by Tom McGowen
After a simple breakfast of oatcakes and tea, they prepared to leave. Sergeant Major Small checked his Sten gun and his bag of ammunition. Constable Wier adjusted his helmet and grumbled a bit because he had no razor, and his chin had become stubbly with whiskers. The robot, without being told, picked up the great Sword, and Maggie fondly caressed her favorite magical possessions. “Keep an eye on things,” she told the bearded painting.
“Good luck,” it said with a choke in its bass voice. Simon was only mildly surprised to see a tear trickle down its painted cheek and into its beard.
They passed through the door which swung shut after them. It did not, to Simon’s surprise, vanish and turn into bare rock, but Merlin, noting his expression, explained. “No need for a barrier any longer,” he said. “If we are successful, we shall return. If not,” he shrugged, “there will be no haven anywhere for anyone.”
“By yer leave, sir,” said Sergeant Small addressing the wizard, “I think we should observe proper military procedure. I’ll move oot first, as the point—the advance guard that is—wi’ Angus to show me the way. Ye other two brownies move oot to the right and left aboot fifty yards as flank guards, and if anyone tries to come at us from the side, yell oot! Merlin, Maggie, Professor Smith, and the robot will be the main force, and Constable Wier can act as rear guard to make sure no one sneaks up on us from behind. All right, let’s move, oot!”
Merlin chuckled as the burly, kilted figure strode off, Sten gun at the ready. “He reminds me so much of Lancelot,” he said. “Lance was never one to be caught off guard, either.”
Simon eyed him curiously. “There’s not much doubt in my mind any more that you really are Merlin,” he acknowledged. “So tell me; what sort of a man was King Arthur?”
“That’s a remarkable thing too,” said the wizard with a sidelong glance at him. “He was very, very much like you. He never quite believed that my magic was real, and he was always trying to find out what made things work. I found him once with a bucket full of water to which he had tied a rope. He was swinging it around his head in a circle. ‘Look, Merlin,’ he said to me. ‘You’d think the water would slop out, but it doesn’t! Something holds it in when I swing it fast like this. What could it be?’ He was very interested and excited.”
Simon smiled. “Sounds as though he had the makings of a physicist,” he commented. “Wish I’d been there, I could have explained it to him. Could you?”
Merlin laughed, ruefully. “That was one of those problems that I struggled to solve for many days,” he admitted. “I finally decided that some kind of force was exerted which pushed the water into the pails.”
“You were pretty close,” grinned Simon. “We call it centrifugal force. A rotating object tends to move away from the center of its rotation.”
“Now that,” said the magician, “like your explanation of carbon last night, sounds as strange to me as one my incantations does to you.” He glanced again at physicist. “Yes, you are very much like him, even to the look in your eyes. You know, I foretold that both he and I would return when the world had greatest need of us. This seems to be the time, and here am I, but I guess I was wrong about him. However, you’ve taken his place Simon. You saved us from the demons last night, and your invention of the robot may well be the salvation of the world.”
Simon faltered in his stride and nearly stumbled. He had just realized something. It should have been obvious, but it had just not occurred to him until Merlin spoke. Simon had never liked his first name because it had seemed sissified to him as a little boy, and as he grew older he used his middle name, Simon, instead. He had done this for so long that he had almost forgotten that his real first name was Arthur.
Chapter
13
The little group trudged along, each member immersed in his own thoughts. As nearly as Simon could judge, they were following a course alongside the mountain which housed Maggie’s cave, moving in an upward direction at a right angle to the path that led back to Strathgow. They had been walking for nearly an hour. Pine trees hemmed them on all sides, but glancing up, Simon could see the peak of the mountain rising stark and bare, above and slightly behind them. About fifty yards ahead, the figure of Sergeant Small was visible, striding cautiously along the path as though he momentarily expected an ambush. Angus was perched on his left shoulder. There was no sign of the other two brownies flitting through the woods on either side. Fifty yards to the rear Constable Wier paced stolidly along, hands clasped behind his back. Every twenty paces or so, he turned and peered suspiciously along the path that stretched out behind them.
