“What means this?” cried Kenric, growing pale in the moonlight and grasping his sword.  “You slew Aasta? you?  Oh, villain!”

“Ah, that voice! methinks I know it,” said Roderic, starting in surprise and turning upon Kenric.  “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.

They rushed together, each taking two steps forward.  Their two swords swished through the air; but Kenric’s glanced aside with a quick movement of his strong wrists, and caught Roderic’s weapon in mid-blade with a ringing clash.

“Well guarded!” muttered Roderic grudgingly.  “By the saints, but you are no weakling novice, young man,” and he stepped back again to recover.

Now it was not without profit that, on that time many months before, Kenric had watched the fatal duel between Roderic and his brother Alpin, and he knew Roderic’s invariable trick of aiming at his assailant’s head.  His successful guarding of the first blow gave him confidence.

Again the two combatants closed as before, tapping and scraping their blades together; and again they flung back their arms.  This time Roderic was quicker in his onslaught, and he aimed from the right.  But Kenric, instead of attempting to strike, promptly guarded his left and intercepted the blow as before.  Ere Roderic could recover for a new attack, he felt a sharp cut across his bare neck.

He roared in pain and fury, and sprang upon Kenric with redoubled force.  The swords clashed together with mighty strokes.  Roderic, amazed at Kenric’s skilful fighting, grew ever more rash in his attempts to smite him down and conquer him by superior strength; while Kenric, with steady watchful eye, marked every movement, coolly guarding each fearful blow, as though he knew as surely as did his assailant where Roderic intended to strike.