Champion of the Last Battle

by Robert Adams

  As his peripheral vision detected the flash of the sun on the brass horn, Bili lowered his lance, couching its butt end between right biceps and body and angling the steel-pointed and slightly tapering longer portion of the twelve-foot ash-wood shaft to the left over Mahvros’ thick, steel-sheathed neck.

  Bili did enjoy one distinct and most valuable advantage over his opponent that the Skohshun inspectors could not have suspected. The young thoheeks could devote the full use of his left arm to his shield, disregarding the reins and exerting what little control of his stallion was necessary through means of mindspeak or, occasionally, knee pressure. He and the massive black equine had traveled and drilled and fought as one for long years. A very real love bond existed between them, and in matters of combat the one knew the mind of the other as well as only true telepaths can.

  Then, at long last, the trumpet pealed! Jess, the gelding of Sir Djaimz, was startled by the noise and reared, almost trampling the volunteer horse holder before that worthy could loose his grip and scurry clear of the flailing hooves. But Mahvros started smoothly forward, gradually increasing speed and momentum, his rolling muscles bunching and relaxing beneath the horse armor, his gait across the length of the course providing a firm platform from which his rider could fight.

  Despite his concentration in aiming his lance and in keeping as much as possible of himself behind the body shield, Bili’s experienced eyes told him a great deal about his onrushing opponent — some good, some possibly bad, but all of it useful.

  The chestnut gelding was not so well coordinated as was the black. His gait was choppy and, probably, jarring to the rider, which circumstance most likely meant that Sir Djaimz would aim his point for the larger, surer target of the shield face, rather than essaying the potentially more deadly but smaller and trickier target of Bili’s helm-clad head. This arrangement suited Bili of Morguhn fine, for otherwise, lacking as he did one of the stronger and heavier tilting helms, he just might end with the best part of the lancepoint in his skull.

  But another characteristic of that chestnut gelding might make for severe difficulties, injuries, even death. The choppy gait meant that the equine did not always lead with the right forehoof, as did Mahvros and all others of the best-trained destriers. This meant that under certain combat circumstances, an actual collision of the two mounts was a distinct and unnerving possibility. Bili mindspoke this observation to his horse, but Mahvros had, he replied, already noticed and noted the sinister quirk.

  But with both big beasts at a flat-out gallop, there was little real time for observing. Suddenly, Sir Djaimz’s point was become a steel flicker just below Bili’s line of vision and the dark-blue-and-silver face of the shield seemed to encompass all of the world.

  Bili unconsciously gripped Mahvros’ barrel the tighter, tensed his arm muscles for the coming, powerful thrust and braced his body for the inevitable shock.

  Neither man heard the mighty shout that rose up from both sides at the impact. Bili had judged aright, and a shrewdly timed alteration of the angle of his shield sent the Skohshun knight’s lancepoint sliding off the face of the thoheeks shield into the empty air beyond, unbalancing Sir Djaimz even as Bili’s hard-driven point took him clean in the helm and bore him far back over his cantle and onto the crupper of the chestnut gelding, his lance clattering from his hand and the man almost following it onto the rocky ground.

  Mahvros’ momentum kept him going on westward for several rods before Bili finally could slow and turn him, and by that time Sir Djaimz had more or less regained his seat and his horse control and was hurriedly unslinging a saddle axe only slightly shorter than the Moon Maiden crescent axe that Bili now bore at his own pommel.

  Although the Kuhmbuhluhn lines were a tumult of gleeful or bloodthirsty noise and commotion, there was only silence from the Skohshun lines, for matters now looked exceedingly I’ll for their champion. Bili of Morguhn still remained fully armed, and, did he so wish, there was nothing to prevent him using that long, deadly lance to unhorse, injure, even kill Sir Djaimz well before that worthy was or could be close enough to swing the axe to any effect; and the cheers and shouted bits of advice from his own forces indicated that they all clearly expected him to do just that.

  But he did not. Thrusting downward powerfully, he sank the ferrule of the lance into the pebbly ground, then unslung Kahndoot’s balanced, well-kept axe. At sight of this selfless generosity, the Skohshun ranks, one and all, cheered their foemen’s champion, while Sir Djaimz brought up his own axe in a complicated flourish of salute, reflecting that he would not be gladdened by this man’s death. Not that that emotion would keep him from killing when the time came — after all, duty was duty and was not always pleasantly performed.

