"Then—hai, Hildaborg!" Alfric plunged over the barricade.
The Household guards followed, a wave that formed into a wedge and plunged across the gardens. The finest warriors of Valkarion hit the wavering Temple forces like a spear going home.
Ax and sword! Spear and arrow! Clang and roar of metal, whirring weapons, rushing blood—shouts and curses, screams, deep-throated oaths—death unchained in the gardens of Valkarion!
Alfric led the way at the point of the wedge, smiting, smiting. No man could stand before his raging fury—his ax was a dazzle and thunder before him. Hewing, hewing, he led the Household forth.
"Hildaborg! Hai, Hildaborg!" The war cry shouted over the hills, rang in echoes with the clamor of metal and shock of combat. "Hildaborg!"
These Householders fought like demons, thought Alfric dimly as he struck at the faces and bodies which loomed briefly out of night and shadow into the red dance of fire. How they fought! But—Ruho, if he only had a levy of Aslakan axmen behind him now!
They won through to the bridge—through and over, in a dash that drove the few guards before it like dry leaves before a gale. Alfric turned gasping to Ganimos. "Hold the bridge," he said. "As soon as we're all over, hold the bridge. That'll protect our rear from cavalry—hengists can't go through that steep gully. And when the foot soldiers have gathered enough wits to come after us that way, you can throw spears down on top of them."
"Aye, your majesty." The title came without thought to the soldier's lips, as he saluted and turned to hail a squad to stay with him.
Alfric led the assault of the rest on the Temple. There were fewer guards on this side of the gully. He hewed at one and felt the shock of the splitting skull through his arms and shoulders, rattling his teeth. Howling, he yanked the weapon free and brought it up to knock aside a sword-thrust and beat the foeman to earth.