1 - Setting the Record Straight

There are many Viking heroes still spoken of today. Ragnar Lothbrok. Erik the Red. Freydis Eriksdottir. But of all of those Vikings, as great as they were, as amazing as their lives and accomplishments were, and as insanely bloodthirsty as they all were (seriously, Freydis was someone you did not want to piss off… I did once and she tried to put a sword through me), they all pale when compared to the mightiest Viking hero of them all.

Me.

Gustav Gustavson.

Also known as Gustav the Great, Gustav the Powerful, Gustav the Dragon Slayer, Gustav the Fantastic in Bed, and Gustav the Hyperbolist. I’m not sure what that last one means. My mom called me that one day, and I liked the sound of it.

It is a shame, almost criminal if you ask me, that my exploits are all but forgotten. Jealousy of the heroes who came after me made sure of that. They did everything they could to erase the tales of my achievements from history, typically by claiming them as their own.

Well, fear not for I’m here to right that great injustice so the world may know of my glorious deeds once more. Without doubt, when people come to hear of my heroics they’ll hoist me upon their shoulders in celebration while they demand I make love to their womenfolk.

Being a hero is such a hard life.

I was born into this world naked and screaming a mighty battle cry that humbled the midwives so many centuries ago now I’ve lost count. Long before those other guys I mentioned earlier though. Dirty, story-thieving bastards, the lot of them.

Named for my father, Gustav, obviously. He was a man so self-absorbed he named his first born son, me, after himself.

My first memories of him are from when I was but a toddler. We were all sat around the great dining table, drinking ale and eating huge slabs of meat straight from the bone, as my father told stories exaggerated to the point of ridiculousness.

He talked of his exploits and his heroics so often it’s a wonder I’m as humble as I am today. Growing up with a father like that I could have easily become an overblown pompous braggart.

Thank the gods I dodged that bullet, huh?

So I’ll skip the stories you’re likely already familiar with and go straight to a good one where I discovered a new land. A land like no other I’d seen before or since.

A land filled to bursting with such fantastical creatures like you’ve never seen. Giants, orcs, elves, even dragons. Well, a dragon. I’m assuming there was more than one.

The time I spent there made me who I am today. But more on that later. I don’t want to go giving away the end of the story before I’ve begun.

So grab yourself a horn and fill it with ale. Grab your wench, or, um, man wench I guess… depending on your preference, and sit back and listen as I spin you a tale of Viking adventure unlike any you’ve ever heard before.

2 - Sailing for the Edge of the World

We were at sea, sailing into new waters to explore the furthest reaches of our known world. Perhaps even to find Jormungand, the World Serpent, battle with it, and take whatever riches it hoards for our own. To prove myself even mightier than Thor would be my crowning achievement.

I could retire, buy my own country and live off my spoils. Poets would sing of my battle even after thousands of years. Women and men alike would weep, saddened by never meeting the most famous Viking that ever lived.

I’d have many sons and daughters who would adventure into the world. Never eclipsing my own fame of course, but would be known among the masses for their bravery, cunning, and their relationship to me. Oh, how I wanted that day to come.

Fate, on the other hand, had something else planned for me, so none of that came to pass. But I’ve digressed from my story, and you’ll find out what happened in good time.

After assembling the most fearsome raiding party of fifty of the strongest men and women I could find at short notice, we took to the seas. I, naturally, stood at the head of the ship as we sailed into the wide blue yonder.

I set my face against the wind, my expression matching that of the carved timber dragon figurehead of our impressive longboat. The boat itself was easily the second largest I’d ever set foot on.

The largest, mine of course, suffered a grave misfortune during my last adventure and sunk to the bottom of a fjord. A shame, really. Built it myself.

I had a sneaking suspicion it was sabotage from a rival, jealous no doubt of the impressive size of my ship.

The one I found myself upon this day was one we had liberated from its moorings the previous evening in my home village of Skagunts. Its owner, Bjorn Mjolnir who I suspected was the one responsible for the aforementioned sabotage, was none too keen on our idea to venture into unexplored open waters.

The weather that day was perfect for sailing and we had tried everything to get him to volunteer his boat but he wouldn’t budge.

My bribes of treasure and other spoils fell on deaf ears. I offered him more than fair terms for the use of his boat, but he refused to budge. I tried all day and all afternoon, returning again and again with new offerings, but still he wouldn’t agree to our voyage.

