And toward his host he turned and spake;
'Now for your son's long-suffering sake
Blood ye may fetch enough, and take
Wherewith to heal his hurt, and make
⁠Death warm as life.' Then rose a cry
Loud as the wind's when stormy spring
Makes all the woodland rage and ring:
'Thou hast slain my brother,' said the king,
⁠'And here with him shalt die.'

'Ay?' Balen laughed him answer. 'Well,
Do it then thyself.' And the answer fell
Fierce as a blast of hate from hell,
'No man of mine that with me dwell
⁠Shall strike at thee but I their lord
For love of this my brother slain.'
And Pellam caught and grasped amain
A grim great weapon, fierce and fain
⁠To feed his hungering sword.