  Neither horse was put to the gallop this time, rather to a fast amble. They met and, for long minutes, circled and feinted. Then Bili’s powerful backhanded buffet came within bare inches of slamming into the section of Sir Djaimz’s helm already weakened by the lance thrust. Barely in the nick of time the officer got his shield into place to block the blow. But the Skohshun returned as good as he got, and for a heartbeat of time, the two strained to wrench loose their axe blades, each sunk deeply in the dense hardwood laminate of the other’s shield.

  As the two warily began to circle and feint once more, with a sound louder than a thunderclap, fiery lightning first struck the distant back wall of the Skohshun stockade. Then, with no perceptible pause, equally ear-splitting explosions of sound heralded the virtual disintegration of the front gate of that stout stockade, both of the front-corner platforms and sizable sections of the front wall as well.

  From out of a now-cloudless, blue sky, the deadly lightning struck again — among the lightly formed ranks of the Skohshun pikemen and even among the lines of Kuhmbuhluhners. The cheers and shouts suddenly were become screams of pain and terror. Kuhmbuhluhners and Skohshuns, Freefighters, Ahrmehnee, Ehleenee, Kindred, Moon Maidens, men, women, Kleesahks and horses, all surged in one mob this way and the other, seeking an escape, a haven of safety from this mysterious and terrifying new form of death and injury. The duel, the battle, even the war clean forgotten, the resultant thoroughly mixed mob, both mounted and afoot, surged first back to the base of King’s Rest Mountain, then up the winding roadway, through the barbican and across the bridge and into the streets of New Kuhmbuhluhnburk itself, all of the long pikes and the more unwieldy items of weapons and equipment dropped heedlessly along the way in that flight of unthinking terror.

  * * *

  “Cease firing!” ordered General Jay Corbett into his transceiver mouthpiece. “All sections cease firing. Cease firing and dismantle weapons. Horse handlers forward. Out.”

  Turning to Gumpner. he said. “All right, Gump, you take over from here. Get the mortars and everything else repacked and get ready to march.”

  “There’re a few rockets and some mortar bombs left, sir,” replied the colonel. “It might be interesting to see what the effect of them would be on a stone-walled city . . . ?”

  “No,” responded Corbett, shaking his head. “I’ve no desire to kill or hurt any more of those poor buggers. The barrage was simply to keep them occupied, off our necks until Dr. Arenstein could get away and join us. We’ve accomplished that and, so far as I’m concerned, the action is over and done.”

  He turned to his waiting chief-of-scouts. “Johnny, you and Merle find me the shortest, easiest route back to the site of the landslide. My fondest desire, at this moment, is to get my original mission completed and get us all back to Broomtown in one piece.”

  As the scouts conferred one with the other, Corbett strode over to where the three Skohshun prisoners sat and dismissed the armed guards, ordering them to fetch back the prisoners’ mounts and arms.

  “Gentlemen, I’m releasing you, as I promised I would do once my mission was accomplished. Where you go now is up to you, but I would imagine they could use your help over in that camp, what’s left of it. There are certain to be wounded men in there
.”

  Then he turned to the youngest of the Skohshuns, a peglegged boy whose face looked somewhat older than his chronological age. “Ensign Thomas Grey, please convey upon your next meeting with your mother, the Lady Pamela Grey, my sincerest regards and my best wishes for her future happiness. She is a splendid woman, sir, a true lady in every conceivable way. Had I met a woman like her long, long, long ago . . . well, never mind, God speed you safely home, gentlemen, all of you.”

  * * *

  In the early evening of the day of that duel interrupted by fiery, deadly thunders, Duke Bili the Axe again occupied his accustomed place at the head of the table of the royal councilors of the Kingdom of New Kuhmbuhluhn, but that table and the chamber itself were both far more crowded than was usual. Extra chairs and stools had been lugged in from hither and yon, space made at the table sides to seat twice as many men, with others ranged against the walls on stools and a brace of benches.

