Camelot in Orbit Page 3

  We returned to our dottles and led them again to the hill’s top, where I thought to say a word or two on what might be happening even then at Castle Glagmaron.

  Fomalhaut was truly low at that point, so that I doubted we’d make the castle before darkness. Still I held them to a dottle circle hoping to speak to them for a few minutes. First I switched off “null.” I deemed it safe now, and more, I desperately needed the contact with the Deneb-3. Each second free of “null” could hasten that contact.

  I’d hardly opened my mouth, however, when pain, the like of which I’d never known, struck from the webbed communications node imbedded at the base of my skull. The sheer agony of it drove me screaming from my saddle to the ground where I writhed in the snow to clutch my head with one hand and to fumble for the “null” stone with the other. But it was too late. A thousand scalpels touched an equal number of nerve-end ganglia. And then—.’twas a bursting nova! I literally leaped into the air, so they told me later, screamed again-and came flat down upon my back, unconscious.

  They thought me dead, my yell was that convincing. Rawl said it was sufficiently loud to raise the pop-link birds from the castle turrets ten miles away. Stout Hoggle in a babble of wild confusion was instantly off his mount, Alphus, and to his knees bellowing prayers to the blessed trinity.

  As for myself, well, in some dark recess of my mind where I apparently still lived, I mentally crouched and awaited the Dark One’s onslaught. For now, I thought, the bastard really had me!

  But nothing happened!

  And then it did-a familiar voice, somewhat concerned: “Kyrie? Hey, Kyrie? You all right?” It was Ragan On aboard the Deneb-3.

  I projected: “You’ve burned my brains you stupid sons-of bitches!”

  “Hey! Sorry!” The voice was Kriloy’s.

  “If I survive,” I told the both of them, “I won’t forget this.”

  Kriloy said placatingly, “Kyrie , . We had to. We’ve got a priority. We waited. You didn’t contact. We had to contact you and to hell with the ‘book.’ We’ve been on all circuits for the last hour, Greenwich. I repeat-we had no choice, Buby!”

  “Damnnn you!”

  “It worked.”

  “You bastards! I was open on all circuits.”

  Kriloy ignored my statement. He said instead, “The Watchers are dead, Kyrie.”

  “I know that.”

  “We’ve got something going on the scanner; had it for the last six hours. It’s Hish, your Kaleen’s city. It’s covered with an opaque bubble. At ground level, however, the scanner shows that those entering or leaving the city don’t even know the bubble exists…. Very strange.”

  I got interested. “Scanner malfunction?”

  “Sheeeee!”

  “Look, smart-ass, dust motes play hell with adjoined prismatic lenses.”

  Ragan cut in. “Forget the scanners. It’s the city and the Kaleen we’re worried about.”

  “And do you think I’m not? There’s more than that….”

  “When we left you,” Ragan said, “everything was roses.”

  “Not likely.”

  “Oh? So why didn’t you speak up before we warped out?”

  “The Pug Boos had snapped the umbilical. I couldn’t contact. I still can’t.”

  “But we can?”

  “So it seems….” I briefed them quickly then, telling them finally that the Boos (host occupiers), had disappeared. I held back the fact of Hooli’s three-second return.

  Kriloy asked concernedly, “Where did they go?”

  “I haven’t the slightest. But one thing I do know, gentlemen, it’s all coming down again, only this time worse. There are two things I want from you right now. I want the scoutship back-” (they’d denied it to me when I’d refused their orders in the midst of the battle of Dunguring), “-and I want full belt power! If I don’t get ‘em, it just may be that you can kiss me, the Fregisians, and all of Camelot good-bye; not to mention what might also happen to the Fomalhaut binaries…

  “it’s that bad?”

  “Indeed it is.”

  “And you were just going to stick around, marry up with your little, golden-furred princess and try to find some way to let her know what you really were….”

  “Something like that. But I knew even then-“

  Ragan interposed bluntly-“And if you’re given these things?”

  “Then there’s a chance-a small one.”

  “You psyched the Kaleen before. You won the big one.”

  “My ass! Hear the truth, Bubys-I only helped. The Pug Boos were the power. I was the agent, kiddies; the catalyst!”

