Then Gudruda fled back to her seat.
But Eric cried aloud also: “Ye who love me, cleave to me. Suffer it not that Brighteyes be cut down of northerners and outland men. Hear me, Atli’s folk; hear me, carles of Coldback and of Middalhof!”
And so greatly did many love Eric that half of the thralls of Björn, and almost all of the company of Swanhild who had been Atli’s shield-men and Brighteyes’ comrades, drew swords, shouting “Eric! Eric!” But the carles of Ospakar came on to make an end of him.
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!”