Science Fiction - Daily Short Stories

After a Few Words - Randall Garrett

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Duration:: 19m
Broadcast on:: 13 Aug 2024
Audio Format:: mp3

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After a few words by Gordon Randall Garrett. This is a science fiction story. History is a science. The other part is, as all Americans know, the most fictional field we have today. He settled himself comfortably in his seat and carefully put the helmet on, pulling it down firmly until it was properly seated. For a moment, he could see nothing. Then his hand moved up and, with a flick of the wrist, lifted the visor. Ahead of him, in serried array, with Lance's erect independence flying, was the forward part of the column. Far ahead, he knew were the Knight's Templars who had taken the advance. Behind the Templars rode the male Denights of Brittany and Anju. These were followed by King Guy of Jerusalem and the host of Plottou. He himself, Sir Robert De Boyne, was riding with the Norman and English troops just behind the men of Plottou. Sir Robert turned slightly in his saddle. To his right, he could see the brilliant red and gold banner of the lion-hearted Richard of England, ghouls in pale three lions Passantgar.org. Behind the standard bearer, his great war horse moving with a steady measured pace, his cornet of gold on his steel helm gleaming in the glaring desert sun, the lions of England on his firm-held shield, was the King himself. Further behind, the Knight's Hospitallers protected the rear, guarding the column of the hosts of Christendom from harassment by the Bedouins. "Bao, a lady," came a voice from his left. Three days out from Acre, Anzia Krasasaras in Stila Lourras. Sir Robert De Boyne twisted again in his saddle to look at the Knight riding alongside him. Sir Gaiton de Lach-Tombe sat tall and straight in his saddle, his visor up, his blue eyes narrowed against the glare of the sun. Sir Robert's lips formed a smile. "They're not far off, Sir Gaiton. They have been following us. As we march parallel to the sea coast, so they have been marching with us in those hills to the east." "Lach-so-jakos, they are," said Sir Gaiton. "They are sailors from the rear, and they set up traps in our path ahead. Our spies tell us that the Turks lie ahead of us in countless numbers, and yet, they fear to face us in open battle." "Is it fear, or are they merely gathering their forces?" "Both," said Sir Gaiton finally, "they fear us, as they would not daily to a mass so fearsome a force. If, as our informers tell us, they are uncounted to exclude the four, and if, as we are aware, our rear is being dogged by the Bedouin and the Black Horsemen of Egypt, it would seem that Zaladin has at hand more than enough to overcome us, who will say our truly Christian knights." "Give them time. We must wait for their attacks, Sir Knight. It were foolhardy to attempt to seek them in their own hills, and yet they must stop us. They will attack before we reach Jerusalem. Fear not!" "Riv Gesgunya Fiano Hivin Mazuman," Sir Gaiton ground. "It ziz Elishid ziz driving me mad," he pointed toward the eastern hills. "The sun is yet low, and already zizid is unbearable." Sir Robert heard his own laugh echo hollowly within his helmet. "Perhaps to be better to be mad when the assault comes, madmen fight better than men of cooler blood." He knew that the others were baking inside their heavy armor, although he himself was not too uncomfortable. Sir Gaiton looked at him with a smile that held both irony and respect. "In truth, Zaladin, it is apparent that you fear neither men nor heat, nor your own blood to cool. True, I ride with your Normans and your English and your King Richard or Zaladin, but I am a gas one, and has no fear due to him, but to reside with the Duke of Burgundy against King Richard." He gave a short barking look. "I fear no man," he went on. "But if I had two via one, it would be Richard of England." Sir Robert's voice came like a sword, steely, flat, cold, and sharp. "My Lord the King spoke in haste. He has reason to be better against Philip of France, as do we all. Philip has deserted the field. He has returned to France in haste, leaving the rest of us to fight the saris and for the holy land, leaving only the contingent of his vassal, the Duke of Burgundy, to remain with us." "Rizad of England has never been on the best of terms with Philip Augustus," said Sir Gaiton. "No and with good cause, but he allowed his anger against Philip to color his judgment when he spoke harshly against the Duke of Burgundy. The Duke is no coward, and Richard Plantagen, it well knows it. As I said, he spoke in haste." "An jouent of ind," said Sir Gaiton. "It was my duty," Sir Robert's voice was stubborn. "Could we have permitted a quarrel to develop between the two finest knights and war leaders in Christendom at this crucial point? The desertion of Philip of France has cost us dearly. Could we permit the desertion of Burgundy, too?" "You did what must be done in honor," the gasking concluded. "But do you have not gained the love of this jouent by doing so?" Sir Robert felt his jaw set firmly. "My king knows I am loyal," Sir Gaiton said nothing more, but there was a look in his eyes that showed he felt that Richard of England might even doubt the loyalty of Sir Robert did wane. Sir Robert wrote on in silence, feeling the movement of the horse beneath him. There was a sudden sound