Draconda rode through the ranks, giving words of encouragement, and the warriors cheered their wondrous and mysterious queen until, as the saying has it, the ground shook.
Just after mounting, in one of those moments of carelessness that come to us at times, I dropped my Winchester, and the weapon, striking a rock, was so badly damaged that it was no longer a rifle, though not irreparable. Henry had left his rifle in Loom, as he could not yet use his left arm. He had his revolvers, however, and Draconda—who wore a close-fitting coat of golden mail, a golden helmet and jeweled-hilted sword—had my cartridge-belt, with its pendent weapon, enzoning her waist. As for myself, I had St. Cloud's revolver.
About nine o'clock, Mynine's vast army began to move down toward us, Mynine, with her glittering staff, riding a little in advance.
When something less than a half mile from the foremost of the queen's warriors, she and her army halted—and then an awful thing happened.
Scarcely had she stopped when I perceived a woman, naked to the waist, being dragged forward by two human brutes.
"Nytes!" cried Draconda, who had been looking through Henry's glasses.
From the ranks of the enemy arose a rolling shout, in which I caught the princess' name, and an awful murmur ran along the serried lines of our legions.
Nytes' hands were bound before her; the girl was blindfolded.
The queen had turned ghastly pale.
The two men who had led the princess forward of a sudden drew back. Mynine rode a little distance in front of Nytes, who was facing us, and wheeled her horse round. Then she rode straight toward the captive with back-drawn sword.
Suddenly her weapon sent a great flash of silver across the plain, and the next instant she delivered the stroke, severing the princess' head.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
THE END OF IT ALL
A low, awful cry broke from the lips of Draconda; a deep murmur ran along her waiting legions, while, from the ranks of the enemy, came a shout like the pealing of thunder.
"Here they come!" I cried.
Draconda straightened up with a sob,shook herself as if throwing off a palpable something, then suddenly gave her attention to the pressing matters of the moment, the pallor on her cheek alone attesting the effect of that brutal murder.
She had drawn her army up in the form (roughly) of a half moon, the convex side toward the enemy—like Hannibal's at Cannae. Her left wing, as I have said, was protected by the river. The right, I have forgotten to say, was protected by a strip of rugged, rocky and bush-covered ground, which would render a successful flank attack very difficult indeed. However, it was believed, before Mynine formed her army for battle, that no such attack would be made, and when ready to move her host down upon us, that belief became a certitude.
In the front ranks of the center, Draconda had placed her weakest infantry. Behind, and on either side, were her veteran foot-soldiers. The line of infantry reached from the ragged rocky ground just spoken of to the river, and in front, at the horns of the crescent, was posted the cavalry, which, by the way, was wonderfully efficient.
Draconda, Henry, a number of generals and myself, with the queen's bodyguard, had taken station behind the center.
The whole of Mynine's terrible army was coming to the attack. It was in a wedge-like shape and in mass formation. Half her cavalry—which outnumbered our own almost two to one—was on either wing at the rear. Mynine, I may remark, was not leading the attack in person.
On across the plain, with echoing cheers and shouts, came those thousands upon thousands of warriors, and I must say that it was a grandly terrible sight.
Suddenly their cheering and shouting was drowned in a deafening roar from Draconda's warriors, a deafening and rolling shout of—
"Victory to the queen!"
On they came, the ground quivering from the mighty tread, and then suddenly, with an awful roar and clash, the warriors met.
The queen did not try to stop that awful charge. By her orders, the infantry in the center retreated: it was the business of those veterans in the rear to prevent the enemy from breaking through the lines.
Back we were pressed, and back and back, and ever more swiftly. And at last, the warriors in front suddenly were flung about us as one could fling a bunch of bees with a flirt of the hand, and in an instant we were enveloped by friend and foe, in inextricable confusion and straggling like fiends incarnate.
Pandemonium reigned. The cries of the combatants, the shrieks of the wounded and the dying, and the clashing of arms and shields—it all was indescribable, deafening, horrible.
I soon emptied my revolver, and I took unholy delight in the belief that I got a man with every one of the bullets. I had no opportunity of reloading the weapon. My horse went down. I had lost my revolver. Somehow, though, I managed to get hold of a sword. I succeeded in running a man through who was coming at me, though it was owing to luck and not to any skill of my own that I emerged the victor.
The next instant, I saw Draconda's horse plunge madly and disappear. The enemy were trying their best to kill the queen. She, too, had emptied her revolver.
Henry Quainfan shot a man who was in the act of cutting her down with his sword—killing the warrior with his last bullet. I saw one of her guard leap in front of her, pushing her back as he did so, and receive a stroke aimed at the queen: the sword struck the man on the right shoulder and clove down through armor, flesh and bone to the heart. Before the warrior who wielded the sword could free his weapon, the queen drove her own blade through his body and clean to the hilt, avenging the death of her guardsman. Even as she ran the man through, I saw her lover's horse go down, and then I lost sight of them both.
For two burly fellows were flinging themselves upon me. From one side a sword came leaping out and transfixed one of them. Somehow, with the blade of my weapon, I saved myself from the blow of the other, but the next instant he struck me a terrible blow with his shield, driving me sidewise and to my knees. Back leaped the steel to ran me through; but Draconda's sword shot into view, and the man went down with a crash of shield and armor.
All this time we had been carried steadily back. All had lost our revolvers. As I struggled to my feet, I drove my sword through a man who was coming at the queen. Her warriors seemed to be increasing about us now. On the other side of Draconda, was Henry Quainfan; I saw that his face was bloody, that he was wielding a sword—and then of a sudden I saw no more.
Down I went plunging through myriads of stinging and spluttering lights; about me sounded a great clashing and shouting, as if hell was spewing forth all its fiends—then suddenly I plunged into the utter blackness of oblivion.
When consciousness returned, I found Henry Quainfan bending over me and Draconda's cool hand on my forehead.
"How's everything?" I asked.