  They were silent, debating. Then Ragan said softly, “O.K~ You got ‘em.”

  “Have you moved the ship?”

  “It’s where you left it; same coordinates; whatever. Now! some questions….”

  “Shoot.”

  “What’s the source of Camelot’s magick?”

  “I’m not sure yet (a lie). When I am you’ll be the first to know.”

  “All right! Now just who and what is the Kaleen?”

  “We’ve gone over that one, in part, before. Now kiddies, time’s running out and our friend, the Dark One, may even have found a way to wire into this prattle. I’ll do an instant tape at the earliest and get it to you on next contact.”

  Kriloy came in, persisting: “What of the hosts who occupy the Pug Boos? Who and what are they?”

  “Kriloy,” I answered solemnly, “I haven’t the slightest.”

  “Do they have sufficient power to control the Kaleen?”

  “I’d say, yes. Whether they’ll return in time to use it is another matter.”

  Ragan said flatly, “You know of course that if it becomes a question of alien control of the binaries and the two systems-if they or it, the Kaleen, attempts this with no effort to contact, to reach some kind of understanding: well that’s it. We’ll take out both systems and that’ll be an end to it!”

  “Not without Foundation authority,” I said tightly.

  Krlloy said softly, “Relax, Kyrie. We’re not nova happy. You know that-” and then,

  “That bubble over Hish seems to be stabilizing, at like maybe two hundred yards beyond the city’s walls.”

  “What do you make of it?”

  “It’s not a force-field. We can penetrate. It’s inorganic, too. But substance-wise-well, the scanners come up with absolutely nothing. It’s like it wasn’t really there!”

  I drew a deep breath, said tersely, “Look! I meant it before. We may be being monitored. Cut off now. There are things to do and we’re wasting time.”

  Kriloy said, “We’ll be ‘in’ and ‘out’ from now on, first priority; no orbiting; no fixed positions. Keep an open ‘H’ circuit, Greenwich. We’ll come in at any time!”

  “Check, but I’m mostly on ‘null’ for protection-so keep your circuits open. I’ve got a hunch I can reach you now~”

  “Fair enough, Buby. We’ll ‘out’ now. Bless you.”

  “Bless you too, the both of you. And may your Carpititi soup turn to Bleforous drek in your mouth for what you did to my head.”

  I heard a sort of duo-chuckling then-and that was it.

  I had been lying prone in the snow for maybe ten minutes. Now I went through the motions of regaining consciousness. In effect, I snorted raucously, coughed, and sat up among the welter of furs they’d piled upon me.

  “My Lord,” I moaned emphatically to Hoggle-Fitz, who’d been on his knees shouting his prayers since I’d first fallen, “Desist. I beg of you. The weight of your words, sir, will do me in a’fore the hurt.” I grabbed his arm, pulled myself to my knees.

  Looking around, I said accusingly, “Whilst we daily here the devil himself, mayhap, has come to Glagmaron. Let’s to saddle, sirs. But first,” I shouted to Rawl, “a cup of your brew, For I’m a thirsty man who’s had his eyeballs touched by death.”

  Rawl, grinning widely in relief that I lived, tossed me a leathern bag of sviss from off his sadd
le horn. Hoggle-Fitz wiped his nose and snorted profusely. Griswall, Charney, and the others all muttered, “My Lord, my lord,” and the like, to hide their joy that I was back.

  Indeed their twilight ring of happy, sword-scarred faces exuded vibes to equal a Pug Boo’s “goodness.”…

  “What happened, My Lord?” Rawl finally asked while I drank deeply from the bag.

  They all waited expectantly.

  I wiped my lips. “‘Twas an affliction,” I improvised. “A family curse on our great-great uncle, Oalen Lenti, for having poisoned the well of a certain householder named Munns.

  ‘Twas laid on all male children to the third generation-three times to a man. I’m of the third generation, and that was the Last time.” I rubbed my head to ease the not-so-pretended hurt.

  They all sighed. And because they were of Fregis-Camelot they believed me. “A little wind on my face,” I told them, “and I’ll be as fit as ever.”

  We mounted and made our way to the road. And then, with darkness fast falling, I led them off into a blinding snowstorm. No mind. The dottles could smell the road. Our race was with time, not with the snow.

