The Magick of Camelot

by Arthur H. Landis

  My mind, caught in the crazy maelstrom of Hooli’s making, was at a white-hot heat. The little bastard had used me again, every step of the way. Sure we were winning; we’d also been dying all over the five kingdoms of the northern continent for the last three weeks. Even now, though others were risking their lives to protect me, Hooli’s robot, standing like some overstaffed scarecrow in their midst, was unable even to lift a sword arm.

  He was saying strongly, “You go after the sphere and we’re dead, Kyrie. I’ll handle the sphere. If I fail, then we’ve all had it, and you’ll still be dead. For theres simply no goddamn way in the world that you or any combination of forces on Fregis can take the sphere!”

  “But you said—”

  “I lied—”

  I said coldly, “Well, now. It’s a whole new ballgame. You also said that as a Universal Adjuster you were incapable of lying. …”

  “Attend to your lady, sir. I think she needs you.”

  “Damn you!”

  “Time’s a’wastin’, buddy. I still love you.”

  “I’ve a man over here who’s dying.”

  “Not to worry….”

  And he cut me off, and I staggered and fell, disoriented at the release. I’d fallen on poor Dosh. Struggling to my feet with the help of Caroween, I saw that we were the center of a protective circle. Around us the fighting had died again except for a clash of weapons beyond our group. Caroween, shoving my rescued sword back into my hand, and with her shield’s edge to my back to steady me, said concernedly, “Are you all right now, my lord? For a few seconds there, we thought you were gone.”

  Seeing five newly slam bodies to our front, I mumbled, “This, in just a few seconds?” Our lovely redhead shrugged. Except for her fur and hair she could have been a clone to Murie, in every way. Blood dripped from her cheek and chin now; her own or someone else’s.

  Immediately beyond our circle Gen-Rondin and Murie each fought separate battles, Gen-Rondin with the largest of the Alphians, Murie with Tarkiis.

  Even as I was introduced to what was happening, Rondin, that veritable gerd of a warrior, literally drove his shield ahead against a myriad of blows from his defending opponent—and stopped, deliberately to throw his man off balance. Indeed, the fellow had to stand stock-still for the briefest of seconds just to keep from falling. When he did, Rondin brought his own great weapon around in a one-handed blow of such strength and power that he actually cut the Alphian in half. Before ever the torso toppled, the man’s eyes had seen the severing of his one part from the other. Then, mercifully, he was dead. The cry of horror arising from the throats of friend and foe alike at such a stroke, was something we no desire to hear again.

  Murie and Tarkiis, caught up in the fury of Rondin’s attack, had paused to watch, leaning on their swords. With the sky lord’s death cry, however, another “angel” leaped from his group to the aid of Tarkiis.

  I’d been facing them directly. There was no time to reach the book with the hidden weapons. But I did have the belt. I positioned myself to fire, my finger poised over the laser stud. I froze! I couldn’t do it. And it was no longer a question of what the creature within the sphere would do—if he actually could know of the act, and I was beginning to doubt that seriously. The deed would be un-Fregisian. In essence, northern chivalry would accept it—but never understand it For I was their Collin, sans peur et sans reproche!

  I’d used the laser beam but twice before in all my time on Camelot-Fregis. Once, to blast the sorcerer Fairwyn from off his high tower. But that had been understood, for Fairwyn had been directing lightning bolts at us. The second time was when I’d imploded the Dark One in the eyrie of his dread pyramid temple in Hish.

  With twice the strength of any Fregisian, and with a certain practiced agility, too, I cleared the intervening space in one giant leap. I’d have aimed myself at Tarkiis, but Murie was in the way. So I came down square on the challenger, knocking him flat to the tile. He never had a chance. I bent, seized his half-conscious body by the feet, whirled it—and flung it straight at the sword-swinging, cursing Overlord.

  The time consumed was five seconds at best. Infighting is like that. There was then a tableau which I will remember all. the days of my life. The Alphian I’d tossed at Tarkiis was out of it—unconscious or dead; a pool of blood was rapidly forming beneath his head.

