Night lay everywhere hollow around him. Stars gleamed, fewer and smaller than erstwhile, the stars as they shine above the world of men. Far below, their light shimmered on the sea.

Wind shrilled and cut.

“Look not on what is forbidden,” he heard.

He drew his head back under the cloak and shuddered.

After a time beyond time the way bent down. The steed halted. Gangleri opened the cloak. His spear slanted earthward. The warrior heeded and slid off, onto the ground. He stared up. The rider sat tall against a murky tanglewood.

“Go seek your weird,” Gangleri told Hadding. He wheeled his horse and trotted into the wild. Soon he was gone among its trees and shadows.

Hadding shook off the frozenness in him. He stood on the battlefield, at daybreak. The east had grown white, setting waters and dew agleam. By that glow he made out a few beached longships; the rest had gotten away, with sorely dwindled crews. Dead men lay strewn, stiffened, ugly hued, emptily gaping and glaring. Carrion birds had been at them, though at this hour only sleepy twitters sounded from the wood. Yestereven the Wends had cut the throats of viking wounded and taken their own into the stronghold hamlet yonder. Bands of them were searching in this dawn for their fallen.

Somehow they had not been aware of the newcomers until Gangleri left. Now they spied Hadding. They took him for a raider who had slipped into the wild, lost his way, and blundered back. Yelling, they pelted toward him.

He was alone, shield gone, sword all but useless. Yet he awaited them calmly. He knew they would not kill him out of hand. Whatever else the old one might be—and it seemed unwise to wonder much about that—he was surely a wizard whose spaedom would come true.

XI

King Loker was riding about the hinterland. When he came back, Hadding was brought before him. The stronghold was wattle-and-daub hovels crowded together between the upright, sharpened logs of the stockade. Livestock herded in for safekeeping had been taken out again but left their dung and its stench everywhere within. The king and his men would be glad to go home on the morrow. He had stayed this long only to see how things stood with the folk hereabouts. This captive could well be the last matter he need deal with.

Rain was falling. Most of the Kurlanders must squat outside. Their leaders had no better shelter than these foul huts. It did not milden Loker’s mood. He sat on a chest among some of the warriors, a big, dark man, and glowered. Hadding stood bound in front of him, two Northmen guarding.