Camelot in Orbit

by Arthur H. Landis

  Hooli’s voice, faint because of my own intruding thoughts, came through again….

  “Collin! You’ve but to hold right where you are. The Marackians are already on the road.”

  “We cannot,” I informed him. “Our only protection from the lightning is that we attack, join with them, body to body. Apart, we’re in deadly peril.”

  “Lightning needs clouds, Adjuster Kyrie. Look up, above you!”

  I did, and saw them being wafted, blown quickly away. I then asked in choked mental anger-“Why not before, Hooli, when we were dying, when we needed it most?” I’d guessed the obvious reason, that he could control them, even against the Dark One’s wishes.

  ‘Without the protection of those clouds, Great Ap would not land his Vuuns. The same thunderheads that dealt destruction to your own provided the screen for Marack’s landing. Have done, Collin. There’s no time for recriminations. The thing shows fear, and such fear is perilous indeed. You must wait for nothing now-but drive straight through-to Hish!”

  He was gone again and I shook my head against the cobwebs. The faces around me still stared, waiting for they knew not what.

  Rawl, seeing a well-known expression on my face, tossed me his leathern sviss bottle. I almost drained it before I tossed it back. Then I climbed deliberately to stand upon my saddle and shout:

  “NOW HEAR ME ALL! WE HAVE BUT TO STAND AND FIGHT

  WHERE WE ARE. FOR WE HAVE WON! LOOK YE BACK TO THOSE SMALL HILLS!

  SEE THEM POURING ACROSS THE CREST? ‘TIS MARACK! MARACK AND ITS

  THIRTY THOUSAND WARRIORS. WE’VE BUT TO HOLD AGAINST THIS MEWLING

  SCUM AND THE DAY IS OURS! HAIL MARACK! HAIL OM! DEATH TO THE DARK

  ONE! DEATH TO THE DARK KALEEN!”

  And they did look back, in awe. And almost at that precise moment the banners of Marack did burst over the hills, and thirty thousand of the finest warriors in all of Fregis-Camelot came pounding across the intervening few miles, banners waving, trumpets blowing-and with a howling of kettledrums to shiver the very souls of those who opposed us.

  There was then a rolling cheer from our depleted, tired, and battered ranks. “The orders are changed,” I told Sernas. “Right here we stand to fight, ‘til our friends from Marack join us.”

  But the Hishians saw their doom. They drew back as if to flee, then changed their minds. After all, their force still equaled ours, or so they must have thought. They charged, therefore, drove into us in one last effort to destroy us before support could arrive. They charged over the sandy loam all thickly carpeted with many thousands of bodies, ours and theirs, and those of the poor dottles, too. Many of the dottles were wounded and they cried and moaned quite piteously…

  Again we were locked in hellish battle, mindless battle. Again we killed, more now to save ourselves, I think. There was little glory to it, even for Alphians….

  And then there seemed a lessening of the pressure, a fading away of the swords that were raised against us. A new roar of battle cries swept like a wave around us, beyond us, and on toward the bluff we had failed to take.

  And it was over?

  There was no stopping the warriors of Fel-Holdt and Hoggle-Fitz until the entire bluff was taken; nor did they halt there! The pursuit, swift, inexorable, went on apace, with ourselves joining the Marackians to direct it properly.

  We caught up with them a mile or so beyond the bridge. The great city itself shone in the now brilliant sunlight at about four miles distant. Time had truly flown for, I noted wryly, it was now 17:00 hours Greenwich. Fel-Holdt, Hoggle-Fitz, and a covey of young captains had halted at the roadside, next to a small orchard to await us. They looked warily at our Omnians as we rode up; our Omnians looked warily at them.

  Upon seeing his daughter, bloodied and tattered, Breen Hoggle-Fitz, Lord of Durst, and soon to be king in Great Ortmund, plucked her from the saddle to engulf her strongly in his arms. He then began a paean of thanks in stentorian shouts to Ormon, Wimbily, and Harris; this, while a flood of tears wet his mustaches, beard and collar above his neckpiece.

  He in this way managed to ignore the most momentous event in all of Fregis’ history-the meeting of North and South.