  Tarkiis, though down, was in a sitting position, supporting himself with his two hands. His expression conveyed total terror, and with good reason. For Murie, eyes blazing hell-fire, stood over him. In an altogether beautiful five-feet-two of splendidly coordinated bone and muscle, her pose was that of a dancer, her legs apart for balance and purchase. Her left hand was raised. Her sword arm, from shoulder to sword-haft to point, where it touched on Tarkiis’s throat, was one single, rigid line….

  The entire hall, as if in response, seemed enveloped in a sudden cold shroud of silence. Even the wind had ceased. The torches no longer wavered. The encroaching shadows were now immobile, lifeless.

  Tarkiis, eyes bulging, managed a whisper, a hiss, really, that caromed, ricocheted, rebounded from all the walls, like some voice from a witch’s cabal in an ancient Terran play. ‘Tell me what it is that you want, my lady,” he forced the words, “and I’ll give it, that I may live.” Spittle damped his chin. There was a trembling in all his limbs. He looked less than a god now; indeed, less even than a man.

  Murie’s gaze had turned flat-eyed; her face expressionless, except for the faintest of curls at her lip. She murmured, at-most sweetly, “But you’ve nought else to give that I want— but your life.”

  He screamed. “But I must live.”

  “That, you shall not”

  His face went ashen. He pleaded. “‘Tis that I know so little of death….”

  “For one who’s given it to so many, I’d have thought you knew a great deal.”

  His voice became sickeningly servile then, obsequious. “Let me live,” he begged; tears even coursed down his cheeks, “and I promise that I shall surely study it.”

  His throat was so constricted now that he could scarcely speaks and I marveled at him as a thing not truly human. I’d seen robots, servos, and “droids” more sensitive, more understanding.

  “Murie,” I called suddenly, for a thought had insidiously touched my mind. “I intend seizing his ship. I may need him.”

  She turned to observe me calmly and to say, “Well now, my lord, if that’s the case, I’m sure you do. But why not those?” She pointed with her free hand to the remnant sky men who still held bloodied swords. “Now hear me, Collin,” she continued, “and I say this before my mother and my father, who still rule in Marack; and I say it before all of you who have fought so bravely, and before all those in our northern kingdoms who have done likewise: Though you remain my love, Collin—and we will surely be wed, and soon—you, too, are a sky lord. I know this now. And though you’ve risked much and fought well for all of us, still, you’ve fought your battles in part for other reasons.

  “And so I’m obliged to tell you now that it is not you who has been harmed here in the castle of our fathers, nor in this land and world of Fregis. It is our people, sir, and me. For I, too, have been harmed by this thing who dared to call itself a god. I have been harmed both as a woman and as Marack’s future queen. And so I say for all that he shall not live. And that’s a fact.”

  And she dispatched him with one deft slash of the blade.

  She came to me then, her cheeks all wet with tears. I held her, and all I could think of was the Deneb, and the hundred of our crew, and Ragan, my comrade, and the starship’s commander, Drelas Niall—none of whom had ever thought to die so soon, and in so strange a circumstance.

  Which snapped me back to the still existent sphere.

  “What you did was right,” I consoled her. “And Gen-Rondin, too, will agree. Your father offered peace. Tarkiis gave him not even war, but murder. There are some things, Murie, which are beyond the pale; for though they seem as human, or as li
fe-respecting, as we would say, they are not… Not allow me,” I told her softly. “I must end this.” I gently broke away, retrieved the blaster and laser from the bible, fired a single blue beam at a larger than usual bat and missed, then ordered the remaining Alphians to lay down their swords. They did. The ten white-tabs had already done so. They stood now, heads bowed, awaiting their death.

