nd all
men drew back to see giant Brighteyes die. Now his head fell against the
rock and his eyes closed.

Then Skallagrim, stooping, drew out the spear and kissed Eric on the
forehead.

"Farewell, Eric Brighteyes!" he said. "Iceland shall never see such
another man, and few have died so great a death. Tarry a while, lord;
tarry a while--I come--I come!"

Then crying "_Eric! Eric!_" the Baresark fit took him, and once more
and for the last time Skallagrim rushed screaming upon the foe, and
once more they rolled to earth before him. To and fro he rushed, dealing
great blows, and ever as he went they stabbed and cut and thrust at his
side and back, for they dared not stand before him, till he bled from
a hundred wounds. Now, having slain three more men, and wounded two
others, Skallagrim might no more. He stood a moment swaying to and fro,
then let his axe drop, threw his arms high above him, and with one loud
cry of "_Eric!_" fell as a rock falls--dead upon the dead.

But Eric was not yet gone. He opened his eyes and saw the death of
Skallagrim and smiled.

"Well ended, Lambstail!" he said in a faint voice.

"Lo!" cried Gizur, "yon outlawed hound still lives! Now I will do a
needful task and make an end of him, and so shall Ospakar's sword come
back to Ospakar's son."

"Thou art wondrous brave now that the bear lies dying!" said Swanhild.

Now it seemed that Eric heard the words, for suddenly his might came
back to him, and he staggered to his knees and thence to his feet. Then,
as folk fall from him, with all his strength he whirls Whitefire round
his head till it shines like a wheel of fire. "Thy service is done and
thou art clean of Gudruda's blood--go back to those who forged thee!"
Brighteyes cries, and casts Whitefire from him towards the gulf.

Away speeds the great blade, flashing like lightning through the rays of
the setting sun, and behold! as men watch it is gone--gone in mid-air!

Since that day no such sword as Whitefire has been known in Iceland.

"Now slay thou me, Gizur," says the dying Eric.

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.

Gizur smites him with his sword, but Eric does not stay, and while men
wait and wonder, Brighteyes sweeps him into his great arms--ay, sweeps
him up, lifts him from the