Then they came running, not from the grandiose entrance, as expected, but from a minor exit of that monstrous pile of slate and granite. Hargis had dismounted to check the cinch belt of Murie’s saddle. I motioned him to hurry.
They were two short and bulky figures, mailed, cloaked, and with the haft of small-swords showing above their shoulders. Except for a certain arrogance and a feminine wriggle In every lengthy stride, they could have been what they seemed, two warriors of the king-albeit, shortened by a head. Another oddity that would set them apart from the king’s standard warrior was the small furry creature dressed in a warm suit, a blue-knitted cap with a huge red pompon, and with something akin to “booties” and “mittens” which clung to the travel bag on Murie’s shoulder.
I sighed under my breath, knowing she’d made those clothes herself.
They ran straight to us, vaulting into the empty saddles of the mounts being held for them. Murie yelled, “Let’s to it, Collin! They’ll be on us in an instant!”
But Hargis still worked at the cinch. So while we whirled this way and that, keeping our eyes to the entrance and gate, she explained breathlessly-“We went to bid my father adieu and were met in the hall by Fairwyn and Gen-Rondin~ They sought to detain us, but we broke from them. And because we are fleet of foot we lost them in the corridors-and here we are!”
“Seeing you dressed, armed-and with that”-I pointed to Hooli-“I’m sure now that they know you leave with us.”
Hargis to saddle again, I led them in a parallel trot along the castle wall so as to not upset the guards and to bid them a proper salute before riding for the gates. Murie’s voice came over my shoulder-“Aye, Collin. But there was no other way.”
It was just then that I felt a tingling-and a need to move, and quick.
The desire scarce preceded a sudden, bellowing shout, crying, “Treason! Treason to the King!” coming from the entrance.
We drove instantly toward the gates. But, being humanoid, we hesitated for the nth part of a second to glance back to the source of the shouting. A fully armed Gen-Rondin stood in the torchlight of the entrance. The doors had been flung full open and a horde of guards were streaming out upon the broad steps toward us.
Rondin continued, screaming: “Seize them! They’ve taken the Princess! Seize them!” And his voice was all amplified, you can bet-but not enough so that we failed to hear the whistling, tearing sound that came from above. Indeed, even as I recognized it for what it was, Rondin’s cries were drowned by a great crash of granite upon the flagstones-on the very spot where we’d just been!
Score two for Marack. The granite blocks had crushed the lives from a dozen or so of our would-be captors. They’d moved too fast. Blood splashed the flagstones. The remainder fell back in terror; looked up to see what I saw.
At a hundred feet above the courtyard a turreted abutment was now minus its crenellated stonework. Fairwyn stood on the remaining flat-space, all shining in a warlock’s aura of red and purple light. His skinny arms raised in a mad obeisance to the primal skies, he shrieked his “words.” He looked three times his actual size. Blue lightning played around him.
At the first screams of Rondin, Griswall had whistled shrilly, keeping it up. In answer, there now came from the direction of the stables, and in a thunder of dottle paws, our hundred student warriors. They came on in a maelstrom of swinging swords, driving between us and the castle guards-a complete surprise!
We in turn rode hard for the gates, to seize them and the portcullis, lest it descend to bar our flight. Thirty guards held the gatehouse. Most were confused, stunned. Still some stood forth to stop us. After all, they were Marackian warriors! Their sergeant, a burly giant of a man, bent low, seeking to hamstring poor Henery…. I rose full in my stirrups and with one whistling stroke swept both screaming head and sword arm from his body. Rawl killed two men in as many seconds, as did Griswall. Our three young swordsmen each slew his opposite. The remainder fell back in terror to mingle with those who’d made no move against us.
All this took place in a spate of seconds. Such is the way of true combat. Fighting raged around the great steps. Our students, though mounted, were still outnumbered. Their dottles found purchase difficult upon the icy flagstones.
I cupped my hands, shouting, “Break off! We’ve seized the gate!” And they did, falling back across the bodies of the slain. At once there came from above a seering blaze of great lightning to crisp a dozen of them. Some screamed in agony. Our dottles cried their fear. The warriors of Gen-Rondin and the Lord Caril cheered and moved to charge the courtyard.
