“Was it an ax that hit me?”
“Yes. But it was only a glancing blow. Your long hair helped save you, too. But even so--”
“Skull cracked?”
“No, I guess concussion of the brain would be the right term for it.” She took his groping hand in both her own warm, strong ones and kissed it tenderly. “But before you fell, your raking fire along the wall there--you understand--”
“Cleaned 'em out, eh?” he queried eagerly.
“That's about it. It turned the tide against the Lanskaarn. And after that--I guess it was just butchery. I don't know, of course, and the old man hasn't wanted to tell me much; but anyway, the ladders all went down, and the Folk here made a sortie from the gate, down the causeway, and--and--”
“And they've got a lot more of those infernal skeletons hanging on the poles by the fire?” he concluded in a rasping whisper.
She nodded, then kept a minute's silence.
“Did any of 'em get away in their canoes?”
“A few. But in all their history the Folk never won such a victory. Oh, it was glorious, glorious! And all because of you!”