Out into the glare of the great flame they issued warily, out into the strangely glowing mist that covered the incredible village as with a virescent pall.
Blinking, they stared about them, not knowing for a moment whither to run or where to shoot.
But the patriarch had Stern by the arm now; and in the midst of a confused and shouting mass of the Folk--all armed with spears and slings, knobbed clubs and battle-maces--was pushing him out through the circle of those ghastly posts whence dangled the headless skeletons.
"Where? Which way?" cried Stern. "Show me--I'll do the rest!"
"Thither!" the old man directed, pointing with one hand, while with the other he shoved the engineer forward. Blind though he was, he knew the right direction. "Thither--to the wall!"
For a second Stern had the thought of leaving Beatrice in the cell, where she might at least be safe from the keen peril of battle; but greater dangers threatened her, he knew, in his absence.
At all hazards they must keep together. And with a cry: "Come! Come--stick close to me!" once more he broke into a run toward the sea.
Through the mists, which grew darker as he neared the wall with Beatrice close beside him and the troop that followed them, he could catch glimpses of the battle.
Every hut seemed to have poured forth its inhabitants for now the plaza swarmed with life--men, women, event children, running this way and that, some with weapons rushing towards the wall, others running wildly hither and yon with unintelligible cries.
A spear pierced the vapors; it fell clashing at Stern's feet and slid rattling away over the black stones, worn smooth and greasy by uncounted feet.
Past him as he ran a man staggered; the whole side of his head was bashed in, as though by a frightful blow from a mace. Up the wounded man flung both arms, and fell twitching.
The fog covered him with its drifting folds. Stern shuddered that Beatrice should see such hideous sights; but even now he almost fell over another prostrate body, hideously wounded in the back, and still kicking.
"Ready, now!" panted Stern. "Ready with the pistols!"
Where was the patriarch?
He no longer knew. About him the Folk pressed, but none molested either him or Beatrice.
In the confusion, the rush of the outskirts of battle, he could have shot down a score of them, but he was reserving his fire. It might, perhaps, be true, who could tell--that safety lay in battling now against the Lanskaarn!
All at once the captives saw vague fire-lights in the gloom--seemingly blazing comets of blue, that tossed and hurled and disappeared.