Gunnar braced himself, his long blade high over his shoulder, both hands locked to the long carved haft.
“Grim Hagen,” he called mockingly. “Here we are at the edge of the stars. Just you and I left on top of this world. Just you and I of the two crews that sailed from Opal. The mad gods have made bonfires of the suns. Ragnarok has come and passed. I have no quarrel with these people, Grim Hagen. Come forward now and let the two of us end what should have been ended long ago—”
Grim Hagen silenced his men and screamed back: “Gunnar, what I say now I have said before. I promised you death. But I will let you go free—and all the frightened rats below can go free—if you will give me Wolden’s secret—”
“I know nothing of Wolden’s secret. It may be nothing but a twitch in your mad brain. The old Blood-Drinker and I know but one secret, Grim Hagen, the secret of death. Step forth like a man now and I promise you more peace than even Wolden’s secret could give you.”
Grim Hagen said no more to Gunnar. He sent four companies in the direction of other entrances to the underground city. Then he martialled his remaining men and threw them toward Gunnar in threes.
Three by three they came, and three by three they went down. Braced on his strong, short legs Gunnar flailed them like wheat. Screams and curses filled the night. And Gunnar piled the dead before him.
One by one the companies returned to Grim Hagen and reported that for the present there was no other way into the room below.
Grim Hagen held a short council of war. He had less than a score of the white-skinned soldiers left. These he sent at Gunnar in a body, and came following after with the remaining Lorens.