n all the north. He loved Swanhild, and
desired to make her his wife; but she played with him, talking darkly of
what might be. Swanhild was not minded to be the wife of any man, except
of Eric; to all others she was cold as the winter earth. Still, she
fooled Gizur as she had fooled Atli the Good, and he grew blind with
love of her. For still the beauty of Swanhild waxed as the moon waxes in
the sky, and her wicked eyes shone as the stars shine when the moon has
set.

Now they came to Swinefell, and there Gizur buried Ospakar Blacktooth,
his father, with much state. He set him in a chamber of rock and timbers
on a mountain-top, whence he might see all the lands that once were his,
and built up a great mound of earth above him. To this day people tell
that here on Yule night black Ospakar bursts out, and golden Eric rides
down the blast to meet him. Then come the clang of swords, and groans,
and the sound of riven helms, till presently Brighteyes passes southward
on the wind, bearing in his hand the half of a cloven shield.

So Gizur bound the Hell-shoes on his father, and swore that he would
neither rest nor stay till Eric Brighteyes was dead and dead was
Skallagrim Lambstail. Then he gathered a great force of men and rode
south to Coldback, to the slaying of Eric, and with him went Swanhild.

Gudruda sat alone in the haunted hall of Middalhof and brooded on her
love and on her fate. Eric, too, sat in Mosfell cave and brooded on his
evil chance. His heart was sick with sorrow, and there was little that
he could do except think about the past. He would not go to foray, after
the fashion of outlaws, and there was no need of this. For the talk of
his mighty deeds spread through the land, so that the people spoke of
little else. And the men of his quarter were so proud of these deeds of
Eric's that, though some of their kind had fallen at his hands in the
great fight of Middalhof and some at the hands of Skallagrim, yet they
spoke of him as men speak of a God. Moreover they brought him gifts of
food and clothing and arms, as many as his people could carry away,
and laid them in a booth that is on the plain near the foot of Mosfell,
which thenceforth was named Ericsfell. Further, they bade his thralls
tell him that, if he wished it, they would find him a good ship of war
to take him from Iceland--ay, and man it with loyal men and true.

Eric thanked them through Jon his thrall, but answered that he wished to
die here