Eventually, wanting to get the journey underway while the weather was right, and given the lateness of the hour, the swiftest and simplest course of action was for us to kidnap Bjorn and steal his ship.

I figured once we were underway he’d understand entirely and be reasonable about it.

He wasn’t, so I gagged him and tied him to the mast. When the wind blew just right, his muffled curses reached me, even when I stood at the bow and tried to ignore him. Cantankerous old bastard. I’m glad he drowned.

Oops. Spoilers, sorry. That happens a little later.

Sailing across the open ocean that morning was, for the most part, uneventful. We made good time thanks to a strong wind, and by sundown we were confident in our decision. Even old Bjorn looked like he was in a happier mood. We told him we would take off his gag on the sole condition he wouldn’t complain.

He nodded his acceptance, so we removed it. We left him tied to the mast, lest he got other ideas. I gave him a sip of water from my waterskin, and a piece of salted fish. He thanked me between bites, and I sat down beside him and stared out over the waves.

“Tell me, Bjorn,” I said after eating some fish myself, “what would you do if I was to untie you?”

He chewed his fish for a few moments before answering.

“Mighty Gustav,” he, to the best of my recollection, replied, “I see now the error of my ways. Surely the gods themselves have blessed this voyage we are on. The wind is strong and the skies are clear. I feel embarrassed for my previous reluctance.”

I studied him for a time through one eye. Like Odin, I too would give an eye for greater knowledge. In situations like this when I’m faced with a difficult decision, I like to look at the world like Odin would. Bjorn stared back at me, a smile plastered on his face. Pieces of half-chewed fish stuck in the gaps of his blackened and rotten teeth.

I stroked my beard and considered his words.

“I don’t believe you, Bjorn,” I said, concluding he had told me only what I wanted to hear.

His smiling face turned to a sneer before I had even finished talking. He spat the rest of his fish at me, but it sailed harmlessly past my head. I laughed at his pathetic aim which enraged him further.

“You’re going to kill us all, you know that?” he said, spitting more flecks of fish at me with each word.

“Nonsense,” I replied. “But I do believe the gods have blessed this adventure like you said. Even if it was in jest, it doesn’t make it any less true.”

“Blessed? Blessed? You’re a band of no-hopers and feeble-minded drunks! Even if we somehow manage to survive, I’ll be too ashamed to show my face in public ever again. I cannot believe I was captured by such fools.”

“That’s really not on,” I said, standing up to defend my crew’s honor and no doubt saving him from their wrath. “With me as their leader it doesn’t matter who or what they were before. From today onwards my actions will inspire them and they’ll become legends in their own right. Maybe not appearing in as many sagas as I do, but I’d expect the poets to write at least a few poems about them.”

Bjorn laughed again and glanced around at the men and women manning the oars.

“Poems, you say? Let me try one for you then. Your very presence is inspiring me to wax lyrical,” he said and cleared his throat. “There once set sail a crew from Skagurds; A sorry lot. Mostly drunken old turds…”

“IF YOU DON’T MIND,” I said, cutting off his poor attempt at poetry, “I’d rather leave it to the professional poets.” He sniggered at me but at least I’d shut him up. “Now, if you can’t behave, I will have to gag you again.”

“Fine, I’ll behave. You won’t hear another word out of me.”

I stared at him through one eye again.

“That’s good. If you can keep it up, show you can be part of the team we’ll eventually cut you free. Keep true to your word, Bjorn Mjolnir, and you might get a cut of our spoils.”

“Not another word shall I speak,” he replied. “Except to warn you that I think, perhaps, Thor may not agree with your plans.”

I puzzled at him for a moment then turned my attention out over the ocean and towards the sky.

As we had been talking a storm, unlike any other I had seen, had formed. Second only to what I believed would come when Ragnarok arrived.

It was apocalyptic.

The sky grew dark as the moon and the stars disappeared behind black, angry clouds. The wind picked up, changing from a mild breeze to furious rage in an instant. Waves, a hundred feet high rose from the sea all around us.

Lightning sparked across the sky and thunder boomed so loud it hammered against my very soul. Driving rain belted down, drenching everything in seconds. A deep green tinge to the sky warned of what was to come next.

“Secure the sail!” I shouted at my crew. They sprang to life, pulling it down and saving it from damage.

From the mast came the shouted voice of Bjorn.

“I told you! Even Thor thinks you’re full of shit,” he screamed at the top of his lungs.

I ignored him because I was way too busy at that moment than to worry about the ravings of an idiot.

