was lost on both sides, and it became a confused, dusty, screaming mass where it was often difficult to distinguish friend from foe.
Gradually, out of the chaos, a wedge-shaped formation grew, with two at the head, fighting side by side, swords meeting the best that the enemy had to offer and leaving carnage behind them. Twice this wedge carved its way through the milling, sweating, dying masses of warriors, taking a toll of the enemy. And now all the surviving Drinkers were a part of it, and the split enemy flowed along the sides of the wedge with clashing swords. Enemy captains bellowed, trying to bring order, to get their warriors back into formation. And from the valley, Captain Hata saw that his numbers were thinning much more quickly than those of the pongs.
'Formation,' he screamed, 'form a double line.' But his voice went unheard. In desperation he led his two staff officers running up the slope to join the fighting and for a moment it seemed that his presence would turn the tide as guardsmen began to rally to him and seek a disciplined line. Just as it seemed that he had control, the pong wedge turned toward him and came rolling down the slope, leaving dead, blue-clad warriors in its wake and those who had rallied to him turned and ran, some of them falling and tumbling down the slope. Hata found himself almost alone, with only two of his officers and three guards at his side. He moved to avoid the rush as the wedge broke, pongs yelling, 'After them. No prisoners. For the Master.' The battle rolled past and Hata stood, panting, looking on the carnage. Much more blue than the colorless garments of the slaves was on the ground. And below there were footraces as pongs ran down guardsmen and killed them from the rear.
Still he stood and now, below, there was only silence. A wounded man moaned. A light breeze cooled his brow. He saw the pongs turn and start slowly up the slope. And at their head was—
'You!' he said, his voice breaking, as Duwan the Drinker halted a few paces in front of him, swords dangling, blades bloody, face smeared with blood, his body nearly naked, and that, too, smeared with blood that was not his own. 'But you're dead,' he said.
'
Hata's sword jerked into readiness. 'I killed you once,' he said. 'Now, apparently, I must do it again, or have you the courage to face my sword alone?'
'At your pleasure,' Duwan said.
Hata had noticed that the one who had fought so well by Duwan's side was a female, but now he had eyes only for Duwan as he moved cautiously down the slope.
'Two swords against one?' he asked. 'When we dueled in the square at Arutan you put aside your shortsword.'
'That was sport,' Duwan said. 'I will show you as much mercy as you and your ancestors have always shown to Drinkers.'
He moved swiftly up the slope, met a thunderous downswing of Hata's longsword and, without regret, with no desire to prolong the fight, plunged his shortsword to the hilt in Hata's breast.
Duwan the Elder had pushed through the crowd of drinkers to see the last encounter. He didn't wince as the remaining Devourers were put to the sword, but then he was blinking as he stared into a pair of fiery, orange eyes.
'Duwan?'
'Father.'
'Du is great,' Duwan the Elder said.
'Greater than you could have ever imagined, father,' Duwan said, clasping his elder's bloody right arm with his own.
'I, too, am here,' Jai said.
Duwan the Elder looked into her face, embraced her. Pushed her back to look at her again. 'I never thought to see either of you—how—'
'There will be time for that, for there is much to tell,' Duwan said. 'Are there other enemy units in the west?'
'Not within scouting distance,' Duwan the Elder said.
'How many more warriors do you have?' Duwan asked. His father smiled grimly. 'You are looking at our entire force, alive and dead.'
Females and young had begun to search the battlefield, coming away with swords carried like firewood in their arms.
'Your mother will be happy to see you, my son,' Duwan the Elder said.
