Arthur H. Landis - Camelot 03

by The Magick of Camelot

  Rawl, flat-faced, clashed sword against shield to acknowledge recognition. Sir Dosh, glowering, did likewise. From Sernas we heard but the faintest of chuckles.

  Aikon Draslich, King of Ferlach, was indeed a huge man. His shoulder-length mane of black hair and curling beard matched the rampant, ebon fur of his troll-like body. He continued, raving, damning me and all my forebears. His curses were one prolonged blast. I let him go on, get it out of his system, satisfied that when he’d finished, we’d have that drink.

  The tirade ending finally, he asked me sarcastically how I’d gotten here this time, referring to what he supposed was my “magick.” I replied, smiling: “Why, the same as before, sire.” He cursed again.

  “So may we now approach?” I asked.

  “Approach and be damned to you.”

  We did, after sheathing our swords, and were grudgingly invited to enter the tent. There was but a single table and a scattering of chairs, all seized from peasant homes in the vicinity. Draslich poured ale all around. Among his six lords, I espied one whom I had known as a brave fighter at Dunguring. He was Pers-Oaan, an admiral of the fleet, a tall red-fur with smiling eyes. I raised my cup’ to him. He pledged me in turn. I said to the king, “You called it right of our companion here. He’s Breen’s son, Sir Altin Dosh.”

  He grunted in ritual: “A son of Breen is a son of Ferlach. But who’s that other fellow? He looks more ring-eared pirate than northerner, to me.”

  I grinned. “Allow me, sirs: Our Lord Lors Sernas, Ambassador to Marack from dread Hish in Om!”

  Draslich’s eyes flashed. The six lords drew the circles of Ormon upon each breast and calloused hands reached again for swords hafts. Such was still the effect of the very name of Om.

  “Why is he here?” Draslich demanded.

  “Why, for his courage, sire. And why not?” I challenged. “That war’s long over. And in it he fought well for Ormon, as well as his own god, Hoom-Tet.” They hissed at that. “His sword is now pledged to Marack,” I continued. “Against the sky men!”

  At that point the aged Gaati, king’s sorcerer to Ferlach, entered with two others of his kind. He whispered to Draslich, “I came as quickly as I could, sire.” He nodded a gracious greeting to all of us.

  “No need,” Draslich muttered. “But stay. Your thinking has power beyond your magick.”

  Riding on Gaati’s shoulder was the Royal Ferlachian Pug-Boo, Mool!

  I then described all that had happened at Glagmaron and why we’d fled to Gortfin and why we were here: to begin the organization of a planet-wide resistance.

  The king snorted his contempt, emptied his flagon, filled it and shouted, “What resistance? How do you fight sky lords when they command the very lightnings? What values courage in the face of that! I know. I know.” He raised a hand. “That you’ve a certain wizardry of your own. But how”—and I suddenly noticed the very ghost of a smile in his slitted eyes—”indeed, can we fight such as have destroyed our city, slaughtered my knights, sank our fleet, left not a stone unturned of what was once a mighty keep—and this,” he thundered again, “without ever so much as dirtying their silver lobes?”

  Allowing a twinkle to appear in my contacts, I answered wryly, “Why, sire, I’ll admit it’ll not be easy;” upon which Draslich and his knights all roared their laughter and shook their heads at such pithy defiance in the face of what they knew was total disaster.

  I asked seriously. “How did you escape, sirs? I’ve a mind to know.”

  Draslich, calmed, settled to it. “When the thing landed,” he began, ” ‘twas like at your Glagmaron; just before twilight. The greater part of the garrison under our lord-commander, Gen-Kols, went out to have a look. I then heard a yelling from the walls, and all the trumpets and the drums; this, at almost the very moment they were blown apart as if from the blow of the fist of a thousand-foot giant. Looking from the south tower we saw the entire garrison slain in a rain of fire and bolts of lightning. The tourney field became a smoking, reddish pit of ghost. Then, even as the east wing of the castle was destroyed by the same great hammer blows, we, my lords”—and Draslich fixed us all with a challenging eye— “were already fleeing through the ‘passageways.’ Now, Sir Coffin, I adjure you, by Ormon’s breath, if you’ve a plan— beyond your parlor tricks of ‘glowing in the dark’—why then, sir, well hear you out”

  At the mention of parlor tricks, I could not help but note the wide grins on the faces of all the Ferlachians. They had good memories.