Hailstones the size of an ox’s eyeball hammered into the boat. Everyone dived for cover under whatever we could. The incessant roar of the hail smashing into the boat was only drowned out by the booming thunder.

Enormous waves crashed over our boat and threatened to sink us. Without my needing to tell them, my crew bailed the water with whatever they could. I smiled to myself at that, and couldn’t wait to tell Bjorn how wrong he’d been in his assessment of my crew.

It was unfortunate I never got the chance. Another gigantic wave crashed over our boat and smashed it to pieces. Before I could even shout a warning, I was in the ocean. The waves were so high I lost sight of my crew.

I struggled to stay afloat. I kicked my legs hard against the raging water. Just as I was on the verge of losing all hope, a large piece of timber from the wrecked boat surfaced near me. I grabbed hold of it as hard as I could. If I could keep my head above water, perhaps I could ride out the storm.

The water churned and tried to pull me under on countless occasions, but each time the timber brought me back to the surface.

After hours of this the storm finally passed, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I was alive. I had survived the worst the gods could throw at me. I cast my eyes around the open ocean for my crew, but the night was too dark.

Making sure my grip on the timber was secure, I pulled it close and got some rest.

***

I drifted for a day and a night, my body being pushed or pulled at the whim of the currents. At the end of the second day, another ferocious storm whipped up and at one point I was flung high into the air.

The piece of timber I had been using as my lifeline slipped through my fingers and disappeared into the waves. By the time I crashed back down it was long gone.

For normal men, that would be the point where they gave up hope, certain they would die. But of course as you know I am not like other men.

As the waves tossed me about, calmness overtook me. I pondered on my situation and concluded the only possible outcome for me was that I was to survive.

You see, by that point in my life I had lived long and fought many battles, so there was no way a little inclement weather would bring about my doom. I relaxed and floated on the waves until a large chunk of something smacked into my skull.

I’ve no memory of anything from that point onwards, until I washed up onto the shore of what was, without a doubt, the second nicest beach I’d ever washed up on.

3 - The Beach of a Strange Land

Only the gods know how long I had lay upon the sand as the sun beat down hard and parched my throat. When I awoke I found my lips had cracked and my eyes were scratchy as if they were full of sand. I reached for my waterskin and thankfully I found it was still attached to my hip.

I pulled the stopper and poured some onto my eyes and the rest down my throat. The scratchiness in my eyes lessened and my vision cleared so I could finally get a better idea of my predicament. I pushed myself to my feet. Every muscle in my six-foot-six frame ached, but I ignored their complaints and instead surveyed the scene before me.

The sandy coastline of wherever I had washed up stretched into the distance as far as the eye could see. The beach ran gently uphill for about two-hundred yards before turning into a solid wall of cliff.

Easily scalable for a man of my talents, a mere ninety feet if I wasn’t mistaken. But first I needed to find more water, and hopefully a little food.

The obvious signs of a shipwreck littered the otherwise pristine beach. In the distance I spied something that made me smile, even though doing so cracked my lips even further. I shuffled over to it as quickly as I could.

Lying on the beach, still strapped to the mast, was Bjorn. Long dead from the looks of him. Sort of bloated and blue and covered in tiny crabs, which were removing parts of his flesh with their razor-sharp claws. One made the mistake of trying to nip me, but I crushed it under my heel and the others took the hint.

There were a few other bodies washed up on the beach. When I searched them they held nothing that would help me. No gold, no weapons, no food.

After searching the wreckage on the beach I found an unbroken barrel of salted fish and a few more waterskins. I cracked open the barrel and stuffed as much fish as I could into my mouth.

Between the water and fish I regained my strength and my confidence I would survive. With my strength, my wits, and my sword I would be unstoppable. When I reached for my sword, I discovered I had lost it. Only the scabbard remained, empty and attached to my hip.

“Damn,” I thought. I hadn’t stumbled upon any others in my search of the beach either. It didn’t bother me much as my hand-to-hand fighting skills were legendary in their own right. Things would get a little trickier with hand-to-sword combat, but I still rated my odds if it came to that.

After resting a while the next thing I had to do was to give my fellow Vikings a proper burial. I gathered the bodies of all I could find into a pile, including the good-for-nothing Bjorn. I fashioned a shovel by lashing together parts of the wrecked ship and dug a deep hole into the sand near the face of the cliff.

