"Gunnar, my friend!" Wulder roared. "Finally, you return to us alive and well! Though I catch you talking to yourself! Perhaps too much time spent at sea has...!"
As Gunnar turned full around to face the count, Wulder's jubilation wilted. His eyes found the horned helm in Gunnar's hands, so similar to the one on his own head. It was Drexel's.
Wulder stopped. His outstretched arms fell slowly to his sides.
"Dead?" he asked.
Gunnar stepped forward. Silently, he offered Drexel's helm to Wulder. Wulder's head drooped. His eyes were downcast as he accepted it.
"I had held out hope that, somehow, he..." said Wulder. "How?"
"Not demons," said Gunnar. "It was in the same manner as the other counts and admirals who have been executed by Yordar's hand."
Wulder shut his eyes. Yordar had adopted the policy of personally beheading all the figures of authority he deposed. Wulder squeezed his late brother's helm.