He leaped up, barely in time. Six stout fellows, soldiers of Witchland stolen softly upon them at unawares, closed now upon them. No breath to waste in parley, but the clank of steel: he and Mevrian back to back on a table of rock, those six setting on from either side. “Kill the Goblin,” said they. “Take the lady unhurt: ’tis death to all if she be touched.”
So for a time those two defended them of all their power. Yet at such odds could not the issue stand long in doubt, nor Gro’s high mettle make up what he lacked of strength bodily and skill in arms. Cunning of fence indeed was the Lady Mevrian, as they guessed not to their hurt; for the first of them, a great chuff-headed fellow that thought to bear her down with rushing in upon her, she with a deft thrust passing his guard ran clean through the throat; by whose taking off, his fellows took some lesson of caution. But Gro being at length brought to earth with many wounds, they had the next instant caught Mevrian from behind whiles others engaged her in the face, when in the nick of time as by the intervention of heaven was all their business taken in reverse, and all five in a moment laid bleeding on the stones beside their fellows.
Mevrian, looking about and seeing what she saw, fell weak and faint in her brother’s arms, overcome with so much radiant joy after that stress of action and peril; beholding now with her own eyes that home-coming whereof the genii of that land had had foreknowledge and in Gro’s sight shown themselves wild with joy thereof: Brandoch Daha and Juss come home to Demonland, like men arisen from the dead.
“Not touched,” she answered them. “But look to my Lord Gro: I fear he be hurt. Look to him well, for he hath approved him our friend indeed.”
XXVI: THE BATTLE OF KROTHERING SIDE
HOW WORD WAS BROUGHT UNTO THE LORD CORINIUS THAT THE LORDS JUSS AND BRANDOCH DAHA WERE COME AGAIN INTO THE LAND, AND HOW HE RESOLVED TO GIVE THEM BATTLE ON THE SIDE, UNDER ERNGATE END; AND OF THE GREAT FLANK MARCH OF LORD BRANDOCH DAHA OVER THE MOUNTAINS FROM TRANSDALE; AND OF THE GREAT BATTLE, AND OF THE ISSUE THEREOF.
LAXUS and those sons of Corund walked on an afternoon in Krothering home mead. The sky above them was hot and coloured of lead, presaging thunder. No wind stirred in the trees that were livid-green against that leaden pall. The noise of mattock and crow-bar came without intermission from the castle. Where gardens had been and arbours of shade and sweetness, was now but wreck: broken columns and smashed porphyry vases of rare workmanship, mounds of earth and rotting vegetation. And those great cedars, emblems of their lord’s estate and pride, lay prostrate now with their roots exposed, a tangle of sere foliage and branches broken, withered and lifeless. Over this death-bed of ruined loveliness the towers of onyx showed ghastly against the sky.
“Is there not a virtue in seven?” said Cargo. “Last week was the sixth time we thought we had gotten the eel by the tail in yon fly-blown hills of Mealand and came empty home. When think’st, Laxus, shall’s run ’em to earth indeed?”