Roaring, “Hold, Fairwyn! ‘Tis the Collin who opposes you now,” I whirled Henery back from the gate, stood again to my stirrups, my armor all glowing bright. I’d switched on the ion activisor, affecting sulphur compounds in the steel. The guards of Caril cried in awe. I shouted, “Withdraw now, lest I turn your very lightnings back upon you!”
But like Gen-Soolis before him, the Kaleen had him,, fully. His eyes were wild. Spittle flew from his mouth. “Base traitor,” he shrieked, “the evidence is there! You’ve seized the princess!”
Upon which Murie yelled from behind my shoulder, “You lie, you foul-fiend, bastard!”
But her small voice was lost in the reverberations of Fairwyn’s words.
“The truth, sir sorcerer,” I roared again, “is that ‘tis you who’ve seized the king!”
At that very moment another bolt of blue-white death, sufficient to render both myself and poor Henery into our respective weights in suet, did it strike us, came crashing down.
It was deflected, for I’d stepped up “null” to full. More! At that precise instant I triggered the stud for laser action. A thin blue beam struck straight and true, needling our erstwhile “timid” sorcerer to the heart. He screamed once, grabbed his skinny chest and toppled from the platform. His aged body, bone-dry, feather-light, seemed but one more snowflake as it fell-albeit, larger. I’d actually loved that old man. ‘Twas one more debt the Dark One owed me.
“Follow on!” I cried then, midst an enveloping stench of fire and brimstone. We wheeled to thunder through the gates and on down the narrow lane ‘twixt the great double walls of Glagmaron castle. Our students, cheering, rode hard in our wake.
The second, outer gate lay two hundred yards to the left. There too was a portcullis and drawbridge; though there was no moat, just a chasm-a deep ravine.
War pipes shrilled now in the freezing air. All the castles’ myriad inhabitants were astir. Kettledrums beat wild staccatos of alarm. More amplified cries of “treason” preceded us. The garrison of the main gate, some two hundred strong, were ready for our onslaught, albeit confused and wondering.
Our swords unsheathed, I’d have ridden straight into them, But Murie spurred suddenly ahead, rode direct to their shield front where she threw back her cowl to reveal the royal curls of Marack, whilst flashing her dottle’s painted paws right in their faces. She yelled,
“Down swords! To your knees, you sons-of-bitches! ‘Tis your Princess who commands you.
If you want more-well, here’s our Collin too, your risen savior!”
The young guard’s-captain, clearly impressed, went instantly to one knee and offered his sword. Still he said, “The voices say ‘treason,’ my princess. First ‘twas your father’s sorcerer, Fairwyn; now ‘tis the Lord Caril, my commander. What would you have of me?”
Murie’s eyes blazed. “Why ‘I’d have you clear the bridge, sir. Now!”
I’d ridden up. I said bluntly, “There’s no time, Captain. Stand aside, Your Fairwyn’s dead. The Lord Gen-Rondin and Caril now hold our king for Hish.”
“Then, sir, let’s fight them.”
“We will. But first the princess must reach the safety of the army. Now, for the last time, stand aside!”
“And do you not,” Murie yelled, her royal anger rising, “I’ll burn your bloody souls to hell when I return!”
“Lead off,” I told her. “Quickly!” And I whacked her dot
tle’s rump.
She did so, riding at them, sword bared; fat Hooli with his pompon still clinging to her furs. They parted like Terra’s fabled “Red Sea.” I think the sight of Hooli did it. The remainder of my hundred students followed after.
“If you truly love the king,” I shouted to the captain, “then raise the bridge when we’ve crossed over.”
“I’ll do it, Collin!” His voice rang proudly in the rising, snow-laden wind as we, Rawl, Griswall, and our three swordsmen, who’d stayed with me, rode ‘neath the portcullis and out upon the bridge. Only a handful attempted to stop us. But their hearts weren’t in it. Rawl cut their leader down. Our swordsmen slew the others where they stood.