It was slow going but eventually the hole was deep enough, so without much ceremony I dumped the bodies of my former crewmates into their sandy grave and filled it back in. I hoped the gods would treat them well. Even though they didn’t die in battle they died as Vikings.

Once I’d finished that job, I walked along the edge of the cliffs, looking for any paths leading upwards, or at least away from the beach. Alas, wherever I had washed up must not have been near civilization since there was no obvious way up or down.

I headed back down to the waterline for a final check, but no matter how long I stared at the cliffs no paths revealed themselves.

Seeing no other option, I made my way over to the cliffs and started my ascent. As I had expected it was easy going. The jagged rocks made for plenty of footholds and hand-grabs, and before too long I had reached the top and discovered civilization was in fact closer than I had thought.

I sat and rested for a moment at the top. From here, the land sloped in a gentle downward direction towards a filthy-looking city of squat stone buildings. A large wall surrounded the it which was somewhat redundant given the sheer cliff wall behind me, but who was I to question their motives?

The wall had been made from the same color stone as the cliff I had just climbed. At regular intervals along its top stood guard towers. The wall was still a fair distance away but I could make out movement along the top of it.

Two of the towers, stood about twenty feet from each other. No doubt a gate of some kind. So picking myself up I strode confidently towards the wall.

As I drew closer to the closed gate, a lone guard posted outside of it stepped forward. Along the top of the wall, several bowmen bristled at my approach and aimed many an arrow in my direction. Since this was not an uncommon situation for me to be in, I didn’t break stride.

An arrow thwacked into the ground an inch from my left foot. It hit with such intensity it buried itself halfway to its fletching. A second later its brother joined it, landing just shy of my right foot.

Given the circumstances, I made the prudent move to stop and chat with the guard. I waved to him to let him know I was friendly and posed no threat to him.

“Halt, stranger!” the guard at the gate shouted to me. “Identify yourself and what business you have entering the illustrious city of Borneld.”

 “Greetings, fellow warrior,” I shouted back. “I am Gustav the Great. You’ve no doubt heard of me, even though I don’t know what land this is. Perhaps you’ve heard tell of my exploits, being that I am the foremost Viking warrior there has ever been.”

The guard at the gate motioned with his hand, and there was another thwack as an arrow split the one on my left in two.

“That’s mighty fine marksmanship,” I shouted towards the many guards on top of the wall, not knowing which one performed the shot. “Easily the second best shot I think I’ve ever witnessed. The first, as you can probably imagine, I delivered during an archery tourna-”

The guard’s hand twitched and a second later another thwack split the arrow on my right.

“We have no time for braggarts, stranger,” the guard shouted back to me. “State your name and purpose simply and without exaggeration.”

To say this accusation caused me great offense would be an understatement. Being the bigger man, literally and figuratively, I ignored the insult and spoke to him in the manner he requested.

“Good sir, my name is Gustav Gustavson. I am Viking and was on search of adventure when my ship was wrecked during a violent storm. All hands bar mine were lost, and I found myself washed ashore on yonder beach. I admit I do not know what country this is, and would very much like to find out. Should you wish me not to stay, then as soon as I can procure a boat I will be on my way.”

The guard at the gate considered me for a few moments. No doubt trained to sniff out trouble makers, but I was certain he’d see the truth of my words and would let me pass into the city.

“Do you have gold, or the means to pay for a boat?” he asked.

“No, but I am proficient in many things, and am sure-”

Again, the thwack of an arrow cut my words short. This one passed through my legs and buried itself into the ground a few feet behind me. It occurred to me at this point that these people had taken an irrational disliking to me. But then the guard’s demeanor changed, and he invited me towards him.

When I was within a few yards of him he held up his hand and I stopped. His eyes narrowed as he looked me over. I showed him my scabbard was empty, and that I had no other weapons on me.

“You are a big one,” he said. “You say you are a warrior?”

“Indeed, good sir. Viking warrior through and through.”

“Viking? Never heard of them,” he said, looking me over once again. “Have you been in many battles?”

“Too many to count,” I replied.

“Good with a sword?”

“I do okay,” I said, choosing my words with great care.

“Then perhaps you may enter the city after all. A big fellow like you could certainly draw a crowd. Come,” the guard said, beckoning me towards the gate. “I’m sure I’ve got just the position for someone like you.”

“That’s more like it,” I thought, and strode towards the gate.

It opened with a groan, and as I passed the guard, his hand fell to his waist and rested on the end of a timber bludgeon.