  Still I persisted. “And your city?”

  “You’ve seen it. ‘Tis half destroyed. The sky men have called an assembly for this morning. They intend, so ‘tis said, to set up new rules under a new religion. Ormon, they say, is overthrown. They’ll now be our gods as well as our executioners.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Stragglers. Yesterday sky men went to the city, killed some, rounded up others and told them to gather today to hear their orders. Moreover,” he smiled grimly, “we’ve sent men back too, and have others watching. Now tell us your plans, Collin.”

  “There aren’t any,” I confessed. “And Pd be a liar if I said different Hopefully well develop some; based on yourself, Chitar of Gheese, Laratis of Kelb, and the privy council of Great Ortmund in the absence of their soon-to-be-crowned queen, the Lady Caroween Hoggle-Fitz. In this last respect all ambassadors of these countries were sent home from Glagmaron immediately after the Alphian’s arrival to tell of what had happened and the action we had taken. Which raises the question: where is Kal-Tiers, your ambassador?”

  “Ah, ha!” Draslich exclaimed. “This explains it. A man of ours reported last night of bodies upon the road, among them the heraldry of Kal-Tiers. We’d refused to believe it was the ambassador, for there was no proof. The face and parts of the body were incinerated by the sky men’s weapons….”

  We all traced the sign of Ormon on our breasts.

  Draslich went on. “If you’ve no plans, what then are your proposals?”

  I grinned. “That you give us Gaati, for a start, and we’ll be on our way.”

  The king’s brow grew black again. “You dare….”

  “I must. We need Gaati. You’ve three wizards here, all of them competent Moreover, well return Gaati within forty-eight hours.”

  Draslich fumed. He half arose from his seat. “You’ve got your bloody nerve, Collin. You’d take the only real weapon I have left to me.”

  “When he returns,” I explained, “he’ll have the plan.”

  Draslich, still fuming; angered, too, at his personal impotence, smashed his fist upon the table and shouted, “All rightl Take him. What choice have we except death and slavery? Well be your men, Sir Collin, for the length of time it takes to work the miracle—and no longer. Give me your hand, sir.”

  I did, and he shook it and flung it back.

  I smiled. “My lord. One thing I’ll tell you: these sky men with their new religion will now set out to recruit levies of warriors, knights and false lords to their service, all to control the populace. This being true, I suggest that you begin too, to gather your levies. Send trusted men to all villages and towns to rally the staunchest to your standards. Tell them that all is not lost; that Marack is taking the field and that warriors from all the north are rallying. You may tell them too that we will strike. And that when we do, ‘twill be done with the protection of all the magick of the north, inclusive of Marack’s Collin!”

  Their eyes gleamed as I spoke. Their hands inadvertently sought the hafts of their swords. Their indrawn breath was a sibilant hissing that boded no good for any Alphian. I sensed too that if there was ever to be a victory, ft would be no quarter—without a doubt!

  “Do you speak the truth, Sir Collin?” Draslich’s plea was almost pathetic, so difficult was the bridge from despair to hope.

  “When have I lied? I may get you all killed, and there’s no gainsaying that. But I do not play games.”

  “Well then,” he said, while arising
to fill our flagons one more time, “let’s drink to it.” He was a reborn, bright-eyed Lazarus; poised, even confident.

  Our toasts were hearty, adrenaline-charged, reflecting a new spirit. It was as if they’d heard the uncompromising trumpets of fresh armies charging to the rescue of stalwarts at bay on a thrice-stricken field. In essence, I’d deliberately psyched both them and ourselves in a way to spite the devil. And this against an enemy who, in the face of any reality, could easily slay us all—and with perfect equanimity.

  The Ferlachian-sea admiral said in more sober tones, “You are ever the dark bird, Sir Collin. But I would hope that just once, when and if you come again, ‘twill be for wassail and in a time when peace will reign, for all of us.” He then made the intricate swirl and dip, the protocol bow of all great lords.