  They had all just heard what had really happened to drive them and their followers, willy-nilly, up here into New Kuhmbuhluhnburk that afternoon. Those who had recounted the fantastical tale — a one-legged boy-warrior a few years Bili’s junior and a brace of Skohshun officer-gallopers all of whom had been prisoners of the strange, alien force which had wrought such havoc — had been sincerely thanked and dismissed from the chamber. The first to speak, then was Bili.

  Well, gentlemen, at least we now know the truth of that scary business down there today. The Eastern Confederation of which my Duchy of Morguhn is a vassal state, has suffered much in recent years from the sinister plottings and incursions of those damned Witchmen, and I’m right sorry to see them this far west. But they seem to thrive best where there is warfare and dissension, nor are they at all loath to foment chaotic conditions where none formerly existed. They cannot seem to exist in a land of peace and order, and so, if you Kuhmbuhluhn and Skohshun folk don’t want them back in your laps again, it is imperative that you settle your differences and begin to live amicably, one with the other.”

  Noting the dark, sullen glances at each other of the two, previously warring races, the young commander went on to say, “Understand, gentlemen, I don’t give a real damn whether or not you all chop each other into gobbets, once I am gone. It’s none of my affair, to speak true. My contracts all are discharged and as soon as I can gather all my followers and set them on the march I mean to recross the mountains, collect the cubs — human and feline — that we left in Sandee’s Cot last spring, and return back whence we came.

  “You men all are my elders, and, it is bruited about at least, age imparts wisdom. Surely you men are wise enough to see that you must reconcile your differences and merge your two races into one, else you will soon be easy prey to the Witchmen or to any other united and disciplined force that comes your way. Such a race are your eastern neighbors, the Ahrmehnee stahn, nor can I truly believe that you have seen the last of the outlaw Ganiks, the cannibals.

  I have talked with Sir Ahrthur, Sir Djahn, Sir Djaimz and Captain Baron Deveree, this day, and all agree that this war has been an ill-stared business from start to date. They admit to being as much at fault for the inception of hostilities as were you Kuhmbuhluhners which is, I trow, a good place to commence the ending of it.

  “They have no desire to extirpate the folk of New Kulmibubluhn. They are only seeking land to farm and live upon and raise their families on, having been driven from off their own lands by a hostile invader. Now, in the wake of the departures of the Ganiks, there are huge tracts of empty, tenantless, but potentially rich land south of the mountains, and there are nowhere near to approaching enough New Kuhmbuhluhn folk to adequately settle and work them. You know that and I know that, no matter how much you may protest the contrary.

  “Now, the House of Mahrloh is extinct, so there is presently no king in New Kuhmbuhluhn, and, barring a miracle, I cannot imagine you councilors soon agreeing upon one of your number for that office.”

  Archcount Sir Daifid Howuh sneeringly asked, “And I suppose that your grace expects us to choose and try to live under one of these damned savage brutes of Skohshuns? Methinks your grace today took some stray buffet that addled your grace’s brains. A Skohshun king of New Kuhmbuhluhn. Indeed!”

  Bili shook his shaven head. “No, Archcount Howuh, a king of any sort — Kuhmbuhluhner or Skohshun — was not really that of which I was thinking.”

  “Well, what the hell else is there, sir duke,” demanded Duke Klyv Wahrtuhn, exasperatedly, “save anarchy?”

  Bili steepled his thick, calused fingers and gazed over their tips at the men ranged along the two sides of the table. “There is the path that the Republic of Eeree took long ago when faced with similar difficulties; now that republic is every bit as strong and as prosperous as the kingdoms of Harzburk or Pitzburk.”

  “Ah, yes,” responded Archcount Howuh, “I think I recall hearing tales from Old Kuhmbuhluhn regarding that strangely governed state. Please, your grace of Morguhn, say on.”

  Naturally, it was not as easy as all that. Sectarian differences ran too deep and wide in both New Kuhmbuhluhn and Skohshun, not to even mention the basic hostility of the one race for the other in the wake of the recent unpleasantnesses. It all required the best part of two weeks of almost ceaseless, day- and night-long discussions arguments, name-callings, shouting matches, table poundings, wall poundings and other clear evidences of strong wills and adult temper tantrums. And it all devolved into no worse only because Bili wisely barred even the smallest, least innocuous edge weapons from the chamber and tried to see to it that the various factions were lodged as far from one another as was possible in the overcrowded palace and city.

