Although Durthang had met his lord on several occasions now, the man's presence was still awe-inspiring to the carver. And why not? For this was a god among men. His exploits were legendary. Siegfried, son of Siegmund, husband of Brunhild. Slayer of Fafner, the dragon. King of the Nibelungs. