Ghosts and Death
It turned out Greifen was right. The
Elhir, who were the mortal enemies of the
Olafson Clan dropped the Fangsnapper
from the deck of a Cargo Floater into our
back yard. How this was found out, I
did not know, but there was word that
someone did see an Elhir flyer, just
moments before the Fangsnapper attack.
Father went before the Elders and made
the accusation since open Clan wars were
outlawed.
The Elhir Chief countered that there
was no evidence that it was them, but he
suggested that if a single Fangsnapper
made such trouble for the Olafson Clan,
they would gladly train the Olafsons in
real combat... Everyone expected father to
challenge the Elhir Chief, but he did
not.
My father had beaten me as soon as we
had returned to the Burg, but the business
of sending boats and men to recover the
Tyrannos distracted him and he left me
bleeding in the courtyard.
Midril had Greifen bring me into the
stillroom where she tended to my injuries
with ointment and bandages. Since she
had come back from the Union Hospital
with a brand new arm they had grown
her, she often tended to my wounds despite
father's command that no one was
supposed to show me any form of kindness.
She had never spoken about the
incident, but she took care of the little girl now
and she made sure I got a share of the
good things that went to the Family Hall.
Two days later, a hushed rumor was
spreading that a son of the Elhir clan and
two of his companions were found lying
in front of the Gate of the Elhir Burg. It
was said that the companions were dead
and the brother to Sigvard had been
beaten to within an inch of his life
and had the marks of a whip all over his body.
””
On our Burg, nothing changed and I
counted the days until grandfather would
finally arrive and take me to the Halls
of Hasvik.
Nilfeheim seasons never matched Old
Terran Time and instead of a season,
Earthers called Fall, it was the last
year of Longnight and the ice was already
gone around our Burg. On our world, it
was perhaps the most anticipated time,
when the shipwrights took off the ice
slides from the keels of the fishing boats
and the Tyrannos really came alive and
started their migration to the Uhim
grounds to mate and feed.
According to our old Earth calendar,
today was the Seventh of October 5011, my
12th birthday, but instead of
celebrations, I was beaten by father right after
breakfast. The reason this time was
that Lothar demanded to see me eat out of a
Nubhir Wolf bowl under the table, I
refused and Gretel demanded that father
would do something about it.
He did by pelting his steel cable
across my chest and back. I could feel my blood
running almost like water and wondered
if one could actually get used to pain. I
smiled, raised my hands and said “Thank
you father, for killing me, now Odin
will receive me and I will be with
mother!” The Clan Elders of Ragnarsson and of
the Olafsons stood and raised their
fists and as I slumped to my knees I started to
recite the Warriors prayer, hoping the
Gods would give me enough time to finish
it. Ancient lore promised great favor
with the Gods if one died as a warrior and I
wanted Odin to look with favor upon my
arrival.
”Gods of war I call upon you...”
Kveldulf was a grizzly old but
wellknown warrior of the Ragnarsson clan, with
more gray than black hair and a distant
Uncle of mine. His face was tanned and
wrinkled by the steady glare of Solken,
frosty winds and spending a lifetime
outside, on the oceans or on the ice.
He said, “There is a Viking son without fail.
He dies, aye, but Isegrim, with his
passing, you lose all rights to this Burg and my
oaths that bind me, shackle me no more.
I will be the first to challenge thee. Let
us see how well you stand against a
warrior with a sword!”
Father yelled. “Greifen, get him to
the stillroom and dial for the Union Doctor!”
It was the last thing I heard and I
hoped and prayed silently now as my eyesight
faded and my lips no longer wanted to
move, that Greifen and the Union Doctor
would be too late.
I cursed the doctor, seeing his gentle
face on once again rising out of the darkness
of oblivion. “No Ergil, cursed are
thy skills and cursed is thy Off World Tech. Is
it my fate to remain in this world
where I am not wanted?”
He shook his head but his smile
remained and he said to someone in the room,
“He is well enough to insult me.”
To me he said. “Eric, you almost got your wish
but my oath prevents me from letting it
happen when I can do something about it,
but you got to lie still until the
blood replicator has completed the transfusion.”
“Curse all oaths and let Hel embrace
me!”
The other person in the room was old
Kveldulf as I recognized his voice. “You
will survive Eric. You are strong! The
Huldufolk have their eyes upon you, that is
certain.”
