Then Swanhild lashed the folk with bitter words, and two of them sprang on.  They sprang on like hounds upon a deer at bay, and they rolled back as gored hounds roll from the deer’s horns.

“More men! more men!” cried Eric.  “Here lie but four and a hundred press behind.  Now he shall win great honour who lays Brighteyes low and brings down the helm of Skallagrim.”

Again two came on, but they found no luck, for presently they also were down upon the bodies of those who went before.  Now none could be found to come up against the pair, for they fought like Baldur and Thor, and none could touch them, and no harness might withstand the weight of their blows that shore through shield and helm and byrnie, deep to the bone beneath.  Then Eric and Skallagrim leaned upon their weapons and mocked their foes, while these cursed and tore their beards with rage and shame.

Now it is to be told that when the thrall and those with him saw Eric and Skallagrim had escaped their rocks and spears, they took counsel, and the end of it was that they slid down a rope to the platform that is under the crest of the fell.  Thence, though they could see nothing, they could hear the clang of blows and the shouts of those who fought and fell—­ay! and the mocking of Eric and of Skallagrim.

“Now it goes thus,” said the thrall, who was a cunning man:  “Eric and Skallagrim hold the narrow way and none can stand against them.  This, then, is my rede:  that we turn the rock and take them in the back.”

His fellows thought this a good saying, and one by one they stood upon the little rock and won the narrow way.  They crept along this till they were near to Eric and Skallagrim.  Now Swanhild, looking up, saw them and started.  Skallagrim noted this and glanced over his shoulder, and that not too soon, for, as he looked, the thrall lifted sword to smite the head of Eric.

With a shout of “Back to back!” the Baresark swung round and ere ever the sword might fall his axe was buried deep in the thrall’s breast.

“Now we must cut our path through them,” said Skallagrim, “and, if it may be, win the space that is before the cave.  Keep them off in front, and I will mind these mannikins.”

Now Gizur’s folk, seeing what had come about, took heart and fell upon Eric with a rush, and those who were with the dead thrall rushed at Skallagrim, and there began such a fight as has not been known in Iceland.  But the way was so narrow that scarce more than one man could come to each of them at a time.  And so fierce and true were the blows of Eric and Skallagrim that of those who came on few went back.  Down they fell, and where they fell they died, and for every man who died Eric and Skallagrim won a pace towards the point of rock.  Whitefire flamed so swift and swept so wide that it seemed to Swanhild, watching, as though three swords were aloft at once, and the axe of Skallagrim thundered down like the axe of a woodman against a tree, and those groaned on whom it fell as groans a falling tree.  Now the shields of these twain were hewn through and through, and cast away, and their blood ran from many wounds.  Still, their life was whole in them and they plied axe and sword with both hands.  And ever men fell, and ever, fighting hard, they drew nearer to the point of rock.