Laintal Ay roused at this point. There were battles in the past that was like a dream, and one was about to be described. But the new storyteller said, “Friends, we all had ancestors in the battle that followed, and all have gone since to the world of gossies, even if they were not despatched prematurely on that occasion. Suffice it to say that all present acquitted themselves valiantly.”
But he, being youthful, could not dismiss the exciting part so lightly and continued despite himself, eyes glowing.
Those innocent and heroic hunters were surprised by Yuli’s stratagem. Fire suddenly bloomed from the top of the herb tower, and tall flowers of flame rose into the evening air. The hunters naturally shouted out with alarm, dropped their weapons, and ran forward to see what could be done.
Spears and stones rained down on them from the top of the neighbouring tower. Armed invaders appeared from concealment, shouting and thrusting their spears at unguarded bodies. Our hunters slipped and fell in their own blood, but some invaders they managed to slay.
Our town contained more armed men than the cousin-brothers calculated for. Those were the brave corpsmen. They appeared from everywhere. But the invaders were desperate and hid in houses they had taken over. Young boys also were forced to fight, including some of you here, now past your prime.
The fire spread. Sparks streamed overhead like husks at a winnowing, as if they would light the sky. Carnage grew in the streets and ditches. Our women took up swords from the dead to fight off the living.
All acquitted themselves valiantly. But boldness and desperation won the day—not to mention the leadership of him who this day went down to the world of the gossies to be with his ancestors. Eventually, the defenders threw down their weapons and rushed away in the gathering dark, screaming.
Dresyl’s blood was up. An avenging fury rose on his brow. He had seen Big Afardl slain beside him—and from behind—and by a woman at that.
“That was my good old grandmother!” cried Aoz Roon, and laughter and cheers rose on all sides. “There was always courage in our family. We are of Embruddock stock, and not of Oldorando.”
Dresyl could scarcely be recognized for his fury. His face turned black. He ordered his company to hunt down and kill every surviving man of Embruddock. The women were to be gathered into the stable of this very tower, friends. What a terrible day that was in our annals… .
But the victorious men, led by Yuli, took Dresyl forcibly and said to him that there must be no more killing. Killing brought bitterness. From the morrow, all must live in peace, to make a strong tribe, or there were not enough souls to survive.
These wise words meant nothing to Dresyl. He struggled until Baruin brought a bucket of cold water and flung it over him. Then he fell down as if in a swoon, and slept that dreamless sleep which comes only after battle.
Baruin said to Yuli, “You sleep too, with Dresyl and the others. I will keep watch, in case we are surprised by a counterattack.”
But Little Yuli was unable to sleep. He said nothing to Baniin, but he had been wounded, and his head was light. He felt himself near to death, and staggered outside to die under Wutra’s sky, into which Freyr was already preparing to ascend, for it was the third quarter. He walked down the main street here, where grass grew coarse among streams of mud. Freyr-dawn was the colour of mud, and he saw a scavenging hound slink away, full-bellied, from the corpse of one of his fellow hunters. He leaned against a crumbling wall, breathing deep.
Opposite him was the temple—ruined then as now. He stared without understanding at the decorations engraved in the stone. Remember, in those days, before Loil Bry civilized him, Yuli was by way of being a barbarian. Rats snicked in at the doorway. He moved to the temple hearing only a rushing in his ears. In his hand he held a sword taken from a fallen adversary—a better weapon than any he possessed, made of good dark metal here in our forges. This he held before him as he kicked in the door.