and came towards the King
of Ireland's Son. He dazzled their eyes with a wide sweep of his sword.
He darted it swiftly at each of them and on the seven swordsmen too he
inflicted wounds of death.

He went through the third courtyard and towards the fourth gate. As he
did it opened slowly and a single champion came forth. He closed the
gate behind him and stood with a long gray sword in his hand. This was
the King of the Land of Mist. His shoulders were where a tall man's
head would be. His face was like a stone, and his eyes had never looked
except with scorn upon a foe.

When his enemy began his attack the King of Ireland's Son had power to
do nothing else but guard himself from that weighty sword. He had the
Sword of Light for a guard and well did that bright, swift blade guard
him. The two fought across the courtyard making hard places soft and
soft places hard with their trampling. They fought from when it was
early to when it was noon, and they fought from when it was noon until
it was long afternoon. And not a single wound did the King of Ireland's
Son inflict upon the King of the Land of Mist, and not a single wound
did the King of the Land of Mist inflict upon him.

But the King of Ireland's Son was growing faint and weary. His eyes
were worn with watching the strokes and thrusts of the sword that was
battling against him. His arms could hardly bear up his own sword. His
heart became a stream of blood that would have gushed from his breast.

And then, as he was about to fall down with his head under the sword
of the King of the Land of Mist a name rose above all his
thoughts--"Fedelma." If he sank down and the sword of the King of the
Land of Mist fell on him, never would she be saved. The will became
strong again in the King of Ireland's Son. His heart became a steady
beating thing. The weight that was upon his arms passed away. Strongly
he held the sword in his hand and he began to attack the King of the
Land of Mist.

And now he saw that the sword in the hand of his enemy was broken and
worn with the guard that the Sword of Light had put against it. And now
he made a strong attack. As the light was leaving the sky and as the
darkness was coming down he saw that the strength was waning in the
King of the Land of Mist. The sword in his hand was more worn and more
broken. At last the blade was only a span from the hilt. As he drew back
to the gate of the fourth courtyard the King of Ireland's Son sprang at