“It will be death, then,” said Skallagrim, “and the swords are forged that we shall feel.  The odds are too heavy, lord.”

“Mayhap,” answered Eric.  “No man may flee his fate, and I shall not altogether grieve when mine finds me.  Hearken, comrades:  I go up to Mosfell height, and there I stay, till those be found who can drag me from my hole.  But this is my counsel to you:  that ye leave me to my doom, for I am an unlucky man who always chooses the wrong road.”

“That will not I,” said Skallagrim.

“Nor we,” said Eric’s folk; “Swanhild holds Coldback, and we are driven to the fells.  To the fells then we will go with thee, Eric Brighteyes, and become cave-dwellers and outlaws for thy sake.  Fear not, thou shalt still find many friends.”

“I did not look for such a thing at your hands,” said Eric; “but stormy waters show how the boat is built.  May no bad luck come to you from your good fellowship.  And now let us to our nest.”

Then they caught the horses, and rode with Brighteyes up the steep side of Mosfell, till at length they came to that secret dell which Skallagrim had once shown to Eric.  Here they turned the horses loose to feed, and, going forward on foot, reached the dark and narrow pass that Brighteyes had trod when he sought for the Baresark foe.  Skallagrim led the way along it, then came Eric and the rest.  One by one they stepped on to the giddy point of rock, and, catching at the birch-bush, entered the hole.  So they gained the platform and the great cave beyond; and they found that no man had set foot there since the day when Eric had striven with Skallagrim.  For there on the rock, rotten with the weather, lay that haft of wood which Brighteyes had hewed from the axe of Skallagrim, and in the cave were many things beside as the Baresark had left them.

So they took up their dwelling in the cave, Eric, Skallagrim, and the six Coldback men, and there they dwelt many months.  But Eric sent out his men, one at a time, and got together food and a store of sheepskins, and other needful things.  For he knew this well:  that Gizur and Swanhild would before long come up against them, and, if they could not take them by force, would set themselves to watch the mountain-path and starve them out.

When Eric and Skallagrim rode away from Middalhof the fight still raged fiercely in the hall, and nothing but death might stay it.  The minds of men were mad, and they smote one another, and slew each other, till at length of all that marriage company few were left unharmed, except Gizur, Swanhild, and Gudruda.  For the serving thralls and womenfolk had fled the hall, and with them some peaceful men.

Then Gudruda spoke as one in a dream.

“Saevuna’s prophecy was true,” she said, “red was the marriage-feast of Asmund my father, redder has been the marriage-feast of Ospakar!  She saw the hall of Middalhof one gore of blood, and lo! it is so; look upon thy work, Swanhild,” and she pointed to the piled-up dead—­“look upon thy work, witch-sister, and grow fearful:  for all this death is on thy head!”