Maggie, using her broom as a walking stick, was hobbling along at a remarkable pace. Bathsheba prowled sinuously at her side. That the old woman was deep in thought was evident by the fact that she was frowning darkly and touching her nose with the tip of her tongue. Abruptly she sighed and tugged at Merlin’s sleeve to attract his attention. “I been thinkin’,” she stated. “From what we know, the demons can probably muster an army o’ thousands, can they not?”
“I would guess so,” replied the wizard.
“And the dwarves are the last o’ their kind,” mused the witch. “Their numbers have dwindled o’er the centuries, as men have spread oot through the world. How many warriors d’ye think they can furnish?”
“Probably,” said Merlin calmly, “no more than a few hundred.”
“That’s as I thought. It’ll no be much o’ an army wi’ which we’re invadin’ demonland. A few hundred dwarves, perhaps a hundred brownies—and stout-hearted though they be, they’re not but a foot tall—and the six o’ us. I know we have the perfect champion in Sir MacHinery, and I know we can count on great help from your magic and a bit from mine. But Urlug has his magic too, and the demons will still ootnumber us hundreds to one!”
Merlin rubbed his forehead. “In all truth, Maggie MacMurdoch, it is not an army we are taking into demonland. It is simply a bodyguard for Sir MacHinery. I am hoping that Urlug will believe that we actually are trying to conquer him and all his demons, by means of my magic, and with the help of all the dwarves and brownies we could gather. I truly hope he is scornful of our little force. For our strength lies not in the axes of the dwarves, nor the dirks of the brownies, nor even in my magic. It lies there.” He pointed at the robot, stomping methodically along with the great broadsword held rigidly before it. “And should every one of us perish, if he can but reach Urlug and smite him, the battle is won!”
“Even so,” said the witch, “should the demons attack our tiny force wi’ all their thousands o’ soldiers, they may well o’ercome us before MacHinery can use the sword. It could have happened last night but for the quick wits o’ Professor Smith. I think we need more numbers to add to our army.”
“Speak on,” said Merlin.
“The animals o’ the woods,” said Maggie. “The foxes who can see in the dark, can slip ahead and worn o’ ambush. The wildcats will fight wi’ fury! I know them, Merlin. They have no great love for men, but they live in peace wi’ dwarf and brownie and Maggie MacMurdoch. In their own way, they too know o’ the danger from the demons. They will help us Merlin. And they will make our numbers greater.”
“It is a good thought,” agreed the wizard. His eyes strayed to the cat who returned his gaze with yellow, unblinking eyes. “I presume that your feline friend here will carry our message of need to them?”
“Aye,” nodded the witch. “Bathsheba knows them all and can speak wi’ them. Bathsheba, lass, go and gather as many o’ the beasties as ye can. Have them meet us at the mountain by sundoon tonight.”
The cat yawned nonchalantly, then bounded from the path and into the woods with a burst of incredible speed.
“A most worthy beast,” commented Merlin.
“Ye can depend on her,” said Maggie, matter-of-factly. She glanced at Simon with a glint of humor in her ancient eyes. “I’m surprised that ye have nothin’ to say aboot my cat bein’ able to talk to other animals, Professor Smith.”
>
Simon shrugged. “It’s unusual but not impossible,” he observed. “Many animals have a great deal more intelligence than people give them credit for. A dog can understand several hundred words. Monkeys have an entire language. So do dolphins. And scientists are even learning to talk to them. Anyway,” he shook his head, “nothing surprises me anymore! Half the things that have happened to me in the last few days are completely impossible, but I can’t deny that they happened.”
“Well, if it comes to that,” said Merlin seriously, “I can scarcely believe some of the things which you have done. When I look at this mechanical marvel of yours, upon which rests our entire hope of winning this struggle, and when I think of the amazing thing you did last night. —Believe me, if you think that I am not awed by your abilities, you are very wrong.”
“When this is all over—if we live through it,” replied Simon, “I want to sit down and spend about two weeks just talking to you. I can explain everything I’ve done so that you can understand it, I’m sure. But I’ve got to find out how you’re able to do the things you do, or I’ll spend the rest of my life worrying about it.”