“The Hidden people, the Aesir are not
with me or they would spare me such a
father,” I said.
He replied, “Warriors are not born in
comfort, revenge flows out of the woeful
tears of the maimed and tortured, you
are the Grandson of my liege and I am
bound as he is by oaths and the
unbreakable bonds of a warrior’s word. You Eric,
you are not!”
The doctor paid little attention to
what was said, checked his machine and then he
said. “I will send the flyer in the
morning to collect the equipment. I personally
hope the day of Union Law coming to
this cold barbaric world is soon. Then no
child will have to suffer such
cruelty.” With these words, he deactivated the
GalNet Avatar projection and blinked
out into nothingness.
Kveldulf, arranged his Fangsnapper fur
lined cloak, with a sweeping gesture of
his sinew bulging underarm and sat down
on a stool next to the gurney I was on.
He checked the machine and tapped it
with his finger. “Marvelous little thing, it
replaces your blood. You know you left
almost all you had on the stone floors of
the Great Hall.”
“I had not intended to be there nor
did I have much to say about the bleeding
part.”
“Aye a heavy load you carry, child,
but there was not a dry eye nor a throat not
stricken with pride and guilt in that
hall as you, twelve years old, smiled instead
of screaming and raised your arms to
Odin. Oh lad! it will be told within these
walls for many Longnights to come.”
“I doubt Gretel or Lothar, or my
father felt any such things and he will whip
anyone who dares to speak of me.”
“Even though, horrible is his temper
and evil are his deeds, your Stepmother saw
her future run away with your blood.
Evil can never stand against valor and it is
by the hand of vengeance, that this
Burg will be cleansed.”
“I could not stop him from killing my
mother and I can do nothing against him, I
am weak!”
He put his strong hand on my arm.
“Today on far distant earth they would
celebrate your birthday, but we are
Norse. We are Vikings we do not celebrate the
day we are born. Nay we celebrate the
day we receive our name. I was there when
you received yours.”
I looked away. “I wish I was never
born, then, mother would not have died
protecting me.”
“Your mother wanted you. She wanted
nothing more on this world than you; her
fate was sealed when the pact of the
Clan chiefs was made. One kept quiet about
the failings of his son and the other
was blind to the signs and warnings given.”
“But your name day, it was a grand
day. The entire Burg was decked out in
Olafson red and Ragnarsson black. A
son, a first son was born into the world. The
Conjurers and Seers that travel from
Burg to Burg to cast the runes and see the
signs, they all came. Clan lords from
as far as the Green Eastern Sea came. The
Lord Keeper of Hasvik itself made the
trip from the Halls of the Faceless Seven.
All the Elders even the Eldest of them
all came, for your grandfather is a mighty
man and the Ragnarsson Falcon is a
standard feared and awed. ”
“You, Eric, are the one combining the
blood of ancient Clans. One of which, must
fade into oblivion as no male heir is
left, but it will not die, as you hold the power
to resurrect the Ragnarssons once you
have sons and decide to break the Seal and
raise the Falcon standard once more.”
“Do you know, it was the Eldest, whom
they say is a Wizard of great age and
powers beyond those of men, who took
the Cup that was called Blotbolli? A cup,
made of the skull of a long vanquished
foe, filled with fresh blood of a Tyranno
slain and doused you with it, then your
name was spoken by the Elders, by the
Keepers and all who were present and
they raised the name Eric with mighty
bellows to the rafters of the High
Hall.”
As he spoke, the old man raised his
right hand against the vaulted ceiling, “Eric
Thor Olafson, the Keeper of Hasvik
himself, insisted your middle name is of the
mightiest of all Aesir. It was Alrik
Eric Olafson, who was the first of thy clan to
set foot on this world. It was Erik
Thorsten, who did so for the Ragnarssons. Erik
Gustav is thy Grandfather's name and
now it is your name.”
He clenched his fist with a fierce
proud glare in his bearded face, “The Eternal
Seer, the Hermit of the Pillar himself
came to your crib. They say he is a
Necromancer, a Wizard who knows secrets
not of this world. Secrets not
understood by all the science of the
Union. He threw the rune stones for you and
explained to all that the name Eric is
of Scandinavian origin, an old name from
Earth and the meaning of Eric is 'ruler
of all'. It is also of Old English origin,
where its meaning is 'eternal ruler.'
The Old Seer said that the runes told him that
you would make the meaning of your name
come true!”
