From somewhere, the notes of a retreat were sounded. But there were very few who answered the call.
“Wipe your eyes, Siddhartha,” said Death, “and call a new formation. The time has come to press the attack. Manjusri of the Sword must order a charge.”
“Yes, Death, I know.”
“We hold the field, but not the day. The gods are watching, judging our strength.”
Sam raised his lance in signal and there was fresh movement among the troops. Then a new stillness hung about them. Suddenly, there was no wind, no sound. The sky was blue. The ground was a gray-green trampled thing. Dust, like a specter hedge, hovered in the distance.
Sam surveyed the ranks, moved his lance forward. At that moment, there came a clap of thunder.
“The gods will enter the field,” said Death, looking upward.
The thunder chariot passed overhead. No rain of destruction descended, however.
“Why are we still alive?” asked Sam.
“I believe they would rather our defeat be more ignominious. Also, they may be afraid to attempt to use the thunder chariot against its creator—justly afraid.”
“In that case . . .” said Sam, and he gave the signal for the troops to charge.
The chariot bore him forward. At his back, the forces of Keenset followed.
They cut down the stragglers. They smashed through the guard that attempted to delay them. In the midst of a storm of arrows, they broke the archers. Then they faced the body of the holy crusaders who had sworn to level the city of Keenset.
Then there came the notes of Heaven upon a trumpet.
The opposing lines of human warriors parted.
The fifty demigods rode forth.
Sam raised his lance.
“Siddhartha,” said Death, “Lord Kalkin was never beaten in battle.”
“I know.”
“I have with me the Talisman of the Binder. That which was destroyed upon the pyre at Worldsend was a counterfeit. I retained the original to study it. I never had the chance. Hold but a moment and I will brace it about you.”
Sam raised his arms and Death clasped the belt of shells around his waist.
He gave sign then to the forces of Keenset to halt.
Death drove him forward, alone, to face the half-gods.
About the heads of some there played the nimbus of early Aspect. Others bore strange weapons to focus their strange Attributes. Fires came down and licked about the chariot. Winds lashed at it. Great smashing noises fell upon it. Sam gestured with his lance and the first three of his opponents reeled and fell from the backs of their slizzards.
Then Death drove his chariot among them.
Its edges are razors and its speed three times that of a horse and twice that of a slizzard.
A mist sprang up about him as he rode, a mist tinged with blood. Heavy missiles sped toward him and vanished to one side or the other. Ultrasonic screams assailed his ears, but somehow were partly deadened.
His face expressionless, Sam raised his lance high above his head.
A look of sudden fury crossed over his face, and the lightnings leapt from its tip.
Slizzards and riders baked and crisped.
The smell of charred flesh came to his nostrils.
He laughed, and Death wheeled the chariot for another pass.
“Are you watching me?” Sam screamed at the heavens. “Watch on, then! And watch out! You just made a mistake!”
“Don’t!” said Death. “It is too soon! Never mock a god until he is passed!”
And the chariot swept through the ranks of the demigods once again, and none could touch upon it.
Trumpet notes filled the air, and the holy army rushed to succor its champions.
The warriors of Keenset moved forward to engage them.
Sam stood in the chariot and the missiles fell heavy about it, always missing. Death drove him through the ranks of the enemy, now like a wedge, now like a rapier. He sang as he moved, and his lance was the tongue of a serpent, sometimes crackling as it fell with bright flashes. The Talisman glowed with a pale fire about his waist.
“We’ll take them!” he said.
“There are only demigods and men upon the field,” said Death. “They are still testing our strength. There are very few who remember the full power of Kalkin.”