“Stay thy hand, reckless man! Thou shalt not die, but live. Thou shalt not leave Sieglinda. Sooner will I, Brunhilda, cancel the death-lot. Doubt me not, my promise is spoken. Take up thy sword, it shall prevail, for I will aid thee. Speed now to meet thy foe. Hark to the sound of Hunding’s horn! Farewell, Siegmund!”
With these words Brunhilda sprang on her winged horse, and soon vanished through the clouds.
Siegmund gazed after her with grateful eyes; then, stooping, kissed Sieglinda, saying softly: “Slumber in peace, my beloved, till the fight is over and peril past.” The horn of Hunding sounded loudly in the distance, and Siegmund hastened away to meet him, leaving Sieglinda still asleep.
A terrible thunderstorm now broke over the forest, thunderclouds rolled and clashed together. All was dark as night, no light save from the forked flashes which darted here and there in fiery streaks, like the gleaming swords of an unseen enemy fighting in the clouds.
Louder and louder called the hunting-horns of Hunding and his followers. Presently a terrific thunderclap awoke Sieglinda. She started up in wildest terror. Siegmund was no longer by her side, a dense darkness surrounded her, while near at hand rang the voice of Hunding crying in tones of wrath: “Ha, thou scoundrel Volsung! come out and fight, or my hounds shall hunt thee down!”
The voices now seemed to come from a rock over Sieglinda’s head. She listened in eager anxiety as they continued to shout to one another. Suddenly a flash of lightning showed them fighting desperately on a ridge of the rock.
Sieglinda rushed forward, forgetting all fears for herself in an agony for Siegmund’s safety. Another blinding flash made her stagger backwards, dazed and giddy. For one instant the whole mountain-peak was lit up, and she saw, hovering over Siegmund in the air, a woman on a winged horse, covering him with a shield as he fought.
“Now is the moment, Siegmund the Volsung,” cried a dear voice from above. “Slay him with thy magic sword!”
But as Siegmund aimed his deadly stroke at the heart of Hunding, a dreadful disaster befell. Wotan, standing unseen at Hunding’s side, put forth his spear and received the thrust of Siegmund’s sword. “Back before my spear! Be splintered, thou sword!” roared the voice of the god in tones of thunder.
With a sharp sound like a cry the sword of Siegmund snapped and flew to pieces.