I listened to the tale of the old man
and I did enjoy these old stories, but I was
certain it was just that, stories and
nothing more. The Blood machine was not
done and neither was he.
“In the Great Hall it was when your
father held you high above his head and
yelled 'Behold my Son!' there were many
axes and swords lifted in thy honor.
Then, like the Queen of Nilfeheim
itself, your mother came down the stairs, her
hair as golden as the sun, in a dress
fit for the Elfenkind. With her, was your
grandfather and he proclaimed his
sacred vow, that all that is Ragnarsson on this
world and all worlds beyond the skies
shall be yours on the day you are a man.”
I turned so he would not see my tears,
I missed her so much. I whispered, “Why
has it turned out like this?”
“Because evil stalks this rock, evil
disguised in red satin and velvet, using
witchcraft and trickery that is not of
Nilfeheim, for nothing else can turn a man
such as your father into the lackey of
a woman, Eric.” He patted my shoulder.
“Now it is time you find some rest.”
””
It was only a few days after that, when
I came home from school, there was a big
crowd in the yard of our Burg, men
stood around a bier propped up and on it lay
the body of Old Kveldulf. Greifen
pulled me back into the shadow overhang of
the kitchen wall and whispered. “Don't
be seen now!”
“What happened?” I gasped.
“They say he fell on the steep stairs
to the Sub Den and broke his neck, just as the
Old chief, Volund Olafson did.”
I heard father's strong voice. “Throw
him to the fishes, he dared to speak against
me on my table and now he has robbed me
of the chance to teach him a lesson.”
He made a vulgar gesture. “Let Hel
take care of him now. There is much work to
do so get to it!”
Even from where I was standing, I could
see his smug grin and the triumphant
glare of his eyes. I was only 12, but I
was convinced Kveldulf did not die of an
accident. However, I heeded Greifen's
advice and slipped into the under crofts
and hid in the deep old basements for
the rest of the day.
””
Death was not done and Hel still had
her hand over the Burg, because, the very
next day, Geirhild, one of the
Freewomen working in the Tanneries, threw
herself off the Northern ramparts,
where the DuroCrete and rock walls of our
Burg clung to the very edge of the
sheer cliffs. Nobody told me why she did it.
Midril said this was something I should
better not know, yet, I heard one of the
kitchen helpers whisper that she saw
Harkun, my father’s manservant with her on
that wall, just before she jumped.
When they carried her broken body in,
through the gate, I decided to do the same.
I would throw myself over the wall. It
was quick and no Union Doctor could do
anything. Even though our teacher said
they could bring the dead back to life,
strict laws prohibited that. I'd had
enough of the beatings and the humiliation. It
was fast and I would be in the land of
Hel where mother was and perhaps she
even waited for me.
So, long after midnight when everyone,
even the gate man was asleep, I rushed
across the yard, climbed the solid
DuroCrete steps and pulled myself up between
the battlements.
Nilfeheim had no moons unlike I had
learned other worlds had, but we had a
beautiful star filled sky. The stars
above me twinkled and Earthers had called
them the Pleiades, of which Solken our
own star was one. This region of space
was more commonly known as the Xunx
reach. Of course there weren't any Xunx
left today, and the next day would come
with one Neo Viking less. Almost 120
meters below, dark waves smashed into
the rugged teeth like rocks and turned
into white foaming surf.
“Thor and Odin, you have forsaken me,
punished my mother and cursed me with
a father who hates me more than
anything in the world. I know you hate cowards
but I am not strong enough. Today, he
killed the Nubhir puppy Greifen had given
to me this morning. He stomped the
little animal to a gory pulp and made me
clean it up. He promised he would do
the same to me as soon as I turn sixteen.
What can I do against that?”
There was of course no answer, the Gods
were too busy drinking and celebrating
to notice the perils of a Viking boy. I
jumped, but I did not fall! A leather clad
hand held me by the collar and pulled
me back.
A shadowy figure, a hooded cloak around
his shape said to me. “Who will avenge
your mother if you kill yourself? You
must endure and grow and learn to fight
and then kill Isegrim and cleanse this
Burg from all its filth.”
“Who are you?”
