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Tell me: is Gizur, the son of Ospakar, among you?" "Gizur is here," said a voice; "but he swore he slew thee last night." "Then he lied," quoth Eric. "Gizur did not slay me he murdered Gudruda the Fair as she lay asleep at my side. See!" and he drew Whitefire from its scabbard and held it in the rays of the moon that now shone out between the cloud rifts.
Swanhild puts out her hand, draws down the clothes, and feels the breast of Gudruda beneath, for Gudruda slept on the outside of the bed. Then she searches by the head of the bed and finds Whitefire which hung there, and draws the sword. "Here lies Eric, on the outside," she says to Gizur, "and here is Whitefire. Strike and strike home, leaving Whitefire in the wound."
"Night will be at hand before the game is played," said Skallagrim. "See, they climb slowly, saving their strength, and yonder among them is Swanhild in a purple cloak." "Ay, night will be at hand, Skallagrim a last long night! A hundred to two the odds are heavy; yet some shall wish them heavier. Now let us bind on our helms." Meanwhile Gizur and his folk crept up the paths from below.
So, as was his nature, he turned to guile for shelter, like a fox to his hole, and spoke to them with the tongue of a lawman; for Gizur had great skill in speech. "That tale was not all true which Eric Brighteyes told you," he said. "He was mad with grief, and moreover it seems that he slept, and only woke to find Gudruda dead.
This then was the end of Eric Brighteyes the Unlucky, who of all warriors that have lived in Iceland was the mightiest, the goodliest, and the best beloved of women and of those who clung to him. Now, on the morrow, Swanhild caused the body of Eric to be searched for in the cleft, and there they found it, floating in water and with the dead Gizur yet clasped in its bear-grip.
Gizur comes on with little eagerness, and Eric cries aloud: "Swordless I slew thy father! swordless, shieldless, and wounded to the death I will yet slay thee, Gizur the Murderer!" and with a loud cry he staggered towards him.
Then Gizur must follow, and presently he stood beside her in the room, and at their feet lay drunken Skallagrim. Gizur looked first at his sword, then on the Baresark, and lastly at Swanhild. "Nay," she whispered, "touch him not. Perchance he would cry out and we seek higher game. He has that within him which will hold him fast for a while. Follow where I shall lead."
Still, I held my hand, for I have sworn to slay no more, except to save my life. Now I ride hence to Mosfell. Thither let Gizur come, Gizur the murderer, and Swanhild the witch, and with them all who will. There I will give them greeting, and wipe away the blood of Gudruda from Whitefire's blade." "Fear not, Eric," cried Swanhild, "I will come, and there thou mayst kill me, if thou canst."
"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.
Eric smote thrice and thrice the blow went home, then he could smite no more, for his strength was spent with toil and wounds, and he sank upon the ground. For a while Skallagrim stood over him like a she-bear o'er her young and held the mob at bay. Then Gizur, watching, cast a spear at Eric. It entered his side through a cleft in his byrnie and pierced him deep.
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