Once and again the war-bow twanged, and two of the grey leaders sprang high in the death-leap. But, heedless of their dead, the pack swept on over the writhing bodies to meet the slayer. Already the rash skater was upon them. Another instant, and he would be struggling in their midst. But even as the lolling tongues drew in for the leap-bite, and the fiery eyes gleamed red with baleful joy, the mad quarry wheeled like a striking hawk, and shot away to the right from under their very jaws. In their eagerness, many of the foremost wolves leaped at the Northman; but their jaws clashed together through empty air, and they fell sprawling upon the ice, to be overrun by their fellows.
Wild with baffled fury, the whole pack swerved to follow the fleeing quarry as he swept slantingly across the broad expanse of the river. Olvir could have asked no more. Skimming along just beyond reach of the foam-dripping jaws, he gazed back at his ferocious pursuers with a mocking smile.
"Follow! follow me, dogs of Odin!" he jeered. "I 'll lead you a merry dance; to and fro,--a game of ice-tag. So; we near the bank. Now across to the other side; and as we go, I 'll play on my one-stringed harp. You shall have music to your singing!"
Circling on the very edge of the ice-rim, Olvir swept obliquely back across the river. But as he turned, his smile gave way to sudden grimness, and he raised his hand to his quiver. Then the war-bow began to twang its answer to the yelling beasts, and arrow after arrow drove into their midst with vengeful force. Hardly a shaft flew wide of its mark; yet they followed so swiftly one upon the other that the quiver was emptied and the last shaft whirring from the string before the flying bowman had crossed the channel.
"Thor!" he shouted in fierce joy. "We 've played a merry game, white-fangs; now for a merrier!"
Deftly the bow was unstrung and slipped into its case, and then the bared blade of Al-hatif glittered in the sea-king's upraised hand. But as he swerved out again from the alder thickets, he first glanced up the river after his fleeing companions. Briefly as the terrible play had lasted, the others had already gained many more yards over the horde. While their peril, however, was lessening, his had suddenly doubled. Not all the wolves had followed him in his second turn across the river. A hundred or more, running straight onward, had put themselves in advance of the doubling quarry. The foremost were already circling around to hedge him in.
It was no time to falter. Putting out the very utmost of his skill and strength, Olvir dashed toward the fast-closing line at a speed that dropped the following wolves to the rear as though they had been at a stand.
"Ho, dogs!" he shouted. "Skate to paw; sword to fang! I come; I come to your blood-game!"
An outburst of ferocious yells answered the boastful shout, and from right and left the beasts sprang in to meet him. But again Olvir wheeled with hawk-like quickness. Two strokes, and he was before a gap in the line guarded by a single grey leader. Once again he wheeled, to dart through the gap. Swiftly as he came, the old wolf saw his purpose, and crouched low. But, even as the beast leaped, Olvir swerved and shot safely past him; and, in the passing, Al-hatif whistled in a slashing upstroke. Greyleg fell upon the ice, never to leap again.
With a wild shout, Olvir dashed out from the death-trap, and, undaunted by his close escape, turned for a third race across the river. But as he wheeled, a great gust of wind came roaring through the oaks, and the air suddenly grew thick with driven snow. Instantly Olvir sheathed his reddened blade, and, with his shoulder to the quartering gale, drove straight up the river at a speed which Floki himself might not have equalled.