The great carles saw the light that played on Whitefire’s edge and the other light that burned in Eric’s eyes, and terror got hold of them.  Now he was almost come, and Whitefire sprang aloft like a tongue of flame.  Then they stayed no more, but, running one this way and one that, cast themselves into the flood and swam for the river-edge.  Now from either bank rose up a roar of laughter, that grew and grew, till it echoed against the lava rifts and scared the ravens from their nests.

Eric, too, stopped his charge and laughed aloud; then walked back to where Asmund stood, unarmed, to second him in the holmgang.

“I can get little honour from such champions as these,” he said.

“Nay,” answered Asmund, “thou hast got the greatest honour, and they, and Ospakar, such shame as may not be wiped out.”

Now when Blacktooth saw what had come to pass, he well-nigh choked, and fell from his horse in fury.  Still, he could find no stomach for fighting, but, mustering his company, rode straightway from the Thing home again to Swinefell.  But he caused those two whom he had put up to do battle with Eric to be set upon with staves and driven from his following, and the end of it was that they might stay no more in Iceland, but took ship and sailed south, and now they are out of the story.

On the next day, Asmund, and with him Eric and all their men, rode back to Middalhof.  Gudruda greeted Eric well, and for the first time since Swanhild went away she kissed him.  Moreover, she wept bitterly when she learned that he must go into outlawry, while she must bide at home.

“How shall the days pass by, Eric?” she said, “when thou art far, and I know not where thou art, nor how it goes with thee, nor if thou livest or art already dead?”

“In sooth I cannot say, sweet,” he answered; “but of this I am sure that, wheresoever I am, yet more weary shall be my hours.”

“Three years,” she went on—­“three long, cold years, and no sight of thee, and perchance no tidings from thee, till mayhap I learn that thou art in that land whence tidings cannot come.  Oh, it would be better to die than to part thus.”

“Well I wot that it is better to die than to live, and better never to have been born than to live and die,” answered Eric sadly.  “Here, it would seem, is nothing but hate and strife, weariness and bitter envy to fret away our strength, and at last, if we come so far, sorrowful age and death, and thereafter we know not what.  Little of good do we find to our hands, and much of evil; nor know I for what ill-doing these burdens are laid upon us.  Yet must we needs breathe such an air as is blown about us, Gudruda, clasping at this happiness which is given, though we may not hold it.  At the worst, the game will soon be played, and others will stand where we have stood, and strive as we have striven, and fail as we have failed, and so on, till man has worked out his doom, and the Gods cease from their wrath, or Ragnarroek come upon them, and they too are lost in the jaws of grey wolf Fenrir.”