  To help in relieving some of this overcrowding, while at one and the same time keeping the former combatants — Skohshun and Kuhmbuhluhner — living cheek by jowl, Bili quartered the larger part of his own squadron and the reinforcements led by Sir Gems and Sir Djim in the much-battered camp of the former besiegers. He justified his actions with the excuse that there simply was insufficient space for so many horses and ponies in the keep stables and that the animals would, in any case, be happier and healthier grazing on the plain.

  He retained his staff and that of Sir Geros in the city, along with enough of his veteran cavalry — mostly Moon Maidens and Freefighters of the old Morguhn Company — to provide him a loyal nucleus did the negotiations get out of hand and overt warfare between the Kuhmbuhluhn nobility and the Skohshun officers recommence.

  Sight of a Kleesahk in the city confines was a rarity for a week and more after the “battle,” Pah-Elmuh having led the huge hominids down to the battle site and the ruined camp as soon as he had heard that there were hundreds of sick and hurt and wounded men and horses in and about the area, all in crying need of care and healing.

  Hard beset as he found himself, Bili saw it imperative to delegate authority and duties. All of the operational and logistical planning of the return march — first to Sandee’s Cot, then through the southern tribal lands of the Ahrmehnee stahn and so on east through the Thoheekahtohn of Vawn into his own Thoheekahtohn of Morguhn — he piled onto the combined staffs. Governance of the fortress city of New Kuhmbuhluhnburk he placed in the capable hands of Sir Yoo Folsom, The overlord of Sir Yoo, Count Djohsehf Brahk, had had the misfortune to have one of the missiles thrown by the weapons of the Witchmen land squarely upon him (had the occurrence not been witnessed, no one would ever have known exactly what had happened to him, so little of him and his horse had remained of an identifiable nature), and, before all was done, Bili intended to see the royal council about the now-vacant peerage.

  But even so, the young commander had no free time to devote to his wife and his children. His infrequent visits to his suite could only be for the purposes of snatching a few minutes of sleep, bathing, being shaved, changing his clothing, then returning to the council chamber and the disputatious men it contained.

  But Rahksahnah sympathized and empathized with her harried, usually exhausted husban
d. A sometime war leader herself, she managed the suite and their personal entourage well, saw to it that he was properly served and provided for, that he ate and drank at least once each day and that his short snatches of rest were undisturbed until the time he had designated. Nor did she allow him to be troubled by such petty bothers and ills as her new spate of harassments by her once lover, the Moon Maiden Meeree.

  All the way up from Sandee’s Cot, Meeree had done her utter damnedest to poison against the brahbehrnuh the minds of the Moon Maidens who had ridden from the east with Sir Geros and Sir Djim. But her lies, accusations and exaggerations had held them only until they had had words with Rahksahnah herself, and Lieutenant Kahndoot, and had seen just how happy the other Maidens were become with their men and, some, with their children.

  But obsessed as she was become, Meeree could not accept the loss of power over the newly arrived Maidens any more than she ever had been able to accept the Goddess-ordained loss of her sworn lover, the brahbehrnuh, Rahksahnah, to Bili of Morguhn and the new order. She continued to agitate, haunting any place where the Moon Maidens congregated.

  Then, of a day, as she walked down a palace corridor, a powerful hand grasped the elbow of her good arm and dragged her into a dimly lit and smallish chamber. The door slammed behind her and, before her eyes had as yet ajusted to the gloom, her ears were recipients of the grating of a cold, familiar voice. She turned to behold the strong, stocky figure of Kahndoot.

  “You stupid, ever-whining bitch,” snapped the Maiden officer, “did a year of suffering and ostracism teach you no one thing? It is not simply against the brahbehrnuh you speak, but against Her, the Silver Lady, the Will of the Goddess, and that is blasphemy. If any woman — or man, for that matter — doubts that She will not tolerate or forgive such as your cesspit mouth chums out, they only need think of what you once were and look upon that which you are now become. No, keep silent; open that foul mouth before I give you leave to do so and you’ll need to seek out a Kleesahk to see if he can help you grow a new set of front teeth!