The Swedish ranks buckled and split. No longer did man stand side by side with man. Warriors milled about, striking where they could, each for himself. From the Danish wings arrows sleeted, slingstones hailed.

Hadding had taken the right end of his fourth row. That kept his unshielded side open to attack; but the men behind were ready to cut down or cast a spear into anyone who came at him. All those closest to him were from the pick of his housecarles. The man on his left upheld his banner. Its raven flew wildly in the wind.

Before the onslaught he had marked King Uffi’s. As he hewed he kept an eye on it, where it swayed and flapped above the helmets. The Swede-king did likewise. By jags and jerks they drew nearer one another.

Lightning sheeted. For that blink of time the strait shone molten. Thunder crashed down the heights of heaven. Rain fell in a flood whipped by the storm. Men fought half-blinded. Soon streams ran around the fallen, washing away their blood.

The tide of battle swept clear the ground between Hadding and Uffi. The Dane-king caught the arm of his banner bearer, pointed, and loped from the wedge. After him dashed those men he had told to go always with him. By then it mattered little. The swine array was breaking up into bands, for only thus could most of the warriors now get at foemen hopelessly scattered.

The last of Uffi’s guards had made a shield wall around their lord. A score or so, they outnumbered by a few Hadding’s oncoming gang. Rain runneled down them. Their iron shimmered with it. Whenever lightning glared, each sword or spearhead stood forth stark in sight. Thunder hammered the world.

The wall parted. Out from its midst trod Uffi. Bearlike he hunched, waiting. The top of his shield was in splinters and the rain coursed red from a gash on his right cheek, for he had fought hardily himself. But it was no weakening wound, and the sword that he gripped was heavier than most.

“Strike at the others,” Hadding called over his shoulder to his men. “That one is mine.”

He stopped a yard or two short. Through seven lightning flashes they stood and stared, feet braced in the mire. “I think you ken me,” said the Dane-king across the wind-howl. “I am Hadding Gramsson, whom you have sought for so long.”

The Swede-king nodded. “And I am Uffi Asmundsson,” he answered. “Hadding the Halt, this day you shall go down hell-road with the limp my father gave you.”

“I think you will go first,” said Hadding, “but we shall see.”