"No, Hagen, do not fight me!" I exclaim. I suddenly realize he is blind to me. Is it the scale I am still holding in my hand? Desperate at what is happening, I open my shirt mail to put it back. In a sudden wild lunge, Hagen sinks his sword into my exposed flesh, between the shoulder and the neck.

The searing pain is nothing compared to the shock and the grief. I fall back, clutching at the wound. How can I be so suddenly weak, I who have faced giants and fought side by side with Atli's fiercest warriors? Was it the previous blow on the head? Or have I exhausted my energies in that burst of fire against Fafnir?...

I do not know how bad the wound is. It could be mortal, for the way I feel. I have no fear of dying - but of failing, oh, of failing...

What will Hildibrands say when he learns of this? What of all his teachings? There is no place in Valhalla for those who died of stupidity. My father and my ancestor Amal will not have to look into my face and be ashamed...