"No danger! How can you say he's in no danger with that lion?"
"And lower your voice, please, Sir James! You may attract the lion's attention, otherwise. Sir Brian is in no danger because the lion believes him to be a friend."
Jim made a large effort and managed to speak in a calmer, lower tone.
"How does he know that?"
"How do all the other animals know it?" said the QB. "The lion was there in the forest where you spoke to the animals; and he thinks Sir Brian is a magickian. You must be aware all animals know magickians are friends."
Jim found himself with three things at once in him that he wanted to say. He finally tried to put them all into one question. "Why? How? You said he was there and saw me—and here I am in plain sight! Why did he pick Brian to be friendly to, instead of me?" '
"What you say is quite true," said the QB. "But—forgive me if I seem to offend, Sir James—you humans all look much alike to we animals. Over the centuries I have learned to distinguish one from another among you. But the wild ones… once they know you well enough to recognize your individual scent, they would know you from others of your kind. But not otherwise. As I say, I do not mean to offend, but this is the case."
"You don't offend," growled Jim, feeling somewhat humbled. "Maybe I was wrong in expecting the lion to attack Brian, instead of trusting it." All the same, he told himself internally, the lion had been there when he was telling all the animals how to fight strangers; and the QB had said all humans looked alike to animals who didn't know them…
But the QB was going on.
"You would have no way of knowing what I just told you. Once a wild creature has got your body scent it will recognize you. Now, because of the lion's mistake, all here will confuse Sir Brian with you—as the magickian from the land above who spoke to them. You are simply another human, a friend and with the magickian, but of no other importance—except that they will be careful to stay out of your reach. Other than that, if you make no sudden moves, you are quite safe while Sir Brian is present."
"I see," said Jim, a little grimly.
He had come rushing here to help Brian. Suddenly discovering that his own safety and well-being were dependent on his friend was not a pleasant sensation.
Also, he found in himself some resentment at being somebody who needed protection. But now, the QB had already begun moving slowly in the direction of Brian.
"Follow me closely, Sir James," he said; and they made their way together across reasonably open ground in spite of the tumult around them. A slow way, however, for all that the ground was clear. Any animals much larger than a badger had prudently moved off to a distance from the lion.
When they finally reached him—on the other side of Blanchard from the lion—Brian was talking to the lion as he might have talked to one of his dogs.
"… So, so…" he was saying soothingly, "… a good lad, a hearty lad, there…"
Blanchard was standing still and enduring the lion's presence, though Jim noticed Brian had an unusually tight grip on his reins. The destrier's eyes were showing more white than usual; and his big body was as tight as the cord of a strung bow.
"Oh, there you are, James," said Brian, but without taking his eyes off the lion and without changing the caressing tone of his voice as he continued to speak; and Jim felt a momentary flash of small, mean pleasure at the thought that Brian was no more relaxed and trusting of the lion than Blanchard was, for all the lion's gestures of affection.
"It's all right, Brian," he said as he and the QB reached them—but still keeping his voice low, just in case. "You remember I told you I spoke to the animals in the forest who wanted to help fight Cumberland's men? This lion thinks you're me. He'll do anything you want."
"Perhaps we shouldn't go so far as to say that," said the QB. "He's a cat, after all, and being part cat myself I understand his feelings. But he'd probably do anything that fell in with the reason he came here."
The lion ignored both Jim and the QB. Ignored them completely. It was as if they did not exist until he chose to recognize them.
"But in any case," the QB was going on, "I brought you here to Sir Brian, Sir James, because the trees believe it is necessary for some reason that the two of you stand or sit close together—"
That would be the ward, his ward he had shared with Brian to protect him. True, the poison trap that Kineteté had built into that ward might have protected Brian as it had protected him, face-to-face with Morgan le Fay. But he had noticed that all magickians on this world liked to make their magick close up to whatever it was going to affect; and that might mean its powers might weaken with even a small distance between Brian and himself, if they were separated.
But how had the trees known so, if that was why they wanted him and Brian close together—unless the Old Magic had somehow told them?
Too many questions, not enough answers. Anyway, that was not important now.
"—and since you are together now, it's probably best you both return now to the land above from whence you came," the QB was finishing up.
"Now? Why now? It isn't over yet." Involuntarily, Jim looked at the battlefield, but was able to make out only that the center of the action, with Arthur visible and active, had moved back toward where they, the animals, and the remnants of the scattered spearmen were. Cumberland, himself, it struck Jim, had never shown up. True, in the confusion of the battle he could easily have been lost to sight; but he should have been visible from the beginning, as medieval leaders were expected to be.
That this was due to concern for his own skin, Jim did not believe for a moment. Whatever else the Earl might be, he was not a coward. He would never have survived this long in his high station in life, if he had been. There were too many ambitious men ready to take advantage of anyone who did lack personal courage.
"Alas," said the QB, and like all those in this world, when he said that word, it came out with strong meaning. "I fear the end cannot be long now, in spite of all efforts."
