Champion of the Last Battle

by Robert Adams

  “Prince Mahrtuhn Gilbuht, although he bore but the milder variety of the affliction, also sought me out for this same procedure and I accommodated him, for it did much to ease his gentle nature and troubled mind. Upon his accession to the throne of New Kuhmbuhluhn, or right soon thereafter it had been his intent to formally adopt an heir who might not be of so close a relationship as to early the same intensity of the beastly affliction of his house. But as you know, Lord Champion, poor young Mahrtuhn Gilbuht died most gallantly before he ever had the chance to carry out aught of his plans.

  “What King Byruhn would have done, I know not, but there on the road from that dreadful battle, when I told him that his royal father’s spark of life had winked out, he remarked to me that he and I both knew that he must be the very last king of the House of Mahrloh and why. Perhaps he too intended to adopt a distant cousin as his heir — I know not.”

  “But, Pah-Elmuh,” probed Bili, “you say that you had long ago taught Byruhn how to suppress these changes into wolf form. Then why did he suddenly lose his control and begin to stalk by night, killing and rending and devouring innocent folk? Why would he have slain Oodehn, yet not even try to eat him?”

  “As to the sad death of my Oodehn Lord Champion, I know not why he was slain — perhaps mere bloodlusting ferocity of the shameful thing King Byruhn had, through no fault of his own, become. As to why he did not then eat of my son, because none of these men who become beasts in this affliction ever will eat, in the beast shape, of any save human flesh.

  “Why King Byruhn lost his carefully nurtured control, well, I can but speculate that perhaps the injury to his head had a detrimental effect on that part of his brain that housed his control. It also could be that as his man body lay slowly dying of lack of proper nourishment, the basic survival instinct awakened the beast in him and sent it out in search of the food needed to sustain them both. But now we never will know the real truth.”

  Chapter XIV

  The morning of the set battle dawned with a bright glare of sunlight, presaging a hot day to come. Cottony islands of white cloud floated here and there in the pale-blue skies, peacefully sailing the high, airy oceans far above the bloody affairs of men.

  But on this particular area of the earth, below that serene, celestial calm and stillness, drums had begun to roll even before the dawning, bugles to peal their imperative notes, men to shout orders, while horses stamped and neighed and snorted, metal rattled and clanked, leather creaked. There was neither quiet nor calm anywhere in the camp below or the city above, as two groups of warriors prepared to do again that which they did best — fight and maim and kill other warriors.

  As prearranged, Sir Djahn Makadahm was the first man to ride out from the stockaded camp onto the space between camp and mountain that had been agreed upon as the site of the coming passage-at-arms. Almost immediately, he was joined there by the chosen herald of New Kuhmbuhluhnburk, Freefighter Captain Sir Fil Tyluh.

  They two had met before, whilst Sir Djahn was being entertained in the city. Now both shucked gauntlets and clasped hands. “When will his grace of Morguhn arrive?” asked the Skohshun.

  “Shortly, Sir Djahn, Fil Tyluh replied, “What of your own command party?”

  “As soon as they see enough of your officers and nobles down here to reassure them that none of your long-range engines are likely to cast a wainload of rock upon them.”

  Silently, Tyluh beamed the reply to Bili, who sat his big stallion at the head of his already formed-up column within the passageway of the barbican, and Bili, in his turn, mindspoke the black horse he bestrode, “Now, my dear brother. At a slow walk, proudly, impressively.”

  Down the full length of the curving and recurving roadway, Mahvros progressed, his steel-shod neck arched proudly, prancing and capering, lifting his hooves high in a practiced parade walk, In all the cavalcade of New Kuhmbuhluhn noblemen and their mounts, Mahvros knew that he was the biggest, most beautiful, strongest and most dangerous warhorse, and his pride was plain to any man or horse watching his performance along the route of the column.

  Bili had flatly refused the strong suggestion of councilors and certain others that he allow the palace smith to alter a harness of the late Prince Mahrtuhn Gilbuht to fit him, instead wearing that same three-quarter suit of plate he had worn when first he met the Kuhmbuhluhners nearly three long years agone. The only concession to their desires he had made was to allow a golden circlet, such as their own dukes displayed, to be affixed around the brows of his helm and a bunch of gold-tipped red plumes to be fastened atop the bowl of the helm.

