"Art ready, Hungwar?" he asked, and Hungwar growled, "I am weary of waiting," and smote at him a mighty blow, that seemed as if nought could turn it aside.
But Wulnoth caught it on his shield; and then he struck in turn, and Hungwar caught his blow and was unharmed.
Then like circles of light did the axes swing and play, and the blows fell fast, and the shields groaned and shivered; and at last Hungwar's split in twain, though it was of stoutest oak, and lined with triple leather, and studded with massive bosses.
And when Wulnoth saw that, he swung his axe upwards with all his might, and cut clean through the handle of Hungwar's weapon, as he had cut through the handle of his mace in the long past; and then he cast aside his own axe and shield, and drew the great sword with the blue-veined steel blade; and he laughed aloud, though his breath came in deep gasps, so hard had he labored.
"Now, Hungwar, now we have finished this child's play with shield and axe; now draw thy sword and let us have a good song."
But Hungwar never answered; only he looked into Wulnoth's face with eyes of hate, which were yet eyes of fear; for he who had never feared death, now feared, not the dying, but the man by whom death was to come.
"The maiden will be freed," said the vikings to each other. "There is a shadow on the spirit of Hungwar, and the Valkyres tarry for him."
And Hungwar drew his sword and advanced, and now it was a man's game, indeed; for Hungwar's shield was broken, and Wulnoth had cast his aside, and the great blades must be sword and shield alike.
They clashed together, and the sparks flew as from a smith's anvil; and each champion strove, his eye fixed on his foe; and each knew that death was near.
"By Thor!" growled Guthrun, "'t is a mighty fight, and one that it does a man good to see. They are champions both." And to that a holda said—