Polaris and the Goddess Glorian

by Charles B. Stilson

All around him he heard the clinking of closing vizors. The zinds were ready.

Casting down his shield, Polaris called to the swordsmen in front to open and make way. Before the Maeronican soldiery could advantage themselves of the gap, he was down the slope and upon them like a living thunderbolt. Under the urge of the spurs, his horse reared and struck out with its forefeet as it met the foemen. Leaning well over the good beast's shoulder, the rider whirled his heavy blade and struck so fast and so fiercely that eyes could not follow the blows. Adlaz's stoutest warriors shrank bewildered from the menace of that lightning-stroke and those steel-shod hoofs. Before one might count ten he was through them, leaving a wake of crumpled men. Behind him rode gray Jastla and the zinds of Ruthar.

As they passed, one of the zinds bent and snatched the crimson banner from the standard-bearer.

A roar like that of angry lions went down the Rutharian front when the hillsmen saw their flaming standard rise over the heads of the fighting men and advance into the field. Where their king led, no wall of steel could hold them back. As though the string had been released, the mighty bow straightened. All down that long, grim battle-line the two-handed swords clove through.

Rallying around their king, the golden captains waited the shock that was coming.

For Polaris had one goal, and one only, on all that stricken field. Outstripping the fleetest of his riders, he hewed his way through the Maeronican nobles, nor stopped until his sable war-horse was shoulder to shoulder with the steed of Bel-Ar, the king.

"By Shamar, 'tis the slave-king!" shouted Bel-Ar, as the apparition in steel and silver burst through his gilded riders and bore down upon him. Sword and shield he lifted to meet the assault, fending himself with that skill of arms by which he oft had made good the boast of Adlaz that he was the hardiest fighting man in the two kingdoms.

While the battle on the plain raged around them unheeded, king met king in the play of swords.

First stroke of Polaris fell on the rounded shield and beat it down so that Bel-Ar reeled in his saddle. Before the great blade could swing again, the Maeronican straightened and smote with his own good sword of tempered bronze. A clang as of a descending hammer rang in the ears of Polaris. Under the trampling feet of the horses lay one of the golden wings of his helmet. Another stroke fell on his shoulder, cracking a steel boss of his armor and thrilling his arm with a sting of pain. Heeding it not, he rose in the saddle and swung his sword to his two arms' height. No shield or arm would stay that blow.

For the fraction of a second Bel-Ar's doom hung poised in air. Ere it fell, Polaris's stallion reared, screaming. The mighty stroke that the rider sped fell on empty air. Overbalanced by the weight of his own effort, Polaris bent nearly to his saddle-bow. Beneath him the black stallion shuddered and went down. An unhorsed captain of Adlaz had run in and thrust the animal through the vitals with a spear.