"Greyleg fares ill in the winter woods," answered Liutrad, in a careless tone, and he beckoned to the disappointed young hunters. "Hasten, lads! If we find ourselves within a league of the villa before the storm bursts, we shall be doing well."
"God grant no worse befall us!" muttered Olvir, half aloud, and as the boys circled back to their new places in the party, he drew his war-bow from its case and strung it, ready for instant use. But at Rothada's startled look, he smiled, and said lightly: "Now I dare Greyleg to peer out the second time. He shall find his bane without waiting for the spears of bairns."
"He will do well to overtake us again, Olvir, now that Liutrad leads."
"True, dear heart. Few even in the North can out-ride Liutrad on the ice-steeds, and his bigness breaks the wind for those of us who follow. Lean more to the stroke, dear one, and waste no breath in words."
Obediently Rothada bent forward on his supporting arm, while Olvir, freed from her inquiring gaze, searched the river-banks with his glance, and turned his head as though straining to catch the first note of some distant cry. He had not long to wait.
So faint that at first even the listening ear could scarcely tell it from the moaning of the oak boughs, down the wind came floating that most dismal of all sounds,--the long-drawn howl of a wolf. Olvir's face grew tense, and his grip on the war-bow tightened as he glanced down at Rothada. But he held on after the others, without a word, though howl after howl was borne to his ears by the freshening breeze.
CHAPTER XI
--Oft Wyrd preserveth
Undoomed earl--if he doughty be.
BEOWULF.