Gunnar the Fleet was one of the free northmen of Randel, a warrior who served under the thane Ragvaldr, and a wordshaper of some talent. He had been stewing for the last three days in his small hut, hungry, sleepless, trying to figure out what he was going to do.

That morning, Gunnar finally came to a decision. He took his sword out from under the straw bedding upon which he slept and headed to the village square. There he would meet with Halfdan, an old friend of his father's who had always been like an uncle to him, and ask him to sharpen his blade. Though Halfdan had little good to say of Gunnar's elder brother, his own son-in-law, he often spoke Gunnar’s praises to his kinsman as if he were his own flesh and blood. Gunnar was sure he would take his side in this, a support he sorely needed, for the dirty looks the other freemen and women (and even a few thralls) gave him as he passed by inspired little confidence. They lowered their eyes when he caught them staring, partly out of cowardice but mostly, Gunnar thought, out of disgust. Children, especially the girls, kept a wide berth. A toddler on the path, thoroughly enjoying himself with an assortment of wooden boats, immediately began to cry when he saw Gunnar. His mother pulled him close to her skirts, nearly suffocating him with her embrace until Gunnar was gone.

At least no one threw stones anymore. That was progress. But even Halfdan's greeting today was lukewarm. He had heard all about the trouble from Gunnar's brother, and seeing the worn leather scabbard in Gunnar's hand and the hilt poking out of it, had guessed his mind. He began shaking his great shaggy head as Gunnar approached.

"Lad, it's no good," he said. "Lad, if I could, I say it'd be done in a heartbeat–" He gestured for the blade and drew it out and admired it, smiling at some old memory. It was the sword of Gunnar’s father, the only thing that he left Gunnar before he went to serve Unnr, the Drowned God. His lands, his spoils, his thralls, all of that went to Gunnar's brother, as was custom.

"But won't old Ragvaldr—may he die with honor—find out? And what then?" Halfdan returned the sword half-heartedly. It was chipped in many places along its edge and cracked in others. It was likely to break in the heat of battle and Gunnar didn't have the silver to purchase a new one nor would anyone sell it to him if he did. The thane, of course, was unthinkable and the other northmen would sooner spit in his face, if they were so bold.

"In the memory of my father," Gunnar said and Halfdan paused in his hammering work and wiped his brow and sighed. To those with honor, a few words were as good as many. Halfdan seemed he would relent, even as he shook his shaggy head again, but then Solfrid, his daughter, appeared from inside the house, her newborn napping gently on her shoulder, and Halfdan retreated again to his hammer and fire.

Solfrid, Halfdan's daughter, spoke up and said, "He cannot help you, Gunnar. Do not involve my family in your troubles."

"I am your family," Gunnar said softly, remembering a time when the two of them played together, remembering the wreath of sundrops he presented her beneath the shaded glade in the old forest, and her laughter.

"She speaks bluntly, but the truth. We cannot take sides against the thane, not when we are so much in his power," Halfdan added.

So it came back to Gunnar's brother, as always. "Still, he feeds the orphans with borrowed bread? Such generosity should really be celebrated."

"You were ever a bitter and envious wolf, Gunnar Fleetfoot," Solfrid hissed. "And all this over a slave girl—is she so pretty? Well, that is the only way for you, isn't it?"

"Peace, Solfrid!" her father scolded her. But when Solfrid was roused, she struck to the last. She would have said more, knowing that Gunnar would never harm her, not for fear of his brother, who had long since exchanged his sword for silver (in which he had found neither success nor peace), but because she knew that his heart was cold and broken and clung desperately to honor. Whatever barb she had prepared was interrupted by the arrival of Radulfr, the thane's counsel, and she was forced to bow her head.

"Gunnar the Fleet, the thane has summoned you," Radulfr announced.

So word had finally reached him. This could be a trap, perhaps the thane was waiting there with a dozen guardsmen and Gunnar's body would wash up tomorrow on the stones. But the word had spread and as much as he was reviled, such an act of dishonor would embarrass an already diminished house. Maybe the thane wanted to negotiate. It was even possible that he would intercede on Gunnar's behalf, and the whole thing would be settled without bloodshed.

Gunnar nodded at Radulfr, and he visibly relaxed. Maybe he had thought Gunnar was going to start a fight or run away. Gunnar began to strap the sword-sheath to his waist when Halfdan grabbed his arm and took the sword. No words were exchanged. Solfrid scowled at him as he left, but she could not keep up the facade for long, and when he looked back, he could see her watching his shrinking back with a softer expression. It was not hate which compelled her to curse him, but shame. Shame over his brother's misfortune. And perhaps shame over his own.

