CHAPTER XXVIII
Of fourteen winters was I,
If thou listeth to wot,
When I swore to the young lord
Oaths of love.
HEL-RIDE OF BRYNHILD.
"Ho, there! Can this be Niflheim? Why is my voice so weak? I cannot lift my arm. If this is the under-world, I would look upon the blue and white face of Hel. Ho, there! Who hearkens to Olvir, son of Thorbiorn?"
"Peace, ring-breaker! You 're yet in Manheim," croaked a well-known voice. "When Olvir Elfkin goes hence, Odin, not Hel, shall claim his spirit. Now lie still, for a blood-fire has burned within your skull these twelve days gone."
"Faul! I 've dreamt dreams of ill omen. What tidings of the Wolf Duke?"
"He hangs in chains with his namesake. Before the Frank could strike, Asiamen and fell-folk had fled to safety with their bloody spoil. But Liutrad and I took the traitor earl even as he was flying from his burg. Short shrift did the Frank give him. Eight nights he has ridden on the tree."