Time passed. The night hooted louder. He stirred from his reverie with a glance upward, to gauge from the moon if his watch was over. The sky was an inkpot of clouds. No matter. He might as well stay on guard. He wouldn’t sleep anyhow, after what had happened. Not to mention the noise. A real gale was blowing now, stones rattled, metal clinked—
Hey!
The cannibal chief bounded into sight. Beyond him flashed spearheads. There must be a hundred or more men, they’d lain doggo in the pass and now Morgan had sent them down to— “Wake up! Wake up, here they come!”
Hugi, Carahue, and Alianora scrambled to their feet. The Saracen’s blade snaked free. He sprang toward his startled horse and ripped the reins from the tethering stake. The girl jumped onto her mount. Two hillmen whooped and plunged at her. One thrust with a spear. Hugi dove between his legs, a tiny brown hurricane. They went down together. Holger pounced on the other. His sword rose and fell. A skull split hideously.
As the body pitched against him, he threw it back hard enough to bowl over the next man. A spear grated along his chain mail. He hacked out at the chief’s face. Dim in the firelight, filed teeth grinned at him. Arms closed around his neck. He kicked backward, making vicious use of his spurs. The savage yammered and let go.
Holger retreated till he had the menhir behind him. A tall man with a dragon painted on his stomach leaped to attack. Holger cut, sideways. The man’s head rolled from its shoulders. A ring of other men pressed close. Beyond their feathers and horns, he saw Carahue mounted, slashing downward with his saber. Papillon kicked, bit, stamped; mane and tail flew like black flames.
A hillman rose up, belly to belly with Holger. He had slithered under the Dane’s guard. The dagger in his hand spurted upward. Holger managed to take the slash on his left arm. Then Hugi appeared below the savage, grabbed his ankles and threw him. Man and dwarf rolled over, snarling and gouging.
The chief had been immediately behind. His ax smote Holger’s helmet with a thundercrack noise. Holger lurched. “God and St. George,“ he heard himself groan. The chief laughed and struck again. Somehow Holger parried the blows. Most of them. Others banged on his helmet and hauberk. He reeled. Two more men rushed in from the sides.
Carahue appeared behind them. The Saracen’s blade whined. A heathen clutched his own arm, stared stupidly as it came off in his hand, and went to his knees. Holger cut low and got the leg of the other, who stumbled back. The chief whirled to engage Carahue with his ax. They clanged about, cursing.
Alianora’s horse screamed. Hamstrung, it sank to earth. The white swan flew up, swooped down again to peck at eyes. Holger sobbed breath into his lungs. Someone yammered an order. Hurled spears flew thick around him. He forgot he was hurt and exhausted. He charged. His blade went like a scythe. Papillon reared inhumanly big, dashed out brains with his forefeet and overrode war cries with his neighing. Man and horse scattered the band of javelin throwers and returned to the stone.
Hugi rose from a body gone limp, dusted his hands, and joined them. Alianora turned woman again at the same place. A moment afterward Carahue cantered up. Holger put foot in stirrup and mounted Papillon. A savage rushed him. He kicked the fellow’s teeth in. Bending, he got his shield on his arm. His sword hand he extended long enough to help Alianora up behind him. Carahue gave a seat to Hugi. The two knights looked at, each other, nodded, and rode to battle.
For a few minutes it was slash and stab and hew. Then all at once the enemy was gone. Holger and Carahue returned to the menhir and gasped. Their swords ran red. Blood was spattered across clothes and arms and faces. The firelight gleamed off blood puddles on the earth. Bodies lay strewn, some moving and moaning, some altogether still. The hillmen were drawn into a sullen clump on the edge of vision; only their weapons could really be seen. Holger recognized the chief, whose war bonnet was gone and whose scalp was lacerated. The chief picked himself off the ground and hobbled toward his men.
Carahue’s grin flashed out. “Nobly, nobly done!” he panted. “By the hand of the Prophet... the Prophet Jesus, Sir Rupert, I thought only one man in the world could fight as you have done!”
“You’re no slouch yourself,” said Holger. “But I wish you’d been able to finish their boss. He’ll work them up to another attack in a minute.”
“Arrows’ll end us,” declared Hugi. “Had they any sense, they loons would ha’ made pincushions o’ us erenow.”
Holger looked back at Alianora. Blood ran from her left arm. The fear that leaped into him was horrible. “Are you hurt?” he cried, shrill as a woman.
“Nay, ’tis naught.” She smiled with shaking lips. “A dart did but wing me.”
He fumbled at the wound. A bad gash ordinarily, he’d have said; but not much considering the present circumstances. His bones seemed to melt. “I’ll build a chapel... to St. Sebastian... for this,” he whispered.
Her hands closed about his waist. “There’s a better way ye micht show gladness,” she said, low and close to his ear.
Carahue interrupted brusquely, “We’ll be in no state to build anything unless we escape soon. If we rush downhill, Rupert, we may elude pursuit.”
The moltenness in Holger congealed. “No,” he said. “That’s no good. This is the way to St. Grimmin’s. The other passes are beset, even if we had time to seek them out. We have to cross here.”
“Straight through them?” spat the Saracen. “Trying to climb that scree in the dark, with a hundred warriors attacking? Now your wits have boiled away.”
“You can flee if you wish,” said Holger, out of the ice within him. “I have to reach the church this night.”
Hugi stared at him, until he squirmed beneath those beady eyes and snapped. “Well, what ails you? We’ll probably die in the pass. I know it. Run off with Carahue. I’ll go alone.”
“Nay,” said Hugi.
They fell so still that Holger heard the blood beat in his own veins. The dwarf spoke low and harsh: “Sith ye be boon to mak’ a knichtly fool o’ yersel’, I can at least ease yer gowkishness for ye. Well ye know we canna get through yon pass. Yet there’s another way onto the wold, where they uns will ne’er follow. I can snuff our way to the troll’s burrow. ’Tis na far off, says ma nase. Sure ’tis he’ll ha’ more nor ane passage leading above the cliffs; and mayhap he’ll be abroad, or asleep, or far off in his tunnels, and willna grow ’ware of us. ’Tis a horrid chance to take, but methinks oor ainly chance. What say ye? Is ’t that big a rush to reach the haunted kirk?”
Holger heard a gasp at his back. “Carahue,” he said, “take Alianora and see if you can get her to safety. Hugi and I’ll have a go at that troll hole—”
The girl seized his belt. “Nay,“ she said angrily, “ye’ll no be rid o’ me so easy. I come too.”
“And I,” said Carahue after a gulp or three. “Never yet have I shirked an adventure.”
“Horse apples!” snorted Hugi. “Yer bones will be scattered in the troll’s nest. Ye’re no the first twa knights wha’ died because they had so bluidy much pride there was na room left for brains. I’m nobbut grieved that ye maun drag the swan-may doon wi’ ye. Noo, mak’ ready to gallop!”
22
CARAHUE LED THE WAY, with Hugi for guide. The mare took off in a clatter. For a moment Holger was aware of the red and-blue ribbons twined into her flowing tail. Then Papillon’s muscles surged between his knees.
Headed east along the scarp, they must pass the enemy. A howl arose. Holger saw a spear fly from the left. As its head caught what firelight there was, he saw it turn in the air and arch downward. He raised his shield. The spear rebounded. An instant later, three arrows thunked solidly into the wooden frame.