In the north, a glittering serpent of almost equal size seemed crawling southward to meet the advancing Bunt columns.
"Your desert eyes see well," declared Khal Kan. "Now we wait."
The two armies drew closer to each other. Horns were blaring now down in the Bunt columns, and the green bowmen were hastily forming up in double columns, a solid, blocky formation. More slowly, they advanced.
Trumpets roared in the north, where the footmen of Jotan marched steadily on. Faintly to the two on the ridge came the distant chorus.
The Bunts fled back on the homeward track
When blood did flow!"
"There is my uncle, damn him!" exclaimed Khal Kan, pointing.
He felt the old, bitter rage as he saw the stalwart, bright-helmed figure that rode with a group of Bunts at the head of the green men's army.
"He leads them to the battle," he muttered. "He never was a coward, whatever else he is. But today I will wipe out his menace to Jotan."
"They are fighting!" Golden Wings cried, with flaring eagerness.
Clouds of arrows were whizzing between the two nearing armies, as Jotan archers and Bunt bowmen came within range.
Men began to drop in both armies—but in the Jotan army four fell for every stricken Bunt.
"Something's wrong!" Khal Kan cried. "Every man of ours who is even touched by an arrow is falling. I can't—"
"Poison!" hissed Golden Wings. "Theyare using poisoned arrows. It's a trick I've heard of the Nameless Men of the far north."
Khal Kan stared unbelievingly. "Even the Bunts wouldn't use such hideous means! Yet my uncle is ruthless—"
Red rage misted his brain, and his voice was an unhuman roar as he turned and shouted to his tensely waiting horsemen.
"Our men are being slain by foul magic!" he yelled. "Down upon them—we strike for Jotan!"
It was as though he and Golden Wings were riding the forefront of a human avalanche as they charged down the steep slope to the battle.
They smashed home into the flank of the Bunts. The green men gave way in surprise and momentary terror. Kahl Kan's sword whipped like a lash of light among ugly green heads and thrusting spears. As always, in a fight, he moved by pure instinct rather than by conscious design.
Yet he kept Golden Wings a little behind him. The girl was fiercely wielding her light sword against those on the ground who sought to hamstring Khal Kan's horse with spear or sword. His riders were yelling shrilly.
The crazy confusion of the battle took on definite pattern. The Bunts had recoiled from the unexpected attack, but Egir was reforming them.
Khal Kan shouted and spurred to get at Egir. He could see his uncle's giant form, his cynical, powerful face under his helmet, and could hear his bull voice directing the reforming of the Bunt columns.
But he could not smash through the mad melee toward Egir. And now poisoned Bunt arrows were falling, dropping men from their saddles.
Brusul had reached him, was shouting to him. "Prince, your father is slain—one of those hellish arrows."
Khal Kan's heart went cold for a moment. He hardly heard Brusul's hoarse voice, shouting on.
"We can't face those poisoned shafts here in the open! Unless we fall back,
