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The galaxy is a broad screen upon -which sagas and 'mighty'
adventures can be castor trivial, diminutive stories. Gordon
R. Dickson is one of the very few writers who is aware of the
true size of our universe, and of the possibilities inherent -
this new scale of things. His Emperor has the ring of a true
emperor, and behind him we are aware of that star-spanning.'
empire and of the problems it must present. This is a story"
with a ring of truth to it, and it is a story that moves. Perhaps
this is the reason that Mr. Dickson's fellow writers chose this
as an award winner: because he is not afraid to entertain us. .
Nebula Award, Best Novelette 1966
CALL HIM LORD
Gordon R. Dickson
He called and commanded me
Therefore, I knew him;
But later, on, failed me; and
Therefore, / slew him!"
"Song of the Shield Bearer"
The sun could not fail in rising over the Kentucky hills, ac-
could Kyle Arnam in waking. There would be eleven hou~
and forty minutes of daylight. Kyle rose, dressed, and weat~
out to saddle the gray gelding and the white stallion. He ro~e
the stallion until the first fury was out of the arched andS
Spowy neck; and then led both horses around to tether them
outside the kitchen door. Then he went in to breakfast.
The message that had come a week before was beside his
plate of bacon and eggs. Teena, bis wife, was standing at the
breadboard with her back to him. He sat down and began
eating, rereading the letter as he ate.
". . . The Prince will be traveling incognito under one of his
family titles, as Count Sirii North; and should not be ad-
dressed as 'Majesty.' You will call him 'Lord' . . ."
"Why does it have to be you?" Teena asked.
He looked up and saw how she stood with her back to him.
"Teena" he said, sadly.
"Why?"
"My ancestors were bodyguards to hisback in the wars of
conquest against the aliens. I've told you that," he said. "My
forefathers saved the lives of his, many times when there was
no warninga Rak spaceship would suddenly appear out of
nowhere to lock on, even to a flagship. And even an Emperor
found himself fighting for his life, hand to hand."
"The aliens are all dead now, and the Emperor's got a
hundred other worlds! Why can't his son take his Grand Tour
on them? Why does he have to come here to Earthand
you?"
"There's only one Earth."
"And only one you, I suppose?"
He sighed internally and gave up. He had been raised by
his father and his uncle after his mother died, and in an
argument with Teena he always felt helpless. He got up from
the table and went to her, putting his hands on her and gently
trying to turn her about. But she resisted.
He sighed inside himself again and turned away to the
weapons cabinet. He took out a loaded slug pistol, fitted it into
the stubby holster it matched, and clipped the holster to his
belt at the left of the buckle, where the hang of his leather
jacket would hide it. Then he selected a dark-handled knife
with a six-inch blade and bent over to slip it into the sheath
inside his boot top. He dropped the cuff of his trouser leg
back over the boot top and stood up.
"He's got no right to be here," said Teena fiercely to the
breadboard. "Tourists are supposed to be kept to the museum
areas and the tourist lodges."
"He's not a tourist. You know that," answered Kyle,
patiently. "He's the Emperor's oldest son and his great-grand-
mother was from Earth. His wife will be, too. Every fourth
generation the Imperial line has to marry back into Earth
stock. That's the lawstill." He put 'on his leather jacket,
sealing it closed only at the bottom to hide the slug-gun
holster, half turned to the doorthen paused.
"Teena?" he asked.
She did not answer.
"Teena!" he repeated. He stepped to her, put his hands on
her shoulders and tried to turn her to face him. Again, she
resisted, but this time he was having none of it.
He was not a big man, being of middle height, round-faced,
with sloping and unremarkable-looking, if thick, shoulders.
But his strength was not ordinary. He could bring the white
stallion to its knees with one fist wound in its maneand no
other man had ever been able to do that. He turned her easily
to look at him.
"Now, listen to me" he began. But, before he could
finish, all the stiffness went out of her and she clung to him,
trembling.
"He'll get you into trouble1 know he will!" she choked,
muffledly into his chest. "Kyle, don't go! There's no law
making you go!"
He stroked the soft hair of her head, his throat stiff and
dry. There was nothing he could say to her. What she was
asking was impossible. Ever since the sun had first risen on
men and women together, wives had clung to their husbands
at times like this, begging for what could not be. And always
the men had held them, as Kyle was holding her nowas if
understanding could somehow be pressed from one body into
the otherand saying nothing, because there was nothing that
could be said.
So, Kyle held her for a few moments longer, and then
reached behind him to unlock her intertwined fingers at his
back, and loosen her arms around him. Then, he went.
Looking back through the kitchen window as he rode off on
the stallion, leading the gray horse, he saw her standing just
where he had left her. Not even crying, but standing with her
arms hanging down, her head down, not moving.
He rode away through the forest of the Kentucky hillside.
It took him more than two hours to reach the lodge. As he
rode down the valleyside toward it, he saw a tall, bearded
man, wearing the robes they wore on some of the Younger
Worlds, standing at the gateway to the interior courtyard of
the rustic, wooded lodge.
When he got close, he saw that the beard was graying and
the man was biting his lips. Above a straight, thin nose, the
eyes were bloodshot and circled beneath as if from worry or
lack of sleep.
"He's in the courtyard," said the gray-bearded man as Kyle
rode up. "I'm Montlaven, his tutor. He's ready to go." The
darkened eyes looked almost pleadingly up at Kyle.
"Stand clear of the stallion's head," said Kyle. "And take
me in to him."
"Not that horse, for him" said Montlaven, looking dis-
trustfully at the stallion, as he backed away.
"No," said Kyle. "He'll ride the gelding."
"He'll want the white."
"He can't ride the white," said Kyle. "Even if I let him, he
couldn't ride this stallion. I'm the only one who can ride him.
Take me in."
The tutor turned and led the way into the grassy courtyard,
surrounding a swimming pool and looked down upon, on
three sides, by the windows of the lodge. In a lounging chair
by the pool sat a tall young man in his late teens, with a mane
of blond hair, a pair of stuffed saddlebags on the grass beside
him. He stood up as Kyle and the tutor came toward him.
"Majesty," said the tutor, as they stopped, "this is Kyle
Arnam, your bodyguard for the three days here."
"Good morning, Bodyguard . . . Kyle, I mean." The Prince
smiled mischievously. "Light, then. And I'll mount."
"You ride the gelding. Lord," said Kyle.
The Prince stared at him, tilted back his handsome head.
and laughed.
"I can ride, man!" he said. "I ride well."
"Not this horse. Lord," said Kyle, dispassionately. "No one
rides this horse, but me."
The eyes flashed wide, the laugh fadedthen returned.
"What can I do?" The wide shoulders shrugged. "I give in
...
widez2