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His hand shot to his belt and plucking forth the jewelled knife that hung there, hurled it, a glittering streak, at the grinning face. If it had reached home, one of Rothgar's eyes would have gone out in darkness. But the son of Lodbrok had known his royal foster-brother too long to be taken by surprise.
Three times her blade met Rothgar's squarely, and deftly turned it aside. The big warrior gave a grunt of approval and tried a more complicated pass. Her backward leap, the sudden doubling of her body, and the excited clawing of her free hand, were not graceful swordsmanship, certainly, but her steel was in the right place.
The Fates are no such step-mothers after all!" He turned in the direction from which he had come and made the other a sign. "This way, if you dare to follow. I am not afraid to go first, so you need give no thought of the chances of steel between your ribs." The Etheling took his hand off his weapon with a twinge of shame; but he was not without misgivings as he strode along at Rothgar's heels.
Some, whom exhaustion had robbed even of a fire-tender's ambition, had dropped down on the very spot where they had slipped from their saddles, and slept, cloak-wrapped, in the wet. And the circles about the fires were not much noisier. Rothgar's face gathered gravity as he gained the crest of the last hill that lay between him and the straggling encampment.
But the Ironside caught it on his shield and delivered a sword-thrust in return that dropped the Dane's arm by his side. As it fell, Rothgar's left hand plucked forth his blade, but the English king had pressed past him toward his master. Canute's weapon had need to dart like a northern light.
Her cry was cut short by the flashing of a blade before her. They had passed through the hail and reached the lightning! Throwing up her sword, she swerved to one side and escaped the bolt. Another faced her in this direction. The air was shot with bright flashes. Swish clash! they sounded behind her; then a sickening jar, as Rothgar's terrible axe fell. A yell of agony rent the air.
But whether they were English who fell or Danes who stood, she had no thought, no care; they meant no more to her than rune figures carved in wood. The sun rose higher in the heavens, till it stood directly overhead, and sweat mingled with the blood. Suddenly, the girl awoke to find that Rothgar's singing had changed into cursing. "Heed him not, King," he was bellowing over his horse's head.
Again his head was sinking on his breast, when he raised it with a fierceness that startled them. "One thing only I am sure of, and that is that I have done forever with craft. Hereafter, if a man is a hindrance to me, Rothgar's axe shall send him to Hel while it is broad daylight and all his friends are looking.
But her gaze was still on the ring; and as she felt him start, that impish dimple peeped out of her cheek. "Is it not a handsome thing?" she said. "It looks to be a ring to belong to a giant." "Is it Rothgar's?" The dimple deepened as she heard his tone. For all its absurdity, there must be some truth in Dearwyn's witch-skill.
Can you not see why, dull brutes that you are? Because it is not my will, but yours, now Rothgar's beast-fierceness, now your low-minded craft. Because I am not content with myself, I listen to you. And you you Oh, leave me, leave me, before I lose my human nature and go mad like a dog! Leave You laugh!" As he caught sight of Rothgar, he interrupted himself with a roar.
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