"Not long?" Jim looked sharply back at as much as he could see of the fighting. Arthur was still visible, still surrounded by Originals in every direction but straight ahead of him, where the enemy flocked to meet him. But now that Jim watched closely, he could see that the lightning speed of Arthur's sword strokes were not coming as quickly now; and the activities of the Originals had slowed also.
The actions of Cumberland's men also were not as swift as they had been earlier; and some had obviously developed a healthy respect for the fighting qualities of the Originals. More than a few of them were showing signs of being willing to fight for whatever they could win here, but not to throw themselves away for glory alone.
All in all, the fortune of the day was on a knife-edge, with the possibility of the intruders giving up before the Originals became exhausted enough to be overrun—and the breakpoint, one way or another, would come soon now.
"—James!" said Brian's voice, somewhat pantingly in Jim's ear. "Why did you call me out? I am needed there!"
Jim turned. Gorp and Blanchard stood in a perfect carpet of rodents of all species, who seemed also to be catching their breath and looking all around them. The mistwedge had completely disappeared.
"Some very bad magic was moving toward you," Jim said. "I didn't tell you, but Merlin warned me about that happening to you. But it couldn't come here where the animals are to get at you—you remember Malvinne had to admit magic wouldn't work on an animal? They're immune; and magic dies when it reaches them."
"Ah?" said Brian, sounding a little embarrassed. "Still, I must get back. Can you hold this beast here for me?"
"One moment while I think," said Jim.
His mind was racing. Something more was needed than the help of Brian's sword; and the mention of the lion had rung a bell in the back of his head. He thought of Arthur's shield and helmet. Symbols, symbols that could connect with either the faiths or fears of the men now fighting on both sides, meant a great deal to people of this time.
&nb
sp; He turned to the QB.
"My Lord QB," he said.
The serpent head lowered and shot forward—a few inches, only, but enough to acknowledge the formality of Jim's address, signaling something important to be said.
"Could you tell the lion," Jim went on, "or have the trees tell him, we need him to walk beside Brian on his horse; but also with King Arthur on his other side?"
"Why, Sir James?"
"It's a shot in the dark, on my part, so the enemy could see the King and the lion as if the lion on his shield had come to life and joined him in the battle—"
"Say no more, Sir James. I understand. Both the trees and myself will tell him." The QB stopped speaking. His gaze went through Jim, rather than regarding him. Jim waited.
"The lion agrees," said the QB, once more looking at Jim, "for as long as he chooses to do so. He is a cat, as I mentioned before; and will not be ordered."
"Did you hear that, Brian?" asked Jim.
Brian had gone so far now as to pull very lightly and teasingly on the lion's ears. The lion was growling in a friendly manner and batting at Brian's hand with one great paw—but gently, with a paw in which the scimitar claws were retracted, and which barely brushed against the back of Brian's hand.
"What? Oh, yes," said Brian, abandoning the game and looking at Jim in his turn. "I heard. The lion between me and Arthur. Shake those gallows birds on the other side up a bit. Yes. Very good—if our Knights will let me past them to the King."
"I will go with you, Sir Brian," said the QB. "The three of us will be let through."
Brian looked at Jim.
"And you, James?"
"I'll be trying something else on my own, meantime," said Jim. "If it works, I'll be with you."
"Ah."
Jim watched them move off toward the center of fighting, as he sat Gorp, waiting. It was almost unearthly, this silence and lack of movement where he was, by contrast. The bodies, particularly those of intruders, lying about him on the ground were either dead or pretending to be so—pretence had a lot to recommend it in this situation—and those still on their feet, mainly spearmen, had backed from him, and were as close to the trees as they dared go.
He was tempted to turn his head to look to confirm this; but a certain feeling of sympathy stopped him. The spearmen had already had it hard enough, this day.
Farther out on the open Plain, the intruders were backing off from the lion—there was something unlikely and probably unnatural about his progress, and perhaps they sensed it. The QB was talking to the Originals still on horseback, talking a way through for the three of them. There was a moment's delay when they came to Gawain—then he, too, moved, giving Brian his place to the right of Arthur, with the lion between the two of them. Arthur, himself, wholly engaged in his current foe, did not even seem to notice.
It was time for Jim to go. He swung out of his saddle, down onto his feet.
Dragon!—he thought.
He was suddenly his dragon self again.
The weasels, stoats, and other small rodents scattered from around him like leaves caught by a whirlwind. The thunder of his wings as he took to the air over shouted the battle sounds. For a moment, the fighting almost ceased as men turned to stare at him.
It was just as well; for the lion, with Brian still on his right and the QB falling back so as not to stand between the beast and Arthur, was now ignoring the King as completely as he had ignored Jim. The QB had been right about his catlike independence. His attitude seemed to be that there was no battle anywhere near him, unless he chose to pay attention to it.
Meanwhile, Jim was some thirty feet up and finishing a wide circle around those centered on Arthur, to end as he closed in to sail directly over Arthur's head, headed forward in the same direction as Arthur himself and the lion beside him were heading. By dint of slow and difficult wing work, he held that position and moved only when Arthur moved.
The silence of the armed men on either side was profound. They did not move.