to the rear, like a wash of the tide from the sea came the sound of sorrows and war cries, and the clash of steel on steel mingled with the sounds of horses in agony and anger. Sir Robert turned his horse to look. The negroed troops of Saladin's Egyptian contingent were thundering down upon the rear. They clashed with the hospitalers, slamming in, like a rain of heavy stones, too close in for the use of bows. There was only the sword against armor, like the sound of a thousand hammers against a thousand anvils. "Stand fast! Stand fast! Hold them off!" It was the voice of King Richard, sounding like a clarion over the den of battle. Sir Robert felt his horse move as though it were urging him on toward the battle, but his hand held to the reins, keeping the great charger in check. The king had said, "Stand fast!" and this was no time to disobey the orders of Richard. The sorrows and troops were coming in from the rear, and the hospitalers were taking the brunt of the charge. They fought like madmen, but they were slowly being forced back. The master of the hospitalers rode to the rear to the king's standard, which hardly moved in the still-desert air, now that the column had stopped moving. The voice of the Duke of Burgundy came to Sir Robert's use. "Stand fast! The King bids you all to stand fast!" said the Duke, his voice fading as he rode on up the column toward the knights of Poet II and the knights' templars. The master of the hospitalers was speaking in a low, urgent voice to the king. "My Lord, we are pressed on by the enemy and in danger of eternal infamy. We are losing our horses one after the other." "Good master!" said Richard. "It is you who must sustain their attack. No one can be everywhere at once." The master of the hospitalers nodded curtly and charged back into the fray. The king turned to Sir Baldwin de Correo, who sat a horse nearby and pointed toward the eastern hills. "They will come from there, hitting us in the flank. We cannot afford to amass a rearward charge. To do so would be to fall directly into the hands of the Sarsen." A voice very close to Sir Robert said, "Richard is right. He goes to the aid of the hospitalers. We will expose the column to a flank attack." It was Sir Gayton. "My Lord the king," Sir Robert heard his voice say, "is right in all but one thing. If we allow the Egyptians to take us from the rear, there will be no need for Saladin and his Turks to come down on our flank. And the hospitalers cannot hold for long at this rate. A charge at four gallop would break the Egyptian line and give the hospitalers breathing time. Are you with me?" "I can saw others as a king. The king cannot see everything. There are times when a man must use his own judgment. You said you were afraid of no man. Are you with me?" After a moment's hesitation, Sir Gayton couched his lance. "I'm with your zenite. Live or die, I follow. Strike and strike hard." "Forward then," Sir Robert heard himself shouting, "Forward for St. George and for England." "St. George and England," the gasket echoed. Two great war horses began to move ponderously forward toward the battle lines, gaining momentum as they went. Moving in unison, the two knights, their horses now in a fast trot, lowered their lances, picking their sorrows and targets with care. Larger and larger loomed the Egyptian cavalrymen as the horses changed pace to a thundering gallop. The Egyptians tried to dodge as they saw too late the approach of the Christian knights. Sir Robert felt the shock against himself and his horse as the steel tip of the long ash lance struck the sars and horsemen in the chest. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Sir Gayton too had scored. The sarsen impaled on Sir Robert's lance shot from the saddle as he died. His lighter armor had hardly impeded the incoming spear point, and now his body dragged it down as he dropped toward the desert sand. Another Muslim cavalryman was charging in now, swinging his curved saber, taking advantage of Sir Robert sagging lance. There was nothing else to do but drop the lance and draw his heavy broadsword. His hand grasped it, and it came singing from its scabbard. The Egyptians curved sword clanged against Sir Robert's helm, sitting his head ringing. In return, the knights broadsword came about in a sweeping ark, and the Egyptians horse rode on with the rider's headless body. Behind him Sir Robert heard further cries of Saint George in England. The hospitalers, taking heart at the charge, were going in. Behind them came the count of champagne, the Earl of Lester, and the Bishop of Beauvé, who carried a great war hammer in order that he might not break church law by shedding blood. Sir Robert s own sword rose and fell, cutting and hacking at the enemy. He himself felt a dreamlike detachment, as though he were watching the battle rather than participating in it. But he could see that the Muslims were falling back before the Christian onslaught. And then, quite suddenly, there seemed to be no foreman to swing at. Breathing heavily, Sir Robert sheathed his broadsword. Beside him Sir Gaiton did the same, saying, "It will be a few minutes before they can regroup the night. We may have routed them completely." "I, but King Richard, will not approve of my breaking ranks and disobeying orders. I may win the battle and lose my head in the end." "There is no time to worry about the future," said the Gaskin. "Lest via moment and relax, is that you may be stronger