The thane's mead hall was nearly empty at this time of day. No dozen guards were waiting with secret blades, just Ragvaldr sitting on his carven throne, leaning forward so far on the cushion that it seemed as if he would fall off any moment. His son, Hakon, with whom this whole dispute began, was nowhere to be found. More and more it felt like this would be a negotiation, but it did not escape Gunnar's attention that both the thane and his counsel were armed and he was not. Granted, they were old men, and the thane was sick with a racking cough, and the Radulfr was no warrior, yet the blade which Ragvaldr wielded was a gift from the dwergs, and though it had not been drawn in twenty years, it was rumored to be bound with magic runes that enchanted it still.


Perhaps it would be best to forgo the usual courtesies to show that he meant business. Surely Ragvaldr knew that his son could not hope to best him in the holmgang to which he had been challenged. Insult upon insult should be returned in kind. On the other hand, he had served his thane with loyalty his whole life, why abandon that courtesy now?

Gunnar knelt before the thane, as was custom, and greeted him in a loud, clear voice. Whatever the sins of his son, Ragvaldr had been a just ruler for many years and was worthy of that much.

"Rise, Gunnar Fleetfoot," Ragvaldr said. "And face me." His voice was rough and filled with phlegm, and every word seemed measured in pain. The mote of onyx stone where his right eye once was winked in the low light while the left one gazed steadily upon Gunnar like the eye of the sun. Of all the men in this village, Ragvaldr alone had never once flinched at Gunnar's ugliness. The only other one was his mother—who knew him for only one small hour before she passed. His own father could not look at him for long. The nurses he hired had tried more than once to kill him. His brother thought he was the spawn of a troll when he first saw him and ran screaming from the room. Ragvaldr alone held his eyes. "My son is a fool, Gunnar the Fleet. He is young and he is brash and he is a pup nipping at the heels of a white-wolf, who does not know the pain of teeth–but he is my blood even so, my little boy. I cannot give him to the wolf."

"The wolf does not want him."

"No? What, then, does he ask of me?"

"Of you, my thane, nothing. Of your son—only what is rightfully mine."

"Is that so? The thrall, then."

"Her… and also his concession."

Ragvaldr laughed until he broke into a coughing fit, which ended with the counsel rushing to his aid—though it was Gunnar who got there first. He patted Gunnar's hand as he held him up and leaned him against the back of the throne. "You would have a thanewer kneel? That boy is as prideful as a perched owl. He would sooner agree to a gelding. And as for the thrall, he will not part with her either. I have seen her and I know this in my heart." He looked at Gunnar for a long while, tracing the chilblains on his cheek and forehead with his eyes. "It is because she tells him she is afraid of you, Gunnar. A beauty in fear emboldens even the hare." He stopped Gunnar before he could object to the accusation. "I know. It has not once passed in your thoughts; it is unthinkable to you. But will you not take silver? Will you not take two--no take three of my thralls instead and let all this go?"

Perhaps he should take the offer even so, try his luck elsewhere, or else ask for more. But his honor rebelled against this. And honor was all he had left—all he had ever had.

"If you know what you ask, then you know that three slaves are not enough," Gunnar said.

The thane sighed heavily and opened his palm, a sign for Gunnar to name his price. Five thralls, and some silver for his little parcel of land, and a boat to carry it all. A kingly sum all told, but little compared to the life of his only son. "And I want you to forgive my brother's debts, whatever they are. Do this as a gift after I am gone and do not mention my name."

"It will be done," said the thane, nodding at his counsel to take heed of all the demands. "Retire now to your home and wait two days. The boat shall be brought to you and you must leave upon it. You must not tell anyone of this agreement, do you swear it? In the name of your father, will you swear this?"

"Yes. And there is one more thing."

"Ask."

"I will see her before I go."

The counsel, Radulfr, opened his mouth in rebuke but the thane waved him down. He thought for a moment. "It will have to be done without my son's knowledge. Tonight. When the moon is out. Is there anything else? You have served me well Gunnar, I know, and even this is a small recompense for your service."

"It is enough, my thane."

"So be it. Go then, and be well." He began to cough again. The counsel helped him up and took him to his chambers. Gunnar saw himself out. First, he headed back to Halfdan to retrieve his sword, but he had already begun forging it anew and told him he would have it ready by tomorrow. Solfrid was not there, but he met his brother on the road.

