Then came more and more. There were those whom Eric and Skallagrim had slain upon the seas, those who had fallen before them in the English wars, and all that company who had been drowned in the waters of the Pentland Firth when the witchcraft of Swanhild had brought the Gudruda to her wreck.
“Now here we have a goodly crew,” said Eric at length. “Is it done, thinkest thou, or will Mosfell send forth more dead?”
As he spoke the wraith of a grey-headed man drew near. He had but one arm, for the other was hewn from him, and the byrnie on his left side was red with blood.
“Welcome, Earl Atli!” cried Eric. “Sit thou over against me, who to-morrow shall be with thee.”
The ghost of the Earl seated itself and looked on Eric with sad eyes, but it spake never a word.
Then came another company, and at their head stalked black Ospakar.
“These be they who died at Middalhof,” cried Eric. “Welcome, Ospakar! that marriage-feast of thine went ill!”
“Now methinks we are overdone with trolls,” said Skallagrim; “but see! here come more.”
As he spoke, Hall of Lithdale came, and with him Koll the Half-witted, and others. And so it went on till all the men whom Eric and Skallagrim had slain, or who had died because of them, or at their side, were gathered in deep ranks before them.
“Now it is surely done,” said Eric.