Лайон Спрэг Де Камп Array - The Incomplete Enchanter

«I’d say some kind of eucalyptus,» replied Shea «That would mean a warm, dry climate. But look where the sun is. That means late afternoon, so we better get started.»

«Dear me, I suppose so. Which direction would you suggest?»

«Dunno, but I can find out.» Shea dropped his rucksack and swarmed up the nearest tree. He called down: «Can’t see much. No, wait, there’s a slope off that direction.» He waved an arm, almost lost his footing, and slid down again in a small torrent of bark and leaves.

They started towards the slope in the hope that it represented a river valley, where they could expect to find human habitations. After half a mile a scraping sound halted him wordlessly. They crept forward, peering. A tall, spotted buck was rubbing its horns against a tree. It flung up its head as it heard them, gave a sneezelike snort, and leaped gracefully away.

Shea said: «If he’s just getting rid of his velvet, it ought to be late summer or early fall.»

«I wasn’t aware you were so much of a woodsman, Harold.»

«What the hell, Doc. Doctor, I’ve been having practice. What’s that?»

Something far off had gone « Ow-ooh ,» a sort of musical grunt, as though somebody had casually scraped the C string of a cello.

Chalmers fingered his chin. «It sounds remarkably like a lion. I trust we need not expect to encounter lions in this country.»

The noise came again, louder. «Don’t bet on it, Doctor,» said Shea. «If you remember your Spenser, there were plenty of lions around; also camels, bears, wolves, leopards, and aurochs, as well as human fauna like giants and Saracens. Not to mention the Blatant Beast, which had the worst qualities of all and slandered people besides. What worries me is whether lions can climb trees.»

«Merciful Heavens! I don’t know about lions, but I’m afraid I shouldn’t be equal to much climbing. Let’s hurry.»

They strode on through the wood, a wood of open glades with little underbrush and no recognizable paths. A little breeze came up to make the leaves whisper overhead. The coughing roar of the lion came again, and Shea and Chalmers, without realizing, stepped up their pace to a trot. They glanced at each other and slowed down again.

Chalmers puffed: «It’s good for a man of my age to have a little. uh. exercise like this.»

Shea grinned with one side of his mouth. They came out onto the edge of a meadow that stretched a couple of hundred yards downhill. At the bottom of the valley, more trees evidently concealed a stream. Shea scrambled up another tree for a look. Beyond the stream and its wide, shallow vale stood a castle, small in the distance and yellow in the low sun, with pennants writhing lazily from its turrets. He called down the news.

* * *

«Can you make out the devices on any of the pennants?» Chalmers answered. «I was. I am. not altogether inexpert in matters of heraldry. It might be wise to learn something of the character of the institution.»

«Nor a damn thing,» said Shea, and swung himself down. «Air’s too quiet and she’s too far away. Anyhow, I’d rather take a chance on the castle than on being part of a lion’s breakfast. Let’s go.»

* * *

In the tone of an announcer offering the express for East Chicago, Laporte, and South Bend on Track 18, a voice cried at them: «Who would enter Castle Caultrock?»

There was nobody in sight, but the travellers’ eyes caught a flash of metal on one of the projecting balconies where the drawbridge chains entered the wall. Shea shouted back the rehearsed answer: «Travellers, to wit, Harold Shea, gentleman and squire, and Reed Chalmers, palmer!» Wonder what they’d say about the «gentleman,» thought Shea, if they knew my father was head bookkeeper of a meat-packing concern?

The answer floated back: «This is a castle of deeds and ladies. The holy palmer may enter in the name of God, but no gentleman unless he be accompanied by his fair dame, for such is the custom of this place.»

Shea and Chalmers looked at each other. The latter was smiling happily. «Perfect selectivity!» he murmured. «This is exactly right; right at the beginning of Spenser’s fourth book —» his voice trailed off and his face fell. «I don’t quite know what to do about your being left out —»

«Go ahead in. I’ve slept in the open before.»

«But —» Just then a movable section in the bars of the portcullis creaked outward, and a man in armour stumbled through, apparently pushed from behind. There was a shout of derisive laughter. A horse was squeezed through the opening behind. The man took the reins and came towards them. He was a small man with close-cropped hair. A scar intersected one corner of a mouth drawn into a doleful expression. «Hi,» said Shea. «Did they throw you out?»

«I high Hardimour. Aye; it is even the hour of vespers, and being ladyless I am put forth from the fair entertainment within.» He smiled wryly. «And what hight you? Nay, tell me not now; for I see my dinner and bed approach, mounted on the back of a jennet.»

The travellers turned to follow Hardimour’s eyes behind them. Across the even meadow came a pair of horses, bearing an armoured knight and his lady. The latter rode sidesaddle, clad in rich garments of a trailing, impractical kind.

The little knight vaulted to his saddle with a lightness that was surprising, considering the weight of his hardware. He shouted, «Defend yourself, knight, or yield me your lady!» and snapped down his visor with a clang.

The smaller horse, with the woman, swung to one side. Shea gave a low whistle as he got a look at her: a slim, pale girl, with features as perfect as a cameo, and delicately rounded eyebrows. The other rider, without a word, whipped a cloth covering from his shield, revealing a black field on which broken spear points were picked out with silver. He swung a big black lance into position.

Heads appeared along the battlements of the castle. Shea felt Chalmers pluck at his sleeve. «That Sir Hardimour is in for trouble,» said the older psychologist. «Sable, semé of broken spears is the bearing of Britomart.»

Shea was watching the knights, who had spurred their horses to a heavy gallop. Wham! went lances against shields, and there were sparks in the fading light. The head of the little knight from the castle went back, his feet came up, and he turned a somersault through the air. He landed on his head with the sound of thirty feet of chain being dropped on a manhole cover.

The stranger knight reined in and brought his horse back at a walk. Shea, followed by Chalmers, ran to where Sir Hardimour sprawled. The little knight seemed to be out cold. As Shea fumbled with unfamiliar fingers at his helmet fastenings, he sat up groggily and helped get it off. He drew in a long breath.

«By’r Lady,» he remarked with a rueful grin, «I have stood before Blandamour of the Iron Arm, but that was as rude a dint as ever I took.» He looked up as the knight who had overthrown him approached. «It seems I was too ambitious. To whom do I owe the pleasure of a night with the crickets?»

The other pulled up his visor to reveal a fresh young face. «Certes,» he said in a light, high-pitched voice, «you are a very gentle person, young sir, and shall not spend a night with the crickets and bugbears if I can help it. Ho, warder!»

The castle guard’s head came through the gate in the portcullis. «Your worship,» he said.

«Have I fairly gained admittance to Castle Caultrock as the knight of this lady?»

«That is most true.»

The knight of the shivered spears on their field of black put both hands up to his own helmet and lifted it off. A sunburst of golden hair burst forth and flowed down to his — her — waist. Behind him Shea beard Chalmers chuckle, «I told you it was Britomart.» He remembered that Britomart was the warrior girl who could beat most of the men in the Faerie Queene.