  I put them to work instead; first to collect the useless blaster and laser guns; second, to strip the dead Alphians of their clothing and to see to it that the bodies were taken to the courtyard and the hall immediately cleansed of its battle scars. Assembling the power packs for a recharge, and my belt was capable of this potential, I showed Kodder and Rogas how to use the Alphian guns and sent them to the turret towers above the bridge gates to stop any Alphian effort to enter the castle, should they attempt to do so.

  Gen-Rondin, in the meantime, went to those merchants, priests, white-tabs and the like still gathered at the hall’s, south end. Their fear of the skyship had held them there. He told them that from now on they would be judged by what they did and how they conducted themselves. All who had castle apartments were told to go to them and await his orders. The white-tabs, other than those not on clean-up duty, were sent to the barracks. The worst that could happen, he told these last, was that at their future trial those who had killed for the sky lords and the false god, Diis, would be imprisoned, while most others would simply be banished to the countryside and dropped forever from service in the royal army. The last was a greater blow than one might imagine.

  Rondin then joined the king and his party, who’d returned to his table and was now surrounded by my original handful, including a somewhat shaky Sir Alten Dosh. Dosh refused to accept the fact that he was alive, insisting rather, that we, too, had obviously been slain, and that somehow this castle and the scenes around us were but a view of Ormon’s heaven whereon we’d actually won instead of lost our battle. The idea of a Hooli dispensing a special kind of cure-all goodness would have made less sense to Dosh than his own bizarre conclusions. I therefore allowed him to cling to his nonsense.

  Time continued to run out, Hooli’s time. I quickly buzzed Kriloy before joining the king, hoping to catch him before he’d moved to the secret passage exit on the river-road below. I got him—if for no other reason than that he’d delayed leaving the safety of the ship until the last moment. Considering our victory, I forgave him without ever accusing him.

  “New orders,” I told him bluntly. “Return to Gortfin immediately. Inform Fel-Holdt that we have seized the castle, slain Tarkiis and that our next move is to capture the Alphian skyship, the details to be worked out when he gets here. For this last, you will pick up Elioseen, Fel-Holdt, and a half-dozen of our best swordsmen. Tell Elioseen, too, to prepare six of her wizards for transit You’ll bring these last to Glagmaron on your second trip, along with an additional ten swordsmen….”

  “Christo!” Kriloy audibly sucked in his breath. He asked hesitantly, and I could sense the guilt of his own procrastination, “Was it—difficult, Kyrie?”

  “Yes and no. You’ll be briefed with the others. Now move.”

  At the king’s table, I told them that Elioseen and Fel-Holdt would arrive shortly and that I had informed the two of them that I intended to move against the Alphian warship without delay.

  Rondin asked sharply but straightforwardly, “And just how, exactly, do you propose to do this, my lord?”

  I poured myself a cup of wine, drank it, sighed my pleasure and poured another. Hooli was again in Murie’s delectable lap, but by no means asleep. I sensed an alertness, a sharp awareness of me and what I was up to. Good! I had a couple of surprises for him.

  “Well, for one thing,” I said, “we’re in luck. A sky lord has told me, though I’ve yet to question him at length, that his comrades have developed such a penchant for love these days that they now have a stable of lovelies aboard their craft with them. So. ‘Tis simple. We have twenty sky-lord uniforms from which the blood is being cleansed. With Fel-Holdt’s swordsmen, plus ourselves and two guides, we’ll simply enter the ship and take them prisoner. The assault, whatever the resistance, will, I assure you, be a great deal easier than the melee we’ve fought here tonight The true test will come after: …”

  “Which is??

  My eyes fixed hard on Hooli. That I intended entering the Alphian ship with laser and blaster weapons and in sky-lord uniforms hadn’t phased him a bit. He even dared to do his pendulum tongue trick as a sign of his acquiescence.

  “What else? We will attack the remaining ships.”

  And now came the real challenge, for I intended telling them everything that would happen while withholding the source of my information. Hooli would either interfere, or he wouldn’t “It goes,” I told them, “like this: Tomorrow, and at any time after sunrise, we can expect at least two if not all of the remaining skyships to come to Glagmaron field, at which point it is my intention to destroy them with the aid of the skyship which we will capture. We must achieve their destruction as rapidly as possible, for tomorrow, too, the sphere will move. What it will do is beyond my knowledge. I would remind you, however, and all who were there will verify this, that the sphere was capable of destroying the great ship of my comrades. That is all I can tell you.”

