It is said that warriors who lose an arm or leg in battle will sometimes wake up in the night with a terrible itch on a limb they can no longer scratch. I can attest to this. I have woken numerous times since the Battle of Gunnarson Field, looking down at where my hand should be and wondering, nay hoping, it was all a dream.

I recall very little of the battle itself. I did my best to stir the spirits of our warriors, and they chanted and cheered and then the battle commenced. My comrades and I tried to flank the enemy. Our first target was the sorcerer, for we knew his magic could potentially turn the battle. I think he was surprised by Gwynaeth and I, and barely fought back, although his horse managed to knock me to the ground and shatter my shield. We managed to bring him to the ground and land a number of telling blows. But was he dead? With a sorcerer skilled in the dark arts, who could tell? Forletan tried to retrieve the body and so I intercepted.

The chaos of the battle seemed to swirl around me. Everywhere I looked, I could see flashing blades and warriors falling, both friends and foes. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a tremendous pain struck my arm. I'm not sure what happened, but as I tried to look at my arm, darkness enveloped me and I passed out. As I passed in and out of consciousness, I caught glimpses of Gwynaeth fighting an epic duel with the giant Nawuht. I tried in vain to join her, but the pain in my arm was too intense and every time I tried to stand, the darkness would envelope me again. My last memory of the battle was seeing Nawuht fall to his knees, his face contorted in a silent scream and Gwyneath's sword covered in blood.

When I next awoke, the battle was over and I was being tended to by Aelwyn. My shield arm was missing. The Gods have undoubtedly punished me for transgressing my oath and their punishment has been firm and swift. I asked Aelwyn if she could use magic to restore my arm, perhaps drawing on the power of the Blunstone.

“It’s energy has been drained.” She responded. “Besides, it might be… unwise.”

She is right, of course. We rallied the villagers to fight the Eorl because he was in league with a dark sorcerer. What would they think if a fallen warrior suddenly regrew a severed limb? And besides, my punishment has come from the Gods themselves. To defy them again? Folly. In any event, Aelwyn did her best to ease my pain and speed the healing, while recounting to me the outcome of the battle.

Despite superior numbers, the Eorl’s men had been defeated. The turning point in the battle came when additional forces seemed to appear from the forest to join our village. Their support demoralised the flagging forces of the Eorl and they turned and fled. Some of the our warriors claimed they were valkyries, sent from Valhalla to aid us in our time of need. Sadly, Reeve Aldhelm did not survive the fight, and Thane Osric was wounded severely. A few days after the battle, he died.

Caelin presented us with Osric’s Will. We were each rewarded for our part in the battle. Aelwyn was presented with the Seal of Tiwesdaeg and the accompanying right to hold lands after marriage. Gwynaeth was appointed Captain of the Daughters of Tiwesdaeg and allocated the funds to raise their numbers to 16. I was bequeathed the Thane’s helm and axe, two items of fine craftsmanship. But the greatest surprise was the declaration that Godmund was the rightful heir to the Thanedom, should he wish to accept the responsibility.

But what was that mention of treasure? Very interesting indeed.