Now the cloud of dust drew nearer, and they saw that this was a great company which came up against them. At the foot of the fell the men stayed and rested a while, and it was not till afternoon that they began to climb the mountain.
“Night will be at hand before the game is played,” said Skallagrim. “See, they climb slowly, saving their strength, and yonder among them is Swanhild in a purple cloak.”
“Ay, night will be at hand, Skallagrim—a last long night! A hundred to two—the odds are heavy; yet some shall wish them heavier. Now let us bind on our helms.”
Meanwhile Gizur and his folk crept up the paths from below. Now that thrall who knew the secret way had gone on with six chosen men, and already they climbed the watercourse and drew near to the flat crest of the fell. But Eric and Skallagrim knew nothing of this. So they sat down by the turning place that is over the gulf and waited, singing of the taking of the Raven and of the slaying in the stead at Middalhof, and telling tales of deeds that they had done. And the thrall and his six men climbed on till at length they gained the crest of the fell, and, looking over, saw Eric and Skallagrim beneath them.
“The birds are in the snare, and hark! they sing,” said the thrall; “now bring rocks and be silent.”
But Gizur and his people, having learned that Eric and Skallagrim were alone upon the mountain, pushed on.
“We have not much to fear from two men,” said Gizur.
“That we shall learn presently,” answered Swanhild. “I tell thee this, that I saw strange sights last night, though I did not sleep. I may sleep little now that Gudruda is dead, for that which I saw in her eyes haunts me.”
Then they went on, and the face of Gizur grew white with fear.