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now opened their ranks to form a path for Sigurd. Sig hesitated, eyeing the forest. He wondered whether they might reach it in time by running. But with Sigurd before him, he took up the duty of a shield man, supporting his lord to the death, if that was the fate laid upon them. Trying to hold himself as straight and proud as Sigurd King’s-Son, he followed after his master.
    They came into the hall of the forest lord and found it to be a rich place.
    The high seat at the end was carved and painted, and there were weavings from the southern people on the walls. The hall was even finer than Mimics, so that Sig stared about him round-eyed at such splendor. He thought this must be akin to the King’s hall ruled over by Sigurd’s father.
    But Sigurd looked neither to right nor left; instead he went directly to stand before the high seat where the forest lord awaited him.
    The forest lord was so small that the seat seemed over-large. One could hardly see his kirtle above the waist belt, for he had a great fan of beard reaching to his middle, while the locks on his head were long enough to mingle and tangle with his beard. Both beard and locks were white, though the eyes which stared at the travelers from beneath bushy brows were not those of an old man.
    “Who are you who come so boldly into the place of Regin?” asked the lord.
    Sigurd made courteous answer, but he did so with the rightful pride of a king’s son. “I am Sigurd, son of Sigmund, of the true line of the Volsungs. And I come in the service of Mimir Master-Smith, for the charcoal of your making.”
    “Ha, how can this be true speaking? I have not heard before that one of the Volsung blood serves a smith, be he master or less. Think up a better tale than that, my would-be hero!”
    ‘There is no better tale than the truth,” returned Sigurd, still with courtesy, though on his cheek was the flush of a man who has had his word doubted. “It was my father’s will that, since I must someday rule, I should better know those whom I would rule. Therefore, I should dwell among them for a space, working with my hands for my bread, even as they do.”
    Regin combed his beard with his fingers and nodded.
    “A wise man, King Sigmund. And have you learned, Sigurd King’s-Son, what it means to earn your bread with your two hands?”
    “For a year have I done so, and Mimir Master-Smith has not yet turned me from his door as useless.”
    “Which is in your favor, King’s-Son. Well enough, I accept your tale. Do you rest this night under my roof while those in my service make ready your charcoal.”

    He did not seem to notice Sig, and for that the boy was glad. He thought that he would not care to have this lord of the forest watch him too closely. Sig squatted in the shadows behind Sigurd, who sat in the guest chair. But his lord did not forget that he was there, for from time to time he tossed back a round of bread or a bone still heavy with meat, so that Sig ate as well as the high ones.
    Regin suddenly leaned forward and asked, “Do you travel with a hound, King’s-Son? One you must feed with the best from the table?”
    “No hound, Lord Regin, but one who has been a good trail comrade to me, though he is young.”
    “Summon him forth that I may look upon him,” commanded Regin.
    There was no escape. Sig came out of the shadows to stand before Regin. Though he and Sigurd had washed well in a forest pool, and he had arranged his poor clothing as best he could, yet still he well knew that he was as a poor beggar. But he was also for the present a shield man to a king’s son, and so he held himself stiff and straight.
    “A comrade say you, Sigurd King’s-Son? Ha! An ill choice! This is a plucked crow, a starveling, such as any snug-housed man can find whining for bread outside his door.”
    But Sigurd King’s-Son came down from the guest seat. As he made answer he laid his hand on Sig’s shoulder. ‘This is one I would trust at my back in an hour of need.