Black deeds and ill
Have they been a-doing,
Evil rede
Have they wrought at last.
LAY OF SIGURD.
Not from fear of pursuit, but because of that which he bore with him, Olvir urged the red mare to her utmost speed. Never even in her prime had Zora coursed over hill and meadow at a swifter pace. But the way was long, and even her easy, swinging gait was agony to the wounded man. When at last she leaped into the war-ring on the Saale bank, her red coat was wet with the blood of her rider. He lay upon her neck, clutching at the silky mane, so far gone that, when Floki caught him from the saddle, he could gasp out but a few brief words: "To the little vala! I 've fought my last fight!"
Then darkness fell upon him, and he lay in Floki's arms as one dead.
Deftly the grim vikings stanched the wounds of their earl and applied healing salves.
"It is but blood-loss," said Floki. "In a day, I wager, he calls for his mare. But now we do his bidding. Bring a litter."
So it was that when Olvir awoke from his swoon, he found himself swinging along on the shoulders of four stout litter-bearers, well on the road to Erfurt, the great market of the Thuringians. As Floki had foretold, he at once called for Zora, and rode into Erfurt. There, hearing that Karl had left Saxon Land and was already at Cologne, on his way to Attigny, he turned and rode Rhineward. But though he sat his saddle all the way to Fulda, and gave his followers little rest, when he reached the monastery he was so utterly spent with weariness and pain that he had to lie over a full week before he could push on.