II

The men of Killorn stood their ground, shoulder to shoulder, pikes

braced and swords aloft. They had the advantage of high ground and

meant to use it. From behind their ranks came a steady hail of arrows

and stones, whistling through the air to crack among the enemy ranks

and tumble men to earth--yet still the Dark Landers came, leaping and

bounding and running with strange precision. They did not yell, and

their faces were blank as white stone, but behind them the rapid thud

of their drums rose to a pulse-shaking roar.

"Hai-ah!" bellowed Red Bram. "Sunder them!"

The great long-shafted ax shrieked in his hands, belled on an enemy

helmet and crashed through into skull and brain and shattering jawbone.

Again he smote, sideways, and a head leaped from its shoulders.

A Dark Land warrior thrust for his belly. He kicked one booted foot out

and sent the man lurching back into his own ranks. Whirling, he hewed

down one who engaged the Killorner beside him. A foeman sprang against

him as he turned, chopping at his leg. With a roar that lifted over the

clashing racket of battle, Bram turned, the ax already flying in his

hands, and cut the stranger down.

His red beard blazed like a torch over the struggle as it swayed back

and forth. His streaming ax was a lightning bolt that rose and fell and

rose again, and the thunder of metal on breaking metal rolled between

the hills.

Kery stood by his tyrs, bow in hand, shooting and shooting into the

masses that roiled about him. None came too close, and he could not

leave his post lest the unchained bulls stampede. He shuddered with the

black fury of battle. When would Bram call the charge. How long? Zip,

zip, gray-feathered death winging into the tide that rolled up to the

wagons and fell back and resurged over its corpses.

The men of Killorn were yelling and cursing as they fought, but the

Dark Landers made never a sound save for the hoarse gasping of breath

and the muted groans of the wounded. It was like fighting demons,

yellow-eyed and silver-bearded and with no soul in their bony faces.

The northerners shivered and trembled and hewed with a desperate fury

of loathing.

Back and forth the battle swayed, roar of axes and whine of arrows and

harsh iron laughter of swords. Kery stood firing and firing, the need

to fight was a bitter catch in his throat. How long to wait, how long,

how long?

Why didn't Rhiach blow the skirl of death on the pipes? Why not fling

them back with the horror of disintegration in their bones, and then

rush out to finish them?

Kery knew well that the war-song of the gods was only to be played in

time of direst need, for it hurt friend almost as much as foe--but even

so, even so! A few shaking bars, to drive the enemy back in death and

panic, and then the sortie to end them!

Of a sudden he saw a dozen Dark Landers break from the main battle by

the wagons and approach the spot where he stood. He shot two swift

arrows, threw his spear, and pulled out his sword with a savage

laughter in his heart, the demoniac battle joy of the Broina. Ha, let

them come!

The first sprang with downward-whistling blade. Kery twisted aside,

letting speed and skill be his shield, his long glaive flickered out

and the enemy screamed as it took off his arm. Whirling, Kery spitted

the second through the throat. The third was on him before he could

withdraw his blade, and a fourth from the other side, raking for his

vitals. He sprang back.

"Gorwain!" he shouted. "_Gorwain!_"

The huge black bull heard. His fellows snorted and shivered, but stayed

at their place--Kery didn't know how long they would wait, he prayed

they would stay a moment more. The lead tyr ran up beside his master,

and the ground trembled under his cloven hoofs.

The white foemen shrank back, still dead of face but with fear plain

in their bodies. Gorwain snorted, an explosion of thunder, and charged

them.

There was an instant of flying bodies, tattered flesh ripped by the

horns, and ribs snapping underfoot. The Dark Landers thrust with their

spears, the points glanced off the armor plating and Gorwain turned and

slew them.

"Here!" cried Kery sharply. "Back, Gorwain! Here!"

The tyr snorted and circled, rolling his eyes. The killing madness was

coming over him, if he were not stopped now he might charge friend or

foe.

"Gorwain!" screamed Kery.

Slowly, trembling under his shining black hide, the bull returned.

* * * * *

And now Rhiach the warlock stood up behind the ranks of Killorn. Tall

and steely gray, he went out between them, the pipes in his arms and

the mouthpieces at his lips. For an instant the Dark Landers wavered,

hesitating to shoot at him, and then he blew.

