Let Gizur go up with us to
Mosfell, and there stand face to face with Eric and clear himself by
blows."

"I ask no more," said Gizur; "we will ride to-night."

"But much more shalt thou get, liar," quoth Ketel to himself, "for that
hour when thou lookest once again on Whitefire shall be thy last!"

So Gizur and Swanhild made ready to go up against Eric. That day they
rode away with a great company, a hundred and one in all, and this was
their plan. They sent six men with that thrall who had shown them the
secret path, bidding him guide them to the mountain-top. Then, when they
were come thither, and heard the shouts of those who sought to gain the
platform from the south, they were to watch till Eric and his folk came
out from the cave, and shoot them with arrows from above or crush them
with stones. But if perchance Eric left the platform and came to meet
his foes in the narrow pass, then they must let themselves down with
ropes from the height above, and, creeping after him round the rock,
must smite him in the back. Moreover, in secret, Gizur promised a great
reward of ten hundreds in silver to him who should kill Eric, for he did
not long to stand face to face with him alone. Swanhild also in secret
made promise of reward to those who should bring Eric to her, bound, but
living; and she bade them do this--to bear him down with shields and tie
him with ropes.

So they rode away, the seven who should climb the mountain from behind
going first, and on the morrow morning they crossed the sand and came to
Mosfell.

XXXII

HOW ERIC AND SKALLAGRIM GREW FEY

Now the night came down upon Mosfell, and of all nights this was the
strangest. The air was quiet and heavy, yet no rain fell. It was so
silent, moreover, that, did a stone slip upon the mountain side or a
horse neigh far off on the plains, the sound of it crept up the fell and
was echoed from the crags.

Eric and Skallagrim sat together on the open space of rock that is
before the cave, and great heaviness and fear came into their hearts, so
that they had no desire to sleep.

"Methinks the night is ghost-ridden," said Eric, "and I am fey, for I
grow cold, and it seems to me that one strokes my hair."

"It is ghost-ridden, lord," answered Skallagrim. "Trolls are abroad, and
the God-kind gather to see Eric die."

For a while they sat in silence, then suddenly the mountain heaved up
gently beneath them. Thrice it seemed to heave like a woman's