  “If nought has happened yet,” I yelled to them in the maelstrom of pounding dottle paws; “if we are allowed to pass to our quarters for to bathe and such, then after go to the common hall. I’ll join you there. In the meantime, my warning: Look not into the eyes of any man for more than two blinks of a lid-else you’ll be Kaleen-possessed, a loss for Marack.”

  We continued on while the storm grew until at last we mounted the bill to the jousting field.

  “By the gods, Collin!” Rawl cried suddenly, as we thundered toward the great bridge and the opened gates of Glagmaron Castle, “There’s a thing about you, sir, that delights my soul. You ‘oft swear against violence. But to you all violence comes! I’d not trade your company for the kingdoms of the world!”

  We all laughed against the wind and rode direct into the mighty courtyard. Nothing at all seemed awry. Ostlers came quick through the cold to take our steaming dottles to the stables. The guards saluted us respectfully. There was, however, a man among them, chatting. He was a warrior-swordsman-and he wore the colors of the Lord Gen-Rondin.

  We parted, Griswall and the students to their proper quarters; Hoggle-Fitz to the king’s wing, for he himself would soon be king of Great Ortmund; Rawl and me to our eyrie apartments in the turret-tower of the great east wing.

  Situated some three hundred feet above the winding Cyr River, my apartment, to say the least, was drafty. In winter all the drapes in the castle would scarce suffice to stem the cold of the winds that forever shrieked through the stone lacework of my windows. Usually upon entering, I’d simply curse and fling myself beneath the sleeping furs. Not so now.

  Minded of my recently granted powers, I searched for a victim, and found him-a large insect akin to a Sarithian veeg or Terran roach. It basked in the warmth of the implanted floor pipes. I touched the belt laser stud. A needle of blue light reached out to tickle the veeg. I upped the power! Nothing happened-.—inside my head, that is. Any attempt to use ungranted power brought instant blackout. Instead there was a flash-and the veeg was no longer with us! But still the charge had seemed weak. I made a quick check of the power pack. Sure enough, there’d been a leak. There remained, at best, just four good jolts….

  Whatever! I still had it! Belt Power! I’d developed a plan, too. A spur of the moment flash of brilliance along the line of Terra’s “Occam’s Razor,” wherein the simple solution is the best.

  I quickly sponged in lukewarm water brought to the rooms of the castle by crude pumping devices through hollow cane poles. The temperature inside my apartment was the same as outside-zero—excepting around the bed where pipes were laid in the wooden floor.

  At that point it was, perhaps, forty above.

  Admiring myself in the full-length mirror of polished bronze, I patted a bit of Rawl’s special scent into the proper areas of my ebon fur. The hair on my head was black, too, and shoulder-length. My gene-grown fur was short, a halfinch, but fine and thick. It covered the greater part of my belly. I resembled a rather large mink.

  The color of fur on Fregis-Camelot varied. Fortunately no tribe, gen, clan, or family was recognized by any specific shade. Therefore there was no problem of discriminatory differentiation.

  The Lord Breen Hoggle-Fitz, for example, was something of a pinto, being both auburn and black. A touch of gray was just beginning to appear with Fitz. That all, if they lived long enough, would be gray, was the catalyst, I think, to an acceptance of equality, other than class, by everyone-still, ‘twas a rare color indeed for a Fregisian.

  Splendiferously dressed, and armed with belt, small-sword and faldirk-I also wore light chain-mail ‘neath my shirt-I slipped down the myriad of stone steps of the west-wing tower, At ground level I chose the shortcut of the open courtyard as opposed to the castle’s labyrinthine corridors. The snow had again lessened. I switched off “null” so’s to allow for an accumulation of flakes upon my furs. Fregisians have sharp eyes. I then returned to “null” and walked the rest of the distance dry.

  A small herd of dottles wheeed and whoooed before the main entrance. The colors of their blankets were those of Kol-Rebis of Gleglyn, a city some fifty miles distant. Rebis: was a member of the Privy Council. He’d left for the “Staading” holidays. I wondered now that he had returned so soon.’ He’d ridden hard. His dottles literally steamed in the cold.

