy Fairwyn flanked him on either side. The number of castle guards behind the “high table” seemed larger than usual. A thought, transient but by no means alien, touched my mind: How easy it would be to kill all our enemies right now! And save the king! But it wasn’t that easy, and I knew it. And even if I won, exactly what would I have gained? Nyet! The idea itself was distraction; for all was created toward one end-to allow for time; to allow for the Dark One to do whatever he had to do. And that “whatever” was what it was all about. And I, by the gods, would stop him. The field was Hish, not Glagmaron!

  The king was saying softly, “I would that the waiting was over, Sir Lenti; that my daughter and yourself were safely wed.”

  I answered lightly, ‘Were that the case, Sire, I’d take her with me. There’s no finer rider in all of Marack than the princess.”

  “Well then.” He forced a hollow laugh. “Were I the gallant, I’d take her anyway. Where should a princess be, but at the side of her consort.” His eyes lifted, stared hard into mine….

  I’d received a command, and I knew it.

  I grinned broadly to show myself in favor of the “joke,” said quickly, ‘Well, if I had not such fear of my lady’s ‘maiden’ wrath, Sire, I’d do just that.”

  The Lords Al-Tils and Gen-Gaios both clapped at this, midst a smattering of laughter.

  Hoggle had joined me too. I glanced toward Rondin and Fairwyn as myself and the Lord of Ortmund bent a final knee. The aged sorcerer was whispering “words,” his eyes glaring blackly at Fitz and me. I laughed aloud-and glared right back. I no longer cared that he knew that I knew. A “mind control” he couldn’t do. “Null” served us well-and I mean each person within the hall not yet controlled. They could send the guard against me. But I doubted much that the Dark One was ready to accept such a tactic, just yet….

  I said softly to Fitz, “Return quickly to Fel-Holdt. Do not leave his side again ‘til you’re safe at Gortfin Castle. Tell him what you will, but leave now. For the moment you have the Important job-to secure the army for Marack and the North!”

  He nodded, made the triple-circle upon his chest.

  “A last thing,” I murmured. “I’ve the king’s order to take his daughter with me. With your permission, I’ll take yours too.”

  “By the gods, Collin!” he exclaimed-his breath, right in my face, would melt a jousting lance-“do you remember where you go?”

  “Wherever I go, old friend, your Caroween is safest, and she be with me.”

  At that he crushed my hand with his, shed instant tears, and spun upon his heel to return to Fel-Holdt.

  Not wasting a second I returned to my trio, telling them the plan had changed: “An order from the king. You’ll come with us, Murie, Caroween; right now! We leave before the hour’s through-light armor, furs; nought else. We’ll meet in the courtyard. If there’s the slightest hint of danger, don’t wait. Come direct to us…. That too is an order.”

  “And my father?” the hothead Caroween asked.

  “What else? He sends his love.”

  Her eyes brimmed too with instant tears. They left hurriedly then to bid the queen good night. I saw with some satisfaction that Fitz and Fel-Holdt–the latter with a following of five swordsmen and Fitz with his tableful of Ortmundian stalwarts-were also leaving. Rawl deftly snatched a bottle whilst we collected our cloaks, and we too left the hall.

  In his apartment, on the same level as mine, we acted as each other’s squire in donning gear. I’d sent a lackey to alert Griswall. Each fumbling second was like a minute for I doubted much that the Dark One would allow us to leave without some attempt; especially since I had the odd premonition that he, through his surrogates, now knew that the princess would leave with me. We had to get to the scoutship immediately. Without it, in the vernacular of the archaic, we’d really be “in the soup.”

  Within thirty minutes we were armed, cloaked, packed and ready; still we took an extra minute or so to toast each other with the last of the sviss. I was not at all surprised, therefore, when we finally entered the courtyard to find Fitz, Fel-Holdt and all their entourage already mounted. Moreover, their departure awaited but the opening of the gates. Fitz, shouting, blaspheming-no contradiction, for even his blasphemy was a form of prayer-was hurrying the guards to do just that.

  I walked direct to the Lord of Svoss, gave him my hand and said bluntly: “Trust my Lord of Ortmund, sir. He’s the king’s man ere he’ll ever himself be king. Be assured too, that the fate of Marack will certainly depend upon your arms. Stay to Gortfln! You’ll hear from us directly!”

  The stern and sharp-faced marshall made the triple-circle and cross upon his mailed chest. He answered briefly, but from the depths of his being: “May the gods be with us all tonight, Sir Lenti.” He looked toward the gates.

  They were opening amid echoing shouts of guards from those other gates of the outer walls. I glanced quickly to the myriad torches lighting the broad steps to the oaken doors of the entrance. Murie and Caroween were as yet nowhere in sight. We mounted up.

  With the two girls we’d number eight. Griswall and our three swordsmen had brought a herd of twenty-four dottles to supplement our personal mounts.

  Small chance their knowing that we would ride but twenty miles.

  Seeing us, Hoggle-Fitz rode hastily back. His huge dottle, Alphus, reared upon four of its six legs while its fore-pair pawed the frozen air.

  “Do you leave with us, Collin,” he shouted,
causing his Alphus to stomp in a half circle. “If not, I bid you good journey now.” Both he and Fel-Holdt were equally impressive in cloaked mail and towering helms. Greatswords and shields were slung to their backs. Fitz had managed a running herd of better than two hundred dottles.

  Excepting the night and the two four-hour dottle grazing periods, all Northern warriors rode straight through to wherever they were going; thus the practice of an accompanying herd, or pack. The stamina of mount and man was a thing to see. I had twice the strength of any Fregisian, Terra having double the mass of Fregis-Camelot. But I’d not their staying power. At the end of any lengthy trip I was a mess; whereas they were fresh, ready for anything. Indeed, my riding weakness had long been known In joke as the Collin’s “curse.”

  Much sport was made of it.

  I sat astride a fully recovered Henery. He’d also been my mount when I’d fought the Kaleen’s champion, the great Gol-Bades, on the field of Dunguring. I’d won. But poor Henery had lost an ear, for which he’d never forgiven me. Now Henery reared to Alphus. And he too waved his foremost set of doggy-paws-a dottle greeting.

  “Nay, sir,” I yelled to Hoggle’s question, “we’ve to wait, as you can see.”

  He sought to say more. But that hardened warrior, Fel-Holdt, seeing the gates full open, refused to dally when haste was of the utmost. He’d taken our words of warning quite seriously. “All on!” he shouted. “NOW!” And he led the entourage off, with the wheeeing, whoooing dottle herd in happy, dog-like pursuit.

  Hoggle-Fitz, whirling Alphus in a great scattering of ice from off the flagstones, had time only to cry to Rawl: “Look to my daughter, Sir! You’ve a father’s love what ere your faults.” Then he raised both mailed fists in high salute, shouting: “For Marack!”

  We answered, crying, “God’s speed, my lord! For Ormon and the king!” And they were gone!…

  We waited silently to one side of the torch-lit entrance, In the lee of the castle wall.

  Above, in a primal sky patched with snow clouds that had never left us, silvered Ripple, smallest of Fregis’ two moons, made a hurried transit from one cloud bank to another; to be followed shortly by Capil, the larger. The guards at both entrance and opened gate stomped their feet and waved their arms to aid their frozen misery. Except for an occasional snort from our steaming dottles, the quiet was awesome….