"Not Sir Gawain. Noble Knight that he may be, I felt when we met with him none of the fire Sir John spoke of. No, we must make do with what we have; and be thankful for Pellinore, if nothing less. But I have a more immediate cause for misliking the situation."
"What's that, Brian?"
"Did you not remark, when we were flying over them, how our enemy had arranged his forces?"
"I saw they were in two groups—battles, I mean—one behind the other."
"And did you notice the difference between the first battle and the second?"
"Brian," said Jim, "I'm afraid I didn't look at them that closely."
"James, James!" said Brian. "You must look at everything closely in such a hap as this. Your failing there was unfortunate. I had counted on you seeing as I saw. Why, the first battle was of none but men ahorseback. But the second had only a thin screen of such; and behind them were four solid ranks of footmen with heavy spears twice their length—more of the common sort than I had thought Cumberland had with him."
"It surprises me, too," said Jim. "But why, outside the number of them, is it important?"
"Why, James!" Brian's voice escaped from caution and boomed out at full dragon volume—luckily there was nothing now but forest on any side of them as far as they could see. "—it is customary to put the footmen with their heavy spears in front of all, to stop the horses, if not the mounted knights riding them, and so to break the charge of the enemy horsemen! Not content with that, something else you may well have observed, however, is that he has doubled his strength of mounted men at the ends of his two wings."
Jim hadn't.
"Better keep your voice down, Brian," he said. "I don't imagine there's anyone below to hear us; but we're pretty close to the ground, now."
"Of course. Crave pardon, James—but you take my meaning?"
"No," said Jim, forced into admitting it.
"Why, it is only that fox of a Cumberland—I have no good word for him, but one must admit he is indeed a war-captain in the true sense of the word—has put his spear-footmen behind his horsemen to hold our Knights from breaking all the way through them. As with their mightiness in arms, they well could do!"
His dragon head was once more turned and staring at Jim.
"You still do not understand, James?"
"No, Brian," said Jim.
Dragons were not capable of sighing; but Jim gave the sort of huff that was the closest thing to it. "Forgive me. I don't."
"But it is all so simple! No, it is I who must pray forgiveness. You told me you had not had the advantage of having talked with Sir John—and I am full of his wisdom on such things. It is a trap, built to deal with paladins such as those of Arthur's Table. Our Knights will attack—for the Originals will surely insist on being the van of our forces. They will encounter the middle of Cumberland's line; and their charge will become a melee in which our Knights do mightily, but are no longer together, moving forward."
"What else could happen?" Jim asked.
"Nothing else, given the gentlemen they are. But, see you, their charge will be broken and dispersed. Where they might have broken through to the spearmen all together—lesser men might have done that—when they clear all mounted men from their path, they will find themselves facing the ranked spears singly, or in small groups. The spearmen, therefore, bid fair to hold all together and delay them, while the two wings, heavy with more horsemen, fold about them, enclosing them finally in a circle of iron—and each of them will find himself fighting not only the enemy before him, but the enemy attacking his back at the same time!"
Jim sailed along over the treetops, now understanding very clearly what Brian had been trying to tell him.
"You're right, Brian," he said at last. "It's not good." His words sounded uncomfortably weak in his own ears. "But I don't know what we can do about it. As you said, the Originals will be determined to do things their own way."
"Pellinore must be told, however!" said Brian. "If he can understand the danger, he may know of or find some way around that."
"You don't really believe that, though, Brian?"
The dragon head beside him shook in what was the first purely human gesture of negation it had shown so far.
"No, James," said Brian. "I do not. That was why I was counting on you to be the one to tell him what you had seen with your own eyes and how it matched with what Sir John had taught you. You are a Baron and a powerful magickian. I am only a country knight from the land above who accompanies you, one he had never heard up until he met us both. But you—"
"Look, Brian. I don't know that he'd listen to me, either—"
"But," said Brian, his voice down now, but nonetheless fierce, "your voice would carry more weight. However, in any case, you did not see what I saw; and you have only my word for what Cumberland has in mind. It is my fault, James, for not speaking of these things to you as I saw them. We were high enough then so surely no one could have overheard us. But like a child with sugarplums, I saved them up for one great moment of talk. But what you only know through me is easily shrugged aside by one like King Pellinore."
"Hell!" said Jim. "Let me think about that!"
But they were once more almost to that end of the Empty Plain occupied by the Lyonesse forces. Jim's mind raced as they angled down for a landing.
He could talk to the QB beforehand and get an opinion, perhaps, on how to approach Pellinore with what Brian had seen forecast in the arrangement of their enemies' battle array. Or would the QB, as a very old friend of Pellinore, feel it was disloyal to suggest ways to manipulate the King?
There ought to be some way to approach the massive King. Jim, and Brian beside him, landed with heavy thumps on the grass some distance from the groups of Lyonesse fighters. Jim changed them immediately back into their human forms, as the QB, with Dafydd and King David, approached somewhat hastily. Also along were a few of the Drowned Land men who had been acting as scouts.
The latter two dismissed the scouts and greeted Jim and Brian.
"What news?" asked David eagerly.
