Returning to my private chamber, I throw back my cloak to reveal my hand-less left arm. Though it was ages ago, the edge of Hagen's sword still stings. I took his eye, so the trade was an even one. I laugh weakly, to myself, recalling the days when we had called one another "brother". How fickle an oath. How easily alliances break!

Still, I was at fault. My love for Hildegyth was stronger than I, and our new life together was to be built on the the Waetlings' treasure. How dare Atli give it the false name Nibelung Hoard!

I swiftly change garb, donning the raiment of a foot soldier. A thick, blue hacele over my hauberk should conceal my missing left hand well enough. My helmet and hood adequately hide my face. In the hills, by night, I will steal into my Fyrd's camp and become one of them. And now to choose one of my many names...Uller. Waldere. No, Waltharius, I think. That has the sound of an Alemannic warrior cultured by the Roman comitatus. Of some rank, but not a lord. I look at myself in the glass and smile. Like a thief, I disappear out my chamber window, escaping the watch of my attendants.

I am no longer Eorl Wulder. I am Waltharius the Wayfarer. A spy within my own Fyrd, I mean to protect my brother Amleth, learn of Hildegyth's fate and act as Thidrek's lucky shadow. As much as I would like to trust my Cempa, I cannot help but distrust Hagen and his cunning father, Alberich.

This story continues at The Quest for the Rhinegold.