Now Faku bids the men who are left to hold their shields together and push the two from the mouths of the paths, and this they do, losing four more men at the hands of the brethren before it is done.
“Now we are on the open! Ring them round and down with them!” cries Faku.
But who shall ring round Groan-Maker that shines on all sides at once, Groan-Maker who falls heavily no more, but pecks and pecks and pecks like a wood-bird on a tree, and never pecks in vain? Who shall ring round those feet swifter than the Sassaby of the plains? Wow! He is here! He is there! He is a sorcerer! Death is in his hand, and death looks out of his eyes!
Galazi lives yet, for still there comes the sound of the Watcher as it thunders on the shields, and the Wolf’s hoarse cry of the number of the slain. He has a score of wounds, yet he fights on! his leg is almost hewn from him with an axe, yet he fights on! His back is pierced again and again, yet he fights on! But two are left alive before him, one twists round and spears him from behind. He heeds it not, but smites down the foe in front. Then he turns and, whirling the Watcher on high, brings him down for the last time, and so mightily that the man before him is crushed like an egg.
Galazi brushes the blood from his eyes and glares round on the dead. “All! Slaughterer,” he cries.
“All save two, my brother,” comes the answer, sounding above the clash of steel and the sound of smitten shields.
Now the Wolf would come to him, but cannot, for his life ebbs.
“Fare you well, my brother! Death is good! Thus, indeed, I would die, for I have made me a mat of men to lie on,” he cried with a great voice.
“Fare you well! Sleep softly, Wolf!” came the answer. “All save one!”
Now Galazi fell dying on the dead, but he was not altogether gone, for he still spoke. “All save one! Ha! ha! ill for that one then when Groan-Maker yet is up. It is well to have lived so to die. Victory! Victory!”