'It couldn't have been me. I couldn't have done it. Father... Gods, no. I killed my father. I killed him. I killed him. I took his head and paraded it for everyone to see. No...I couldn't have done that. Why did I do it? Why didn't I recognize him? Why didn't I guess? I should have recognized him. I should have known. I should have known. Gods...'

Siegfried laid his head on the ground, fingers digging into the dirt. Bloody fingers. His father's blood.

"Father..." he whispered. "I didn't mean it. If I had known..." Tears streaked down his face in his silent sobbing. "No...father..."

'How did I not recognize him? I should have recognized him. Gods, it was all a mistake. It was always a mistake. I should have recognized him. I would have recognized him. His head...I held his head in my hands. Did he recognize me? Father...if I had known. I would have recognized you. I would have if I'd known. I killed him... I cut his head clean off... But I would have known...

'He's my father. I would have known if I'd fought him. I would have known if it was him. But it was me. I killed him. I took his head and held it for everyone to see. It was me...but I would have known if it was him. He died. He had his had taken and I held it with my own hand. I looked into those eyes and they stared at me with...hate. He hated me... My father hated me. No...he hated his killer...

'His killer. I killed him. I didn't mean to. If I only would have known... I would have stopped it. Yes, I would have stopped him from being murdered. I would have stopped his murderer. Gods...how could it have happened? I held his head in my hands. Did he see me then? Did his mind stay alive long enough to see me? Did he know all along?

'No, he couldn't have. Gods...my men...me and my men killed them. I ordered them to attack, but if I had known...I'm a killer. It's as good as if I had done it with my own blade...or was it...?

No, I would have known. I would have known if I had been fighting him. But who? Gods, I should have stopped them. I would have if I'd known. I held his head in my hands...and he looked so hateful. I would have known. His killer, though. His murderer...I'll kill them. I'll find out who it was and I'll kill them.

'But my father was so skilled...Gods...my father was one of the best. How could I ever hope to defeat the man who was victorious over him? All I have is a rusty old sword. Hardly a weapon which could defeat such a man. I'll have my vengeance. I'll train...I'll find a sword worthy to kill the man. Powerful enough to destroy him. I'll kill him. I'll kill him and hold his head in my hand...just as sure as my father's killer held his head in their hand.'

Siegfried stood up, his mind resolved on what he must do.

-------------------------

The camp was empty by the time Siegfried returned. The Black Wind had cleared out hours ago, it seemed, leaving everything untouched. They had murdered everybody and taken nothing.

'So it was all about the act. They came here to kill, not to steal. When I am ready I will hunt down every last one of them,' Siegfried thought angrily. His father's head lay where Siegfried had last seen it: turned on the left cheek ten paces away from the rest of the mutilated body. Bastards... 'I will have my revenge.'

There was no shovel in sight, but plenty of firewood and kindling the soldiers had gathered before their demise. It was with this that Siegfried set out to build the pyre for his father's final farewell. For an hour the former bandit worked, placing the logs and kindling and finally his father's corpse, armor and all. The leg was put back in place, but the head kept tilting back to the side. Finally, through his tears, Siegfried managed to hold it facing the sky with two logs to either side.

When all was completed he took a torch from one of the corpse's death grips and lit it in the early morning darkness. "Fredrick Schtauffen..." a sob escaped him and Siegfried had to avoid falling to his knees. "Father...you were a great man and a heroic knight. You will be avenged."

He threw the torch on top of the kindling and watched it catch fire. In minutes he watched his father within the blazing inferno, wishing with everything inside him this wasn't the final goodbye. He watched most his fathers face - so dirty from war, yet it was still his father from last they'd been together. It was still stuck in that expression of hate. The fair-haired knight in shining armor Siegfried could only dream of being, and yet it seemed to Siegfried he might almost be looking into a mirror. And then the flames took the image away and the ex thug watched his father's body slowly turn to ash before him.

When all was finished and nothing but embers and ash stood before him, Siegfried hefted the great steel broadsword his father had used for as long as he could remember. Faust, notched since he had last seen it, but otherwise none the worse for wear. It was a good weapon, but not strong enough. Not powerful enough for his father's murderer.

Strapping the weapon to his back, Siegfried made his way toward the nearest town. He needed a good meal and information. Sleep could wait for another day.

-------------------------

A full chicken, a loaf of bread and a mild ale were torn to shreds almost as soon as they were set in front of Siegfried. The chicken was overcooked, the loaf was too hard and the ale tasted like piss, but he hardly noticed. From behind the bar a very round barkeep started preparing his establishment for the day, yawning every few seconds. Siegfried had woken the man and demanded a meal and the barkeep hardly complained, what with the gigantic sword on his back.

"Very early in the morning for someone like you to be up and about," the barkeep said, wiping the bar down. Siegfried managed a grunt and kept on eating. "That is a very large weapon you're carrying. Must be difficult to handle."

"For you," Siegfried said and gulped down half his ale.

"You a sellsword?" The former bandit slammed his mug down, making the barkeep jump. "Or would you prefer not to..."

"I'm nothing," Siegfried interrupted. A few minutes passed by where he downed the loaf of bread while the barkeep started preparing mugs for the day.

"That's a very fine weapon for someone as young as you."

"It was my father's."

"Was he a knight?" Siegfried didn't respond. "Not many weapons so good as that in these parts. Though I hear rumors Stefan's managed his hands on the Sword of Salvation itself."

"The what?"

"Sword of Salvation they call it. You never heard of it?" Siegfried shook his head. "The greatest sword ever made, powerful enough to tear the heavens apart, so it is said."

"Sounds like a fable." The barkeep shrugged.

"Believe what you will. A man such as myself only knows what he is told and what I've been told is Sir Stefan managed his hands on the Sword of Salvation." Siegfried grunted and continued on silently with his meal, but inside his mind was a whirlwind.

'It is like an answer to my prayers before I ever asked them. A sword which could tear the heavens apart he says... This is my father's work - a sign. This is the sword meant for his vengeance. No other.' "How did Stefan acquire such a weapon?"

"Who knows. Probably the spoils of another successful defense. The marquis Andre seems very unhappy with the last battle, I hear." Siegfried understood that all too well. The Black Wind had it's stronghold in the middle of the Black Forest and Ostrihinesburg, Sir Stefan's castle, was situated mere leagues away near the outer edges of the forest. It gave the thieves good knowledge of Stefan and his enormous castle of stone and canals. If the stone walls weren't enough to keep enemies at bay, the wide canals were. And many, many lords and armies had tested as much in the past. Siegfried stood up and started for the door.

"Hey! I expect payment for..." the rest was cut off as the door slammed shut. Siegfried made his way to the stables beside the tavern and quickly saddled and straddled his horse. The barkeep was waiting outside with a pair of men from the town militia, but Siegfried simply ignored them and pushed the horse into a trot around them, much to their screaming displeasure.

'Sir Stefan is always on the hire for mercenaries,' he thought to himself as he left the small village behind him. 'He would welcome a skilled swordsman with open arms. I can take the sword from him, one way or another, and avenge my father with this...Sword of Salvation.'