outlet. On either side the slopes rose steeply. The slopes were stony and barren of heavy growth near the valley floor, slanting upward to a tree line where a dense evergreen forest offered protection and cover.
'We will be outnumbered,' Duwan the Elder told his leaders. 'We will have to kill two for one. We will entice them to us by exposing ourselves on the barren slope and falling back gradually, making them fight uphill until we are in the tall brothers, where their formation will be broken and the action will favor us. Our bowmen will be concealed in the trees, and will choose targets of opportunity as we draw the enemy near.' The Devourers advanced in two columns, coming up the valley on either side of the stream. Their scouts had seen Duwan the Elder's battle formation on the barren slope and they were advancing at quick pace, their guttural chant reminding veterans of the northern fighting of the sounds of a charging conqforce. Duwan the Elder, noticing the nervousness among his force, strode back and forth in front of the formation.
'Our withdrawal must be orderly,' he shouted. 'Keep the lines straight. Keep your eye on the warriors on either side of you. Should there be a breakthrough, close up and cut off the enemy. Fight as you back up slowly. Remember that you are Drinkers, and more than a match for a Devourer. Those of you who kill one enemy on the slope will have only one left to kill in the melee among the tall brothers.'
And, as the enemy reached the foot of the slope and, chanting, swung into a broad front, an attack formation, he yelled, 'For Duwan, for Du, and for the land of our ancestors.'
Duwan the Elder had no way of knowing that this force of guards that he faced had been hand-picked. They were all veterans of the northern fighting, and they'd undergone the most intensive training that Hata could organize. Moreover, before their departure from Arutan the High Mistress, herself, had addressed them, and had told them that their expedition was more than an effort to punish escaped pongs. She had, against the advice of Hata, told the guards of the special abilities of the pongs, who called themselves Drinkers, had given them a short lesson in history, and, perhaps most effective of all, had promised a bonus to each man based on the number of pong killed during the campaign. There had not been a more motivated force of Devourers in the field since the days of the conquest, and it showed as the enemy came charging up the hill with dismaying speed and energy to strike the formation of Drinkers a blow that sent them reeling. So fierce was the assault that there was no question of a slow, orderly retreat. The Drinker line began to give way rapidly on the left, and Duwan the Elder shifted strength there only to see the center crumbling.
'Fall back,' he bellowed, fighting for his life as two snarling enemy pressed him hard.
Panic struck on the left, and Drinkers turned their backs, and ran. Many died as they were overtaken. Screams and the clash of blades filled the air. Dust billowed up from the dry, rocky soil. Duwan the Elder's vision was limited by the dust so that he didn't know what was happening to his far right.
'Fall back to the trees,' he bellowed, fighting as he backed up the slope, leaving enemy dead behind him. But once more he was reminded that he was not a warrior in his prime as his longsword arm grew weaker and weaker with fatigue and he found himself relying, dangerously, on his shortsword.
There would be many who claimed to have seen the miracle first. It came from the left, where the panic had begun and where the Drinker line was dissolving.
Two figures emerged from the tall brothers, moving down the slope not in haste but with long, purposeful strides. The taller of the two uttered a powerful cry as he launched himself at the enemy flank and his blades sang and hissed and thudded and caused a ripple in the enemy line, then a pause, and then the shout began.
'The Master!'
It came from someone on the left. It was repeated.
'The Master!'
'The Master has come!'
'Rally round the Master!'
Fleeing warriors halted, turned, struck down their pursuers or were struck down. A mass of Drinkers converged on the left and this movement was seen dimly by Duwan the Elder. He saw a knot of enemy surrounding just two Drinker warriors and was astounded to see that the two were more than holding their own.
'The Master! The Master!' The word was shouted, whispered, screamed, and the Drinker line wheeled and converged on the battle that had formed on the Drinker left.
'No, no,' Duwan the Elder shouted, knowing that to stand in the open would be fatal. The odds against them were too great, but he, too, kept hearing that word, 'Master,' and he, too, seeing that it was impossible to restore order and continue the withdrawal, began to fight his way to the left.
Without orders, the archers in the trees bolted toward the battle. The enemy, trying to engage the Drinkers, who were congregating at the left, was milling in confusion, only a few of them in actual contact with Drinker swordsmen. Their rear was riddled by the arrows from the archers. Stone arrowheads were not as effective as iron. Some shattered without wounding deeply, but they took their toll.
In the valley, Captain Hata saw the surprising turn of events and shouted. 'Reserves, to the right, come on them from the right, from up the slope.' And his two hundred reserve swordsmen began to run up the hill, skirting the battle to gain the advantage of higher ground. By all logic, being outnumbered, the Drinkers should have formed a defensive square, limiting their exposure to the more numerous enemy. Instead, they charged. They charged in the direction of the thickest fighting, where blades caught the rays of the sun, flashed, and dripped blood. All formation