“It matters not, Eric. I cannot
reveal myself to you for now, but if you will come
to me every night, I will teach you the
way of the sword and how to fight. Find
me in the lowest basement, where the
old hidden passage ends. ”
The shadowy figure let me go and
stepped back without making a sound melting
into the truly black shadows of the
battlements. I stepped forward, still at the edge
of my nerves, my mind still reeling
from the death decision I had made only
moments ago, yet there was no one. Did
I just dream?
The very next night, I sneaked down
past the under croft and storage basements,
deep into the roughhewn narrow and
completely dark passageway that was
chiseled out of the rock during the
first Clan wars, almost a thousand years in the
past. It was never completed and ended
in a little cavern like room, no one but me
would come down here during the day,
and certainly, no one would be here at this
hour.
I was certain I had imagined it and was
just a coward too afraid to end it, yet, as I
reached the cavern a voice said, “I
will not talk about anything except to teach
you how to fight and you will never ask
me any questions. If you do, I won't
come back. Do you want me to teach
you?”
“Yes!”
A grinding sandy sound as if stone was
moved over stone occurred and I could
feel a soft breeze of wind. Something
pulled on my mangy Fangsnapper fur cape
and then lights came on, artificial
Lumi plates bolted or glued to a rough ceiling.
The cavern room was spacious and there
were swords and blaster weapons in
racks on the walls, which from the
looks of it, had not been moved or touched in
a thousand years, caked with a thick
layer of dust. There was a bench, a table
made of DuraPlast of all things
and a stack of similar old looking crates at one
end.
The man in the black hooded cape seemed
to have some sort of mask underneath
it, as I could see nothing but black
underneath. The man was at least as tall as my
father, but had the muscles of a peak
athlete underneath black leather and fabric.
He made a gesture across the room. “Yes
Eric, the Ragnarssons were among the
most vicious pirates back in the days
and this is what is left from their spoils. This
room and that past, have long been
forgotten by all but those of true Ragnarsson
blood. Now strip your upper body free
of garments and take that Bokken over
there.”
“I take what?”
“This is how a wooden Training sword
is called at some other corners of the
Universe. Just take it!”
I simply called him teacher and from
that night on, he trained with me every night
for at least 4 hours. When I was done I
was so tired, I had no energy left to
dream... Some of the things he made me
do were strange and odd, something he
called pushups and gymnastics. I didn't
really think it had anything to do with
fighting but I did it anyway. Of
course, I wondered who he was, and I figured he
was someone like old Kveldulf.
While we trained, he told me many
things of the Ragnarsson Clan, but he had an
odd way of speaking. He did speak the
standard union like we all did, but on
Nilfeheim we still used many of the old
worlds and when speaking on any official
business we made sure we talked the
“old” way. We pronounced the 'r' much
stronger and had more 'n' sounds. I
knew all this from our Union School teacher
who always tried to make us speak the
proper Union way. My mysterious teacher,
however, spoke just like our Union
teacher, the proper Union Lingu and while he
knew a lot about Viking ways and words,
he never really used any of the old
words.
Then after many weeks, I climbed down
to the forgotten pirate hideout and
tonight he made me fight him with a
real broad sword for almost an hour. He then
stepped back and said. “The Union
year is soon ending and with it comes Union
Week celebrations and the end of this
school year. You have learned much
indeed, I wish I could teach you more
but I must leave. Your Grandfather is soon
to arrive, when he is here, I must not
be, but the day you become Chief, I will
reveal myself to you. Until then, tell
no one of me, no one, not even him.”
“You commanded me never to ask
questions and even though they burn on my
lips, I have not, but I am far from the
warrior I need to be to face my father.”
“I promised someone who loves you
very much to teach you the craft of war and
skills of fighting. No worries, Eric, I
have opened your eyes to the way of the
sword and I am certain you will find
others to teach you. We will meet again and
then I will tell you who I am.”
He took my hand squeezed it and then
without another word left. I rushed after
him through the secret rock wall door
but the narrow stairwell was empty.
””
Only two days had passed since my
mysterious teacher had left.
Greifen sat in the Kitchen nursing a
tankard of warmed ale with a generous
helping of Midril's secret herbs and
spices that she gave to those who got the cold.
Judging by his bright red nose and the
numb voice, Greifen was very sick or
perhaps had a tankard too much.
I was there as well, sitting in a
corner scrubbing the big kettle, because it was
Wednesday and Midril would make Fin
Stew.
