“He is dead,” said the King of Ireland’s Son, “I thrust my sword through his breast.” “And where is his head?” said the Glashan. “It is on his corpse,” said the King of Ireland’s Son. “Then you will have another fight to-morrow. His life is in his head, and his life will come back to him if you did not cut it off. It is he, I tell you, who will guard the fourth and fifth and sixth gate.” “That I do not believe, Glashan,” said the King of Ireland’s Son. “There is no one to guard the gates now but the Hag you spoke of. To-morrow I shall take Fedelma out of her captivity, and we will both leave the Land of Mist. But I must sleep now.” He laid the Sword of Light beside him, stretched himself on the ground and went to sleep. The Glashan drew his horse’s legs under him, took the pipe out of his ear, and smoked all through the night. III The King of Ireland’s Son rose in the morning but he was in pain and weariness on account of his wounded foot. He ate the cresses and drank the water that the Glashan gave him, and he started off for the Castle of the King of the Mist. “‘Tis only an old woman I shall have to deal with to-day,” he said, “and then I shall awaken Fedelma, my love.” He passed through the first gate and the first court-yard, through the second gate and the second court-yard, through the third gate and the third courtyard. The fourth gate was closed, and as he went towards it, it opened slowly, and the King of the Land of Mist stood there--as high, as stone-faced, and as scornful as before, and in his hand he had a weighty gray sword. They fought as they fought the day before. But the guard the King of Ireland’s Son made against the sword of the King of the Land of Mist was weaker than before, because of the pain and weariness that came from his wound. But still he kept the Sword of Light before him and the Sword of the King of the Land of Mist could not pass it. They fought until it was afternoon. The heart in his body seemed turned to a jet of blood that would gush forth. His eyes were straining themselves out of their sockets. His arms could hardly bear up his sword. He fell down upon one knee, but he was able to hold the sword so that it guarded his head. Then the image of Fedelma appeared before him. He sprang up and his arms regained their power. His heart became steady in his breast. And as he made an attack upon the King of the Land of Mist, he saw that the blade in his hand was broken and worn because of its strokes against the Sword of Light. They fought with blades that seemed to kindle each other into sparks and flashes of light. They fought until the blade in the hand of the King of the Land of Mist was worn to a hand breadth above the hilt. He drew back towards the gate of the fifth courtyard. The King of Ireland’s Son sprang at him and thrust the Sword of Light through his breast. Down on the stones before the fifth gate of his Castle fell the King of the Land of Mist.