We’d barely made it across when the great bulk of the bridge shuddered and began to rise. Simultaneously with this there came a thunder of dottle paws from within the inner walls. Seconds later we heard the clash of swords and the shouts of men in battle. But we did not look back. We’d have seen nothing anyway, for the snow came down heavy then, making the night an instant, stygian blackness.
On the south road the dottles took over. They could follow a road or a footpath unerringly. As stated, they could smell a road. And too, unlike the Terran horse, a dottle knew what a road was.
We parted at the crossroads, our students ordered on to join with Fitz and Fel-Holdt at Gortfin Castle. Two pairs of them I sent to the kings of Ferlach and Gheese. They were to be told that our own King Caronne had been seized by controlled creatures of the Dark One; that Kelb was besieged by corpse-men; that Marack’s armies remained free to accept mine and the princess’ orders, and that they, too, should hold themselves in readiness for any call; their sorcerers maintaining a protective fog at all times until I could get to them-which would be soon!
Then we drove south, pounding over the frozen, iron-hard earth of the “great road,” to the unshod, cushioned thuds of our dottle’s fat and leathery paws.
Murie rode as a veritable Valkyrie, sword bared and ready, her golden hair all frosted with the driven snow. Her eyes sparkled with a strange euphoria. She obviously dearly loved her role as shield-maiden.
I yelled against the biting wind: “That was indeed a show back there, my princess, though I’m minded to say that I think you dwelt too hard on ‘burning.’”
Upon which she sheathed her sword, burst into tears, grabbed that pea-brained, dressed-up Hooli from off her dottle’s rump to cuddle him and cry: “Hey, Hooli! Tell this miserable lord of mine-who’s slain his hundred many times-that i’d not hurt a single one of all I threaten. ‘Tis what’s expected.”
“Sweet Buddah-Muhammad!” I leaned across to hold her-and we were galloping at twenty miles per hour-and to force a rubbing of noses while the snow blew and the wind whistled, all in the dark forest around us.
She finally blinked and grinned, and ran a pink tongue ‘round my lips whilst pressing a small hand to the warmth of my belly. I said to her nearest pointed ear, “You were wondrous brave. You saved the bridge for us, you know.”
Upon which she returned Hooli to her dottle’s rump where he again clung to her waist for dear life as we thundered through the night.
The spot where I’d left the scoutship was more familiar In my mind’s eye now, than was Kriloy’s smirking face. We reached it in exactly one hour. I then took them off the road and up the bluff to where but six short months before I’d first touched foot on Fregis-Camelot.
I might add that the snow had again stopped; the clouds had parted, and Capil had joined us on his second journey to help light the darkness. Dismounted, we gathered at a base of standing trees, leafless, skeletal-eldritch; all in a broad hollow, or fold of the hill.
Rawl eyed the area warily. One hand strayed cautiously to his sword’s haft; the other was tight round Caroween’s waist. Charney, Tober, and Hargis, too, stared round them, wondering, while Griswall toed an ice-hard hummock, his craggy features frowning, curious.
I looked them over, paused for some seconds, and then said, “Now I’ll ask a foolish question: What do dottles do in weather like this, when there’s no stable for warmth-and worse, no food?”
Stout Tober, prone to ear scratching when puzzled, did exactly that and said, “Why, my lord, I’m sure you know the answer. In winter a dottle’s fur is thick. His food is turf and tree moss. Tame dottles oft’ sicken when enclosed too much at snow time. They are sent off to the forests, on their own-to guarantee their lives.”
“Well then. Unsaddle our mounts and turn the whole herd out. They’ll be on their own for now.”
They simply looked at me as if I had gone mad.
Murie asked the obvious question: “And what of us, Cotlin, if they are sent away?”
“Trust me. There’s nought to fear.” I put an arm about her shoulder.
Our three student warriors began the unsaddling. It was a strange experience. Like all men of Fregis-Camelot, I’d come to know and to love dottles for what they were. A Terran saying has to do with a “dog” being “man’s best friend.” Well, excepting that dottles were herbivorous, they were dogs. I.Q. wise, they were “dolphins.” Actually, a fat-bellied, sweet smelling, blue-eyed, six-pawed, lovable, two-ton dottle-who would give you a wet and blubbery kiss at the slightest excuse-was unlike anything in galactic lore.