"You knew about my debt brother! Were you so desperate for the touch of a woman that you'd risk the livelihood of your own flesh and blood?" Gunnar had half a mind to break his brother's pretty face for a moment. Sensing this, his brother backed away and grew silent. "Is there nothing I can say that will change your mind?" He seemed genuinely concerned. He was always Gunnar's defender as a child, even as he hated to look at him. Then their father began to teach the two of them the sword and Gunnar's talents finally outmatched his brother’s. It was then that they began to drift apart.

His brother grabbed Gunnar and turned him around. "Answer me. Will you forget this foolish challenge?" Should he tell him about the arrangement? But if the word spread to Hakon, it would prove disastrous. Not to mention Solfrid. On the other hand, his brother was sure to pester him for the remainder of his time here if he didn't.

He held his tongue. It was only two more days, and then he wouldn't see them ever again. Part of him would even miss his brother. For all his faults, covetousness was not among them. He wished him and Solfrid happiness, and perhaps, once his debts were forgiven, he would move on to better pastures. He cursed him as he crested the little hill which overlooked his tiny hut. Then as he disappeared into the valley, he heard him yell, "Well… at least win!" He wondered what he would think when he disappeared, would he call him a coward? Would Solfrid?

Later that night, when the moon had risen above the clouds, he took his long walking stick (for there were hidden burrows and small pits in the hill which were hard to see in the night) and headed to the meeting place: a small glade of trees about a half-mile from the village. He could spot the lantern light from a great distance away, winking as it paced between the trees. On closer approach, he heard the snapping of twigs, the sound of breathing in the woods. White-wolves did not roam this close to town, nor their smaller grayer cousins. It could be the thane's men, keeping watch over the girl just in case—that would be the counsel's doing, if so. The thane trusted him enough to know he would never hurt a woman, not even a slave.

He drew closer and watched her from a hidden place. It was she, though dressed now in garments much too lavish for a thrall. She chewed on a strand of hair and tapped her foot and paced. There was someone with her, a guardsman--but that was to be expected. Perhaps it was him he heard? Or was this a trap? If so, a tree would give better vantage.

He began to climb. It was difficult to keep silent and once or twice his feet brushed and broke off pieces of bark but he managed to ascend undetected. Then he waited. Very soon, he began to make out shapes, shadows too large to be birds or other beasts, perched on the surrounding trees. In the dim moonlight that passed through the leaves he could make out the sheen of their arrowheads.

He counted about half a dozen in all, unarmored (or at least not with iron or steel). It was difficult to make out their faces but they had to be the thane's guardsmen. Who else would know about the meeting? Could it be that Ragvaldr had betrayed him? Or was this Radulfr's doing? Or could it be that Hakon found out and wanted to force the holmgang?

They had not spotted him, so he could simply slink away. He had no weapons besides his walking stick, but the men were scattered enough that he could take them out one by one without alerting the others. He could then arm himself with their weapons. But it was a great risk.

The guardsmen were all facing toward the eastern path, the direction they expected him to arrive. Thus, he carefully climbed down the tree and with the utmost attention to his movements, he circled around and approached the nearest of their trees from its blind side. He shed his boots when he was close and climbed it as quietly as a cat.

The guard did not notice until it was too late. Gunnar had his arm around his throat and with his other hand he clamped shut his mouth and nose. He pressed his mouth to his ear and with the slightest whisper told him that he could snap his neck at any moment and he would unless he answered his questions truthfully. The guard nodded. "Did the thane send you?" No. "Does he know about this?" No. "Radulfr?" Hesitation. "He was involved, but not alone." Yes. "Hakon?" Yes. "Is he among you?" Yes. Interesting, the thaneweir came himself. Perhaps he wanted to see Gunnar die with his own eyes. "How many of you are there, nod when I say the right number." Six in total, as he had guessed. "Would you have killed me here?" No. "You're here to protect the thrall?" Yes. "From me?" Yes. "I ask again, did Hakon come to kill me?" No. "You expect me to believe he brought six men with readied bows to ensure the protection of a single thrall? Do I seem slow to you? Is my name Gunnar the Slow?" Emphatic no. "Show me where Hakon is, with your eyes." A tree about 80 meters away with three guards perched in the trees between. Of course, he could always be lying, it was hard to make out anything in this darkness.

