He did not take his eyes from Grim Hagen. He was conscious only of a sudden flickering, as of many lights twinkling on and off. But he did not know what was happening. Maya told him later.
Ato was already bleeding badly from a deep slash in his shoulder. As he rallied his men around him, someone threw a knife that buried itself in the right side of his chest. He stumbled and went down to his knees. Then he struggled up, and as he stood straight he reached down to his waist and clutched the little slug-horn of moon-metal that his father had given him. His head went back as he raised the horn to his lips. Like Childe Roland, who came at last to the Dark Tower, he blew one unheard blast.
Suddenly the room was filled with lights, flashing and dancing everywhere. Whispering.
A stillness fell upon the room and the shambles. Men paused as they lifted their knives or braced themselves for a last thrust.
For a single breath, all was in silence.
Then a light began to whisper. “Ato, it is I, your father, Wolden. We have learned the secret of time and space and we have come for you, my son. But before we go, we must rid ourselves of the mischief-makers.”
The lights darted down upon Grim Hagen’s men. And as they touched them, the cold of space came flowing through. They fell one by one. And the hoar-frost covered them like spiderwebs across the faces and bodies of long-dead mummies.
There was a spattering sound, as of sleet falling against a distant roof. A strange smell filled the air.
And one by one Grim Hagen’s men went down.