From that time Mord began to drop hints to Nial’s sons that Hoskuld was not dealing fairly with them, and to Hoskuld he told many tales of slighting words spoken about him by Nial’s sons. At first they paid little attention to it, but after a while, as these stories grew (and Mord had ever a new one when they met), a coldness sprang up between the sons and Hoskuld, and he came less often to their house, and when they met they scarcely spoke together. But Hoskuld knew not what to think, for he loved his foster-brothers well, and he found it hard to believe that they had the designs on him that Mord made out. One day, when Mord had brought him a new story that Skarphedinn carried an axe under his belt, intending to take an opportunity to kill him, Hoskuld broke out angrily: “I tell you this, Mord, right out, that whatever ill-tales you tell me of Nial’s sons, you will never get me to credit them; but supposing such things were true, and it became a question between us whether I must slay them or they me, I tell thee that far rather would I be slain by them than work the least harm to them. A bad man thou art, with these tales of thine.” Mord bit his lip, and knew not what to answer, but soon after that he went to Nial’s house and fell a-talking to Kari and Skarphedinn in a low voice, telling them all sorts of evil of Hoskuld, worse than before, and egging them on to kill him that very evening. He said that if they did not kill Hoskuld he would kill him himself for their honour. So he got his way with them, and bound them to meet him that night with their weapons and ride down to Hoskuld’s house at Ossaby. That night Skarphedinn did not lie down to rest, nor his brothers, nor Kari. Then Bergthora, Nial’s wife, said to her husband: “What are our sons talking about out of doors?” “In the old days when their counsels were good,” said Nial, “seldom was I left out of them, but now they make their plans alone, and tell me nothing of them.” That night when it was dark the sons of Nial and Kari arose and rode to Ossaby, their weapons in their hands. They stopped under the fence that encircled Hoskuld’s house, hidden from sight. The weather was good and the sun just risen. Now it happened that about that time Hoskuld, the Priest of Whiteness, awoke, and put on his clothes and flung about his shoulders a new crimson cloak embroidered to the waist, which Flosi, his wife’s uncle, had given him. He took his corn-sieve and walked along the fence, sowing the corn as he went; but in his left hand he carried his sword. Skarphedinn and the others sprang up as he came near, and made a rush at him, but Hoskuld, seeing them, tried to turn away. It is not said that he defended himself with his sword from Skarphedinn. Then Skarphedinn ran up, crying out: “Do not try to turn on thy heel, Whiteness Priest,” and with that he hewed at him, smiting him on the head with such a blow that he fell on his knees.