The door is won. They stand without but little harmed, while women wail
aloud.

"To horse!" cried Skallagrim; "to horse, ere our luck fail us!"

"There is no luck in this," gasped Eric; "for I have slain many men, and
among them is Björn, the brother of her whom I would make my bride."

"Better one such fight than many brides," said Skallagrim, shaking his
red axe. "We have won great glory this day, Brighteyes, and Ospakar is
dead--slain by a swordless man!"



Now Eric and Skallagrim ran to their horses, none hindering them, and,
mounting, rode towards Mosfell.

All that evening and all the night they rode, and at morning they came
across the black sand to Mosfell slopes that are by the Hecla. Here they
rested, and, taking off their armour, washed themselves in the stream:
for they were very weary and foul with blood and wounds. When they had
finished washing and had buckled on their harness again, Skallagrim,
peering across the plain with his hawk's eyes, saw men riding fast
towards them.

"Foes are soon afoot, lord," he said. "I thought we had stayed their
hunger for a while."

"Would that I might stay mine," quoth Eric. "I am weary, and unfit for
fight."