Gunnar could attempt to grab Hakon, wresting the answers from his own mouth. Though, it was likely that the humiliation of being caught might incite him to bolder ventures than this. Leave now, however, and while the guard would tell Hakon everything when he woke, he could slink back to the village and seek answers and aid from the thane. Perhaps even leave tonight with his promised goods. It may even be that the guard was telling the truth. Hakon was young, probably had taken a liking to the pretty thrall. Such foolishness wasn't beyond him. But that Radulfr was involved gave Gunnar pause. Radulfr was a cunning fox indeed.

Gunnar tightened his hold on the guard's throat, whispering to the guard that he would not kill him, but only put him to sleep. The guard went limp. Gunnar took his weapons and laid him carefully against the trunk so that he would not fall off, then he fell away from the woods and headed toward the village. Things were afoot in which he had no desire to get involved and the sooner he could leave the village, the better.

The gamblers and drunks came out at night, and the mead hall was noisy and lit up with their carousing. The dice-players were sitting on their bearskins huddled in one corner. A bard was dancing and singing on one of the tables to the delight of his audience. But the thane was not at his usual place on the throne. His sickness had forced him to retire earlier and earlier these days. The doors to his chambers were usually guarded by two men, but right now they seemed busy trying to earn the attention of some of the serving girls.

Gunnar was about to move on when he spotted Solfrid among the drunken guards in the meadhall. He didn't know she was working there for the thane, but it was probably to help pay off his brother's debts. Solfrid was trying her best to avoid the wandering hands of the guards without angering them, but was having a hard time of it. One of them kept trying to kiss her face, even as she turned it violently side-to-side. Gunnar found his hand automatically drifting to the hilt of his sword. This was all his brother's fault -- in fact, he wouldn't be surprised if it was he who came up with this hideous arrangement.

Gunnar wanted to intervene, but as his eyes wandered toward the center stage, he noticed Radulfr sitting beside the throne on the smaller seat set especially for the counsel. One of his thralls was bent over, whispering something in his ear and for the moment he was distracted. Rushing to Solfrid's aid might catch his unwelcome attention. Not to mention this was a perfect chance to slip into the thane's chambers unnoticed. But now one of the guards had his arm around Solfrid's waist and was pulling her close. She looked about ready to cry. Gunnar could create a distraction, but there was a risk Radulfr would spot him.

Solfrid and his brother had made their bed and now must lie in it. Gunnar had more pressing concerns. At any rate, their predicament would only last a few more months; the debt would soon be forgiven.

He kept near the walls and when the opportunity arose, sneaked past the distracted guards and into the thane's bedchambers. The thane was prostate on the floor, kneeling before the idol of a great black crow, Fritjof, the thief of peace, keeper of the night stars, and the god of war. Gunnar entered so quietly that the thane did not notice his presence until he opened his eyes and saw his warped reflection on the head of the idol.

The thane turned slowly, coughed into his hand, and frowned. He seemed to scan Gunnar's clothes -- perhaps for blood -- and saw his sword, glanced at his own resting beside the statue, but did not reach for it, merely looked at the ground, as though ashamed. "You should not be here," he muttered.

"There were guardsmen waiting for me in the woods. And your son. Tell me you didn't know." Silence. A hot and burning sensation spread down to Gunnar's stomach. Was the guard lying? Or was it merely delegated to Radulfr? The heat spread to his face and he could even feel tears spring into his eyes which he promptly forced down. The thane was the only one in the village who could look at him. "You gave me your word."

"Be done with it," the thane said, still not meeting his eyes. "But tell me, does my son still--"

"He lives. I've harmed no one."

The thane swallowed thickly. "Beneath the bed, there is a lockbox of some few hundred silver and a dozen gold pieces. Take it and go."

"And my ship? My thralls?"

"Did you really think I'd give so much to -- I may well as give them to a troll. Take it and go. You will not be missed, that much I can assure you."

The money was more than what Gunnar's little plot of land was worth, but far less than the price of five thralls and a ship. And he didn't want any of the thane's patronage. He had half a mind to slit the thane's throat and leave him bleeding there for his maids to find in the morning. But that would almost be a mercy, a sweet release from infirmity, a death with some honor. And what of his brother's debts? Kill the thane and there was no guarantee of forgiveness—not that there was any now.

Always this world reduced to what a man could hold in his hands: a woman, a gold coin, steel, even his gods he carved out from stone and wood—and they became his master. But not Gunnar's master.

"I don't want your money," he said.

