He shouted, «Ho!An alarm!»
They would have to work fast. Shea aimed a cut at the man’s head, but he ducked, simultaneously releasing the spear into Belphebe’s hands, who went tumbling backward as the man did a quick side-step and whipped out his sword.
Shea made a lightning estimate; the guard’s face and neckwere too small a target and too well protected by the shield, and the torso was doubly protected by shield and mail. Down.
He made a quick upward sweep that brought the buckler aloft, then drove the blade into the man’s thigh, just above the knee and below the edge of the kilt. He felt the blade cleave meat; the man’s leg buckled, spilling him to the ground in a clang of metal with a great groaning shout.
Behind them in the rath there were answering cries and the torchlight points turned. «Come on!» cried Belphebe, and began to run. She still clutched the big spear, but was so light on her feet that it did not appear to matter. Shea, trying to keep up with his wife, heard more shouts behind him. «The hill,» he gasped, and as he ran, was suddenly glad that the Irish of this period were not much with bows.
There were only occasional trees, but the moonlight was tricky and dubious. A glance backward showed the torchbearers had reached the gate and were beginning to spread. There ought to be just barely time if he could remember the spell correctly. Whatever dangers the country of the Sidhe held, they were less than those to be encountered by staying.
He was getting short of breath, though Belphebe beside him was running as lightly as ever. The hill loomed over them, dark now by reason of the movement of the moon. «This way,» gasped Shea, and led up the uneven slope. There was the black rock, still shining queerly mirrorlike. Shea lifted his arms over his head and began to chant, panting for breath:
«The chiefs of the voyage — over the sea — By which — the sons of Mil came.»
Behind one of the pursuers set up a view-halloo. Out of the corner of his eye, Shea saw Belphebe whirl and balance the spear as though for throwing; he didn’t have time to stop and tell her that such a weapon couldn’t be used that way.
«Who but I, Harold mac Shea?» he finished, resoundingly.