It was like the snarling music of any bagpipe, and yet there was more

in it. There was a boiling tide of horror riding the notes, men's

hearts faltered and weakness turned their muscles watery. Higher rose

the music, and stronger and louder, screaming in the dales, and before

men's eyes the world grew unreal, shivering beneath them, the rocks

faded to mist and the trees groaned and the sky shook. They fell toward

the ground, holding their ears, half blind with unreasoning fear and

with the pain of the giant hand that gripped their bones and shook

them, shook them.

The Dark Landers reeled back, falling, staggering, and many of those

who toppled were dead before they hit the earth. Others milled in

panic, the army was becoming a mob. The world groaned and trembled and

tried to dance to the demon-music.

Rhiach stopped. Bram shook his bull head to clear the ringing and the

fog in it. "At them!" he roared. "_Charge!_"

Sanity came back. The land was real and solid again, and men who were

used to the terrible drone of the pipes could force strength back into

shuddering bodies. With a great shout, the warriors of Killorn formed

ranks and moved forward.

Kery leaped up on the back of Gorwain, straddling the armored chine and

gripping his knees into the mighty flanks. His sword blazed in the air.

"Now kill them, my beauties!" he howled.

In a great wedge, with Gorwain at their lead, the tyrs rushed out on

the foe. Earth shook under the rolling thunder of their feet. Their

bellowing filled the land and clamored at the gates of the sky. They

poured like a black tide down on the Dark Land host and hit it.

"Hoo-ah!" cried Kery.

He felt the shock of running into that mass of men and he clung

tighter, holding on with one hand while his sword whistled in the

other. Bodies fountained before the rush of the bulls, horns tossed men

into the heavens and hoofs pounded them into the earth. Kery swung at

dimly glimpsed heads, the hits shivered along his arm but he could not

see if he killed anyone, there wasn't time.

Through and through the Dark Land army the bulls plowed, goring a lane

down its middle while the Killorners fell on it from the front. Blood

and thunder and erupting violence, death reaping the foe, and Kery rode

onward.

"Oh, my beauties, my black sweethearts, horn them, stamp them into the

ground. Oh, lovely, lovely, push them on, my Gorwain, knock them down

to hell, best of bulls!"

The tyrs came out on the other side of the broken host and thundered on

down the ridge. Kery fought to stop them. He yelled and whistled, but

he knew such a charge could not expend itself in a moment.

As they rushed on, he heard the high brazen call of a trumpet, and then

another and another, and a new war-cry rising behind him. What was

that? What had happened?

They were down in a rocky swale before he had halted the charge. The

bulls stood shivering then, foam and blood streaked their heaving

sides. Slowly, with many curses and blows, he got them turned, but they

would only walk back up the long hill.

As he neared the battle again he saw that another force had attacked

the Dark Landers from behind. It must have come through the long

ravine to the west, which would have concealed its approach from

those fighting Southern Twilight Landers, Kery saw, well trained and

equipped though they seemed to fight wearily. But between men of north

and south, the easterners were being cut down in swathes. Before he

could get back, the remnants of their host was in full flight. Bram was

too busy with the newcomers to pursue and they soon were lost in the

eastern darkness.

* * * * *

Kery dismounted and led his bulls to the wagons to tie them up. They

went through a field of corpses, heaped and piled on the blood-soaked

earth, but most of the dead were enemies. Here and there the wounded

cried out in the twilight, and the women of Killorn were going about

succoring their own hurt. Carrion birds hovered above on darkling wings.

"Who are those others?" asked Kery of Bram's wife Eiyla. She was a big

raw-boned woman, somewhat of a scold but stout-hearted and the mother

of tall sons. She stood leaning on an unstrung bow and looking over the

suddenly hushed landscape.

"Ryvanians, I think," she replied absently. Then, "Kery--Kery, I have

ill news for you."

His heart stumbled and there was a sudden coldness within him. Mutely,

he waited.

"Rhiach is dead, Kery," she said gently. "An arrow took him in the

throat even as the Dark Landers fled."