VI

Alfric swung to his feet, suddenly raging. "Therokos!" he growled. "I

thought the devil was left dying, but someone must have found him. He

knows the plan, means to thwart it by taking us before Hildaborg's

force can be raised. Without us to attack from the flank, the Temple

may well drive off her assault."

Ganimos fingered his shortsword with an ominous side glance. "Unless

this be some treachery of yours, barbarian--" he murmured.

"What difference has my coming made in your actions so far?" snapped

Alfric. "Were I of the enemy camp, would I have come here to fight on

your side when they attacked?"

"Aye--truth, truth. But come!" Ganimos smiled twistedly. "If this is

your night of destiny as they say, Alfric, the Fates have their work

cut out for them!"

A roar of battle rose as they came out into the antechamber. Ganimos

groaned. "There are too many ways into this damned building--we have to

guard them all and we lost a quarter of our men the first time. If the

Temple men assault one point in strength, they'll be inside!"

"Let them!" blazed Alfric. His eyes were like green fire under the

swaying crystal candelabra. "Send messengers to all entrances,

Ganimos--tell the men there to retreat, firing the palace to hinder

pursuit. We'll gather all our forces here--"

"Burn the palace?" cried the guardsman. "I swore to defend it!"

"You swore to defend the Imperial family too, didn't you? If we can't

get outside to help the Empress, you'll be a hell of a use to her! Now

go!"

There was no gainsaying the wild power which blazed in the northerner.

Ganimos went, shouting. Alfric swung joyously to the barricade, lifting

the battle ax he had taken in preference to a shortsword.

The archers and spearmen were sending forth a deadly hail, but they

could not halt the enemy charge. Alfric saw that there was cavalry

coming against the main entrance, with foot soldiers behind. If they

got over or through the flimsy barrier--

"Spears!" he roared. "Spearmen, hold firm!"

He led the way to the barricade top and ranked his guardsmen--they were

_his_ now, he was again master of war and equal of kings--in a tight

line, with spears braced outward. "Now hold!" he shouted. "Hold, for

the sake of Ruho!"

The hengists thundered up the stairs, across the portico, against and

up the sides of the barricade in a living wave. For a moment battle

raged. The heap of wood and stone chunks broke some of the speed of the

charge, but still it shocked against the spear line with a fury that

trembled in the walls. Metal clanged, men shouted, hengists screamed

in a boiling tide of struggle. Alfric saw a spearman fall, spitted on

a lance. He snatched the shaft and thrust it into the throat of the

hengist breaking through--with all his straining force he rammed it

home, and steed and rider tumbled back.

The cavalry broke, hengists bucking, refusing to hit that gleaming

line again. The Temple infantry line scattered as the maddened animals

trampled into it. Householders were streaming into the antechamber, and

Alfric's nostrils quivered to the first acrid whiffs of smoke. With a

burning palace behind them, the Imperials need have less fear of an

attack from the rear.

"The infantry will be up against us in a moment," panted Ganimos.

"Aye, we'd better charge out while they're still disorganized," said

Alfric. "We'll assault the Temple itself. And pray your Moons help

comes ere we're cut down!"

"We'll die like men, anyway," said Ganimos, "not like beasts in a trap.

Thank you for that, Stranger."

"Then--_hai, Hildaborg_!" Alfric plunged over the barricade.

The Household guards followed, a wave that formed into a wedge and

plunged across the gardens. The finest warriors of Valkarion hit the

wavering Temple forces like a spear going home.

* * * * *

Ax and sword! Spear and arrow! Clang and roar of metal, whirring

weapons, rushing blood--shouts and curses, screams, deep-throated

oaths--death unchained in the gardens of Valkarion!

Alfric led the way at the point of the wedge, smiting, smiting. No man

could stand before his raging fury--his ax was a dazzle and thunder

before him. Hewing, hewing, he led the Household forth.

"_Hildaborg! Hai, Hildaborg!_" The war cry shouted over the hills, rang

in echoes with the clamor of metal and shock of combat. "_Hildaborg!_"

These Householders fought like demons, thought Alfric dimly as he

struck at the faces and bodies which loomed briefly out of night and

shadow into the red dance of fire. How they fought! But--Ruho, if he

only had a levy of Aslakan axmen behind him now!

They won through to the bridge--through and over, in a dash that drove

the few guards before it like dry leaves before a gale. Alfric turned

gasping to Ganimos. "Hold the bridge," he said. "As soon as we're all

over, hold the bridge. That'll protect our rear from cavalry--hengists

can't go through that steep gully. And when the foot soldiers have

gathered enough wits to come after us that way, you can throw spears

down on top of them."

"Aye, your majesty." The title came without thought to the soldier's

lips, as he saluted and turned to hail a squad to stay with him.

