Then a white-skinned warrior leaped at the barricade and Odin thrust him through.
Torches began to rain down upon them. Half the defending forces were now busy with water and sand, beating out the flames.
Then, after what seemed to be hours, the catapult crew cranked their awkward weapon to the trigger-point again and sent another rain of spikes into Grim Hagen’s ranks.
The floor beyond the barrier was littered with dead and slippery with blood before Grim Hagen’s men broke the barrier.
There were only two hundred to meet the charge of two thousand. The end was inevitable.
As the barrier went down, Jack Odin and Maya urged their men to climb upon the balcony. Odin was the last to retreat. A soldier caught at him as he scrambled upward and Odin turned and slashed him across the face.
Ato was calling his men around him. They drew back to a corner where two thick walls met. Ato had placed one bench there. This he stood upon, calling out orders and cheering them on as the attackers climbed the unsteady tiers of benches and tables to reach them. The defenders gathered around. There were not over fifty of them left now. Odin thrust Maya behind him. A body fell at his feet. He bent and lifted up a twelve-year-old boy who was streaming from wounds. He handed the lad to Maya.
Grim Hagen led the attack. Odin braced himself. He took one step forward and waited. Seeing him, Grim Hagen veered toward him, screaming a mad battle-cry—his eyes wild with hate. Even in what appeared to be the last moment, Jack Odin saw that only three or four of the white-skinned soldiers were left; and not over a dozen of the Brons who had stayed with Grim Hagen during all those wasting years remained.