"So then 'tis you, young Kenric, that is Dame
Elspeth's messenger? Much do I thank her for so promptly helping me. By
St. Olaf, but this is most fortunate. Ha! no need have you to draw your
sword. It will serve you no purpose now. As well might you seek to move
Goatfell as think of holding your own against Roderic MacAlpin."
But Kenric, learning thus how Aasta had come by her terrible fate, felt
his craving for battle grow stronger. He spoke no word, but stood with
his naked weapon ready in his hands.
Roderic threw off his heavy cloak and drew his sword. The moonlight
shone in his fierce eyes as he looked upon the strong young form of his
antagonist.
From the shore at the foot of the cliff came the mournful sighing of the
rising tide. For a few moments the two warriors faced each other in
silence. Then like a pair of rival stags they stamped their feet upon
the frozen ground. Roderic tried to get Kenric round with the moonlight
upon him. But Kenric stood firm as a rock. Their weapons crossed,
scraping each upon the other, pressing easily to right and left, and
always touching. Then Roderic made a sudden step backward; the swords
were point to point. Swiftly, at the same instant, each raised his
weapon above his head, grasping its handle with his two strong hands,
and flinging it back till his elbows were on a level with his crown.
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