“I would relish two weeks, or two months, of pure conversation with you, Simon,” answered the wizard, sincerely.
They trudged on and soon found themselves in a barren, rocky wilderness on the slope of a mountainside. Simon had a sudden glimmer of understanding of what the Scottish Highlands really were. From their present position they could look back and see the forest sprawling down the mountainside like an immense, irregularly-shaped carpet of dark green. Far below, the forest encountered the hills, and the hills sloped off into glens in which an isolated village, such as Strathgow, might be found. But here they were among the mountains, remote, unpeopled, and arrogant in their towering pride. These were the mountains of the northland; sculptured monoliths of antiquity. “What is that,” asked Simon, pointing to a vast dim shape which towered in the distance.
“That be Canisp,” replied Maggie. “ ‘Tis one o’ the taller mountains hereaboots.”
“And where is this Mount Moraigh? Shouldn’t we be reaching it soon?”
“Och, compared to Canisp or Suilven, Moraigh is just a wee hill,” said Maggie deprecatingly. “There it lies before us.”
With Angus instructing him, Sergeant Small was picking his way along an indistinct, pebble-strewn path directly toward a looming wall of ribbed rock less than a half mile away. Within twenty minutes, the entire party had reached it.
“How do we get in?” queried Simon. “Another magic door?”
“Merely a very cleverly concealed one,” answered Merlin. “The dwarves are exceedingly fine craftsmen.”
“How do they know we’re here? Should we knock or something?”
“D’ye see that wee crevice aboot twenty feet above us?” Angus spoke up from the Sergeant’s shoulder. “ ‘Tis a guard window. They’ll have been watchin’ us for some time noo, and—ah!”
A rectangular crack appeared in the rock, and as they watched, it ponderously, but soundlessly, swung inward. The immense door of stone, nearly three feet in thickness, revealed a cobblestone courtyard brightly illuminated by flaring torchlight. And Simon had his first look at members of the great and ancient race of dwarves.
He was surprised. He had somehow assumed that, like the brownies, they would be tiny creatures, but the row of figures drawn up in line facing them from beyond the doorway were, on an average, about five feet tall and broadly proportioned. They looked like short Vikings. The long hair that fell to their shoulders and the square-cut beards that adorned their chins were uniformly fair, ranging in color from the palest blonde to reddish gold. They wore finely wrought tunics of silvery scale armor and horned, silver helmets. Their pointed-toed, high boots were of fawn colored leather, tooled with intricate designs. Each of them carried a heavy, double-bladed ax.
A few paces in front of them stood a dwarf, around whose neck hung a massive gold chain which glinted redly in the firelight. Touching his hand to his forehead, he bowed and spoke in a tongue which sounded to Simon vaguely like Welsh. It had a liquid, almost musical sound.
“He says, ‘Enter Glamoreth as friends,’ ” interpreted Angus. And they passed through the thick stone portal into the domain of the dwarves.
Chapter
14
They found themselves in a great courtyard, closed in on all sides by stone walls chiseled and polished to a glossy smoothness. Huge wrought iron torches, each as tall as Merlin, who was the tallest person present, lined the side walls at six foot intervals, illuminating the courtyard. At the far end of the cobblestone floor, a short flight of stone steps led up to a great arched doorway around which was chiseled a delicate pattern of entwined leaves. High above this doorway, running the length of the wall was a row of tiny slits where dwarf archers could fire down upon anyone who entered the courtyard unasked. The dwarf officer headed for the steps, and from behind them came a muffled thud as the huge stone door swung back into place, sealing the mountainside.
They moved up the steps and through the arched doorway. A massive stone bridge stretched some fifty yards toward another, larger arch from which light blazed. Below them, Simon heard the sound of rushing water and glancing upward saw a roof filled with slits like those he had noted on the wall outside. He guessed that if anyone managed to locate and penetrate the immense door in the mountainside, the dwarves could seal off the archway through which they had just passed and defend the courtyard with arrow fire. Should the enemy force the archway, the drawbridge would no doubt be pulled up, and the enemy would have to cross a turbulent, fifty-foot wide moat under a hail of arrows. Obviously, the dwarves were well determined to protect and defend their last stronghold. He wondered drily, if they had ever heard of high explosives.
