Einar.—A witch-storm this is, and we have lost our way!
Broddi.—The weather is cold and fit for men. We would do well to use our stay here for coming to an agreement about our attack on Thorolf Bjarnason; because home he journeyed, even if Lady Helga assured us to the contrary.
Einar.—Let us make away with the new chief of the Eyafirthings!
Brand.—For me it is not seeming to be in this undertaking, having sworn an eternal truce to Thorolf.
Broddi.—But none of us others have.
Helgi Skaftason.—I am not your slave, Brand Kolbeinsson; and if I may not avenge the insults Thorolf has inflicted on you, I shall no longer be your follower, either.
Broddi.—All your men will desert you, if you permit them not to avenge you on Thorolf.
Brand.—What would men say if my followers broke a pledged truce?
Alf.—A truce under compulsion it was, with sixty men, but a few steps away.
Einar.—Slight is your recollection concerning the murder of Kalf the son of Guttorm!