"We have seen those who come against us, Sire," said Brian. "They are drawn up in battle array; but are making no move to attack, though the day is moving on."
"They wait for the sun to be more at their backs and in the eyes of those of us who meet them; our woodsmen have overheard them say it. It seems the sun, like all else, is strange here. It may lower toward setting, then sit only a little above the horizon for some time before deciding to leave entirely. Dafydd is sure—are you not, Dafydd—that they will not risk entering the woods in the dark, so they will either attack soon, or wait for attack where they are."
David ended his burst of words and looked to Dafydd for agreement or approval.
"They will not wait longer," said Dafydd.
"Indeed, it would be foolish of them to do so," said the QB.
"How about our Knights and other fighters?" asked Jim. "Have all of them come, and gotten ready?"
"No," said Dafydd, with what for him was unusual dryness. "Talking."
Jim was not surprised. From what he had seen of the Originals at the Gathering Place, talking among themselves was their most important occupation—a natural result, maybe, if they no longer fought each other. There could be endless discussion about the battle-to-be; indeed, perhaps half the enjoyment might be considering what could happen.
"Anyway," he said, "where's King Pellinore now? Brian and I need to find him."
"I do not know," said Dafydd. "That is one of our problems if we have something to inform him of—we lack knowing of his whereabouts."
Chapter Forty-Three
The QB had been standing by silently up until now. However, at this point, he spoke up.
"Come with me, Sir James, Sir Brian," he said. "I'll take you to King Pellinore."
"I think it best we come also," said Dafydd. David looked at Jim.
"Yes," Jim said. "The people of the Drowned Land have a stake in this, too."
The QB
made no objection, and waited patiently as Dafydd gestured to several of the Blue scouts, who were standing by alertly a little distance off. These turned and vanished into the woods, to return quickly leading four horses.
Blanchard was being his usual difficult self, but that behavior changed when Brian whistled a command to him. Gorp, as was usual for him, merely plodded complacently behind the man leading him—until he, too, spotted his master; at which his head came up and his ears pitched forward. Jim felt ridiculously pleased. The other two horses, the Drowned Land steeds ridden by Dafydd and King David, paced quietly behind their handler like racing horses conserving their energy until the sound of the starting gun should come.
They moved off as a group, accordingly, with the QB leading; although they were unable to proceed at more than a slow walk, due to having to thread their way around and through the small knots of men and horses that were filling up the area. They seemed, Jim thought, to be a large number of men. But with his eye only recently come from seeing the force of their enemy, he was very aware that they did not fill up anything like the area that Cumberland's men did.
Pellinore could not be far off, Jim thought; so there would be little enough time to talk to the QB about what Brian had told him. He, Brian, and the QB were a little in advance of Daffyd and King David. There was nothing secret in what he had to say, but he lowered his voice anyway.
"Lord QB," he said, drawing level with the other, "let me tell you what Brian and I discovered, when as dragons, we flew over the enemy lines…"
The QB listened attentively, without, however, slackening his pace, as Jim told him of the two battles, the footmen with the long, thick spears, and the reinforced wings of the battle.
"… Brian's thought," Jim wound up, "is that the spearmen are planned to slow down and hold our Knights while they're still fighting with the enemy horsemen, until the two wings of the enemy can fold around the melee; and then our men of Lyonesse will find themselves fighting not only those foes before them, but others from the wings, attacking from behind."
"An uncomfortable position," said the QB.
"And we thought King Pellinore should know of this."
"Perhaps he should."
"The question is," said Jim, "how to put it to him so that he will see it as a danger that needs to somehow be avoided? The Original Knights of the Round Table beyond doubt have never met their equal in this world. But the numbers of the enemy are such that, fighting man to man, in the end they must overwhelm by numbers alone—"
"I do not see that as a certainty. As long as they can go forward, none can stop or overthrow our Knights!" said the QB strongly. "Nonetheless, you should tell him of it, Sir James. You and Sir Brian, both, once he has a moment to speak to you—for he is busy arranging the order of battle of the Originals."
"But will he believe us?"
"That I cannot say."
"I thought…" Jim hesitated, "you might suggest a way that's best to present it to him—or even help us tell him."
"But I did not see what you and Sir Brian saw."
"No, of course not. But—"
"So I can hardly add my judgment to yours on what that meant."
"I see," said Jim, disappointed; and they came out into a sort of clearing, where the fighting men had left their commander some room about himself. In the center of the clear space was a knot of Arthurian Knights; and above the crowd rose the simple steel cap that was the helm of Pellinore.
"Messires!" said the QB, in a suddenly astonishingly authoritative voice. "May I pray you of your courtesy to stand aside and let me, with these gentlemen, through?"
"The QB!" said a sudden scattering of voices, most of them in a tone, Jim thought, of surprise—as if instead of simply coming on them unexpectedly, the QB and they with him had abruptly materialized out of thin air.
The armed men backed off to right and left.
"Great thanks for your kindness, Messires," said the QB; and Jim, with the others, followed him through the open lane toward Pellinore and the last small circle of a few men that surrounded him.
When they reached that last inner handful of knights, however, the QB stopped abruptly. Jim, just behind him, almost bumped into him before he could stop Gorp—and was in turn bumped by young King David.
