Soon the baffled pursuers fell to the rear. Their yells died away in the roaring of the storm, and the snow swept between in a swirling, blinding mist. But if the white storm-veil hid the Northman from his pursuers, it blotted out no less completely all view of his companions. For a while he kept on at racing speed, until he thought he should be upon them. Then he slackened his stroke, and shouted into the white gloom. No answer came back but the loud complaint of the straining oaks and the shriek and roar of the blast through the lashing boughs.
Again Olvir shouted, his face dark with sudden misgiving; still no answer. With a bitter cry, he wheeled to circle about in the dense whirl. But then the air quivered with the blast of a hunting-horn, so clear and loud that it might have been blown within arm's length.
"None bore horns! It must be Floki!" he cried, and he drove straight into the teeth of the gale. The fierce-driving snow blinded him; but he kept on, groping with outstretched hands. Suddenly a white figure swept past before him, so near that he could almost touch it. He wheeled to follow, and at once saw that it was linked in line with other figures. His heart leaped with thanksgiving. Here were all six,--maid and dame, bairns and warriors,--all safe; ay, and with one added to their number! Not even Liutrad was so big and strong as the skater who drove along at the far end of their line, his massive shoulder braced against the wind.
"The king!" shouted Olvir, as he swung in to join himself to the near end of the line.
A welcoming hail burst from the lips of the skaters, and as they felt the thrust of Olvir's tireless stroke, they swept on with added speed. Even Rothada found new strength in the joy of her hero's presence, and, no longer contented with gliding, she joined in the swinging stroke of the others.
CHAPTER XII
Now behold the fourth rede:
If ill witch thee bideth,
Woe-begetting by the way,
Good going farther