She opened her eyes, saw the faces bent above her, and smiled wanly at Polaris.
"Then I was not too late?" she said, the halting gone out of her voice. "'Tis well."
"Lady, why did you come hither—into the battle?" asked Polaris. "And why—" His voice broke; for the courage of this woman moved him almost to tears; the memory of that crushing stroke of bronze which she had taken in his stead made him shudder.
Glorian smiled again.
"Vex yourself not about me," she said. "Shall Ruthar's bravest shed their lives for their land and king, and Glorian not do her part?" She lifted her hand and pointed to the standard. "Where Ruthar's banner goes, there goes Glorian also—even into the battle. And I am not dying, or greatly hurt, only dizzied, and my head hums. See; I can arise."
And arise she did, with Polaris's arm to support her. Around Jastla's narrowing circle broke the shock of the battle-tide. But for the moment neither the man nor the woman heeded it.
"But you are wounded, lady," Janess said. "There is blood on your forehead."
She slipped a hand from its gauntlet and raised it to her head.
"Hardly a scratch," she said.
Just at the roots of her long tresses a splinter from the shivered helmet had scarred the scalp—a tiny cut, scarcely a quarter of an inch in length.