Greifen snorted like a pregnant
Fangsnapper into a huge kerchief and with a
suffering expression and Nubhir puppy
eyes stared at Midril. “Only I catch a cold
in Shortsummer. Those Northern winds
are really stubborn this season, seems the
Frostgiants are not giving up as
easily this Shortsummer.”
She stemmed her left arm into her wide
hips and shook her everpresent wooden
spoon at Greifen. “It's not the
weather that has made you sick. You were drinking
with the Peerson fishers till the wee
hours and one of them had the cold and
infected you.”
“Oh I am sure it was the wind and I
am certain I’ll feel better soon with another
helping of your good herbs with a bit
of that good ale.”
Midril snickered, “Alright, I'll fix
you up.” He got another tankard and took a
deep drought. His face turned as if he
had bitten into a rotten fish, but his red nose
turned color almost instantly back to
normal.
“What in Loki's name was that? This
was not ale with herbs.”
“It was hot water with two anticold
pills and a ToxNeutralizer floating in it.
Traditional herbs won't cure a cold.
The meds from the Union Clinic, however,
will.”
He looked sober, bright, alert,
completely flabbergasted and a tad angry. “That
was a rotten thing to do Midril. I was
just about in the prefect zone and now I’ve
got to start again.”
“Go peel the seaweed stems and I’ll
get you another tankard.”
She plopped a big tray with thick
teninch long seaweed stems before him and
handed him a peeler. Once the tough
outer skin was removed, the soft mushy
inside could be cooked and squished.
He immediately started and then pointed
the peeler at me. “It's a shame how our
Old Sire treats his first born!"
Greifen gave her a thankful nod as she put a
tankard of ale next to the tray.
To me she said. “Eric, leave the
kettle it's clean enough, go get some fresh air.”
I pushed the clean kettle to its spot
and left the kitchen. To make sure no one
would catch me idle and give me
another, usually bad chore. I went outside
beyond the walls.
Except for the small, leveled gravel
area right outside the gate, where floaters
could land, the rest of the island
consisted of sheer cliffs and titanic ragged
boulders. Climbing down the south side,
right past Olle’s Tooth, a particular tall
and rugged rock, said to resemble the
rotten tooth of one of my forefathers, there
was a small, perhaps twelvemeter
deep and twenty meters wide pebble beach
known by the Clan as Sigrid’s Secret.
It was well hidden from sight on each
side by tall cliffs and an overhang from
above. It was one of my favorite spots.
Legend had it that the first Ragnarsson
family landed here claiming this rock.
Another story told about Sten
Ragnarsson, who had killed himself here about 500
years ago and that one could still hear
his screaming as he lamented his
dishonorable death. Ingibjorg
Ragnarsson, his daughter, supposedly buried a
tremendous treasure here. Of course, no
one believed that. Where on Nilfeheim,
would a woman gain a treasure? All her
possessions were her dowry and it was
given to her husband. She too was said
to haunt these cliffs as her spirit was
searching for whatever baubles she had
lost.
As isolated as Nilfeheim tried to
remain from the rest of the Union, we were part
of a technological advanced culture,
yet, many Neo Vikings believed in the
supernatural and stories of the Gods
and tales of haunting and ghosts were never
far from our mind and lips. Midril
claimed to have seen ghosts before. When I
was younger I believed her when she
told about the one legged Gunghir
Ragnarsson, who supposedly haunted the
storage cellar but now I was convinced,
it was a mere tale to keep me and the
other kids from the pickled fish barrels.
I sat down and watched a pair of Toe
Pincher crabs as they scurried over the dark
pebbles and enjoyed the wind and the
weather. I would have loved to go for a
dive but I did not bring my wet suit or
fins. I didn't want to go back all across the
yard to get it as there was a good
chance, I would run into Bjorgolf the Yard
Master who tended the subs and hunting
gear of the clan.
That fat bastard was a favorite of my
father and enjoyed giving me lots to do so
he did not have to do it. Father had
given him explicit permission to beat me
anytime my work was not as expected. He
always found something wrong and a
reason to use his heavy leather belt to
thrash me.
