Camelot in Orbit

by Arthur H. Landis

  “Not kill them?” He looked to me in wonder.

  “Tis only the mounts we want,” Griswall echoed me grimly.

  “Well! ‘Tis mounts you shall have. For know you, sirs, that I am Lors Sernas and yon is my father’s castle. I was girl stealing and got caught at it. I would have taken Lord Haken’s daughter, Buusti. Now he’ll take my head, if he can get it.” Lors Sernas seemed to have instantly forgotten the Yorns.

  But I had not. I stared hard at their leader. He stared back, dull-eyed. I tried a mind-thing, saying without words “I have no wish to kill you, Give us your dottles and may go free.”

  He answered in kind, proving that the lower animals oft more receptive to simple telepathy. His thoughts a haltingly, “How do I know you do not lie?”

  “Because I say so.”

  “But how do we know?”

  I looked around us, studied the road. Murie and Caroween came up, also on captured dottles. “The forest is thick,” I told the Yorn. “Pursuit would be difficult. We will return to the road. Do you send us one dottle at a time; each Yorn fleeing into the trees when his mount has gone. We will not pursue, I swear it.”

  While I talked, my hand was up for silence and to stay Rawl and the others from attacking. The Yorn’s voice came again. “Go to the road-far down. And we will send the dottles.”

  “Do not try to flee.”

  “We will send them.”

  Upon which I wheeled my mount and said aloud, “Leave these and come with me.”

  Caroween said in’ her direct way, “A Yorn, my Lord Collin, is a fiend of Ghast. So sayeth my father who, as is well known, is a pious man.”

  “Indeed he is,” I muttered, but continued toward the road. The young Omnian, whose fur was as black as mine, was large-eyed, slack-lipped, and possessed of an oddly nervous laugh. He’d been ogling Caroween with an appraising eye. He said to her, “I’m thinking your father’s a follower of our roguish Hoom Tet. For how else, my dear, could so pious a man beget so beauteous a daughter?” He chuckled at Caroween’s instant frown. “Nay, nay!” he exclaimed, “be not so wroth. ‘Tis known that worshippers of Hoom Tet couple only with the fairest-and thus their offspring.”

  “My father,” the redhead retorted icily, “worships the Trinity of Ormon, Wimbiliy, and the precious Harris. I doubt me, sir, that he’d care a day-old bun for your silly Hum Toot.”

  We’d reached the road. The gay and laughing Lors Sernas dismissed with a true cavalier’s shrug the sincerity of Caroween’s words. “They’re unknown here,” he said lightly of the Ormon trio. Which meant to me that Om had many deities. “But come, sirs,” and he changed the subject. “Break fast with me in my father’s castle, I’ll guarantee that for saving the life of his only son, you’ll have the pick of his dottle herd. On second thought,” he mused reflectively, “you may not! I’ve called to mind that he’s good friend to Lord Haken, whose daughter I’ve abused somewhat. And too, back there are Haken’s men, all slain by you! Nay. I’m inclined to believe that the matter might not sit well with my ‘pod’ at all. He follows not the teachings of Hoom Tet, but rather those of the bloody Kroom-who lacks somewhat in humor.”

  We’d gone some distance down the road and halted. The first dottle was on the way; the first Yom had disappeared into the trees.

  “Perhaps,” the young knight concluded, screwing up his eyes in what was obviously painful thought, “twould be best to steal the dottles.”

  “From whom?” Rawl asked.

  “From my father, of course.”

  Rawl, quite conscious of the glitter in the loose-lipped Omthan’s eyes as he continued to ogle Caroween, said sharply, “Your prattle, sir, doth match the caterwaul of yon tic-tic birds-who no doubt derive their inspiration too from that same Homm Tot you praise so much. But whether or not we go to your castle, I’d advise you to keep your eyes from off my lady.”

  “Oh, ho, ho!” the jolly fellow said. “Why this hearty’s a Hoom Tet man himself and doesn’t know it. Who else would risk his life and limb for a simple, well-turned buttock?” He winked owlishly at the rest of us and pursed his red lips.

  “Sir!” Rawl admonished stonily. “One more such remark and I’ll split your grin down to your ballocks and that’s a fact.”