  He carried his own big double axe cased at the off side of his saddle pommel, a selection of Ahrmehnee darts in an open quiver on the near side. The sword he had taken from his downed opponent on the last occasion he had fought Skohshuns hung at his left side, a target hung from his cantle. and a long, broad dirk from his waist belt; a slender dagger was tucked into the top of one boot and a thick-bladed knife into the other. A two-quart skin of brandy-water hung from the off side of the cantle, balancing the target, and between them was lashed a head-sized ball of netting.

  Once upon the surer footing provided by the soil of the plain, Mahvros curvetted twice, then settled back into his proud, graceful, strutting walk.

  Immediately the column of riders had been seen to be proceeding down the mountainside, the main gate of the camp of the Skohshuns had been gapped and, as Bili led his followers out onto the open ground toward the spot whereon the two heralds awaited them, a similar column of mounted officers and standard-bearers had issued from that open gate.

  Even before Sir Djahn introduced them, Bili had recognized Brigadier Sir Ahrthur Maklarin as the armored officer who had attacked him at the last battle.

  “So this is the famous Sir Bili, Duke of Morguhn and most accomplished war captain, eh?” remarked Sir Ahrthur, smiling. “You’ve cost us dearly, young sir, dearly indeed, and we hope to reciprocate in greater or lesser measure, this day.”

  Bili grinned. “You have an exceeding hard head, apparently, Sir Ahrthur. I’d have thought that I cracked it wide with the toe of my boot, back at that battle in the spring.”

  Sir Ahrthur flushed dark red, his eyes narrowed and his lips thinned beneath his mustaches. “Yes, you’re big enough to have been that bast . . . ahhh, to have been that man. What do you know of the sword I was using that day?”

  Grasping the weapon carefully by the scabbard so as to give no slightest appearance of drawing steel, Bili showed the hilt to the brigadier, whose lividity deepened in hue.

  “That was my father’s sword, sir duke. You stole it from me!” There was clear fury in the old man’s tone and demeanor.

  But Bili just continued to grin, further infuriating the Skohshun commander. He shrugged, saying, “I’d not call it so, Sir Ahrthur, not at all. I was, shall we say, in dire need of a sword just then, because you had broken mine. I took yours because, as I now recall, you were in no present need of one. Or do I misremember, Sir Ahrthur?”

  “Now, damn you, you mercenary bastard,” snarled Sir Ahrthur, “I’ll have my sword back!” He extended his right hand.

  Bili just laughed, “If you win, today, you’ll get it back one way or the other.”

  * * *

  Led by southern Kuhmhuhluhners who knew the northern plain well, with Whitetip ranged far out ahead to detect any parties or patrols of Skohshuns, Sir Geros’ force had been moving at a slow, cautious, horse-saving pace for two days and nights and now were nearing the chosen battleground. King’s Rest Mountain now loomed close enough to differentiate certain larger details of the city built into its flank.

  When the young knight was assured by men who well knew whereof they spoke that his command was within a half hour’s easy, ambling ride of the projected battle site, he ordered a halt and had his command dismount, loosen girths and rest, cautiously throwing out a staggered perimeter guard of keen-eyed Ahrmehnee dartmen and Freefighter archers with orders to loose or cast first and check ide
ntities afterward.

  Raikuh smiled to Guhntuh, Bohluh and himself at the completely unprompted siring of orders, remarking. “Our young war leader is fast learning his trade. Those months in the field against the Ganiks were at least good for that. I think that our dear lord Duke Bili will be pleasantly surprised at how well our Sir Geros has turned out.”

  * * *

  Some miles to the left of Sir Geros’ halted command, yet another warband was on the march, this one completely unbeknownst to Bili, the Kuhmbuhluhners, the Skohshuns or Sir Geros. But there were a few within the Skohshun camp who knew . . . and said nothing.

  Late on the preceding afternoon, a lone rider had come from the west, reined up at the rear gate of the stockade and, upon being recognized — him and his mount, both — had been admitted.