This was made even clearer when Henery and the others rejoined the herd. Tober, a dottle-warden’s son, simply pointed to the heavy growth around us and said softly-“Go home! Go home! Go home!”
They tossed their woolly manes and waved their rumps, not certain he meant it. Then when we did nothing, they skittishly tripped here and there, wheeeing and whoooing. Finally, after Tober admonished them again, they lined up, bowed their heads as if to say “good-bye,” and left us-single file. Henery being the last, he sounded a final, echoing, “aloha” whooo, and disappeared over the bluff.
Rawl tossed his leathern bottle of converted sviss to me and said bluntly, “What now, Collin?”
They all waited, flat-eyed; even Murie. “Well,” I said, “there’s nought for it, is there-but to go where the climate’s warmer.”
I took Murie’s hand, bade the others follow. We stumbled through the deep snow to the back of the hill. The storm had died again. An odd “earth light” illuminated the frozen hummocks, great conifers, and endless stands of deciduous quasioaks-all phantom-like in their barrenness. The question suddenly plagued me; the one I’d dared not think about: What if they hadn’t given me the ship after all?
I’d soon find out!
I waved them to the protection of an overhanging rock, pressed the proper stud for field activation and pronounced the numbers loudly and clearly (an embryo galactic parallel of Camelot’s magick): “Three-seven! Two-nine! Four-one!” And I waited…. And slowly, slowly, the little scoutship phased in, snub-nosed and competent. I called again, and its door opened….In utter silence I herded them into it, Hooli riding on Murie’s shoulder. I then switched the entire ship to “null,” switched off the belt-and breathed a sustained sigh of relief.
I explained nothing. I simply gave orders to strip and to relax, setting the example myself. We unburdened ourselves of furs and armor, keeping only our jupons, linen breeks and boots. A scoutship’s built for four, I settled to the masterswivel, put Murie, Rawl and Caroween in the remaining three. Griswall and our swordsmen I consigned to “steerage,” in the combined relax-eat-and-sleep quarters. The bunk beds unfolded for them.
They showed no awe at the coming of the scoutship. Indeed, they entered it with a certain Marackian savoir-faire. After all was I not the Collin? The greatest “warlock” of them all? Such magick could be expected. But then, as I lifted to a hundred thousand feet; continued on to an orbit of fifty miles, the enormity of what was happening began to reach them. They stared, wide-eyed, through the little craft’s translucent nose.
Space, from orbit, is but an infinity of blackest black. It has long been known in deep-space psychiatry that if there were only that to see, a sentient with knowledge of what he
saw could not survive the experience…. But to see also within that great and awful abyss, ten thousand times ten million spheres of light, in clusters, whirls, pinwheels-to see those planets, suns, those sparkling islands in diamond colors, all hard and brilliant-to see all that-was to witness infinity; to know, for the first time, that there was a final answer to the final question…
Rawl, staring, said quietly, “A memory comes back, Collin.”
“I guessed it would.”
“And will you take it from me this time, too?” “No. Nor did I ever.”
“Then who-or what?”
I ignored his question. “What do you remember?”
“All that.” He gestured toward the stars. “I’ve seen it all before-and from a ‘thing’ like this.”
“And so have I,” Murie said softly. And the others chorused, “And me, and me….”
“What else?” I asked, curious. “What more do you remember?”
But that was it Just a hint of race memory, which the Pug Boos had kept alive.
They were silent then, just looking, staring, hardly breathing, at all that beauty.
Then finally Murie asked with a small subdued voice, as if now I was a stranger to them all, “Well, my lord? I would imagine that you know the ‘why’ of all this too?”
“There’s little time,” I said. “But-would you like to know?”
They nodded mutely.
And so I told them; risking nothing, since I could indeed remove their memory again.
And I broke out a few bottles of Terran wine to ease the pain, or the joy of it.
“To know the ‘why’ of it all,” I explained solemnly, “is to know yourselves and the Dark One, too; for your fate has been linked with his for a full five thousand years.”
Camelot in Orbit Page 6