"I crave the grace of your pardon, Sir James," said David's voice.
"No. Fine. Nothing to it," said Jim. "QB—"
"We must wait our turn, Sir James," said the QB, turning his snake's head a full hundred and eighty degrees to look Jim in the eye. "These others are before us. King Pellinore will recognize us when our chance comes."
They waited, Jim fuming a little inside; for now they could hear what those speaking to Pellinore were saying. It was all about small matters of who would ride next to whom; and whether some should not be allowed to gallop ahead of all the rest to attack the enemy line single-handed and so strike fear into the hearts of their foes. Valuable time was evaporating in the direction of the declining sun.
Already, it was visibly lower in the sky—though this did not, he knew, allow a reasonable estimate of the time that would elapse before a Dark, due to the eccentricity of this world's sun. But the period of lightlessness could not be too long delayed in coming.
"… I think not, Sir Perseant," Pellinore was answering. "While such actions may be noble in a cause of honor, or in the case of one against many; when all fight together for a greater cause it is best all fight as one. Others have come to me with the same request and I have felt the need to refuse them—my Lord QB, were you and those with you waiting to speak with me?"
"We have been indeed, King Pellinore," said the QB. "In particular, Sir James and Sir Brian have somewhat of information about the enemy for you."
"Say you so?" answered Pellinore. "Messires, those of you I have not spoken with yet, may have to go unspoken to. I regret this; but much time has already gone in discussion. I will speak with Sir James and Sir Brian, and meanwhile we will prepare to attack as already decided."
'Attack' thought Jim. Of course, the Knights of Lyonesse would be the ones to attack—Cumberland must have understood this more clearly than had Jim himself. The idea of their footmen attacking at any kind of a run with those huge, cumbersome spears, designed to stop a horse when held with the butt-ends of the spearshafts lodged against firm ground, was ridiculous.
The other Knights melted away, not without some sour looks at Jim and those with him—all except the QB.
"Well, Messires—Sir James?" said Pellinore. There was no note of impatience in his voice, but its tone had deepened; and this new note, as well as his general body language, warned that he had accepted his fill of unimportant advice and requests.
"As you know, King," Jim said, "Sir Brian and I have the capability of being dragons and flying. It's something apart from ordinary magic in my case—so I kept my promise of using no magic. But we flew over the enemy lines and discovered some things you might want to know."
"Yes?"
Jim told him as briefly as possible what they had seen and Brian had deduced.
"… And you might want to change your plan of battle to take those possibilities into account" he wound up.
"I think not," said Pellinore, with no hesitation. He paused for a moment, as if searching for words. "Sir James, we will fight as we have always fought, in God's name and with clean hearts; and if we are not men enough to hold what we have, then we deserve to lose it. But I thank you for your attempt to help. And we will need no arrows"—he glanced at Dafydd and David—"and no help from without Lyonesse itself. Now, forgive me, but I must begin to marshal those who ride foremost, for we of Arthur's time ride before all others."
With that, he turned and left them.
"Do not feel too badly, Sir James," said the QB. "It is not an easy task leading Knights who have all known no other leader but Arthur and their consciences."
"I was going to try to bring in the business of the animals intending to fight for Lyonesse, as well," said
Jim, "but he didn't give me the chance."
"I think it would have changed nothing," said the QB. "He would tell you that the beasts, being of Lyonesse, may do as they please—but that battles were never won by such as they."
"I wasn't thinking of their winning the battle so much as throwing the enemy off-balance, so that—"
He broke off. Still standing where Pellinore had left them, now he and his companions found themselves to be just behind the line—the single, thin line—of Originals that was still forming, but now almost complete; and just before the ranks of the Descendants and other fighters of Lyonesse, who were generally still unformed. From those last came a steady hubbub of voices; but from the Knights before them only an occasional murmur. Most of them sat their horses without a sound.
Jim had broken off in mild startlement at a blast of hot air. He made no sound, because his first thought was that what he felt was some sort of natural weather phenomenon. Nor did Brian, Dafydd, or David—but in their case, like that of the Knights, it was probably their training that kept them silent. What had struck them all felt as if the door of an oven had been opened in their faces.
The reaction of the Originals was not surprising, he found himself thinking. The first crusaders into the Holy Land had fought under a blazing tropical sun in a desert landscape, wearing the same heavy clothes and armor they had worn in the winters and summers of the temperate zones from which they came. A knight did not notice temperatures—or anything else unimportant—when fighting was to be done.
But the temperature here and now had suddenly shot up to well over ninety degrees Fahrenheit, carried into their faces by a stiff wind.
"What's going on?" Jim asked Brian, who fortunately was still close beside him. Brian turned a surprised face to him.
"Is it not magick, then, James?"
Of course it was. Jim felt like a fool.
"Yes, but who—" He switched to his dragon-vision—no one else was close enough to see the unpleasant sight of his eyes suddenly enlarging and bugging out of his human face. He stared for distance across the tricky perspective of the Empty Plain, to the front line of Cumberland's force; and what had been merely a dark line became recognizable as human beings, tiny but individual.