  Disarmed and marched before the grim old brigadier, Counter Tremain had firmly, flatly denied having purposely stolen that officer’s favorite horse or deserted, swearing over and over again that he had mounted the near-hysterical animal in an attempt to calm him down, that the gelding then had bolted and run so far in the darkness of the night that the dawn had found the Ganik with a spent horse in an area with which he had been completely unfamiliar and from which it had taken him this long to find his way back to the camp.

  The mere fact that the man had returned with a valuable animal was, to the brigadier, reason enough to believe his story, so he formally thanked Counter, had his arms and effects returned to him and sent him to rejoin Erica Arenstein and her other followers. There, as soon as he was certain that they would not be overheard, Counter took the woman and Horseface Charley aside and told them the exciting truth of the matter.

  * * *

  The transceiver hung to the near side of the saddle pommel of General Jay Corbett’s mount buzzed, signaling an incoming transmission on its wavelength. Lifting it to his mouth and activating it, he answered, “Corbett, here. Over.”

  “Oh, Jay, Jay,” came Erica s well-remembered voice, “you can’t believe how good it is to hear your voice again, to hear the voice of any civilized human being again. Christ, I’ve been afraid I’d live out this body and die in this stinking wilderness, with only gibbering barbarian apes for company.”

  “So, Tremain made it back safely. eh? And managed to snooker those Skohshuns, too? Over.”

  “Yes, Jay, that old fool of a brigadier is convinced he has a monopoly on brains. Ha! Just because Counter brought his pet horse back, he’s convinced that Counter never even tried to desert, but rather did something almost heroic.

  “Not only that, but this tinpot Napoleon thinks he has all but won his asinine little war because he has persuaded a numerically inferior enemy to come down out of a damned near impregnable fortified city and fight him on the plain. He thinks — hell, I don’t think the old fart knows how to think.

  “You know and I know that those New Kuhmbuhluhners — who have cost these Skohshuns hundreds of casualties and almost burned down their whole fucking camp some weeks back with catapults throwing fireballs and boulders — wouldn’t just file down out of that city and bare their necks for the sword. They’re bound to have a few dirty tricks in store for Sir Ahrthur and his damned pikemen, you can bet on it.”

  “Did you tell your suspicions to this brigadier, Erica? Over,” asked Corbett, thinking that if the senior Skohshun officer happened to feel himself in Erica’s debt, he might let her and the others go without a fight.

  “Oh, yes. I tried to,” she answered wryly. “The arrogant old pig, he let me know that he considers war to be an exercise in machismo and that the only function of women is to bear sons to fight wars and, just possibly, nurse wounded soldiers. I hope he gets the ferrule end of a pike jammed up his arse today!”

  * * *

  One good look at the “porcupine” formations in which the Skohshuns were formed this day warned Bili of the folly of once more essaying the dismounted attack with the nets. Not only did the pikes now project in all four directions, the ranks were formed around a spine of men better armored and armed with an assortment of shorter, handier weapons — poleaxes, beef-tongues, partizans, greatswords and various types of flails and war hammers. Such troops would make bloody mincemeat of such an attack as Bili and his squadron had so successfully undertaken at the previous battle.

  So he adopted the favored tactic of the late King Byruhn — leading his horsemen at a fast ambling gait along the front of the four schiltrons, while the Kuhmbuhluhn mountaineers cast their deadly little hatchets and the Ahrmehnee of his own squadron cast their equally deadly darts. On those occasions when the Skohshuns armed with the shorter weapons ventured out to close, Bili refused them combat galloping his force off beyond their range at a pace too fast for them to follow afoot.

  When the axes and javelins were expended, he mindspoke Captain Frehd Brakit and the archers commenced their deadly rain on the scantily armored pikemen — Freefighiers with their short, powerful hornbows, Kuhmbuhluhners with hardwood self-bows as long as the archers were tall, loosing arrows three feet in length and tipped with tempered steel.

  Twice during this phase of the battle, units of mounted and armored Skohshun lancers made to charge the lines of dismounted bowmen who were wreaking such deadly havoc on the helpless schiltrons. But each time these Skohshuns were met and bloodily stopped in their tracks by Bili and a portion of his heavy-armed squadron, reinforced by the Kuhmbuhluhn nobles.