  Caroween also cried, and Murie, too. Fel-Holdt and his captains, dismounting, were already bending the knee to her. Arrow-straight again, Fel-Holdt addressed her calmly: “My Princess,” he said, “we have come, as ‘twas ordained by our Collin. And if yon city is the pearl of Om, well, you’ll wear it in your crown this very night-I promise you!”

  There was an instant muttering among my Omnians and a reaching for bloodied sword hafts. I moved quickly between them crying, “Nay! Good Fel-Holdt! These men who ride with us are Om!” I indicated Lord Sernas and his staff. “The city’s theirs, sir, bought with their blood and the lives of their heroes-all those who dared to rise, at Ormon’s call-against the Dark One, and when nought awaited them for the deed but death itself….

  “They are now our friends, sirs.” My voice rose and I spoke to all the Marackians.

  “They’re our ‘blood-brothers.’ I adjure you therefore to take their hands. For without your love, one to the other, there will be no final victory here, nor any peace in all the world hereafter….”

  Lord Fel-Holdt, his tall resplendent figure dominating the Marackian group, and thus the gathering, answered gravely, saying, “I hear you, Collin. But.” and he turned to Murie Nigaard, “I would also hear from Marack.”

  She’d doffed her helm to wipe the sweat and dirt and blood from off her face. Her hair glowed, shimmered in the sun. She said, “Good Fel-Holdt, my lord, ‘tis as our Collin says: Om’s enemies are ours. We’ll share the victory in honor. But their lands and cities must belong to them, as ours belong to us. And I would remind all here,” she finished softly, which was unlike her, “that this victory’s not yet won!”

  Fel-Holdt saluted solemnly, nodded to me, whereon I began to make the introductions. They still eyed each other warily, but saluted, too, touched hands, and spoke the formal words of greeting.

  My sword-nicked Hoggle-Fitz-he’d been in the thick of the onslaught-oblivious to it all, as the extroverted, egocentric, lovable, courageous, braggarts of his calling usually are, had loosed his daughter to wipe his eyes and regain - composure. Spotting me for the first time, he cried, “By the gods, Collin, had I known what awaited me when I promised to ride those leathern bags to hell and back for Marack, I do think me, I’d have weakened. It hailed on us, sir, and it snowed, and we fair froze our asses hanging to those body nets while the gales blew for a full twelve hours of riding through the air. When we landed, sir, we could scarce move a muscle, so frozen to the nets, we were. Indeed, without the miracle of this small bickering which has set our blood to flow again, I doubt me I’d have ever thawed at all-” He frowned suddenly, stared ‘round him to ask suspiciously, “And who are all these people?”

  The battered Rawl burst right out laughing. Lord Sernas, esthetically aware that he was face to face with something extraordinary, smiled, said nothing, but still held out his hand.

  I said straight-faced to Hoggle, “Here, sir, are brave Omnians who fight for Ormon ‘gainst the Dark One. Do you take their hands, now, and call them brother.”

  And he did, muttering the while and scratching his head.

  We talked then, drank wine and sviss and ate of a steaming gog-stew brought forward from Sernas’ castle. We didn’t plan much for the simple reason that there wasn’t much to plan. Our objective, to seize Hish and to advance me as close to the temple as possible, was fully understood. And even as we talked, the pyramid loomed over in our view, rising high over the great walls.

  Hey! We could see it! What then of the bubble? It was gone, obviously. But then, what difference did it make. With the exception of myself and the crew of the Deneb-3, no one else had seen it anyway….

  The instinctive conclusion by all that the final scene would be me versus the pyramid should be easily understood. For who else among them had the power to challe
nge the Dark One in his lair? I was the proven champion, the self-admitted, “Collin”! I alone, in their eyes, had maneuvered the victory of the battle of Dunguring. It was me, in Om, who had deflected the Dark One’s bolts-or at least some of them. I’d fought the skaiding, and won!

  ‘Twas me that had kept the Dark One’s “mind control” from full possession of the host.-And ‘twas me who, and again in their eyes, protected them even now from the Dark One’s wrath.

  As for me, Kyrie Fern, Adjuster, well all I wanted was to get it over with, once and for all. I wanted desperately to do that. I ‘d grown to love the planet: Murie, Rawl, Hoggle, the Boos; the whole damn crazy potpourri. But enough was enough! In the span of seven short months, I’d risked my life a thousand times, killed more in the name of peace, justice, and the humanoid right to a “quiet evolution,” as taught by the Foundation, then I’d thought to ever read about in my lifetime, let alone commit myself to.

