Gudorm and Ulfhild joined them on the floor. Even the lowly Styr crept from his corner. Hadding kept his seat, as a king should, and let those who wished speech with him seek him out. They took his cup to and fro for him as he emptied it.

Blithely chatting, Ulfhild drifted toward the far end of the room. Not only women but men wandered that way, for in the shifty dusk she was brighter than the flames and lovelier to behold. At length they were all gathered laughing around her. Styr, whom nobody cared to talk to, stood alone.

He glanced at Hadding, squared his narrow shoulders, and shuffled toward the king. “Well?” Hadding asked. “What would you of me?”

Styr halted before him. Within a nest of hair and beard, the hollow face twitched. “This,” he said hoarsely. He flung back his cloak. Beneath it hung a sax. “This, murderer! “-

He whipped out the curved blade. Flamelight followed its whirring leap.

Had his dream not made him wary, Hadding would have died then and there. As was, he sprang aside. The edge bit into the platform where he had been. Styr bounded after him. Hadding withdrew across the floor. His eating knife was in his hand, but no match for the sword.

Men shouted, women shrieked. They did not at once understand what was happening, as murky as the room was. It stunned them. Styr bore in on Hadding. The king reached the north wall. He snatched the horn he had given Gudorm and set it to his lips. All the while he was dodging his attacker. The war call blasted forth.

Men dashed to help. They got in each other’s way. None was any better armed than Hadding. Styr barred the floor between them and the weapons they had left in the entry. The first of the yeomen reeled, clutching an arm slashed open. Blood hit the hearth fire and hissed. He stumbled back to the others.

“Get together!” bellowed Gudorm. “Stand close!” Bewildered, knowing him for a warrior, the men clumped clumsily in front of the women.

Twice and thrice did Hadding wind the horn amidst Styr’s onslaught. Then he smote with it as though it were a sword. It stopped the next blow but shattered in his hand. He cast the stump. It hit Styr on the brow. The man tottered. Hadding made for the entry. He was too slow on his lame foot. Styr recovered, headed him off, drove him back.

“We’ll go around the house,” Gudorm called. “We’ll get our weapons and stop this.”

Blindly, the men followed him out the rear door and into the night. Under its cloud deck they must fumble their way along the wall. Inside, before the eyes of the women, Styr worked Hadding into a cornet.

Gasping for breath, the old king tautened. He would not – finish his jump, but his knife might find his foe.