  A second and a third dottle joined us, tongues loffing, blue eyes beaming. The fourth was on his way. The Yorn leader held up a mailed fist in farewell and disappeared into the trees. This, while our Omnian gallant pranced his mount, combed his hair and mustaches with his fingers, and winked directly to Caroween. She too, at this point, could hardly contain her laughter. He said saucily to Rawl: “‘Tis moot, sir, as to who’ll split whose grin. But I fight not for honor, only love-if ‘tis promised me before my sword’s unsheathed.” Again he looked direct to Caroween.

  He’d gone too far. Rawl roared, “By Ormon!” and stood full in his stirrups to sthck his greatsword from its scabbard. But Murie quick-drove her dottle hard ‘twixt him and the Omnian saying sharply, “Hold! Cousin! We’ve more important things than to take a head with every idiot challenge. This foolish knight but jests with you. Is this not true, sir?’ She turned to Sernas.

  But Sernas was already gasping, for Caroween had the point of her small-sword to the man’s carotid artery. Her laughter was indeed short lived.

  Murie said admiringly, “By the gods, Here’s loyalty-and love!” She turned to me. “I’d mark it well, my lord.”

  Rawl grinned and shrugged. Catching my eye, he surreptitiously winked. For above all else my shieldman too had a sense of humor.

  I said sternly to our ribald gallant, “We appreciate your concern, young sir. But we’ve eight mounts now. Hish is but thirty miles. We should be in quarters by nightfall.”

  I had wheeled as I spoke to lead them casually off in that direction. When we came to the bodies of Haken’s men, I ordered that they be dragged from the road. It took but a minute and we were off again. Murie rode at my side. Rawl, Caroween, and Griswall followed, with the others to the rear. Then suddenly the Omnian, who’d simply been sitting and watching in mid-road, came trotting fast to join us.

  He doffed his velvet cap. “Your pardon, lords and sirs,” he said. “I tend to joke when jokes are out of place-and have many a scar to show for it. But I’ve just remembered that the lords from four hundred miles around will be to my father’s either this night or tomorrow’s, and I disremember which. The Lord Haken will be there, which means that I should not ‘til this thing of his daughter-” He stopped, screwed up his eyes and looked quite worried. “May I ride with you?”

  I shrugged, looked to Rawl and Murie.

  Murie nodded. Caroween said nothing at all. Rawl said, ‘Well, why not?-An he keep a tight rein on his parts.” Like all Fregisians, Sir Rawl Fergis held not the slightest grudge in victory or defeat. It was a part of their training, Pug Boo infused, I think, else they’d have long since killed each other off.

  The young man grinned, said lightly, “Though your heraldry’s unknown to me, I thank you.” He touched Rawl’s arm in friendship. “I’d still suggest, however, that your taste is much to our Hoom Tet’s liking.”

  I interposed bluntly, “Don’t press your luck, Omnian.” And then, “Why do these lords all gather at your fathers?” -

  “Why else? To complain about our gracious Dark One’s taxes. Who be you to not know that this is the time when all gather to rant and rave at our lord and master-and then to do nought about it for another year.”

  I answered haughtily, “We’re from the Selig Isles, sir. We be merchant-princes; warriors! We would create more trade with Om-‘mongst other things~”

  He “oooohed and aaahed” in amazement, causing my student-warriors to wink and roll their eyes, and to each begin a tale of Seligian adventures, the one more violent than the next, wherein, of course they figured prominently.

  As we rode dark lightning lashed the horizon and great thunder followed like the rolling drums of distant armies. Since we were again even with the place of the sco
utboat, I glanced to the grove of trees beyond the vale where the Boos had been feeding. ‘Twas a premonition perhaps, or better-I’d seen, I swear, a flash of color there. I focused my contacts, a simple, muscular twitch of the eyelids….

  “Oh, by the seven rings of Dreben,” I could hardly keep from shouting out. For there he sat on a lower branch, watching-and grinning.

  It was Hooli! The real Hooli! How did I know? Well, he’d retrieved the blue-velvet tam with the red pompon that Murie had made for him. He was wearing it, the little basketballheaded bastard! It was his way of letting me know that he was back. He couldn’t just say, “Hi, there!” inside my head.

  I upped the focus to ten mags so that his round fat face, his shoebutton eyes and runny nose were just two feet from my own. He knew exactly when I did it. He winked at me.

  He winked, stuck out a pink tongue and waved a leaf-after first taking a bite out of it.

