Through traders and seamen as well as spies, Uffi knew well beforehand of their coming. He sent the war-arrow throughout Svithjod, called on those Geats who were plighted to him, and so raised his own troop. It was less than it might have been. Hunding hung back, with those who looked to him instead of to the king or who thought that following a killer of guests would be unlucky. However, the host was bigger than Hadding’s, and many in it felt that they fought for their homes.

The two met near the shore. Land sloped green with young grass, black and torn where they had passed, studded with trees, range for herds whose owners had driven them off. A narrow strait winked and chuckled. Beyond it, low and linggrown, stretched the long island called Öland. Over this, thunderhead clouds were rising ever higher and thicker. A wind blew off the sea, loud, cold, and salt. Already ravens from inland and gulls from the water were gathering in it. They had learned.

Hadding laughed as a wolf might laugh. “He’s picked a fine ground for fighting, good King Uffi has,” he said. “How kind of him.”

His chieftains scurried to and fro, barking orders, getting the men into a wedge. Across the span between, the foe formed their straight ranks. A horseman galloped from them. He bore a white shield. The housecarle who rode out to meet him brought him to Hadding as he asked.

“I bear you word from King Uffi,” he said boldly. “He dares you to meet him man to man.”

“Whatever the outcome, it would not quiet our followers,” Hadding answered slowly.

“No. Let them clash. But the way to him shall stay as open for you as he can keep it.”

“Then I will take it,” Hadding said. “Tell King Uffi that I look forward.”

The messenger nodded and rode back. Hadding gazed after him. “Uffi is a worthier foe than I thought,” he murmured. “Whoever fells him will win a great name. He shall have thanks for that.”

The ranks were taking shape. Riders went aside, dismounted, tethered their steeds, and came back. For a little, only the rising chop on the water stirred, only the wind and the nearing thunder spoke. Wrack hid the sun. Lightning flared in the clouds.

Horns sounded. The hosts roared and broke into a trot. They shocked together.

The two big men at the Danish forefront smashed with axes. One knocked a sword aside and bit through the bone of the leg beneath. The other clove a shield and sent the bearer staggering backward, to tangle with those behind him. The four Danes in the second row smote rightward, leftward, and ahead. The weight of those at their backs helped press them forward. In and in the swine array drove.