“I’ve been looking for you. You silly kids gave me a lot of trouble,” Istavan of Valachia whispered to them with a suppressed smile. He casually resettled his helmet and glanced around to make sure the soldiers nearby were totally occupied with the slaughter. Then, concealing himself behind the horse that was tethered beside them, the mercenary bent down and cut the rope that secured the twins’ ankles. As soon as he was finished, the two children tensed as if to bolt, but, before they could move, Istavan seized them by the arms.
“Don’t run! You’ll draw attention. Move slowly—just slip from behind this horse to the shelter of that boulder, and then keep going, from rock to rock. While they are busy—slowly, all right? You understand. Suni is hiding behind that rock over there. I told her to steal a horse. Lead it to where you can ride, and escape.”
“Istavan, what are you going to do?”
“You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll take care of myself,” Istavan declared self-consciously, as if he was determined to make up for slipping away from the oasis and leaving the twins behind. “All right, now—go!”
Rinda hesitated, intending to ask again what Istavan planned to do, but he put his hand over her mouth and pointed along the escape route he had chosen for them.
“I said, ‘Go!’ Keep your body low, crawl like a worm if you have to! Don’t show your faces above the rocks. And don’t waste time! It’s almost sunrise. Once the sun is up, everything will be over.”
“I-I understand.”
Remus pulled at Rinda’s hand as she continued to hesitate. At last she turned to follow him, but, even as they began to move, an exclamation from somewhere chillingly close stopped them short.
“Wait! What are you doing? Why did you cut the bindings of the twins?”
The severe voice made the twins shrink down in dismay. Istavan’s whole body grew stiff.
Again the voice spoke commandingly.
“You are one of the red knights! Do you belong to Astrias Corps? What is your name? Or are you an agent of Parros?”
“No, not at all. There is a reason…” Istavan started to explain as he turned to face his interrogator, then whipped out his sword.
But that was exactly what his enemy expected. Istavan’s foe, an experienced combatant, had drawn his own blade as soon as the mercenary had turned. Now the Valachian saw that his adversary wore fine white armor and a helmet with a captain’s trailing tassel. The helmet’s visor was up, revealing the serious, angular face of Feldrik.
“You are as dull-witted as you are inept!” the white knight exclaimed. “I will put you to the question in front of the lady!”
Feldrik was a famous master of the sword. With an artful feint he neutralized Istavan’s pass and darted the tip of his blade forward to cut the bindings of Istavan’s helmet, causing it to fly off the mercenary’s head as he jerked back to avoid the blow.
Doalspit, he’s good! Istavan cursed inwardly. An instant later the point of Feldrik’s sword was at Istavan’s throat.
“Your name! Who are you? Why did you release the twins of Parros?”
Istavan’s eyes darted right and left, seeking some means of escape. Feldrik’s hard face grew harder still.
“If you do not speak your name, I will put this sword right through you!”
The white knight pushed forward, and Istavan, panting, was forced back into a corner among the boulders, his face pale and contorted.
“Speak your name!”
Feldrik began to press the tip of his sword into Istavan’s throat. Then—
“Ohhhh!”
A wave of sound washed over them as hundreds of Mongauli troops shouted in sudden amazement.
“What…”
Feldrik stiffened, momentarily distracted. The Crimson Mercenary didn’t miss his chance, slipping away from the tip of his enemy’s sword and putting distance between them with a quick handspring.
“Wait!”
Feldrik started to run after him, and then froze in midstep. His mouth fell open, and his eyes stared in disbelief at what he saw. By the look of surprise that spread across his features, he was afraid he was losing his sanity.
“Wh-” his mouth moved unconsciously, leaking a faint sound. “What is it?” he managed at last. The same words were repeated as screams from many Mongauli mouths.
“Ohh!”
