So they sail and have wind at will; but when a few days were overpast, there arose a great storm on the sea, and the waves were to behold even as the foam of men's blood; but Sigurd bade take in no sail, howsoever they might be riven, but rather to lay on higher than heretofore. But as they sailed past the rocks of a ness, a certain man hailed the ships, and asked who was captain over that navy; then was it told him that the chief and lord was Sigurd, the son of Sigmund, the most famed of all the young men who now are. Then said the man, "Naught but one thing, certes, do all say of him, that none among the sons of kings may be likened unto him; now fain were I that ye would shorten sail on some of the ships, and take me aboard." Then they asked him of his name, and he sang-- "Hnikar I hight, When I gladdened Huginn, And went to battle, Bright son of Volsung; Now may ye call The carl on the cliff top, Feng or Fjolnir: Fain would I with you." They made for land therewith, and took that man aboard. Then quoth Sigurd,(1) as the song says-- "Tell me this, O Hnikar, Since full well thou knowest Fate of Gods, good and ill of mankind, What best our hap foresheweth, When amid the battle About us sweeps the sword edge." Quoth Hnikar-- "Good are many tokens If thereof men wotted When the swords are sweeping: Fair fellow deem I The dark-winged raven, In war, to weapon-wielder. "The second good thing: When abroad thou goest For the long road well arrayed, Good if thou seest Two men standing, Fain of fame within the forecourt. "A third thing: Good hearing, The wolf a howling Abroad under ash boughs; Good hap shalt thou have Dealing with helm-staves, If thou seest these fare before thee. "No man in fight His face shall turn Against the moon's sister Low, late-shining, For he winneth battle Who best beholdeth Through the midmost sword-play, And the sloping ranks best shapeth. "Great is the trouble Of foot ill-tripping, When arrayed for fight thou farest, For on both sides about Are the D?sir (2) by thee, Guileful, wishful of thy wounding. "Fair-combed, well washen Let each warrior be, Nor lack meat in the morning, For who can rule The eve's returning, And base to fall before fate grovelling." Then the storm abated, and on they fared till they came aland in the realm of Hunding's sons, and then Fjolnir vanished away.