With a roar of wrath and a rattle of iron, his housecarles burst in from the entry. Styr barely saw them before a flung spear pinned him. As he fell, the warriors stormed thither. They hewed him to shreds and splinters.

Their headman laid hold of the king by both arms. “Are you hale?” he cried.

Hadding slumped. The knife dropped from his grasp. “Yes,” he answered. “Thanks to you.” They helped him to a bench. He sat down and stared into the shadows at nothing they could see. “Thanks to you, Ragnhild,” he whispered.

Ulfhild ran from among the women. “Oh, father, father, you live!” Her arms were spread wide to enfold him. But the housecarles in their byrnies had thrown a shield-wall around their lord.

One by one, dumb, shaking, the yeomen and caries crept in. Under the stern gaze of the guards they sought to the women in the rear. Only Ulfhild stood at the middle of the floor, alone, straight, her face become a mask. Her kerchief had fallen off. Firelight played over the coils of her hair as if they too were burning.

“Bring me a stoup,” said the king. A warrior hurried to do so. When he had drained it he straightened and spoke firmly. “Open ranks. I must find out about this.”

The guards moved right and left, though they kept spears in hand, axes on shoulders, swords drawn. Hadding looked through the smoke and hush. “Where’s Gudorm?” he asked.

“I know not,” answered Ulfhild as steadily.

“Strange,” said Hadding. “Strange how he did not think to lead a rush or have men throw things, and was so slow to take them around the house. I’d have been dead by the time they got back, and Styr begone out the rear. Strange, too, how skillfully that wretch wielded his blade. Who gave it to him and taught him its use?”

“I know not,” said Ulfhild. “I only hope this is a nightmare, and I soon wake from it.”

“Well, I had a dream of my own,” Hadding told them all. “It made me wonder. I’d not speak ill of anyone here without more grounds than that. But I had these men of men come over byways and yesterday night slip into the shaw behind the howe. That was a cold camp they made, and they might have had to stay there till I went home. But they kept faith. When they heard my horn call, they sped to my side.

“Now, where is Gudorm?”

“I’ll go look,” said the leader of the housecarles. He and four others kindled torches at the hearth and trod out into the night.

They soon returned. “He lies a little beyond the gate,” the leader said. “He must have taken his sword away with him. He’s fallen on it.”

The ice of Ulfhild broke. She lifted claw-crooked hands. “Witchcraft, black witchcraft!” she shrilled. “Ever has trollery clung to you, Hadding Jotun’s foster!”