Kenric listened to the girl’s soft voice as it rippled in sweet music, but he heeded little this oft-told tale.

“Now there arose a great man in Argyll, who was mightier than any of the Scots that had so lightly allowed their lands to be torn away from them, and this was king Somerled.  He waged war against the Norsemen of the Western Isles, and he made conquest of Bute, Arran, and Gigha, with the Cumbraes and other smaller isles that still remain in the hands of the Scots, for he was a most powerful warrior, and it was said that no man ever crossed swords with him but to be slain.  His enemies fell before him like ripe grain in the swath of the mower’s sickle.  And his sword —­”

“Yes, his sword?” said Kenric, growing interested now.

“His sword had drunk so often and so fully of men’s blood, that it seemed to take new life into itself out of the hearts of all who fell before its sway, and men named it the Thirsty Sword, for it is never satisfied.  It was said beforetime that if a sword be the death of five score of men, it comes to be possessed of a lust for slaying.  But the sword of Somerled had drunk the life’s blood of twice five score of men, and none might take it in his grasp and lay it down again ere it had killed a man.”

“Such a weapon were surely a great danger in the land, Aasta,” said Kenric.  “I would not willingly touch it if any but my enemies were near.  But by reason of the desire for vengeance that is now upon me, gladly would I know where that sword is to be found, that it may be ready when the time comes to drink the blood of the falsest heart that ever beat, and that is the heart of Earl Roderic of Gigha.”

“Then, methinks it will not be long ere you have that weapon in your hand, my lord,” said Aasta, quickening her steps.  “For it befell that I had a dream vision, and I saw where long ago the men of Bute had buried the sword, swathed in sheepskins that the blade might not be eaten by rust.  So I unearthed it, and hid it under the Rock of Solitude, where we shall now find it.”

Kenric and Aasta went onward through the forest glades, and when they came to the rock Aasta put her white arm into a deep cavity, and drew forth a bundle of sheepskins.  Unwrapping them she revealed the glittering weapon.  With her two hands she clasped its hilt, and raised the Thirsty Sword above the crown of daisies that was upon her hair.

Kenric drew back, for he was yet afraid of this strange witch maiden, whose fairness and beauty were regarded by the men of Flute as betokening the spell of her subtle sorcery.  But seeing him recoil, Aasta lowered the weapon and smiled, showing her pearl-white teeth.

“He who would wield this weapon, my lord,” said she, “must strip his heart of all fear and trembling.  Take you the sword in hand, and I will stand before you while you try your power with it.  Not hard will it be to wield it, for it was forged by the hand of Munifican, and so well balanced is it, and so easy to grip, that a youth of half your strength, my lord, might swing it for many hours and not be weary.”