He grinned with little humor. “You wouldn’t try so hard to talk me into quitting, if my chance of winning weren’t better than you let on,” he said. “I suppose you know where I’m bound. You’ve done your best to fool me, and capture me, and cripple me. No doubt you’ll try next to kill me. But I mean to keep going.”
What highfalutin words, gibed his inward self. A fellow would almost think you meant them.
He knew in an uprush of weariness that he only wanted peace. An end to this warring in the dark. A place to hide with Alianora from all the worlds and all their cruelties. But he couldn’t so much as ask for a rest. There were too many others who would get trampled underfoot, the moment he was out of the way. He was no damned hero, but Judas, a guy had to live with himself, didn’t he?
Morgan watched him for a long moment. The wind whistled around them. “There is fate in this,” she said at last, heavily. “Yes, I see that even Carahue has returned. The parts of the pattern are gathered. But do not be sure that the Weaver will complete it.”
Sudden tears glimmered in her eyes. She leaned forward and kissed him, not hard, almost fleetingly, but he had seldom felt a greater tenderness. “Good-by, Holger,” she said. She turned and walked out of sight.
He stood and shivered in the cold. Ought he to call the others? No, let them sleep, he thought vaguely. He didn’t want to talk about what had happened. Nobody’s damn business.
Time passed. The night hooted louder. He stirred from his reverie with a glance upward, to gauge from the moon if his watch was over. The sky was an inkpot of clouds. No matter. He might as well stay on guard. He wouldn’t sleep anyhow, after what had happened. Not to mention the noise. A real gale was blowing now, stones rattled, metal clinked—
Hey!
The cannibal chief bounded into sight. Beyond him flashed spearheads. There must be a hundred or more men, they’d lain doggo in the pass and now Morgan had sent them down to— “Wake up! Wake up, here they come!”
Hugi, Carahue, and Alianora scrambled to their feet. The Saracen’s blade snaked free. He sprang toward his startled horse and ripped the reins from the tethering stake. The girl jumped onto her mount. Two hillmen whooped and plunged at her. One thrust with a spear. Hugi dove between his legs, a tiny brown hurricane. They went down together. Holger pounced on the other. His sword rose and fell. A skull split hideously.
As the body pitched against him, he threw it back hard enough to bowl over the next man. A spear grated along his chain mail. He hacked out at the chief’s face. Dim in the firelight, filed teeth grinned at him. Arms closed around his neck. He kicked backward, making vicious use of his spurs. The savage yammered and let go.
Holger retreated till he had the menhir behind him. A tall man with a dragon painted on his stomach leaped to attack. Holger cut, sideways. The man’s head rolled from its shoulders. A ring of other men pressed close. Beyond their feathers and horns, he saw Carahue mounted, slashing downward with his saber. Papillon kicked, bit, stamped; mane and tail flew like black flames.
A hillman rose up, belly to belly with Holger. He had slithered under the Dane’s guard. The dagger in his hand spurted upward. Holger managed to take the slash on his left arm. Then Hugi appeared below the savage, grabbed his ankles and threw him. Man and dwarf rolled over, snarling and gouging.
The chief had been immediately behind. His ax smote Holger’s helmet with a thundercrack noise. Holger lurched. “God and St. George,“ he heard himself groan. The chief laughed and struck again. Somehow Holger parried the blows. Most of them. Others banged on his helmet and hauberk. He reeled. Two more men rushed in from the sides.
Carahue appeared behind them. The Saracen’s blade whined. A heathen clutched his own arm, stared stupidly as it came off in his hand, and went to his knees. Holger cut low and got the leg of the other, who stumbled back. The chief whirled to engage Carahue with his ax. They clanged about, cursing.