Bremer had risen with the dawn. He had slept uneasily, troubled by the tales of that damned unnatural fog and lost ships that had sailed towards the north from the docks of his city. Irritable, he had ordered a servant to bring him his old wolf skin cloak and his mighty axe that was forged in snow-bound lands to the north. Wrapping the cloak around him, he felt comforted and warmed by this relic of his youthful life in the north. Resting the axe across his knees, he ran a finger along the edge of the blade. A lot of ale and blood had swept along the river of time since he had travelled south. It had been a strange life, he reflected. A journey from being a mercenary in the north to becoming a respected duke in the south. Yes, a very strange life. Drawing the cloak further around him, he sat beside the roaring fire in the hearth and sank into his thoughts. If this was the end of times, as the priests said, he had nothing to regret. Well, perhaps never having won a tournament with the sword, even through he had won with the lance. Aye, damn it! That would have been worth living for.
He was roused from his thoughts by the sound of the city bells ringing. That could only mean that the watch had sighted some threat beyond the walls. Tipping over his chair in his rush, he ran from his private chamber in the high keep. He was dimly aware that his ducal guards had fallen in behind him, jogging along in his wake. As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he was met by a captain of the watch. The man seemed hardly able to speak but muttered something about the docks. Bremer made a mental note to have the man replaced if they lived through the next few days. He could not abide panic amongst his men.
Making his way through the city, the ducal guards clearing a path through crowds that had taken to the streets at the sound of the bells, Bremer was soon atop the mighty eastern sea wall that had protected Narville from so many storms. He was met by the captain of the wall guards. The man simply pointed out to sea, and Bremer immediately understood. From the darkly shadowed waters, there emerged shambling figures that Bremer knew were the walking dead. The sea was giving up its bodies, and they were coming for the living. On and on they appeared, masses of shuffling corpses climbing out of the water onto the docks. Bremer was staggered to see the number of them. That is not a horde, Bremer thought. It is a bloody army!
After the initial realization had sunk in, Bremer started to shout out orders. The city guards rushed to obey. Very soon the entire militia of Narville was at the sea wall, ready to meet the threat. "Not enough", Bremer cursed. He ordered the captains of the guard to call up men from the surrounding regions. By sunset, he would have an army of the living to meet this siege by the army of the dead.
Taking up his mighty axe, its blade chipped by so many battles, he raised it above his head and roared out to the sky.
"All Father, Odin! Baldyr! Freyr! Tyr! Thor! Vali! Ullr! Ragnarok is upon us and I will not disappoint you. I will claim many heads before I fall! Save me a seat of honour in the Hall and let me die well."
He rested the axe on his shoulder, put a booted foot up on the fortification of the sea wall, and gazed out at the advancing army of the dead. Battle was coming. Perhaps the last battle. And he would be ready for it.
