Dalestown lay below, a dark spot in the green, deep valley, huddled under clouds lifting mountainous overhead. A fresh east wind was springing up, stiffening, whistling eerily in the long grasses and the suddenly tossing trees.
Down the other slope, down toward the walls, gallop, gallop, gallop! Carl risked another glance behind. He could see Lenard’s face now in the van of the enemy. The barbarian was smiling.
Blackness grew bright with lightning streaks in the heart of the thunderheads. Clouds were boiling over the sky, flying gray tatters of storm, and the wind’s keening rose yet louder. The storm was coming with giant strides.
“We can’t make it, Carl.” This time it was Owl who gasped out his despair. The wind flung the words raggedly from his mouth. “We just can’t make it—”
“We can try!” shouted Carl.
Down and down and down. An arrow sang past, and another and another. Tom’s horse neighed shrilly and somehow lengthened its pace. A shaft had grazed its flank.
“Hi, there!” Lenard cupped his hands to yell above the wind and the roaring of trees and the growing boom of thunder. The voice drifted faint to Carl’s ears. “Surrender now or we’ll shoot you down!”
So near, so near…. The valley sides were leveling off now. The massive log walls of Dalestown, the square towers, the high roofs beyond… two miles away, perhaps, and every flying step brought them closer… but there was no hope. The Lann were yards behind and… Sunlight speared through the clouds, a weird, hard brass-yellow. Thunder banged from heaven to earth and back, shivering the ground. A terrified flock of crows fought the harrying wind as they nearer a sheltering thicket.
Carl’s muscles tensed for the shaft that would enter his back. He set his teeth against it. He would not cry out even when it tore his lungs… but ride, ride, ride!
Laughter snarled almost in his ear. Turning his head, Carl saw the warrior who drew alongside him, thrusting his horse between Tom and the Chief’s son. Teeth gleamed in the dark bearded face as a hand reached out for the bridle on Carl’s horse.
The boy growled, almost sobbing, and leaned over. With one hand he clung to his steed’s mane; the other fingers closed on the braids that hung below the warrior’s helmet. He heaved back, reining in his horse as he did. The Lann mount still plunged ahead, and the warrior went crashing from the saddle, one foot caught in a stirrup, howling as he was dragged. Tom snatched the falling lance from the air and whirled about to meet the enemy.
Lightning glared overhead and the rain came, the heavens opening in a gray flood. Stinging silver spears slanted on a whooping wind, splashing back from the earth, hiding the farther hills in a sudden smoke.
Owl had also reined in. A triumphant Lann rider came at him with lifted sword. But Owl still had the knife. He grabbed the raised arm with one hand and slashed it with the other. The warrior yelled, clutching at his blood-spurting wrist, and Owl jerked the sword away and tossed it to Carl.
The Lann closed in on every side, edged metal lifted against the unarmored, rain-streaming bodies. Lightning flamed white in the sky and thunder was a giant war wagon, booming and banging and crashing. Carl lifted his face to the rain, drinking life in a last joyous draught, suddenly unafraid now when hope was gone.
“Take them alive if you can,” barked Lenard.
Horses thrusting in, a sudden press of bodies, clubbing lance butts and the flat of swords…. Carl swung at the nearest threatening arm, felt his steel bite deep, and then a swung shaft crashed against his head. Lightning and darkness…. He toppled from his seat and the rain boiled about him.
Looking dizzily up from where he lay, he saw a horseman seeming to tower above him, lance head pointed against his throat. With a snarl, the boy grabbed the shaft, pushing it aside. His free hand picked up the sword out of the mud, and he hacked out.
He’d not be taken as a hostage and a slave, he thought wildly. He’d make them kill him!
Thunder bawled over the rushing rain and the hooting wind. Carl felt the earth tremble under his feet. Two of the Lann had jumped to the ground and were closing in on him, trying to hem him between their shields. He smote at a helmet and his blade clanged off.
Baroom, baroom, baroom, baroom— Not the thunder shaking the ground, but nearer—sweeping nearer—
The horseman burst out of the storm. His mount was a tall black stallion, and he himself was big and golden-haired and wrathful. Save for shield and helmet, he had no armor, but a broadsword flashed in his hand. He rode full tilt against the group of men.
The great sword yelled out, its rain-wet steel suddenly red, and a warrior died. Another had no time to lift blade before he too was cut down. The plunging horse was reined in, rearing back on its hind legs, and the pawing hoofs smashed against a third barbarian. Steel clamored against steel as the newcomer hewed at a fourth man. A fifth rode against his left side, sword aloft. Raging like a tiger, the golden-haired man straightened his left arm, and the spiked boss on his shield crashed into the face of the northerner.
“Father!” yelled Carl. “Father!”
Ralph’s smile was savage in his beard. He knocked the sword spinning from his enemy’s hand and the man had barely time to skitter aside before that screaming blade scythed him down.
And now other forms were coming from Dalestown. Carl saw Ezzef and three more guards in the lead, saw lances lowered and heard the faint scream of a horn.
The Lann, suddenly outnumbered, whirled their steeds about and went galloping back whence they came. Roaring vengefully, the Dalesmen swept after them, until Ralph winded his horn. Then, slowly and grudgingly, they straggled back to their Chief.
Ralph had already sprung from the saddle to fold Carl in his arms. “I saw you from afar,” he choked. “I saw them after you, and came as fast as I could. Are you well? You’re hurt.”
“A scratch.” Carl hugged his father. “Tom? Owl?”
“Still alive,” said the younger boy. The pounding rain had plastered his sandy hair flat, and the blood running from his cut scalp was dissolved before it had trickled to his breast. He grinned weakly.
Ezzef came riding up, his horse splashing mud, his face darkened. “We could’ve had ’em, if you hadn’t called us back,” he complained.
“It might have led you into a trap,” said Ralph. “The Lann, the main army, are very close.” He straightened. “Come on, let’s get back into town.”
Mounted again, Carl rode slowly with his father. The Chief’s face was grave. “You went to the City, didn’t you?” he said.
“Yes,” answered Carl.
Ralph shook his head. “That was not wise. Donn is determined to enforce the law. You’ll hardly be able to lie out of his accusation, and—well—”
“It was for the good of the tribe,” said Carl heavily.
“Of course. But the tribe may not see it that way.” Ralph clapped his son’s shoulder, “However, I’ll do what I can. I didn’t rescue my only son from his enemies to see him hanged by his friends.”
The gates yawned before them. As they entered, Carl saw that the streets were jammed with people. As far as he could see, the crowd surged in the rain, drenched and miserable and hungry-looking. Tents and lean-tos were thrown up everywhere, in courtyards and streets and market places, a swarming city within a city. By order of the Chief and the Council, every home and warehouse and shop, any building that could hold a person, was filled with the overflow of refugees. All food had gone into a common store, and the town gave a grudging ration out of the kitchens it had taken over. Already, even before the Lann were in sight, Dalestown was under siege. The people were packed together, townsfolk and country dwellers and the hunters and charcoal burners and lumbermen of remote forests. Women held babies in their arms, shielding them against the rain, and other children clung to their skirts. Men were armed, grim and angry of face. Old folk looked around, timid and bewildered, a lifetime had toppled to ruin about them. The crowd moved aimlessly, hopelessly, buzzing and mumbling under the steady roll of thunder. Eyes, eyes, a thousand eyes stared at the returning warriors.