Traversing the drawbridge, they passed through the large portal and beheld the city of Glamoreth. From Simon, Small, and Constable Wier came simultaneous gasps of awe.
The city that lay within the enormous cavern was as much an extension of the stone around and above it as a leaf is an extension of a tree. Stalactites and stalagmites had grown together, joining floor and ceiling, and had been chiseled into fantastic pillars or corner pieces of buildings, wound round with carved stone flowers in which were centered precious and semiprecious stones. Dips and rises in the cavern floor had been carved into steps. The buildings seemed to fit and follow the configuration of the entire cavern. Their colors and shapes were contrived to blend into a mass of beauty. City and cavern were one; a glorious sculpture which could only have been created by a people to whom the stone of earth was a beloved thing of beauty.
The dwarf officer led them down a street that was made of intricately inlaid square and rectangular polished stones. In the blaze of the numerous torches which jutted forth from every pillar, it was like walking across a muted rainbow which had been shattered into fragments and lay upon the ground. Through an arched doorway of pure white alabaster they entered the great hall of the Chieftain of the Dwarves.
At least a hundred yards in length, it rose to a vaulted ceiling, crossed by beams of carved stone from which hung a score of silver chandeliers, each blazing with half a hundred candles. Rich tapestries scattered with blue sapphires sparkled in the radiance of the candlelight. The floor was silver. Standing beside a large, circular table of white, rose-mottled marble was a single, imposing figure.
His head was thrown back, not in arrogance, but proudly, as he looked at them out of pale blue eyes. A circlet of rubies crowned his head, and his hair and beard, which had once been pale blond, were snow-white with age. But he stood ramrod straight, his sturdy legs planted in a wide stance.
“I am Gwedhedda,” he said simply, in a deep, powerful voice.
“And I am Merlin,” said the wizard in his own deep tone. Simultaneously, they bowed to one another.
“We heard that you were free, Great Merlin,” said the Chieftain, “and have been expecting you. Maggie and Angus I know, but who are these others
?”
Simon became suddenly and painfully aware of his tangled beard and disreputable clothes. Amidst all this magnificence, he felt that he must look like a ragged beggar.
“These two,” said Merlin, indicating Sergeant Major Small and Constable Wier, “are two brave mortals who wish to join us in our fight. And this,” he pointed at Sir MacHinery, “is the champion who holds the weapon that can destroy the power of the demons.”
Gwedhedda looked at the robot for some time. “He is not a flesh and blood creature,” he commented at last. “Is he a magical creation of yours, Merlin?”
“No,” answered the magician and pointed to Simon. “He is a creation of this man’s craftsmanship. He is a machine that can walk, and talk, and think like a man. His strength is limitless, he is untiring, he is clever, he is fearless and incorruptible. No man, dwarf, nor demon can match his prowess.”
The dwarf studied the robot again. “Can you truly think like a man?” he asked.
“No,” replied the robot in his flat monotone. “I think as a machine because I am a machine, not a man. A man often mixes his thinking with emotion and becomes confused. I have no emotion, therefore I think more logically than does a man.”
Gwedhedda raised an eyebrow in surprise. “A most wise answer,” he remarked. He pointed at the massive marble table by his side. “Can you lift this table?”
The robot shifted the sword to one hand and placed the other beneath the center of the table. With no effort whatsoever, he lifted it to the height of the dwarf’s head, then gently lowered it again.
“It would have taken at least three dwarves using both hands to do that,” commented Gwedhedda. He looked at Simon. “What is your name, craftsman?”
“Er—Simon Smith, sir,” said the physicist, unconsciously smoothing his hair with one hand and brushing at his soiled sweatshirt with the other.
“We dwarves are the greatest craftsmen of the world,” said Gwedhedda matter-of-factly, “yet no dwarf in all our thousands of years of history could have created so wondrous a thing as this. I bow to your skill.”