flesh. Stark had sunk down to the length of his
arms.

With his left hand, Thord drew his knife. The Lord Ciaran stepped
forward. "Wait, Thord!"

"It is a thing of evil," whispered the barbarian. "Warlock. Werewolf.
Beast."

He sprang at Stark.

* * * * *

The man in armor moved, very swiftly, and the great axe went whirling
through the air. It caught Thord squarely where the cords of his neck
ran into the shoulder--caught, and shore on through.

There was a silence in the valley.

The Lord Ciaran walked slowly across the trampled snow and took up his
axe again.

"I will be obeyed," he said. "And I will not stand for fear, not of god,
man, nor devil." He gestured toward Stark. "Cut him down. And see that
he does not die."

He strode away, and Otar began to laugh.

From a vast distance, Stark heard that shrill, wild laughter. His mouth
was full of blood, and he was mad with a cold fury.

A cunning that was purely animal guided his movements then. His head
fell forward, and his body hung inert against the thongs. He might
almost have been dead.

A knot of men came toward him. He listened to them. They were hesitant
and afraid. Then, as he did not move, they plucked up courage and came
closer, and one prodded him gently with the point of his spear.

"Prick him well," said another. "Let us be sure!"

The sharp point bit a little deeper. A few drops of blood welled out and
joined the small red streams that ran from the weals of the lash. Stark
did not stir.

The spearman grunted. "He is safe enough now."

Stark felt the knife blades working at the thongs. He waited. The
rawhide snapped, and he was free.

He did not fall. He would not have fallen then if he had taken a death
wound. He gathered his legs under him and sprang.

He picked up the spearman in that first rush and flung him into the
fire. Then he began to run toward the place where the scaly mounts were
herded, leaving a trail of blood behind him on the snow.

A man loomed up in front of him. He saw the shadow of a spear and
swerved, and caught the haft in his two hands. He wrenched it free and
struck down with the butt of it, and went on. Behind him he heard voices
shouting and the beginning of turmoil.

The Lord Ciaran turned and came back, striding fast.

There were men before Stark now, many men, the circle of watchers
breaking up because there had been nothing more to watch. He gripped the
long spear.