  In essence, I was bone-weary, mind-weary. I wanted only to end it, to return to Glagmaron, marry up with Murie Nigaard, and then to sit back and watch the world go by for a decent length of time-sans goblins, monsters, magick, and the shadow of the Dark One’s presence.

  I reveled in the all-consuming wash of self-pity….

  A young captain of Marack, together with a young captain of Om-fortunately all Marackians carry the three-cornered shield as opposed to the round one of the Omnians so we could tell them apart-rode up. They both dripped sweat and blood.

  The Marackian cried to Fel-Holdt proudly, “We’re at the city’s gates, sir!” While the Omnian, he’d been fighting since seven that morning, said bluntly to Sernas, “But they’re closed to us and the very air around them’s frozen solid. We can’t get through!”

  Fifty pairs of questioning eyes shifted instantly to me.

  I sighed, arose, took one last swig of cooling sviss and yelled, “All right! Let’s ride!”

  It was a force field. I’d known it would be. I tested it myself, at all four gates. On the walls above each gate the Kaleen’s remnant hosts yelled down to us and shouted taunts.

  Fel-Holdt and Sernas marveled that they threw no stones, let loose no flights of arrows. I explained my theory that the Dark One was no tactician, let alone a strategist. He’d simply overlooked the above possibilities and had made the field too high. How high, we could only guess.

  Whatever. One thing I knew. The field was his final effort. All remaining energies would now be directed toward the gateway!

  We probed its every peripheral inch, and found nothing; no single crack or loophole-and the hours passed. Many of those whom we’d defeated during the day now came from forest and field where they’d been hiding, to join us; and others, too, who’d received the mustering message too late from their lords. And finally it was ourselves who numbered fifty thousand, so that we swarmed at each gate. Aside from the field, no Hishian could enter the city now and none came out.

  Somewhat morose and filled with the dread apprehension of failure, I withdrew in the fast-falling twilight to sit apart from the others, excepting, of course, that Murie joined me.

  Indeed, she’d been ever at my side, a true shield-maiden. I leaned against a tree’s bole.

  She rested her head on my shoulder. We passed a skin of sviss back and forth a couple of times. Once I started to speak, but she placed small hard fingers against my lips, and I was thankful.

  I closed my eyes to rest them-and Hooli came, or rather, the “collective.” They were very grave. They had a right to be. “Collin,” they said, “you’ve got but four hours. We dare to ask you once again to use your ship.”

  I relaxed my mind. I wanted to “see” them. There they were in the twinkling darkness, fat paws on fat bellies; little legs straight out before them. I dwelt upon their statement, then answered calmly, “As you have said, there’s still four hours. If I must die-and I’ve yet to agree to your ‘final solution’-I’ll name the time, sirs, and the place. And how do we know the force field’s not a ‘bubble’ so as to deny my ship an entry?”

  “There is an entry-directly above the pyramid. How else, Kyrie, could he direct his creation’s efforts?”

  “Why, then,” I said, “I could enter Hish itself, with the ship, land, and attack the temple!”

  “If you fly your ship through the hole he’s left for any purpose but to crash it, instantly-then he’ll destroy you…And Fregis will be no more.”

  “All right,” I said. “I’ll agree! But I’ve still got four hours; therefore, I’ll still name the time. Meanwhile, if an idea comes to us between now and then, I want instant contact with you. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah, Buby. The code word’ll be ‘checkers.’ The voice was Hooli’s, in a sad attempt at humor. Even he was depressed. No wonder. When I’d said the words ‘I’ll agree,’ a soft, sick fear had touched on all my body. It was most difficult to control. I’d never fancied myself to be a martyr.

  During the next two hours we again probed every inch of the Hishian wall. To no avail. There was no entry. There was no exit. We retired then to one of the myriad small fires that now ringed the capital. The lords of Om were there; the lords of Marack-and my princess and all our stalwarts.