Alfric led the assault of the rest on the Temple. There were fewer

guards on this side of the gully. He hewed at one and felt the shock of

the splitting skull through his arms and shoulders, rattling his teeth.

Howling, he yanked the weapon free and brought it up to knock aside a

sword-thrust and beat the foeman to earth.

Back the Household drove the guards, back to the scowling walls of the

Temple. Weird battle, in darkness and cold, with the moons and the

great rising flames for fitful illumination. Strange, to trade blows

with men who were only red highlights against the roaring night. For a

timeless interval, it was all clamor and death and flying steel.

But the Household was being carved away--man after man fell--and now

the palace besiegers were streaming through the gully, Ganimos and his

squad cut off on the bridge--hai, Hildaborg, it had been a lovely fight

but it was nearing its end.

Alfric looked up at the mighty sky, and he saw the majestic shield

of Dannos slip over Amaris. Her light was cut off, the hilltop grew

dimmer--the Moons were mated.

"O Hildaborg, if only--"

He looked along the wall, against which he now had his back, and saw

the torches which swept up the hill, saw the dark mass of humanity and

heard its beast cry for blood. And his heart leaped into his throat,

and he laughed aloud under Dannos, for here was life again.

"_Hai, Hildaborg!_" he roared.

The remaining troopers heard him and lifted their weary heads to see.

They answered his cry, then, and hewed a way to where he stood. And now

the dismayed Temple forces were breaking--the Household swept along

the walls toward the Temple gates.

Battle raged there, as the rebel guards and the blood-howling mob bore

down on the garrison. Fire was already licking at the rafters where

flame arrows had struck; the Temple would soon stand aflame even as the

palace was burning, as the Empire was burning and sundering. The two

pillars of Valkarion were crashing to earth, and what would be left

when they were gone?

By the leaping fire-blaze, Alfric saw the torn and trampled bodies of

priests and slaves. He recognized one battered face and stooped over

for a closer look. Therokos lay dead. His wound somehow bandaged and

braced, his body cased in armor, he lay where he had fallen.

Well, the High Priest had been a brave man in his way--Alfric gave him

warrior's salute and passed on to join the fight.

An armored figure astride a great war-hengist was leading the charge.

Even without hearing that lovely voice crying its challenge, Alfric

would have known her. He sprang forward, crying out, and seized the

bridle, pulling her aside just as the gate defense broke and the

attackers burst into the Temple.

"I told you to stay in a safe place!" he raged. Huge and bloodsmeared,

his lean face painted red by the rising fires, his eyes like green ice

in the moonlight, he stood looking up at her.

Hildaborg laughed. "You're still a poor fool, Alfric," she said. "Could

I stay at home while you were fighting for me?"

She took off her helmet. Her dark hair streamed down over his face as

she leaned forward to kiss him.

In the sky, Dannos swept past Amaris and swung eastward toward the

horizon.

* * * * *

Dawn came, chill and gray, full of weariness and the sobbing of women.

Alfric stood leaning on a spear, atop the flat roof of Bronnes the

merchant, and looked out over the city. A leather cloak hung from his

broad shoulders against the thin bitter dawn-wind. His face was drawn

into bleak lines.

To him came Hildaborg, lovely in the cold colorless light, her unbound

locks floating in the breeze. He looked at her in a vague wonder as to

how many women she really was. The passionate lover of the tavern, the

haughty queen who had faced the captive guard and the captor priest,

the wild war-goddess of the battle--and now this girl, slim and fair

and mysterious, with wind-cooled cheeks and a secret laughter behind

her eyes--which was the real one? Or were they all Hildaborg? And would

he ever know?

She touched his arm. "We've won," she whispered.

"Aye--won," said Alfric tiredly. "Won what? The Temple is down, but so

is the palace, and there's still riot and looting in the city."

"It will pass. Victory was dearly bought, but now it is ours. And you,

Alfric, are ruler of Valkarion."

"I--a heathen outlander?"

"After last night, the Household and the guards will follow you to hell

and back. And the rest--" she smiled shyly--"will follow me, who follow

you myself."

"A big task. Too big, perhaps, for the son of an Aslakan peasant."

Alfric smiled crookedly down at Hildaborg. "Tis more for you, who are

born a queen. Best I continue my travels."

"The queen," she said firmly, "needs a king. You have come to the end

of your wandering, Alfric." She laughed, a clear beautiful sound in

the quiet morning. "You have no choice, my dear. The Sibyl grudgingly

admits that the Fortieth Dynasty, 'sons of the heathen,' will be among

the greatest. But how can you have sons without--"

Alfric grinned. "I surrender," he said. "Who am I to challenge the

Fates?"

Down in the street a hengist, escaped from his owner in the rioting,

whinnied his greeting to the early sun.