"Killing me won't do anything. You think my son will forgive the debts of those kin to his father's killer? He'll chase and destroy you. And even the white-wolf cannot run forever."

Gunnar bent down and seized the thane by his collar, lifting him bodily off the floor. It was incredible how light and feeble he had become. The thane did not even bother to struggle. "Unhand me!" he said. Gunnar ignored him and threw him toward the doors. The thane fell on his side and slid out into the hall. In a moment, the singing and shouting ceased. All were holding their breath when Gunnar stepped out.

"This thane has betrayed me, one of his loyal northmen, a free man of this village. He is an oathbreaker, a liar and a scoundrel. He and his son both. Therefore I challenge him—and this house—to a holmgang, you all are witnesses to my challenge. Let the thane answer me, upon his honor, or be branded a coward for the rest of his days."

Radulfr screamed for the guards and four of them rushed to seize Gunnar with several more on the way. Gunnar drew his blade and took a stance. The guards hesitated but drew their own weapons. "Cease!" said the thane, slowly standing to his feet. "No one shall harm him! No one shall harm him!" The guards stepped back, still coiled to spring. "Gunnar Fleetfoot, for your insolence in making such accusations against your own thane, I accept your challenge. You shall have your duel in three days and the loser will be left as spoils for the servants of Fritjof." As dishonorable a death as they came—the thane understood at least what Gunnar put at stake. So be it. But it would not be Gunnar's entrails the crows feasted upon. As the thane had claimed the loser's fate, so Gunnar could now claim that of the winner's.

The easiest thing would be to force the honoring of his former agreement, but victory would come with its own separate consequence. A thaneslayer—even a justified one—was welcome in few places in the north, and trusted by still fewer. He could ask for an oath—with a god as witness—that his family would not be harmed; they could not break such an oath, but if they could not kill them, they could make their lives miserable. He could take their lands, claim thaneship, but who among the people would follow him, the ice-troll? Perhaps it was better not to ask for anything—honor was at stake, and only honor to the victor.

Gunnar asked only for the thane to honor his arrangement, an oath by Fritjof whose bonds were stronger than his own brittle words. Radulfr protested, descending from the stage to rattle off the law. "He has threatened your life, my thane, he is no longer a citizen of Randel and not protected by its laws." The thane rebuked him harshly, falling into another coughing fit which spattered blood into his hand. He casually wiped this away on his tunic.

"I say this before you all, not one of you shall harm him. Leave him in peace until the appointed time. Do not defy me in this," he added, for Radulfr was ready to protest again. Seeing the thane's jaw set in the matter, Radulfr changed gears.

"Then, my thane, you shall do my family great honor to let my sons represent you in this holmgang. Bjorn! Bjorg!" Two great and sturdy men rose from the tables, towering over their peers, perfect duplicates but for their teeth--one cast in silver, the other in wood. They lumbered to their father in lockstep silence, and their father beamed over them with unrestrained pride. The thane, however, did not once leave Gunnar's eyes.

"I shall have no substitute," he said. "He and I shall fight as equals." Radulfr was so stunned by this he could not even find the words to object. Even Gunnar had to ask if the thane was serious, if he thought this wise. His old loyalties lingered; memories of a kind word or two after a battle, a warm hand on his shoulder. To others, it was nothing, but to the ice troll… However, if the thane thought pity would stay his hand--no, in his eyes Gunnar could see some hidden plot. Some secret reserve and need. The thane was a warrior once, and this had summoned all his violent blood.

He reiterated his orders about Gunnar's safety and then, once again, retired to his chambers, with Radulfr yipping at his heel. Gunnar turned to leave, feeling numb, with a faint ringing in his ears. The crowd parted to let him pass, for the moment too shocked to hurl the customary insults or spit on him. Solfrid followed him outside and ran after him, begging him to stop and speak to her. Now might be an opportunity to tell her about the forgiveness of his brother's debts--should he win. He would take it better hearing it from her; spare his pride. Yet, Gunnar did not wish to face her now, not while he was still raw from the thane's betrayal.

Gunnar stopped and let Solfrid approach, but he tried his best to hide his face. "What is it?" he said, his voice low. Perhaps she didn't expect him to stop because now she doesn't know what to say. "Whatever you were going to say, don't."

"Why are you doing this?" she said, discarding the scornful tone she used this morning for something more desperate. Gunnar remained with his back to her. "What's this arrangement you were talking about?"