  I told them softly then and in the simple terms of a magick they could understand, what the Dark One was up to; that the next two hours were critical; that if within that time no way was found for the introduction of twenty warriors, led by me, into Hish to attack the pyramid, that I, alone, must then crash the ship and die with it-lest all Camelot-Fregis perish.

  How I explained the “ship” to them, I’ll not go into. Suffice it to say that they understood me and were wide-eyed, whitefaced, and stricken. Murie murmured simply at my side- “You know, of course, that I’ll go with you.”

  Hoggle-Fitz was strangely silent. I envied him, for I doubted much that he’d understood me. But mayhap, too, he did.

  Then young Lors Sernas rose unsteadily to his feet. Like all those around me, tears glistened, too, upon his sybarite cheeks. He spoke direct to me. “Well now, my lord,” he said, “I’d hoped to avoid this since I am, as you know, sworn to the joys of our jolly Hoom-Tet, and bound to keep his secrets. And, too,” and a sickly smile touched on his lips,

  “I confess me, I had no wish to die-and in the Dark One’s lair….”

  He paused and we waited, all eyes hard on him until his father spoke out loudly, ordering him to continue.

  “Well,” he said again to me, after clearing his throat, “you are favored, sir, and that’s a fact. For you gave of your gold and friendship to our gracious Hoom-Tet when none else honored him. Now hear me: Hoom-Tet, through me, returns the favor. For many years Hoom-Tet’s been worshiped for the pleasure that he’s given; this, in a land where such ‘pleasure,’ by law, was ever the Dark One’s bounty. The peril of discovery of course was great. Therefore, and many years ago, a way was found to circumvent the Dark One’s strict security. ‘Twas but a small thing, and therefore quite likely overlooked by him. But for us it helped considerably.”

  He drew a deep breath, exhaled and continued. “There’s a way beneath the wall to reach our temple. The passage is sacred. What I risk in telling you, I know not-mayhap a life of deadly boredom, with thin wine and an absence of the textured flesh of women.” He grinned. Color had returned to his cheeks. “Still, I’ll pay my personal debt, sir-by going with you. Maybe I’ll be forgiven. For Hoom-Tet, that satin-bellied rogue, is above all else a forgiving god; excepting for the Dark One, of course. For him our Hoom-Tet would never give a flimpl’s turd….

  I had arisen, said instantly when he’d finished, “Lors Sernas, we’ve little time to talk.

  But hear me: Should you go or not, if we destroy the Dark One, ‘twill be carved in undying stone for -all of time that you, sir, were central to the saving of this world. Hail now,” I cried aloud: “Hail to this son of Sernas”

  All arose and pledged him solemnly.

  “Who then,” I asked, “will go with me besides
my own? Twenty’s needed. Eleven I have, for I’ll ask Unghist and four of his swords to join me. For Yorns, too, are men and have a right to fight with men, against a common peril.”

  There were at least two hundred lords and captains around that campfire. The hafts of two hundred swords were offered. But I had no time for argument. I chose Lors Sernas and six young Omnians, a single Marackian student-warrior-and Breen Hoggle-Fitz, for he could not have stood it otherwise.

  Time now, indeed, was running out!

  We moved immediately toward the dottles, while I mentally said “checkers,” and

  “Checkers! you little son-of-a bitch!” And even as my heart pounded and my pulse raced, I could still laugh at the act of shouting “checkers” to the wind while a planet’s death lay so easily in the offing. It was something for the books.

  “Hail, Collin!” Hooli’s voice was sober at last.

  “We’ve found a way, mud-ball. Twenty of us will enter the city within minutes. I want a diversion. And, since it will naturally fail, it’s one that you should be able to do quite handily.

  Create a few fire-balls. Toss ‘em at the gates. Something like that. He’ll think it’s me, the best I can do against his shield. It should throw him off. Keep it up for at least ten minutes!”

  “You will fight your way across the entire city, with but twenty swords?”

  “Nope! There’s a passage. It goes direct to the Hoom-Tet temple. We’ve but to charge the pyramid from there.”

  “The temple’s full of warrior priests.”

  “So? That’s not my worry, Hooli. My laser energy pack’s weak. There should be two charges left, sufficient to blast an entry, if that’s necessary-and to blast the Dark One, when I confront him. The last is my worry-Will the laser beam destroy the Dark One in whatever form I find him?”