“I’m sure you’ll fetch quite a few gold,” the guard said.

There was another thwack… though this one sounded different. More of a clunk. Kind of like if you were to hit a coconut with a stick. Moments later I stumbled and fell face first into the rough gravel road leading into the city.

I must have really hit the ground hard because I kept finding pieces of gravel in my beard for a week after that.

4 - The City of Borneld

By now you are probably wondering when I would be meeting some of the fantastical creatures I mentioned. Well let me assuage your concerns because my story is drawing close to the first encounter.

An orc, no less. A fearsome warrior, beastly and huge with large tusks protruding upwards from his lower jaw. A pig-like snout and a stench like no other, and as I would soon discover, second only in battle to yours truly.

As fearsome as he was he wasn’t my most pressing concern. But let’s not spoil the surprise. My adventure had only just begun.

When I came to I discovered I had been tied up and was being dragged through the city streets. Paraded, I guess you could say, if you’re one to hold parades where you drag the guest of honor behind a horse by their feet.

Fortunately my leather armor protected me from all but the largest of bumps, so I chose to enjoy the ride. A clever tactic I’ve employed a number of times, because why walk when you can be pulled?

As we passed through the paved but filthy streets of this city, Borneld I believe the guard called it, I began to think nobody here had heard of me at all. They booed and jeered and threw food at me.

At the time I thought perhaps this was just their strange custom, and that they welcomed all guests this way. No doubt they’d find some of our customs strange should they ever visit my homeland. True, we’d normally welcome people with horns of ale and slabs of meat, but to each their own.

Alas, it turned out it wasn’t some strange custom, they just despised outsiders. After a solid half-hour of being dragged behind the horse, and twice being forced to dodge the brown bombs the nag blasted into the world with wild abandon, we arrived at our destination.

The majestic stone walls of the colosseum rose towards the sky as if holding up the very clouds themselves. From what I’d observed of the city so far it was the largest building.

A castle perched high up on a mountain that sat like a sentinel guarding the city was no doubt where the king or ruler of this city lived, but even it looked small compared to the structure in front of me.

The guard riding the horse gave it a light kick in the ribs to get it moving and steered us towards a smallish caged area around the back of the colosseum. A bored-looking guard sat behind a squat, timber bench next to the gate of the cage.

As we drew near, the bored guard perked up a bit.

“Ho there! What have you brought me today?” he asked.

“A foreigner from the western wall. He arrived with no gold or silver to his name. Not even a few coppers to rub together. Captain assumed he was up to no good, so he’s sent him here,” my captor replied.

“If I may,” I said, hoping to interject a good word on my own behalf.

Before I could finish the thought, the guard jumped down from his horse and ran to where I lay prone on the ground and slammed his fist into my stomach.

“Volunteers don’t speak!” he yelled at me, drenching me in spit with his last word.

“I don’t think ‘volunteer’ accurately describes my choice in the matter,” I replied. “In fact-”

Another fist, this time aimed at my face, hit me square between the eyes. The back of my head bounced off the road and once again I disappeared into unconsciousness.

***

When I next awoke I was lying on a cold stone floor somewhere dark and damp. The stench of old sweat and stagnant sewage assaulted my nostrils. A constant drip, drip, drip of water splashing on stone burrowed itself into my head and added to my headache. Without moving too much, I took stock of my situation.

I was in a cell, an underground dungeon most likely based on the coolness of the air and the general dampness of everything. What little light there was came from a single oil-burning torch mounted just outside the bars of my cell door.

My cell didn’t contain much in the way of furniture, only a few objects to elevate it from completely uninhabitable to moderately inhospitable.

A few slabs of timber by the far wall looked like they formed what passed as a bed. The threadbare blanket covering it made it look degrees nicer than it probably was. A well-used and nasty-looking bucket likely accounted for some of the stench.

The cell opposite mine was empty, but a scratching coming from somewhere further along made me believe I wasn’t alone. Slowly I raised myself off the floor and got to my feet. My head throbbed in some misguided retaliation against me, and I stumbled forward. I grabbed hold of a bar of the cell door and caught myself in time.

“Awake, are ya?” someone growled from further along the corridor that ran further into the dark.

“Yes,” I replied as genially as I could. Just because I was a prisoner it didn’t mean I had to feel down about it. I was sure I’d see the light of day again soon once they realized how useful I could be. “Who might you be?”

From the darkness came a grunt of laughter and a snort, and if I wasn’t mistaken, an arm being wiped across a nose.