Then, slowly—but growing as it came—there rose a roar from the purely human throats of the Knights of Lyonesse; rising to a note of savage triumph, as they realized the symbolic meaning of both the living lion and the living dragon, echoing their counterparts on Arthur's shield and crest. At almost the same time, this registered on their opponents—who had also spent their lifetimes reading coats of arms.
And Arthur, his white beard opening to show equally white teeth flashing in the late rays of the descending sun—all in a fierce white smile of joy and triumph, as of a battle already won—rose in his stirrups facing the enemy and shouted, the view-halloo of the hunter who sees his quarry break from cover on an all-out, last, desperate hope to escape.
The roar from the Knights kindled a fire of triumph inside Jim, himself, in spite of his laboring wings and lungs. This was what he had hoped for. Not so much the putting of a near-superstitious fear into their enemies, but the much stronger heartening of the warriors of Lyonesse—and with the lion and his own dragon-shape, it had been possible.
As long as they can go forward, none can overthrow them, the QB had said; and it was true.
Now, the Originals were all on the attack, like men just arrived at the Plain after a long night's deep rest and a solid breakfast; and Cumberland's men were giving way, faster and faster, before them. On the field all was confusion. The lion, having abandoned Brian finally, was strolling off the field to one side, undisturbed by any of either side. But Brian himself had vanished in the swirl of bodies, going forward with Arthur and his Knights. The QB had vanished, or been lost to sight.
But from now on it scarcely mattered. The battle was over. The invaders were throwing down their weapons and yielding to the Knights. These, intoxicated by the battle and now the prospect of victory, were slaying them out of hand, as the common practice of their time was.
Arthur's helm was still visible above other heads at the point of the advance, and when for a moment he lifted it high to survey the field, the setting sun glanced on the upper part of his shield; and Jim glimpsed for a moment the crowned lion on it, heart's-blood red in the late light.
Like a chasm opening before Gorp's feet in mid-jump, it hit Jim—
Red!
He was seeing the painted lion red in this black-and-white world.
He was seeing color, other than black and white—here, where to see it could mean he would be unable to ever return home again. Never to be back with Angie—and with Brian and Geronde never to be married after all…
Jim snatched off the glasses. He had become so used to wearing them he had forgotten he had them on; and with his own, ordinary perfectly good 20-20 vision, he looked again at what showed of Arthur's shield. A great breath went out of him. With the glasses off he saw no colors at all. He and Brian were not trapped here—just yet, at least.
Nonetheless, he had been given his warning by the magic glasses—bless them. Color visible to his naked eyes could not be far off for him, or Brian. Dafydd had actually been in Lyonesse much less time than they had. Bless Angie, too, for suggesting the spectacles; and thank heaven he had not refused to wear them in spite of feeling they were both unnecessary and ridiculous.
They were neither. But he must find Brian—fast.
Even as he had been thinking these things, he had been peering into the swarm of metal-clad bodies still hewing at each other, trying to find the familiar armored figure, with no success. The Lyonesse Knights and their foes had become mixed as most of Cumberland's warriors began to yield; and only a determined few invaders facing the group around Arthur continued to fight—something that at this moment seemed to please the Originals much more than their foes yielding. It had even reached the point where single Originals were reacting angrily against anyone from their own side who offered to help any of them against his personal foe.
But now, all at once, there was no Brian to be seen. Jim felt a sudden emptiness. Could Brian have been caught by the gray mist wedge after all? Could the unbelievable
have happened, and he was lying still, face down and therefore all but impossible to pick out from among the other armored bodies lying so on the Plain?
Jim pushed the thought from him. He would not believe that until he had to. He had still not properly searched among the living. He swung about in midair to fly once more in front of Arthur and try to find Brian that way. As he came around to where he could face back at the King, he hastily took off his magic glasses for a second quick look at the lion on the King's shield. It was the same colorless shape he had seen without the glasses a moment before. His testing now was the same sort of impulse that pushes the tongue to reach out one more time to the sore tooth in a mouth.
He kept the glasses on. If other things started showing color… the more warning the better. He headed toward the melee and Arthur. The King, he saw, was still active, still slashing enemies from their saddles, even though he might have slowed a trifle more. Either the bravest of the enemy were still concentrating on trying to meet him; or else those fighting him now were playing with the possible reflected glory of having at least crossed swords with him briefly before yielding.
Perhaps the less he saw of color in Lyonesse, the longer he could put off being captured by it. Also, if he was not yet captured, then Brian, with no magic glasses, should also still be safe.
He had moved up level with Arthur now; and of course, now that he had paused in his active searching, he saw Brian where he should have looked for him in the first place—to the right and just a little behind Arthur, putting his sword momentarily back into its scabbard at his side. Jim made a landing some yards away and changed back into his human shape, keeping his throat, lungs, and vocal cords those of a dragon. He roared at the tangle of fighting men.
"BRIAN! A RESCUE! A RESCUE!"
He managed the change back to full human shape, outside and in, happily, before Brian, searching for him, discovered where he was. For a second it seemed that Brian hesitated. Then he swung Blanchard about and broke into a gallop toward Jim, reining back to a hoof-skidding halt before him.