l 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.

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 sta