“I know not,” the king answered. “But more powers than human are at strife this night.”

The shapes met. Their swords clashed. To and fro they trampled, hewing, fending, faster than eye could follow, ghastly under the moon, in utter stillness.

Men stood staring, numbstruck. Then Uffi bellowed, “We have one friend from beyond, at least! Fail him not! Onward!”

It became easier to fight than to watch. The Swedes screamed like wildcats. They broke into a run. Around the horrible old men they poured, up against the Danes.

“Hold fast!” Hadding cried. Battle burst over him.

A while it went on, blind and witless. But the Swedes now had their backs to the open ground. The Danes glimpsed past them to the grisly sight yonder. It chilled and shook them even as they fought for their lives.

The old man who was on their side gave way. Backward he went, barely warding off the blows that sleeted about him. All at once he was gone from their ken. The other stood there in his rags, skull gray-white in moon-glow, before walking off with sword held high.

At that, the Danes broke. One by one, two by two, in tens and scores, they left their ranks. Most cast aside their weapons to run the faster. Every which way they fled, lost in utter feat Uffi bayed for glee.

Those of Hadding’s housecarles who lived fought stubbornly on, together. A few other Danes kept their wits and joined this small band. Though the numbers against it were overwhelming, the Swedes were also worn out, also daunted by what had happened. When the Danes rebuffed their last rush, they hung back, snarling but with the will beaten out of them.

King Hadding winded his horn. His flagbearer lifted his banner on high. He led his folk off.

Uffi could not make his own follow. Some flopped down and sobbed for breath. Some lay flat by the water and drank and drank. Some began to pick listlessly through the forsaken camp. Some tried to tend their wounded fellows.

After a while Uffi stopped blustering at them. Later they could chase and kill the foes who had bolted. Let that handful go who had left in fighting array. Already the night had swallowed them.

He had gained enough. His was the victory, in spite of everything that Denmark and hell raised against him. No soon again would Hadding seek his shores. The Dane-king might well meet death as he struggled homeward. If not, the Uffi would think how to give it. No matter what the tales were that one heard about Hadding’s youth, he was hardly a darling of the gods.

XVI