Now Skallagrim knew him and the Baresark fit came on.  His eyes rolled, foam flew to his lips, his mouth grinned, and he was awesome to see.  He let fall the head, and, swinging the great axe aloft, rushed at Eric.  But Brighteyes is too swift for him.  It would not be well to let that stroke fall, and it must go hard with aught it struck.  He springs forward, he louts low and sweeps upwards with Whitefire.  Skallagrim sees the sword flare and drops almost to his knee, guarding his head with the axe; but Whitefire strikes on the iron half of the axe and shears it in two, so that the axe-head falls to earth.  Now the Baresark is weaponless but unharmed, and it would be an easy task to slay him as he rushes by.  But it came into Eric’s mind that it is an unworthy deed to slay a swordless man, and this came into his mind also, that he desired to match his naked might against a Baresark in his rage.  So, in the hardihood of his youth and strength, he cast Whitefire aside, and crying “Come, try a fall with me, Baresark,” rushed on Skallagrim.

“Thou art mad,” yells the Baresark, and they are at it hard.  Now they grip and rend and tear.  Ospakar was strong, but the Baresark strength of Skallagrim is more than the strength of Ospakar, and soon Brighteyes thinks longingly on Whitefire that he has cast aside.  Eric is mighty beyond the might of men, but he can scarcely hold his own against this mad man, and very soon he knows that only one chance is left to him, and that is to cling to Skallagrim till the Baresark fit be passed and he is once more like other men.  But this is easier to tell of than to do, and presently, strive as he will, Eric is on his back, and Skallagrim on him.  But still he holds the Baresark as with bands of iron, and Skallagrim may not free his arms, though he strive furiously.  Now they roll over and over on the rock, and the gloom gathers fast about them till presently Eric sees that they draw near to the brink of that mighty rift down which the severed head of the cave-dweller has foretold his fall.

“Then we go together,” says Eric, but the Baresark does not heed.  Now they are on the very brink, and here as it chances, or as the Norns decree, a little rock juts up and this keeps them from falling.  Eric is uppermost, and, strive as he will, Skallagrim may not turn him on his back again.  Still, Brighteyes’ strength may not endure very long, for he grows faint, and his legs slip slowly over the side of the rift till now he clings, as it were, by his ribs and shoulder-blades alone, that rub against the little rock.  The light dies away, and Eric thinks on sweet Gudruda and makes ready to die also, when suddenly a last ray from the sun falls on the fierce face of Skallagrim, and lo!  Brighteyes sees it change, for the madness goes out of it, and in a moment the Baresark becomes but as a child in his mighty grip.

“Hold!” said Skallagrim, “I crave peace,” and he loosed his clasp.

“Not too soon, then,” gasped Eric as, drawing his legs from over the brink of the rift, he gained his feet and, staggering to his sword, grasped it very thankfully.