The sun went ever lower. Its beams strewed shivery gold across the waves. His shadow lengthened before him. The strand narrowed as the land slowly rose. Near sunset he spied a high bluff overlooking the sea and bent his steps toward it. From the top he might find a mark to make for.
Climbing the gorse-begrown slope, he saw a man on the height. Hadding’s heart jumped. Though the stranger seemed also alone, he loosened the sword that had been Hardgreip’s in its sheath and took a firmer grasp on his spear before going on.
“Hail!” he cried, waving his free arm. “I come in peace.”
The other looked his way but stayed on the edge of the bluff. Nearing, Hadding made out that he was very tall, lean but wide-shouldered. Under a long blue cloak that flapped in the wind were goodly clothes. A wide-brimmed hat shadowed his face. From beneath it streamed long hair and beard, wolf gray. His only weapon that Hadding could see was a spear, of length befitting his height, the head blindingly agleam in the level sunlight.
“Hail,” he called back through the shrilling air. His voice was as deep as the voice of the sea. “I have been awaiting you.”
Astonished, Hadding came nigh. When he halted, he looked upward into a gaunt face where the left eyelids were closed above a hollowness. The right eye glared ice blue and winter cold. Hadding could barely meet it. Awe came upon him and his own spear sank in his hand.
He felt somehow that it would be unwise to hide any of the truth from this man. “I am Hadding Gramsson, faring by myself,” he said low.
“That name belonged to a son of the former Dane-king,” said the other.
Hadding straightened. “I am he. I seek what is rightfully mine and revenge for the wrongs done my kin.” Surely he did best to go boldly forward. “May I ask who you are?”
“I now bear the name Gangleri. At times I have been a ferryman.” More the old one did not say about himself. The name might well not be what his father gave him; it meant Wanderer.
“You tread wild ways, Hadding,” he went on. “How shall you, single-handed, win your kingdom?”
“I must find that out,” said the young man.
The gray head nodded. “The heart of your forebears is in you. I will give help.”
The sun was almost down. Its light blazed over the sea. The wind blew louder and colder. No more gulls were about, but two ravens flew from the woods and wheeled past before winging off again.
Eeriness chilled Hadding. “Why would you do this?” he asked.
“I like brave men,” said Gangleri. “And while I often fare alone, I am never forlorn, for I know more than most. You will do well to follow my redes.”
This must be a wizard, Hadding thought. His life with the giants had somewhat wonted him to magic. After what happened of late, he misliked it. His thews tightened.
Gangleri read it on him and said, “There is the low lore and there is the high. Shun the first, honor the other. But it does not behoove a warrior to be afraid of either.”
At that, pride lifted in Hadding and he answered, “I will hear you out.”
A bleak smile stirred beneath the shadowing hat. “It begins in worldly enough wise, my friend. To win what is yours, you need followers. This means a renown that will make men rally around you and the wealth whereby to reward them. Well, not far hence a band makes ready to fare overseas in viking.” Gangleri pointed east. Hadding saw what he had not heeded earlier, smoke blowing raggedly from beyond a tree-grown ridge. “I have come among them these past few days and made myself known as a soothsayer and healer. They will take you in on my word. Thereafter it is for you to show what stuff is in you.”
Overwhelmed, Hadding stammered, “I have nothing to give you for this but my thanks. When I come into my own, you shall not lack for gifts.”
“I hope for another repayment than gold,” said Gangleri. “Let us be off, to get there before dark.”
He set forth with such long strides that Hadding could barely keep up and had no breath to spare for talk. The sun sank behind them but the sky was still light when they topped the ridge and saw the viking camp.
Hadding forgot all doubt and dread. The ships before him were too beautiful.
They lay grounded along an inlet, clinker-built galleys, narrow of beam, sweetly curving upward fore and aft. Some had decks at the ends, others were wholly open. Sternposts were finely shaped and graven. A stempost might also be, or it might be left short and straight for the mounting of a figurehead. A steering oar was set at every starboard flank. Rowing oars were racked on trestles together with mast and yard. Paint livened the hulls, red, yellow, blue, green black with trim of white or gold. Greater and lesser together, they numbered nearly a score. To Hadding it was as if already they strained to be off.
Men swarmed over the grass, among leather tents and campfires. Banners on poles flew above flashing metal and loud merriment. “You come none too soon,” Gangleri told Hadding. “The last crew they were waiting for has arrived this day.”
He led the way down to them and through their midst. All who saw him fell quiet as he passed. Hadding could understand why. Uncanniness enwrapped Gangleri like his cloak and shone like sea fire in his one eye.
They halted before a big man who stood outside a tent beneath a banner on which galloped an embroidered red horse. He was roughly clad in wadmal and short leather coat. His ruddy