“Have you not seen the fights?” asked the person I couldn’t see.

“Fights?” I said, my excitement growing. “Can’t say I have, friend. I’d very much like to see that. I’m new in town. Arrived by way of shipwreck just this very morning. Perhaps you’ve heard of me? My name is Gustav-”

“Don’t bother,” came the growling voice. “You won’t survive the fight long enough for it to make a difference.”

That gave me pause to think for a moment. I could scarcely believe that would be true. It just proved they really didn’t know who I was. Me, the great Gustav Gustavson, had survived every fight I’d ever been in.

“Well, I hope you don’t think me a braggart,” I said, tactfully recalling how irrational the guards were at the mere mention of my greatness, “but perhaps you could expand on why you believe that to be so? I’ll have you know that where I’m from I’m considered quite the legendary warrior.”

“You’ll get to find out tomorrow first hand. But fair warning I suppose. When we step into the arena, it’ll be my seventy-third time.”

“That’s quite impressive, sir. How many times have you won, may I ask?”

Whoever it was I was talking with responded with a chuckle.

“All of them,” he replied. “You’re in the Borneld Death Pits. There’s no coming second place it these fights.”

“A fight to the death then,” I thought to myself. I hadn’t taken part in such a high stakes competition for many a year. Surely, once I had bested their best, everyone in this land would know my name and I could travel freely once more.

Even against my mysterious opponent with his impressive winning streak, I backed myself for the win, and told him so.

“The fifty guys who came before you thought the same thing,” he said.

I did a quick calculation in my head.

“Fifty? What about the other twenty-three?”

“They were beasts. The guards started mixing up my fights a bit when they worked out I wasn’t going to go down easily. Heard they got something special for tomorrow. I doubt it’s much to worry about though,” he said. Then after a slight pause, added, “For me anyway. You, well… we shall see.”

“Well, I wish you the best of luck, sir,” I said, and the mystery person didn’t respond. After a few moments of introspection I tried pressing my luck. “Are you by any chance like me?” I asked, “in that your presence here isn’t exactly voluntary?”

“Aye,” he responded. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Would you be open to hearing a suggestion of mine?”

A long pause filled the air before he replied, “If you feel like wasting what little breath you have left, then by all means talk.”

“Well, before we go much further, please let me know your name. It feels unnatural to discuss such matters with someone about which I know very little.”

More silence filled the air for a minute. I assumed he must have been trying to work out if this was some kind of tactic to use against him.

“Grogall,” he replied eventually. “My name is Grogall.”

“Well, good to meet you, Grogall. So,” I pressed on, “you and I are alike in that neither of us want to be here. You’ve been around longer than I have, so surely the thought of escape must have crossed your mind.”

Grogall made a sound I can only describe as a harrumph crossed with a wet snort.

“It’s crossed my mind,” Grogall said. “Short of battling the arena guards I don’t see how. And before you get any ideas, they stay well out of reach and are armed with crossbows. All gates in and out stay locked until there’s only one left standing, and even then the only gate that opens leads directly back down here. No side passages, nothing. Just a straight walk back to the coziness of your cell.”

“What if we refused to fight?” I asked.

“Then they’ll rain down bolts from their crossbows until we’re both dead.”

“A tricky situation then,” I said. “Not the most terrifying situation I’ve ever found myself in, mind you, but it’s up there. The worst, I dare say was-”

A loud crash came from the opposite end of the corridor to Grogall. Out of the darkness, an extremely short but solid looking fellow shuffled along, staying close to the far side and out of reach. He had a beard which reached his knees but otherwise not a single hair anywhere else on his head.

In one hand he carried a bucket which dragged heavily along the floor while in the other a bucket which swung lazily in time with his stride. A timber bludgeon was strapped to his hip along with a set of large, steel keys.

When he arrived at my cell, he stopped and looked at me. He remained far enough away that should I try to reach him I’d get only a handful of air.

“About time you woke up. Too bad you missed dinner time. I ate yours,” he said with an evil snigger.

“No matter, I’m not that hungry,” I replied.

He sneered at me but said nothing more. Instead he tipped the empty bucket over and used it to step on so he could reach the torch burning outside my cell. He plucked it from its mount then stepped down. He plunged the torch into the other bucket which turned out was full of sand, and I was left standing in darkness.

 “Sleep tight, scumbag,” he said and punctuated it by hawking a glob of spit which splattered on the ground near my feet.