“Hold!” said Skallagrim, “I crave peace,” and he loosed his clasp.
“Not too soon, then,” gasped Eric as, drawing his legs from over the brink of the rift, he gained his feet and, staggering to his sword, grasped it very thankfully.
“I am fordone!” said Skallagrim; “come, drag me from this place, for I fall; or, if thou wilt, hew off my head.”
“I will not serve thee thus,” said Eric. “Thou art a gallant foe,” and he put out his hand and drew him into safety.
For a while Skallagrim lay panting, then he gained his hands and knees and crawled to where Eric leaned against the rock.
“Lord,” he said, “give me thy hand.”
Eric stretched forth his left hand, wondering, and Skallagrim took it. He did not stretch out his right, for, fearing guile, he gripped Whitefire in it.
“Lord,” Skallagrim said again, “of all men who ever were, thou art the mightiest. Five other men had not stood before me in my rage, but, scorning thy weapon, thou didst overcome me in the noblest fashion, and by thy naked strength alone. Now hearken. Thou hast given me my life, and it is thine from this hour to the end. Here I swear fealty to thee. Slay me if thou wilt, or use me if thou wilt, but I think it will be better for thee to do this rather than that, for there is but one who has mastered me, and thou art he, and it is borne in upon my mind that thou wilt have need of my strength, and that shortly.”
“That may well be, Skallagrim,” said Eric, “yet I put little trust in outlaws and cave-dwellers. How do I know, if I take thee to me, that thou wilt not murder me in my sleep, as it would have been easy for me to do by thee but now?”
“What is it that runs from thy arm,” asked Skallagrim.