We circle; once, twice, and once more. I wait for his attack, which is not long in coming. I sense his weight shift and brace myself. The axe swings around and down, aiming at the joint between my head and shoulder. I swing my arm up and take the blow square on the shield. My arm is half numbed but, from the look on his face, he has suffered the same. As we pass, my hammer lashes out and catches him a glancing blow on the side.

We circle again and again he rushes in. With a scream, he sweeps low, trying to cut my legs from beneath me. I catch the shaft with my hammer and deflect the blade into the dirt. He yanks it free in passing and I take this opportunity to slam my shield into the side of his head. The shock is near as great as his first axe-blow. He has a very hard head.

Again, we circle. He shakes his head as if trying to rid himself of the ringing that I know must be there. He feints to the right and then shifts his attack to the left, his blade cutting a wide horizontal swath at belt-level. I jump back just in time to keep from being disemboweled. His swing turns him half around and he leaps for my unshielded side. I dodge and swing the hammer at the same time. I feel fresh air on my leg as the blade slices away half of my breeks. In the same instant, there is a sickening crunch as my hammer connects with the top of his skull. He gives a grunt and the axe falls at my feet. Hadaig, himself, follows it with a resounding thud. I step back and survey the damage.

I pick up the axe, thinking to take his head as a trophy, then have second thoughts. With the help of a couple of Niafer warriors, we carry the body to the edge of the bog. We wade through the peat-stained water until it is deep enough for my purposes. Silently, we let him sink into the murk. We slog back to the shallows and drag up a sunken, sodden log. This we place atop the corpse, to keep it from rising when next the moon is full. Let him lie here as a warning to those who would set themselves against the Niafer.

Bone-weary and chilled through, we return to the scene of the battle. There are other dead, theirs and ours. From the surrounding trees, we harvest the dead branches and make pyre in the center of the clearing. Atop this, we pile the warriors who died a noble death in battle. I light a bundle of dried grass from the druid’s fitful fire and torch the pyre. We stand back in silent homage to lost friends.

"What of these others?" someone asks, indicating the sacrificer and his two grisly acolytes.

"Leave them for the ravens!" I reply. "It is a fitting end for such carrion."

As the flames die down, I gather my hammer and the axe which killed Dobhar. It shall be a fitting trophy for the Niafer. Slowly, we make our way back to the road, and from there to the little camp we had set up. Around us, we still hear some sporadic battles going on. Most of the warriors who are with me go off to finish the fight. For myself, I have had enough. I have fulfilled my oath and have had enough of this for one season. I return to the camp and drop down beside the fire. The others will find em here when they have finished.