  Gen-Rondin scratched his nose, sniffed and poured us both another drink. Sighing loudly, he said slyly, “It would seem to me that you’ve said enough. Still, if we cannot win against this last and obviously most dangerous of our enemies, then I suggest that we fall back to our original strategy: disperse, stay alive, and patiently continue to study the enemy for his weak points; this, though it might easily take the rest of our lives. In essence, Collin, other than yourself and those you choose to fight with you, there’s no reason for the rest of ours to remain in Glagmaron. The city, too, should be emptied lest the sphere take vengeance for his ships and men.” “Except for the one thing I’ve yet to tell you.”

  “Oh, ho? Tell it then.”

  “I speak now of the force that I’ve only hinted at so far. If, as a result of our destruction of the Kentiin fleet (I’d deliberately used the Alphian name for themselves), the sphere decides to attack us, this force will then enter the arena. Hopefully,” and I stared hard into Hooli’s little bright eyes, “it will win. If not, well we, myself, all those in the ship; indeed, an in this world could conceivably die. Still, I’ve no way of knowing this for sure. As for an evacuation, well I seriously doubt that it’ll make any difference now.”

  I bowed then to the king and queen. The latter had indeed been touched by Hooli’s healing paws. She looked alert. And though she wasn’t all that “chipper,” she was at least “with , us,” whereas before this was simply not the case. The problem was that though he could cure her physically, it would take time for the brain to avail itself of the cleansing.

  The royal family retired to the royal chambers and to the royal wardrobe that had been denied them for so long. Murie and Caroween went with them, “to cleanse themselves of the pox,” as they so merrily put it. The rest of us retired to the great room of the chirurgeons below, hoping to get ourselves in shape for the coming of Fel-Holdt and Elioseen. They arrived, unfortunately, while we were still in the baths, so we were not present at the meeting of the king with his sister. I’m told it “was more of a familial love scene than one of strain and accusation. I was scarcely concerned with that anyway, being more intent on observing myself critically in the mirror—in ray new attire as a sky lord.

  Our ablutions completed, we were ready; and I now wanted it over as soon as possible. Arriving in the hall of the privy council, I found that the second shuttle of swordsmen and sorcerers had been safely delivered. And, too, Elioseen, wasting no time, had made a mental contact with the main resistance forces in Glagmaron City, so that a couple of hundred of our best would shortly arrive through the secret passageway to aid in holding the castle for the king—or so they thought. One thing was certain: If all went well tonight and tom
orrow, why then, except for the many slain by the Alphians, things would be back to normal in short order.

  In the council room, I greeted Fel-Holdt warmly with the Marackian abrazo and handclasp. I also embraced our beauteous Lady of Gortfin and received a kiss on the cheek and a glance of love from wet eyes as .my reward—all this under the stony glare of my dearly beloved. Fortunately, Gen-Rondin’s quite passionate embrace of our lady took the edge off somewhat, as did her response which was equally unrestrained and effusive.

  But, as stated, there was no time and those who had begun our little saga were destined to end this part of it now. These were: Myself, Rawl, Gen-Rondin, Sernas, Dosh, Rogas and Kodder, called in from the wall; our two valkyries, who’d have it no other way, nine of the newly shuttled swordsmen, and two of the captured sky lords as guides. We were twenty, dressed in sky-lord uniforms and carrying sky-lord weapons. With everyone around a long-table in the great hall, I explained the simple mechanisms of the Alphian weapons. Each had a safety, an intensity gauge and an automatically synched scope. While still inside I had them do a little dry firing to accustom them to the trigger. I also promised eternal hell-fire if they didn’t keep then: fingers out of the guard unless they were actually drawing down on someone.