The raiders caught up with them on the open heath. The Islanders made their stand on an ancient Dyrie barrow--little more than a bump on the broad expanse of moor grass and wildflowers, but at least it was high ground. Above them clouds gathered into a dark, oppressive mass.
The bond-warriors and other fighting men formed a human wall around the barrow. Reila joined the bond-witches at the summit. There was no time to erect the ritual tent. The women would be unshielded from the screams of their husbands; they would smell the blood as it spilled. Reila forced the prospect from her mind, seeking the concentration essential to her magic.
The Hrogi closed in with characteristic ferocity, as if to annihilate the party of Islanders as rapidly and thoroughly as they had obliterated a dozen Islander villages. The invaders outnumbered the natives four to one.
"Fight to the end," High Witch Maer called, both to the warriors and to her sisters. "If we make good account of ourselves, there will be too few of them left to endanger the heartland."
Reila spared one last glance at Kelf. Her spouse already had his back to her. Sword high, he braced to meet the coming charge.
Reila closed her eyes, folded her hands in her lap, and cleared her mind. To her great relief, the earth did not resist as she tapped its essence. The high witch had guessed well. The barrow must have been an ancient site of power.
Suddenly, without opening her eyes, Reila could see the entire battlefield. The tableau unfolded from a point high above the witches' circle. At the same time, she could feel the firmness of the barrow marker stone beneath her. All of her senses, except sight, remained lodged in her body.
The witches extended their protective auras around their husbands. The Islander party was as ready as it would ever be.
The Hrogi wave crashed against a breakwater of Islander steel and armor.
Kelf hacked off the point of an extended spear and kicked out the knee of his assailant. He had no time to deliver a mortal stroke. A flurry of six Hrogi raiders crowded around him. His flanking allies, occupied with their own opponents, could not reach him.
An axe struck Kelf's side. The blade sheared skin and muscle away from his ribs. Fragments of chain mail punctured blood vessels. He staggered.
Reila accepted the pain. She cried out, as she always did on the first blow. Kelf, freed from the agony, drove the point of his blade through the axe wielder's hauberk and into the man's heart.
Reila funneled her suffering into the earth as fast as she could. It never seemed fast enough. In exchange, the goddess sent the forces of renewal. The energy struck Reila with a potent kiss. She shaped it and thrust it toward Kelf.
The bond-warrior's slashed muscles knit together. His body spit out the fragments of metal. His skin closed over the wound. The healing was nearly complete by the time Kelf started to withdraw his sword.
Kelf's steel hung up in the axe wielder's armor. The bond-warrior yanked it free, but he the delay cost him. A mace grazed his helmet. Broadswords slammed against his upper arms.
Reila stopped the ringing in her husband's head. She neutralized the effect of the sword blows--the blades had not penetrated his armor, but without her intervention his limbs would have gone nerveless from the sharp impacts.
One of the Hrogi, expecting to take advantage of a stunned opponent, left himself open, and died.
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