Finally, after nearly a month, Callen was discharged from the infirmary, and he went back to his small house close to the center of the fort, next to the feasting hall.

 It was late in the day, and the sun hung low in the western sky, while in the distant South, storm clouds gathered. Callen had been running a whetstone across his blade, which was covered in nicks and missing small bits all across where she had clashed with other swords, it was not his blade truly, he had scavenged her from the battlefield. He also had the great bearded axe he had used to kill the Dane, and since no man in the fort had complained about having lost such a weapon, it was now his. Some of the men took plunder, but most of it had been confiscated by Earl Gòrdan's retainers, and what was not had been ordered given to the church, but despite that, some men who were good at concealing things had still came away from the battle richer than the had been before.

 The victory however, was not worth the price of the men that died, with only about half the number of men they had once had, the small fort was now an easy target for raiders and more Danes, but no Danes came, and two months after the attack, Geile Gòrdan fell deathly ill, and without a son to take his place, the warriors of the fort whispered among themselves about weather to leave and search for another lord or to comit mutiny and decide among themselves who would be the new lord, but such talks lead to distputes and eninimity among men, and eninimity is what followed, and it followed quick, for men who before had been friends were now enemies, and at least a dozen retainer's sons and messengers had passed through and found their ways to Callen's door with letters from Gòrdan's bodyguards asking for him to join them in attemps at mutiny, but Callen had sent them away quick, he wanted no part in a mutiny, for when there are several parties who seek to betray a single lord, pledging alligiance is a deadly gamble, where siding with the wrong man will soon turn you into a corpse hanging from a gallows.

 Regardless, to Callen this was a mercyful blessing from God, for if Gòrdan was dead, he would be released from his oath, and could flee like a theif in the night and away to where he could not be found or hunted, for though none could have seen his crime clearly in the chaos of battle, it was easy enough for any man who knew him to place his sword from memory, for though thin and battered, it was elegantly forged and it's guard was inlaid with a small bear's head, such designs were not uncommon among men with wealth, but Callen was not such a man, nor was any man in the fort, so any who had seen Raibert Gòrdan on the day of his death would remember Callen's sword.

 As he pondered when to make his escape, Callen let out a small chuckle. It's been fun, that it has, he thought to himself as he realized that his time of peace was over. He thought of himself as a small child who had taken a break from working to play with a toy, but the toy had been broken, and now he was to return to work in the fields. Though he did not much enjoy it, he knew well his trade, and his trade was War, his business was War and now he would return to it.

 Still, he was in bad need of money, for a man without money will soon become a slave, and Callen had no wanting to become a slave, so as he sat there sharpening the blade of the Danish axe, he pondered ways to make money, the first choice was of course to find another lord to serve, he could easily ask to travel with any number of men who would flee when Gòrdan died, a death that to be sure could not be longer than a week away, and as he was, at least he thought, a good and friendly man and known among other men as a good companion, he would almost certainly be granted his way to travel, but it was a game in itself to travel to find a new lord, for bandits and outlaws were ever roaming the countryside. If they went to Scotland they would fall into a Lord's company sooner of later, but what if the Danes took Scotland and they had taken Northumbria, after which word was that East Anglia and Mercia had quickly followed into Danish hands, and Wessex would surely fall as well. Yet if Callen and whatever company were to choose Northumbria, they would have to choose between finding a Saxon or a Dane to serve, and Callen had no great liking of either people, but of course there was also a third option, which was to become an outlaw, while at first not very appealing, Callen considered it deeply, for inbetween his service in Scotland's Fyrd, he had been an outlaw, and so the style of lie was not unfamilliar to him. He could make small amounts of money bit by bit and slowly, very slowly, he would have wealth, not much, but wealth nonetheless.

 A week later, Geile Gòrdan was found inches from death and rushed to the infirmary, and Callen was summoned by an old priest to his deathbed.