  A handful of his swordsmen and a few of the king’s guards milled about in the great anteroom. Kol-Rebis had apparently gone on for audience with the king.

  So? Gen-Soolis. Gen-Rondin. Fairwyn; possibly the Baron Rekisto-and who else?

  Kol-Rebis? If so, what a pity. I’d known him as a slow and easy knight of some distinction in both learning and the martial arts. He, like the brave Gen-Rondin, had made his mark at Dunguring and elsewhere….

  The common-room was to the left of the great hall. I shouldered my way through the crowds to cries of: “The Collin! The Collin! Make way!” My face was now known by everyone. The room was its usual bedlam. Fires roared at either end. Fog rose from heated sviss-pots and the snow-laden furs of guards and warriors. The usual brawl was in progress.

  Spotting my stalwarts at cards, I threaded my way to their table.

  Seeing me, Rawl yelled, “Ho, Collin! You’ve survived the curse, sir. You look the better for it. Join us.” He dipped a cup while to my rear the two foolish battlers were being hurled bodily to the courtyard’s cooling balm of ice and flagstones.

  I sat, watching their rapt and peaceful faces, which seemed unaffected by any previous suggestion of peril. Such, however, was hardly the case. ‘Twas simply their way of saving me embarrassment, if I’d erred, or of coming instantly to my side if I had not.

  I sampled my cup, waiting patiently ‘til their eyes had no recourse but to lift from their game to regard my somber countenance. Rawl grinned, said, “Well, sir, that looks familiar-‘tis of swords and flights of arrows.”

  I shrugged. “Have you spoke of the meeeg to anyone?”

  They looked at me in disgust, saying “Nay!” in unison.

  I said bluntly, “Nothing’s changed. Indeed, the peril grows. We’re needed now!”

  The hoary Griswall grimaced. The very predictable Lord of Durst glared fiercely around him to say, “By Ormon, Collin! Are we beset? I’ve heard no pipes.”

  “‘Tis not yet a thing of armies,” I told them softly. “‘Tis a thing that we must do. Think me mad if you will, but I’ll ask you now to join with me this night in an adventure the like of which no one in all of Marack will ever have again.”

  Their eyes shone. Their indrawn breath was a whistling chorus.

  Rawl grinned and shook his head. “Did I not say it? That to you all violence comes?

  I’ve always thought you mad, Collin. But ‘tis a madness to be loved. I’m your man, sir, in any case.”

  Fitz glared fiercely round him once again, saying,
“You have my sword as always, Collin. But are you mad? I’d lief know so’s to offer the proper prayer. I’m minded of a pious theologian of Great Ortmund who ‘oft said that-“

  “We’ve little time,” I said to all of them, dismissing Fitz’s maunderings. “This is the way it will be: When sup is finished we’ll make our farewells and meet in full armor, prepared to ride. No blazonry. ‘Twill be but the first step of a most perilous journey. I will, of course, have somehow warned the king.”

  Griswall asked softly, “Just like that, my lord?”

  “Aye,” I answered. “Just like that.”

  Rawl hesitated. “Dare we know our destination?”

  I looked him square in the eye. “Most certainly, cousin to be. We ride to Hish!”

  “You joke.”

  “Nay, I do not.”

  Griswall breathed a corpse-like chuckle. Fitz exclaimed loudly, “By the gods, you are mad! I’ve a potion, sir-“

  I shook my head. “No potions; nor will we speak again of madness.” And then to Griswall-“We’ll be taking Charney, Hargis and Tober. See that they’re warned. And they have a right to refuse, remember that.”

  “If ‘tis for Marack,” he answered bluntly, “no one has that right.”

  Rawl said soberly, “Hish, Collin, is not just ridden to. ‘Tis a city whereat no northman’s ever been. ‘Tis across a raging winter sea; through many wild and hostile countries. To ride to Hish, my lord, is to bid good-bye to all we’ve known.”

  I sensed his meaning; saw it in the three pairs of eyes; the likelihood they’d never see the North again. I’ll ask once more,” I said softly, “Will you follow me in this?”

  “You are Marack’s Collin,” they told me. “You are the savior of the North. How could we not-if you have asked us?”