“Trolls!” shrieked one. “Here are trolls!” and turned to fly. But again Whitefire was up and that man flew not far—one pace, and no more. Then they fled screaming and after them came axe and sword. They fled, they fell, they leaped into the sea, till none were left to fall and leap, for they had no time or heart to find or draw their weapons, and presently Eric Brighteyes and Skallagrim Lambstail stood alone upon the deck—alone with the dead.
“Swanhild is a wise witch,” gasped Eric, “and, whatever ill she has done, I will remember this to her honour.”
“Little good comes of witchcraft,” answered Skallagrim, wiping his brow: “to-day it works for our hands, to-morrow it shall work against them.”
“To the helm,” said Eric; “the ship yaws and comes side on to the seas.”
Skallagrim sprang to the tiller and put his strength on it, and but just in time, for one big sea came aboard them and left much water in the hold.
“We owe this to thy Baresark ways,” said Eric. “Hadst thou not slain the steersman we had not filled with water.”
“True, lord,” answered Skallagrim; “but when once my axe is aloft, it seems to fly of itself, till nothing is left before it. What course now?”
“The same on which the Gudruda was laid. Perhaps, if we may endure till we come to the Farey Isles,[*] we shall find her in harbour there.”
[*] The Faroes.
“There is not much chance of that,” said Skallagrim; “still, the wind is fair, and we fly fast before it.”