"Now Gudruda is widowed before she was fully wed," said Eric, "therefore
I bide an outlawed man here in Iceland. I go hence no more, though it be
death to stay, unless indeed Gudruda the Fair goes with me."

"It will be death, then," said Skallagrim, "and the swords are forged
that we shall feel. The odds are too heavy, lord."

"Mayhap," answered Eric. "No man may flee his fate, and I shall not
altogether grieve when mine finds me. Hearken, comrades: I go up to
Mosfell height, and there I stay, till those be found who can drag me
from my hole. But this is my counsel to you: that ye leave me to my
doom, for I am an unlucky man who always chooses the wrong road."

"That will not I," said Skallagrim.

"Nor we," said Eric's folk; "Swanhild holds Coldback, and we are driven
to the fells. To the fells then we will go with thee, Eric Brighteyes,
and become cave-dwellers and outlaws for thy sake. Fear not, thou shalt
still find many friends."

"I did not look for such a thing at your hands," said Eric; "but stormy
waters show how the boat is built. May no bad luck come to you from your
good fellowship. And now let us to our nest."

Then they caught the horses, and rode with Brighteyes up the steep
side of Mosfell, till at length they came to that secret dell which
Skallagrim had once shown to Eric. Here they turned the horses loose to
feed, and, going forward on foot, reached the dark and narrow pass that
Brighteyes had trod when he sought for the Baresark foe. Skallagrim led