  I said not a word; just kept trotting along so that soon he was far behind us. He would join us later-in his own sweet time.

  A wave of relief; indeed, a wave of Pug Boo “goodness” washed all my body. I sighed, hugely, causing Murie to look up to me, startled. A burden had slipped from my shoulders. My blood pressure was down twenty points. All this though I knew quite well that Hooli’s help was the long-run, general kind. He could cure you of cancer. More He could

  “reach” inside you and cure all your diseases. But! If your beating heart was about to be ripped from its chest-cage by one of the Kaleen’s cowled wizards-well, that was your problem.

  Rawl was saying: “Oh many’s the sea battles we’ve had with the Ferlachians, sir; the men of Kelb, too. Strong warriors, all of them. The Marackians are the best, however, Pray hard to your Hoom Tot, Sir Sernas, that you never meet a Marackian with time on his hands for a run of the lance. ‘Twould be too bad for you, I fear.”

  I closed my eyes, allowing my new-found euphoria to settle. Murie’s hand reached out to take my own, softly, quietly. She said nothing, sensing my mood and my need. “They had to know,” I told myself, Kriloy, Ragan, and Riisfll, the Starship’s commander. I had to tell them that Hooll was back; that we were in Om right now-approaching the Dark One’s lair. I’d do an “instant tape.” There was no other way. The question was: had the Deneb remained in orbit?

  I composed it mentally as we rode; recorded it simultaneously. I told them everything, then pressed the stud for contact; depriving us of “null” protection at the same time. One second-two-Blessed Muhammad! They were there and I had ‘em!

  “In! In!” I shouted mentally, and “saw” the flash of the code numbers to receive. I

  “named” the code for tape tranfer-and did it! Then I was out and “null” was back. And that was that. The whole thing took ten seconds.

  I opened my eyes, lifted Murie’s hand to my lips, returned it and said peremptorily to our Omnian, “Tell us of Hish, sir, and of your master, the Dark One.”

  He sucked in his breath, hesitated, and then said slyly: “Is he not your master too?”

  He crossed himself with a facsimile of the Terran “tau” cross, the one used in two-times-two.

  I did the same upon my breast, causing Murie and Caroween to gasp and to bounce their curls at this obsequious apostasy. “Oh, indeed he is,” I said. “But we’re so far away!

  You must realize that though we give obeisance the relationship’s much looser. As for controls, well they’re nonexistent, except for a priest or two….”

  “By the gods, my lords.” The Omnian’s spittle fairly flew in his enthusiasm. “If what you say is true, I beg you to allow me to return with you.”

  I said nothing, waiting.

  “‘Tis,” he confessed, “that I’m one of those come home these two months from distant Kelb, where the great Gol-Bades lost his life to Marack’s sorcerer-champion, the ‘Collin.’ I saw this with my own eyes, being one of the few to escape later to Kerch and from there by coaster to our port of Geretz….”

  We listened, amazed, while he told us his side of the battle of Dunguring. The more so was it strange for the fact that we, the perpetrators of his misfortune were riding toward Hish, with him, to finish the job.

  A most interesting aspect of his service, he explained, was that he’d commanded a company of Kelbian men-at-arms, from whom he’d learned about the North. The Kelbians, he said, had been against their prince who’d sold himself to the Dark One, a thing he could hardly argue with. And more! He’d learned from them how the northern countries functioned-with kings, grand councils, city and town councils, with burgomasters and such, and a form of “freedom” totally alien to the South. He’d been deeply intrigued by the way of it.

  He confessed, too, that since he’d been back, he and others with similar experiences had discussed these freedoms among themselves and with others. And there were those who were beginning to listen-thus his fear. For, as he put it, he’d no desire at all to lead, or even to participate in a fruitless revolt ‘gainst a god, the greatest sorcerer of them all. And to have, as he said dryly: “My guts drawn out, my belly filled with stones, and then to be put in the sun to die.”

  “So you found,” I suggested, “that the North is more powerful than the South?”

  “Not at all. For even on their own ground, sir, our Kaleen controls some leaders-and hence whole hordes of warriors. What have they to equal that? No Northman could survive a single day in Om.”

  “They were outnumbered at Dunguring,” Griswall said bluntly. “And yet they won.”

  “True.”