The long and bloody night of slaughter was drawing to a close, and the sun was rising over Dog’s Head Mountain, shining indifferently as if it knew nothing of the inhumanity in the world. The scene it illuminated with its yellow-gray light was like an image from the depths of Hell. The lights of the torches were suddenly subdued to smoky flames, as faint as the glow of fireflies before a great bonfire. The entire mountainside had become a spectacle of misery and brutal cruelty. Blood, freshly severed heads, entrails, brains—and in the midst of this, all who remained alive, whether Mongauli or Sem, commander or common soldier, were gaping uncomprehendingly at a point higher up on the slopes. Like the citizens of Kanan as they were changed to stone by the legendary witch Cyclope—with jaws dropped and fighting forgotten, they stood staring in wide-eyed shock. Rinda felt her heart leap with amazement.
“Gu…”
At last a voice—and, until it sounded, not one among them had moved. Some grasped their bloody swords, and some stood poised to strike a blow, but they were all frozen by what they saw. They could not move.
“Guin…”
“Guin—”
“Guin!!”
Then the cry of this first voice spread like a ripple—like an echo sounding deep in the mountains and growing and multiplying among crooked crags.
“Guin!”
“Riyaad!”
“Riyaaaaaad!!”
Siba was the first to move. As if seized by a sudden madness he began to run, uncaring that his eyes were flowing with tears. A moment later Rinda also jumped up and ran toward the figure of the leopard-man, now visible in the growing light. Remus followed close behind her.
“Guin!” The name burst from Rinda’s mouth like a sob. “Guin… Oh, Guin. Guin!”
It was as if her screams and her careless, headlong movement had lifted a curse from the frozen men. The baffled lull of silence became an ear-splitting din as the Mongauli soldiers expressed their disbelief, and the few remaining Sem cried out in joy.
“From where… where in the world did he…”
“What is that? What…”
“Guin…”
“Riyaad! Riyaaaad!”
The shouts of the Sem blended into a single enormous cheer.
“Riyaad! Riyaad! Riyaad!”
At the same time, the Mongauli voices began to falter as their minds struggled with the impossible sight before them. High above the battlefield, on the slope of Dog’s Head Mountain where a broad crag jutted out from the surrounding rocks, the muscular leopard-headed warrior was standing with both arms folded across his chest, surveying the catastrophe through his mask of yellow and black as if he were an incarnation of the god of destiny controlling the world’s vicissitudes.
On either side of him stood a group of magnificent giants larger than the leopard-man himself.
The giants had the look of fighters, fearless as the stalwart troops of the gods when the hero Cirenos led them, and just as valiant. The awe-inspiring sight was made even more unearthly by the fact that the giants’ numbers were steadily increasing— the towering figures seemed to appear from nowhere, like the soldiers of Valgos who were said to spring forth from dragons’ teeth hurled to the ground. One after another they stepped forward and formed up behind Guin. The ever-growing divine army was wrapped in the glory of the morning light at its back. The giants were marvelous in their shining beauty. Their soft-hued manes and the fine, downy hair that covered their bodies illuminated by the backlight of the sun, they looked almost translucent, or as if they emitted a hot light of their own. In their big hands they held heavy cudgels, and their hips were girded tightly with thick wolf-hide belts.
One figure, the biggest and most striking of them all—a veritable giant among giants—stood just behind Guin with his arms crossed upon his chest, glowering like Balbas, guard of Cirenos. Below his narrow brow and severe scowl the great giant’s eyes were shining with a fire that seemed capable of burning down anything.
“Lagon…”
“Lagon—”
“Lagon!”
As their initial shock faded, the Mongauli realized the astounding truth: they were looking at a tribe of phantoms, long regarded as the merest legend, coming to life in front of their eyes.
Guin’s hand rose up very slowly. He was grasping something strange, an object that shone a bright silver in the sunlight.
The mouth of the leopard gaped open. From within, an earth-moving, gut-shaking roar issued forth: “Sem—
“Sem!”
“Sem!!”
The giants were chanting in chorus. The earth rang.
Then, with Guin at their head, the Lagon began their charge down, their footfalls causing the very stones of Dog’s Head Mountain to tremble.