  Rawl, ever alert to a chance for whimsy, said owlishly, “Our Collin would say yea to that, for ‘tis his choice, too.”

  Gaati, the aged wraithlike sorcerer, smiled, asked curiously, “Do you oppose peace, sir?”

  “Nay, good sorcerer. ‘Tis that I’m more alive in war and thus find pleasure in our Collin’s contradictions. If he had his way, sirs, there’d be no war at all; not even the simple exchange of blows for the possession of this bridge or that ford, or even small raids for the joy of it. If he had his way there’d be no tournaments either! Think on that when you frown on our Collin for the fact that his fate is ever opposite to his wishes so that he seems, by personal design, as the center of every storm… . That storms exist, is fact. They are our fated burden. But I, sirs, would have it no other way. ‘Tis why I ride with him!”

  He got a round of enthusiastic applause; some from outside the tent where others had gathered to listen.

  Draslich, pursuing the small-talk for the pleasure of it, asked courteously of Sir Dosh, “And you, sir. Do you too think this way?”

  Dosh, his thoughts elsewhere as usual, shook himself, as would a trained gerd who hears a bell. He batted his bulbous eyes, harrumphed a few times and then said testily, pompously, “Well now, my lords, I hold to the theme that a gog will linger where a kaati will not browse.” He emptied his cup and stared around him, challengingly.

  The statement of course required no answer except, perhaps, the observation that a kaati is carnivorous… .

  Draslich, puzzled, still had sense enough to turn to Lors Sernas as an escape from Dosh, or so he thought. He asked of Sernas: “And what of you, my lord of Hish? What think you of our Collin’s predilections?”

  That blazing worthy—his surcoat was a riotous garden of color so that his heraldry of two castles was lost in a myriad of painted flowers—exclaimed loudly: “Why, good king, I follow our Collin for his humor; for the fact that he’s a dancing master that I can learn from, and because he’s the greatest wizard in all the kingdoms. Why, sirs, if you had been where I have been and seen what I have seen: jewels, my lords, precious beyond all belief …” He shook himself. “But as to war, sirs, know this: I fight not for transient glory. -Tis an illusion, best ignored. I fight for love alone and to stay alive to enjoy pleasures of the flesh. I also delight in the savoring of foods, liquors, wines and the feel of satins, silks and velvets on my skin. In Hoom-Tet’s love, sire, I am a true sybarite. I am enamored of perfumes, poetry and lewd murals; or nakedness in all its forms. But most of all I do treasure the soft and willing bodies and limbs and parts of women—all women, young and old! As Hoom-Tet, our jolly master, has so succinctly put it: When all that’s gone, what else is left?’ So, sirs. Hear me well. I fight only for to stay alive and love. To our Collin then!” he shouted, carried away by the wicked pictures of his mind. ‘To our most gracious Collin, whom our sweet-bellied, fat-assed Hoom-Tet truly favors!”

  Bloody Mohammed-Og! I looked around. All but Sernas were staring at me, aghast. I’d no choice but to ignore it all. I nodded sternly. They smiled mechanically and raised their cups, while making the sign of Ormon on their breasts….

  Draslich alone chose to whisper, and he too had a sense of humor— “By the Gods, my lord, you do keep strange sword companions.”

  It was most certainly time to go, else all I’d won would soon be lost I arose, saying, “We must leave now, sire and my lords, and go to Cheese—and with your sorcerer, Gaati, do you permit it”

  “How could I not?” Draslich still chuckled inwardly. We all bowed to each other. But then, as Gaati plucked the Pug-Boo, Mool from his shoulder to hand him to one of his fellows, I swear I saw the little eyes widen for just a second, long enough to catch and hold my gaze. A small pink tongue came out to swing loosely back and forth. The eyes crossed. The little round head went tick-took, from one side to the other, as would a metronome in a counter motion to the tongue. It lasted just two seconds. But Hooli had had his fun. He’d announced his presence too….

  Damn him!

