Björn saw, and, drawing sword, smote at Brighteyes, taking him unawares.
But Skallagrim caught the blow upon his axe, and before Björn could
smite again Whitefire was aloft and down fell Björn, dead!

That was the end of Björn, Asmund's son.

"Thou hast squeaked thy last, rat! What did I tell thee?" cried
Skallagrim. "Take Björn's shield and back to back, lord, for here come
foes."

"There goes one," answered Eric, pointing to the door.

Now Hall of Lithdale slunk through the doorway--Hall, the liar, who cut
the grapnel-chain--for he wished to see the last of Skallagrim. But the
Baresark still held Eric's spear in his hand. He whirled it aloft, and
it hissed through the air. The aim was good, for, as he crept away,
the spear struck Hall between neck and shoulder, pinning him to the
doorpost, and there the liar died.

"Now the weasel is nailed to the beam," said Skallagrim. "Hall of
Lithdale, what did I promise thee?"

"Guard thy head and my back," quoth Eric; "blows fall!"

Now men smote at Eric and Skallagrim, nor did they spare to smite in
turn. And as foes fell before him, Eric stepped one pace forward towards
the door, and Skallagrim, who, back to back with him, held off those
who pressed behind, took one step rearwards. Thus, a foe for every step,
they won their way down the long hall. Fierce raged the fray around