  “And what of their magick?” Rawl asked.

  “Most potent. But the Dark One’s, as you must know, is greater still. Methinks, sirrahs, that their real weapon is their strange freedom to do almost what they wish.”

  I sighed. “‘Tis something like that in the Selig Isles. Basically we’re pirates. And though bound loosely to the Kaleen we, generally, are masters of our houses. Much more, perhaps, than in the North. How does that differ from here, your homeland?’

  “Why, sir, here in each town there is the sorcerer of the Kaleen, who some say,” he hinted broadly, “are but extensions of the Dark One himself. Here are no city councils-only garrisons and priests. No man has a say in anything- ‘cepting the lords of castles and lands like my father. But his council too consists of warriors and priests. And all must bow to the Dark One.”

  “Hast no collegiums to study magick?” Rawl baited.

  Lors Sernas laughed. “I knew not what a collegium was ‘til those of Kelb informed me.”

  “We’ve none in Selig either,” Rawl said hastily.

  “Tell me,” I asked. “Who will we see to discuss the reasons for our visit?”

  “Why the sorcerer, of course.”

  “The Kaleen’s extension?”

  “Aye.”

  “So we were told in Geretz. But why not the Kaleen himself?”

  His eyes instantly widened. His loose mouth twitched. The blood drained from his foolish, sybarite face. He choked, “You must be mad! No one in all of time has seen the Kaleen and lived!”

  I smiled. “How would you know this?”

  “So it is written. The Dark One is our god!”

  “Greater than Hoom Tet?” Griswall queried.

  Lors Sernas’ responding grin was sickly, weak. “Hoom Tet,” he whispered, “but lives in the Kaleen’s shadow.”

  “The Kaleen’s not all that great in the North,” Rawl said.

  “He will be some day.”

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “Yes. I do not like to, but I do.”

  I asked, “Does he inhabit the house of the temple where I’m to see the sorcerer tomorrow?”

  “Some say yes, but who’s to know?”

  “Perhaps the sorcerer,” I grinned.

  The young knight said frankly, “I like not the direction of this conversation.”

  I laughed and so did Rawl. Our stalwarts echoed us. “Young Sir?” I plagued him again, “Tell us of you
r god, Hoom Tet, and how he differs from the Kaleen.”

  His expression saddened. “You jest with me. I’m sure now that I should have stayed to home.”

  I apologized quickly. “‘Tis that we live too far from Om,” I explained. “We’re not familiar with ‘controls.’ Indeed, we’ll take a tip from you-and watch our mouths.”

  As we neared the city, traffic grew heavier. Carts laden with vegetables and all manner of provender crowded the narrow way; challenged us for our mid-road position.

  Each time I graciously signaled our group to give way. Our Selig banner and simple blazonry caused many a head to turn. Trees fronting two villages through which we passed displayed the hanged bodies of a dozen men and women.

  “Why?” I asked of Sernas.

  He shrugged, uncaring. “Taxes. Unlicensed witchcraft.”

  We continued on. Companies of brutal men-at-arms and Yorns were everywhere now-in every village; on every side road. The folk all hastily made way for them. To those who didn’t move fast enough, they were simply beaten by spear butt and sword flat. No mercy was shown. And strangely, none seemed expected.

  I thought again of the parable of “tyranny” and its effect upon the color of flowers. The effect upon people, humanoids, was equally obvious.

  The “cloud” as described by Kriloy was there all right. It ballooned over the city as a great, translucent mushroom. From below it seemed as a ground fog. I watched our Omthan closely, looking for some kind of reaction. There was none.

  I asked calmly, “Is that not some kind of a mist ahead? ‘Tis strange for a summer’s afternoon.”

  He smiled, squinted his eyes. I knew by the expression that he saw nothing. Yet he replied: “The Kaleen oft’ does such things. Who is to know his reasons?”

  Even this would not have bothered me, except that my Marackians, too, saw nothing.

  Whatever it was we rode right through it with no ill effects. At the bronzed west gates we were challenged by the guards as to our origins and purpose. But oddly, they demanded no papers as proof of origin. The very insularity of the Dark One’s capital of some fifty-thousand souls had made of it an almost “open” city. No one, apparently, in all the five millennia of his rule had ever dared present himself as being other than what he was. We were given squares of metal, numbered, and with the date of entry.