Now it was won, and now all the company that came with the thrall from over the mountain brow were dead or sorely wounded at the hands of black Skallagrim.  Lo! one springs on Eric, and Gizur creeps behind him.  Whitefire leaps to meet the man and does not leap in vain; but Gizur smites a coward blow at Eric’s uncovered head, and wounds him sorely, so that he falls to his knee.

“Now I am smitten to the death, Skallagrim,” cries Eric.  “Win the rock and leave me.”  Yet he rises from his knee.

Then Skallagrim turns, red with blood and terrible to see.

“’Tis but a scratch.  Climb thou the rock—­I follow,” he says, and, screaming like a horse, with weapon aloft he leaps alone upon the foe.  They break before the Baresark rush; they break, they fall—­they are cloven by Baresark axe and trodden of Baresark feet!  They roll back, leaving the way clear—­save for the dead.  Then Skallagrim follows Brighteyes to the rock.

Now Eric wipes the gore from his eyes and sees.  Then, slowly, and with a reeling brain, he steps down upon the giddy point.  He goes near to falling, yet does not fall, for now he lies upon the open space, and creeps on hands and knees to the rock-wall that is by the cave, and sits resting his back against it, Whitefire on his knee.

Before he is there, Skallagrim staggers to his side with a rush.

“Now we have time to breathe, lord,” he gasps.  “See, here is water,” and he takes a pitcher that stands by, and gives Eric to drink from the pool, then drinks himself and pours the rest of the water on Eric’s wound.  Then new life comes to them, and they both stand on their feet and win back their breath.

“We have not done so badly!” says Skallagrim, “and we are still a match for one or two.  See, they come!  Say, where shall we meet them, lord?”

“Here,” quoth Eric; “I cannot stand well upon my legs without the help of the rock.  Now I am all unmeet for fight.”

“Yet shall this last stand of thine be sung of!” says Skallagrim.

Now finding none to stay them, the men of Gizur climb one by one upon the rock and win the space that is beyond.  Swanhild goes first of all, because she knows well that Eric will not harm her, and after her come Gizur and the others.  But many do not come, for they will lift sword no more.

Now Swanhild draws near and looks on Eric and mocks him in the fierceness of her heart and the rage of her wolf-love.

“Now,” she says, “now are Brighteyes dim eyes!  What! weepest thou, Eric?”

“Ay, Swanhild,” he answered, “I weep tears of blood for those whom thou hast brought to doom.”

She draws nearer and speaks low to him:  “Hearken, Eric.  Yield thee!  Thou hast done enough for honour, and thou art not smitten to the death of yonder cowardly hound.  Yield and I will nurse thee back to health and bear thee hence, and together we will forget our hates and woes.”