later. Here, have an old glings." He took a pack of cigarettes in his gauntleted hand, which he proffered to Sir Robert. There were three cigarettes protruding from it, one slightly farther than the others. Sir Robert s hand reached out and took that one. "Thanks. When the going gets rough, I really enjoy an old king s." He put one end of the cigarette in his mouth and let the other from the lighter in Sir Gaiton s hand. "Yes, sir," said Sir Gaiton, after lighting his own cigarette, "Old kings are the greatest. They give a man real deep down smoking pleasure." "There is no doubt about it. Old kings are a man cigarette." Sir Robert could feel the soothing smoke in his lungs as he inhaled deeply. "That s great. When I want a cigarette, I don t want just any cigarette." "No, I agree, the gaskin. Old kings is the only area cigarette when you are doing a real man s work." "That s for sure," Sir Robert watched a smoke ring expand in the air. There was a sudden clash of arms off to their left. Sir Robert dropped his cigarette to the ground. The trouble is that doing a real he-man s work doesn t always allow you to enjoy the fine rich tobaccos of old kings right down to the very end. "No, but you can always light another later," said the gaskin knight. King Richard, on seeing his army moving suddenly toward the harassed rear, had realized the danger and had charged through the hospitalers to get into the thick of the fray. Now the Turks were charging down from the hills, hitting not the flank as he had expected, but their rear, Saladin had expected him to hold fast. Sir Robert and Sir Gaiton spurred their chargers toward the flapping banner of England. The fierce warrior king of England, his mighty sword in hand, was cutting down Turks as though they were grain stocks, but still the saris and horde pressed on. More and more of the terrible Turks came boiling down out of the hills, their glittering scimitar swinging. Sir Robert lost all track of time. There was nothing to do but keep his own great broadsword moving, swinging like some gigantic metronome as he hacked down the Muslim foes. And then suddenly he found himself surrounded by the sarisons. He was isolated and alone, cut off from the rest of the Christian forces. He glanced quickly around as he slashed another sarison from Pete to breastbone. "Where was Sir Gaiton? Where were the others? Where was the red and gold banner of Richard?" He caught a glimpse of the fluttering banner far to the rear and started to fall back. And then he saw another knight nearby, a huge man who swung his sparkling blade with power and force. On his steel helm glimmed a golden cornet, Richard, and the great king in spite of his prowess was outnumbered heavily and would within seconds be cut down by the saris and horde. Without hesitation Sir Robert plunged his horse toward the surrounded monarch, his great blade cutting a path before him. He saw Richard go down, falling from the saddle of his charger, but by that time his own sword was cutting into the screaming sarisons, and they had no time to attempt any further mischief to the king. They had their hands full with Sir Robert de Buen. He did not know how long he fought there, holding his charger motionless over the inert body of the fallen king, cuing down the screaming enemy, but presently he heard the familiar cry of, "For St. George, and for England!" Behind him the Norman and English troops were charging in, bringing with them the banner of England. And then Richard was on his feet, cleaving the air about him with his own broadsword. Its bright edge besmeared with saris and blood, was biting viciously into the foe. The Turks began to fall back. Within seconds the Christian knights were boiling around the embattled pair, forcing the Turks into retreat, and for the second time Sir Robert found himself with no one to fight. And then a voice was saying, "You have done well this day, Sir Knight, Richard Plantagenet will not forget." Sir Robert turned in his saddle to face the smiling king. "My Lord King, be assured that I would never forget my loyalty to my sovereign and liege Lord. My sword and my life are yours, whenever you call." King Richard's gauntlet in hand grasped his own. "If it please God, I shall never ask your life. Unurled am awaits you when we return to England, Sir Knight." And then the king mounted his horse, and was running full gallop after the retreating sarsons. Robert took off his helmet. He blinked for a second to adjust his eyes to the relative dimness of the studio. After the brightness of the desert that the televacarian helmet had projected into his eyes, the studio seemed strangely cave-like. "How'd you like it, Bob?" asked one of the two producers of the show. Robert Bowen nodded briskly and padded the televac helmet. "It was okay," he said. "Good show. A little talky at the beginning, and it needs a better fade out, but the action scenes were fine. The sponsor ought to like it for a while, at least." "What do you mean for a while?" Robert Bowen sighed. "If this thing goes on the air the way it is, he'll lose sales." "Why? Commerce are not good enough." "Too good. Man, I've smoked old kings, and believe me. The real thing never tasted as good as that cigarette did in the commercial." End of After a Few Words by Gordon Randall Garrett With Lucky Land Sluts, you can get lucky just about anywhere. "This is your captain speaking. 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