Dalfin shook himself, as a man will to settle his byrnie into place, and his eyes shone, and he leapt on the deck, crying: "Now am I once more a prince of Maghera, and can look a foe--aye, and death, in the face joyfully.

My thanks, dear lady, for this honour!" Then he broke into a wild song in his own tongue, and paced the deck as if eager for the coming of Heidrek, and the promised crash of the meeting ships.

And as suddenly he stopped, and looked at his hands.
"Faith," he said, "I thought the song went amiss.

It is the song of the swinging swords--and never a sword have I--nor either of us." Gerda laughed at him.

It seemed that the pleasure of her champions, as she called us, in the war gear pleased her.
"Swords you shall have," she said at once.