CHAPTER XXXII
HOW ERIC AND SKALLAGRIM GREW FEY
Now the night came down upon Mosfell, and of all nights this was the strangest. The air was quiet and heavy, yet no rain fell. It was so silent, moreover, that, did a stone slip upon the mountain side or a horse neigh far off on the plains, the sound of it crept up the fell and was echoed from the crags.
Eric and Skallagrim sat together on the open space of rock that is before the cave, and great heaviness and fear came into their hearts, so that they had no desire to sleep.
“Methinks the night is ghost-ridden,” said Eric, “and I am fey, for I grow cold, and it seems to me that one strokes my hair.”
“It is ghost-ridden, lord,” answered Skallagrim. “Trolls are abroad, and the God-kind gather to see Eric die.”
For a while they sat in silence, then suddenly the mountain heaved up gently beneath them. Thrice it seemed to heave like a woman’s breast, and left them frightened.
“Now the dwarf-folk come from their caves,” quoth Skallagrim, “and great deeds may be looked for, since they are not drawn to the upper earth by a little thing.”
Then once more they sat silent; and thick darkness came down upon the mountain, hiding the stars.
“Look,” said Eric of a sudden, and he pointed to Hecla.
Skallagrim looked, and lo! the snowy dome of Hecla was aglow with a rosy flame like the light of dawn.