Even though my father had moved the
Olafson Clan, this rock was still known as
Ragnarsson Isle and had been the
traditional home of the Ragnarsson Clan ever
since Nilfeheim was settled by Terran
Colonists. Now during Shortsummer and
on a clear day I could see the Oseberg
Island from my tower window. It was
where the Osebergs had their Burg, but
down here, all I saw were the churning
ocean waves. The Osebergs were mortal
enemies of the Ragnarsson Clan and
until about 500 years ago, there was
open war between these clans. It was still
forbidden to even speak the name
Oseberg within these walls. Many of the older
Clans, including my father lamented the
fact that piracy, clan wars and the raids
on other Burgs were no longer
permitted. He often claimed that he would rather
take the wealth of another clan by axe
and sword than by fishing, working and
marriage, as he put it. That this was
only empty bravado was apparent even to me,
as he did not openly challenge the
Elhir Chief. Using a whip in a Challenge was
only permitted if the opponent would
also choose it, going against a man as wild
and strong as the Elhir Chief and a
master of sword and axe was something
completely different than beating
unarmed servants.
I was watching two crabs fighting over
a dead Silver Flicker Fish; it probably
went too close to the surge as the
waves broke against the cliffs and got smacked
too hard against the rock. Almost too
late, I heard footsteps in the gravel and
more out of instinct I ducked, still
something hit me pretty hard on the head. I
jumped back and turned to see Lothar,
my halfbrother brandishing a wooden
practice sword. He was only ten but had
inherited all the Olafson bulk and was
almost my equal in terms of strength
and body size. His eyes sparkled with
delight as he laughed and screamed. “I
made you bleed, I will tell father!” He
played with his sword making its tip
circle before my face. “I could also kill you
right now and there is nothing you can
do. Raise your hand against me and I tell
father and he will break you.”
“I’ve had it with you and your
arrogance! I am sick and tired of your petty games.
This is Ragnarsson Rock and you and
that father of ours are here by the grace of
my grandfather and my mother!” I
stepped inside his reach, twisted his wrist with
my left and smacked my fist as hard as
I could right into his blabbering smiling
mouth. I could feel something break as
my fist connected, he was flung back;
stumbled and fell. For some reason,
time seemed to slow down as I watched him
fall, the back of his head hitting one
of the bigger rocks. He didn’t move or make
any sound as he lay there and I was
certain I had killed him! I spat out and said.
“Go tell that to father!”
The realization of what I had done hit
me the very same moment. Fear and guilt
made it impossible to even think one
coherent thought. He stirred and opened his
eyes, he was not dead! A voice in me
urged me to finish him off, the crabs would
make short work of his remains and the
surge would take whatever was left. He
would simply be missing and one problem
of my life would be solved! He
deserved to die! He was the son of a
woman who replaced my mother! The
woman was the reason my father had
killed her in the first place! I was the
rightful heir not he!
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed
movement. Four men, wearing dark
wetsuits and armed with spear guns and
swords waded ashore, two of them
dragging a limp body of a man between
them. While the man they dragged
ashore, had his head slumped down so I
could not see his face, I recognized one
of the men, Hilfheim, the brother to
Leif Elhir and the man Greifen had beaten in
a brawl.
The situation was instantly clear, the
Elhir had retaliated and whoever they were
dragging between them wearing Olafson
red was the latest victim in the
escalating feud. They had of course
seen me and Hilfheim barked. “What a
fortune, now our revenge will have more
meaning, the Loki cursed spawn of the
Olafson coward.”
Not that I would have minded them to
beat up my father and not that I had any
chance against four armed men, I was
still Olafson and they had invaded our
rock. They were perhaps the same who
dropped the Fangsnapper. “Four men
against an unarmed boy? It appears the
Elhir have defined cowardice to new
perfection.”
Hilfheim threw his sword. “Here take
this sword, so you are armed.” He gestured
at one of his companions. “Gansbaf,
go teach that whelp a lesson.”
I knew of Gansbaf, he was only three
years older than me, I had seen him at
school a few times when he talked to
Sigvard. He was a cousin or something like
that and was more man than boy. He had
the bulk and muscles of a fullgrown
warrior.
I grabbed the sword and rushed forward,
while I was still an amateur when it
came to fighting, the sword felt good
and like an extension of my arm. Gansbaf
swung his sword in a wide arc as soon
as I was in range. It was about as clumsy
as an opening attack could be, instead
of using my sword to block the swing, I
ducked, felt the sharp steel parting
the air close over my head and then as the
blade was past I hacked my weapon deep
into his shoulder.
I saw a spray of blood and heard
Gansbaf screaming. I also heard voices of alarm
up from the Burg. Then something hit me
hard against the head and everything
went dark.