"Nothing that concerns you--except that after this fight--should I win--my brother's debts will be forgiven. You won't have to spend your nights as a common serving girl." A small cold breeze blew between them, filling the silence. "I suggest you leave when you can; there's no guarantee of your safety once I've gone."

"So you are going?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Of course it--"

"Tell my brother what I've said. He will take it better coming from you, and tell him not to search for me. Tell him… I wish him well."

"We could go together."

"No," Gunnar said, firmly.

"Why not?" Solfrid whispered.

He turned, scrunching his already hideous face into something so terrible, that she recoiled in horror. "Look at me! Look at what I am! Go together? When I win, will they call me a hero? Will they parade me in the streets? I will always be the ice-troll; victory will only earn me the title of thaneslayer. You all will be safer without me, alive or dead." With those words he left her, and returned to his hovel.

The next few days passed quietly enough for Gunnar. The thane's commands were reluctantly obeyed and he was not harassed. He stayed away from town unless it was absolutely necessary, as when he went to pick up his sword from Halfdan. His brother came once or twice to speak with him, and when he did not open his doors, he sent Solfrid in his stead. But Gunnar had said his peace and it was better for them to forget him.

The day before the holmgang, Gunnar received a surprise visitor: Radulfr, with the patriarch of the Solveigs, distant relations of Solfrid's family and a powerful clan in their own right, equal—if not greater now—to the house of the thane. Perhaps they had come seeking to act as the officiant of the holmgang. It was also possible they wanted to make some kind of deal. At any rate, Radulfr refused to divulge anything until Gunnar let them in. The possibility of a trap occurred to him now as well.

"Swear to our gods that you wish me no harm, patriarch," Gunnar said, his sword ready in his hands should they have other motives. The head of the Solveigs laughed.

"Harm you? My dear boy, I am here to make your fortune."

"Forgive me, patriarch, but I'm not the kind to be fooled twice if I can help it."

He laughed again. "Yes, you have cause for suspicion. Very well, I swear by Geir, by Andor the gray eagle, I am only here with good intentions."

Looking through the peephole, Gunnar could only see the two of them; Radulfr and the patriarch didn't even bring any guards. "How many are you?"

"Enough of this!" said Radulfr. "Open this door, you insolent--" The patriarch shoved Radulfr back, no longer as jolly.

"Just what you see, Gunnar. But even my patience has limits."

Gunnar opened the door and moved to add a log to the firepit in the middle of the hut. The patriarch was a tall, wide-shouldered man, with a white mustache that curled up at the ends. He went straight to business, perhaps wishing to spend as little time as possible in Gunnar's presence. It was clear that Gunnar's appearance disturbed him.

His proposal was simple: kill the thane and claim his title. Then, graciously surrender it to the patriarch, in exchange for which he'd be given whatever he desired. Double what the thane had arranged or else a privileged position in his clan for him and his family. "You are after all distant relatives, no one would challenge such a turn."

"And the house of the thane?" Meaning Hakon.

"Those who contest us shall meet an appropriate fate. Having suffered what you have at their hands, I assume you have no complaints. What say you, Gunnar Fleetfoot?"

Such a deal would have to be kept secret and would pervert the very nature of the holmgang, given that the conditions have already been set. But what chance did Hakon have of ruling Randel after his father's demise? Perhaps this was all for the best.

The proposal was generous enough, but what concerned him was why Radulfr—the thane's own counsel—was here in support. Radulfr, sensing these thoughts, cleared his throat and explained, "The thane has demonstrated a... lapse in judgment and good sense—not to mention honor," he hastily added, opening his palm to Gunnar. "In any case, he is no longer fit to rule Randel, and it is our duty—mine and yours, Gunnar—to see that Randel and its people have fit leadership, a man of sound mind and principles."

"Subterfuge and skullduggery are hardly synonymous with principle, Radulfr," said the patriarch, speaking aloud what was in Gunnar's own mind. "But power flows naturally to those most fit to wield it. I trust this natural course more than the will of the gods or characters of men. You see that I am transparent before you, Fleetfoot, because my convictions are true, if not always pure. Whether you win or lose, Ragvaldr will be weakened. For us it is only a matter of time. Plans which might have come to fruition in two years shall be decided in two days, but the end result remains the same."

"And there's another reason—why you should want to help us, Gunnar," added Radulfr, "the thane's secret weapon, the ancestral dwerg blade…" Radulfr puffed up. "I know its powers and if you decide to help us, I will reveal them to you as well as show you how to foil them."