  As the archers expended their initial stocks of arrows and slacked off their death-dealing sleet of shafts, an armored man

  bearing an unpointed lanceshaft from which fluttered a white banner paced his horse slowly forward into the empty, hoof-churned space between the two forces. A brace of other armored horsemen followed him.

  Recognizing the horses if not the riders at the distance. Bili sent Captain Sir Fil Tyluh out ahead with a white banner of his own and followed behind him with Lieutenant Kahndoot, who had happened to be the closest officer to hand.

  Vainly hoping to stave off another confrontation between the seething brigadier and Duke Bili of Morguhn. Sir Djahn spoke first and fast. “Your grace, Sir Ahrthur is of the opinion that you are in violation of the agreements as regards this set battle. Not only are you deliberately avoiding any contact with our main force, but you are employing most dishonorable means to whittle away at men who have no chance to defend themselves or to strike back at those who are killing them. Do you intend to close, to press a charge through to the pikes? If so, when?”

  Bili could scarce credit his ears, could hardly believe that any sane warrior would speak such arrant nonsense to another. “When will I charge, Sir Djahn? When it suits me to do so, that’s when, and not until I can see that it will be to my advantage to press home a charge. Do you seriously believe that I led these men out here to let your pikemen butcher them? Spear them like so many fish? You yourself have admitted that your troops outnumber mine own, I’m simply evening those odds a bit, If that upsets your delicate sensibilities, why, then, I suggest that you form up your men in column and march them all back behind yonder stockade, whilst I and mine return behind the walls of New Kuhmbuhluhnburk. Perhaps you will feel better after you’ve wasted a few more hundreds of men against those waits, in a couple of days . . . if I haven’t pounded and burned your camp, meanwhile.

  “Now, do you want to fight a battle or sit here talking for the rest of this day?”

  The brigadier could abide no more silently; he kneed his gelding forward and stared hard at Bili as he addressed Sir Djahn. “Fagh! I told you it would be an exercise in utter futility to speak of honor to this puling thief; I doubt me he ever knew the meaning of the word. and I cannot but wonder if this King Byruhn knows just what sort of scoundrel he has hired and placed in command of his army. Perhaps we should declare a truce, Sir Djahn, while you ride up there and try to determine if this cowardly kind of warfare be the will of the true ruler of New Kuhmbuhluhn.”

  Fil Tyluh spoke before Bili could. “Sir Ahrthur, poor King Byruh
n died of his injuries last night. Until a new king is chosen, since he was the last of his house. New Kuhmbuhluhn’s regent is Sir Bili, Duke of Morguhn. So the royal council has declared this morning.”

  Hurriedly, still trying to prevent the inevitable, Sir Djahn said, “Your grace. I never met your late king but the once; nonetheless, I grieve with you and all of New Kuhmbuhluhn.”

  “Well, I don’t!” snapped the brigadier hotly. “I hope he’s roasting in hell with the rest of the heathen! And I demand to know why this treacherous, backbiting mercenary bastard never mentioned to Sir Djahn during the negotiations for this so-called battle his intentions to not come to grips and fight breast to breast as honorable warriors should, as the late king’s predecessor did, but to avoid real fighting in a most craven manner while using the weapons of dishonor — bows, darts, slings and throwing axes — against his betters.”

  Bili looked speculatively at the snarling, red-faced old man. At last, he said, “Sir Ahrthur, either you are a complete ass and a fool or you think that I am such. To answer your first question: I told Sir Djahn that I would use every arm, every advantage in my possession or power to command, saving only that I would not employ my engines during the course of this battle, either against your formations or your camp.

  “Now, if he or you chose to interpret that answer to mean that I would leave my missilemen — my archers, my dartmen, my axe throwers and my slingers — behind as did poor, bemused old King Mahrtuhn, such was your choice of possible meaning.

  “You carry on and on about fighting breast to breast, yet both King Mahrtuhn and Prince Mahrtuhn Gilbuht died without getting any closer to any of you Skohshuns that the length of an eighteen-foot pikeshaft. What honor in such a death, say I? You were able to delude an aging and nearly senile man and lead him on to his death with such hypocritic claptrap, but not Bili, Thoheeks and Chief of Morguhn and Knight of the Blue Bear of Harzburk.