And now he saw that the sword in the hand of his enemy was broken and worn with the guard that the Sword of Light had put against it. And now he made a strong attack. As the light was leaving the sky and as the darkness was coming down he saw that the strength was waning in the King of the Land of Mist. The sword in his hand was more worn and more broken. At last the blade was only a span from the hilt. As he drew back to the gate of the fourth courtyard the King of Ireland’s Son sprang at him and thrust the Sword of Light through his breast. He stood with his face becoming exceedingly terrible. He flung what remained of his sword, and the broken blade struck the foot of the King of Ireland’s Son and pierced it. Then the King of the Land of Mist fell down on the ground before the fourth gate.
So weary from his battles, so pained with the wound of his foot was the King of Ireland’s Son that he did not try to cross the body and go towards the fifth gate. He turned back. He climbed down the rock and went towards the River of the Broken Towers.
The Glashan was broiling on a hot stone the eel he had taken out of the river. “Wash my wound and give me refreshment, Glashan,” said the King of Ireland’s Son.
The Glashan washed the wound in his foot and gave him a portion of the broiled eel with cresses and water.
“To-morrow’s dawn I shall go back,” said the King of Ireland’s Son, “and go through the fifth and sixth and seventh gate and take away Fedelma.”
“If the King of the Land of Mist lets you,” said the Glashan.
“He is dead,” said the King of Ireland’s Son, “I thrust my sword through his breast.”
“And where is his head?” said the Glashan.
“It is on his corpse,” said the King of Ireland’s Son.
“Then you will have another fight to-morrow. His life is in his head, and his life will come back to him if you did not cut it off. It is he, I tell you, who will guard the fourth and fifth and sixth gate.”