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Chapter 1
Oil lamps and torches began winking into life in the valley below, pin points of lights like the demonic eyes of Hel’s denizens. Soon hundreds turn to thousands as the unsuspecting people stir within Fort Brastin, the furthest outpost the Aquilonians dare occupy until reinforcements arrive in the spring. In the valley, a sound pulls Raggnar’s attention from the scene, turning he watches his blood brother Cuthred adjusting his new breastplate, a fine piece of Aquilonian steel once belonging to the captain of that same reinforcing army, their corpses now rotting where they lay.
Not for the first time the grizzled fighter cannot imagine how his life has taken him to this place. Ten years ago he would have butchered all of these people surrounding him not of fair skin and pale eyes, convinced by his father, grandfathers and every member of his clan from the first one Crom hammered out on his anvil that they were less than him and worthy only to taste the edge of his sword. His head drooping with the weight of guilt for betrayal of his blood, of his people, his clan and home land.
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