  “Screw you.” I yelled mentally, uncontrollably. “You’re playing games, you little bastard, while they’re scraping the rest of us off the walls. I hope you’re caught in a hype-warp, frigging taffy-machine. I hope to bloody hell that they stretch you from here to Antares. I hope. …” But Draslich and Gaati were staring at me strangely. To hell with it I’d see him later—maybe.

  The port city of Saks in Gheese still stood; so did its castle. There was no sign of destruction anywhere. Still, on the tourney field to the south of the castle’s low hill, was a third Alphian ship. It all seemed so peaceful, we could almost imagine that King Peres Chitar had been allowed to surrender himself and the people without the usual show of mindless destruction.

  Again we came to ground in a small clearing in the forest area to the north; right next to a herd of browsing dottles. We whistled them over, saddled the first four in the line-up (we kept saddles aboard the scoutship), nodded good-bye again to Kriloy and Gaati, phased out the ship and headed toward the city.

  In each case our residing ambassador had given us a meeting site. To be on the safe side, it was always outside the city’s walls. In Gheese, the spot was a combo boathouse-inn in a small cove where a sparkling stream came down to meet the river-sea. The surrounding trees were alive with tic-tic birds, blue-bottomed pity-docks and something akin to a daytime nightingale. Its warbling was fantastic. The cove, we learned shortly, was the personal property of our Gheesian ambassador, the grossly fat, Tils-Alden of Saks. It being as well protected from whiter gales as was Saks’ harbor, he’d coaxed a small fishing fleet to use it; taking a percentage of their catch as pay. The inn too was ostensibly for them. Actually it was all for Tils-Alden who was a gourmet lover of seafood….

  He was there now, a most punctual man, having a late breakfast or early lunch of ale, bok-bread, flatfish and a huge platter of mixed scallops, clams, oysters and certain unfamiliar mollusks. Seeing us, he arose, beaming to cry, “My lords, the sight of you must lead me to believe that all is well.” His round face-was awash with fish and ale, his mouth overly full of oysters. He waved a spoon, said, “Sit! Sit! Join me!” Then he choked, gasped, grabbed his throat and tried to swallow— which he should not have done. I immediately seized him and began to pound his back, thinking that we’d come too far to have our man die now of a surfeit of oysters. At a point where his face had turned blue, I was fortunate to hit the right spot He hawked, spit, and regurgitated a great gollop of something. He then said weakly but promptly, “As I was saying, sirs; be pleased to join me.” He sighed deeply and drew a number of pleasurable, happy breaths.

  We needed no second invitation. Indeed, we fell to instantly, each finishing a platter of this and that in short order. Fat Tils-Alden, picked up where he’d left off. His mouth filled again, he asked us what was happening.

  I told our story. “Yon clouds,” I finished, “are but the edge of a blanket that extends to far Great Ortmund. So you can see, we’re well protected, sir. But what of yourselves? ‘Tis why I’m here, remember?”

  He chewed mightily, waved his spoon again—and cautiously swallowed. He then gulped, cleared his throat ” ‘Tis both go
od and bad,” he exclaimed. “Example: The alien ship landed a full twenty-six hours after the one at Glagmaron. I was thus able to warn our good king Chitar a full hour before the fact Our cunning Chitar—and he’s oft’ been likened to the flimpl-dot who can snatch the best of a meat pie from your mouth without your knowing—did two things immediately. He left the castle with his knights and moved to a scattering of farm houses about three miles from the city; he sent heralds to warn all citizens that such a ship would land and that they were to go nowhere near it on pain of death. Well acquainted with our leader’s wisdom, no, one has gone within a thousand yards of the Alphians. And they in turn have done nothing as yet but to come out of their ship to stare around.

  “They seem oddly reluctant,” Tils-Alden chuckled, “to go anywhere near the castle; this, though the bridge is down, the gates yawn widely, and all-in-all, it’s deserted. I warrant, my lords, that if they’re like those at your keep of Glagmaron, they are then so stupid as to know not what to do.”

  He’d put his finger on the Alphians’ weakness, though I avoided the implication. I asked instead: “Do you have a message for me, sir?”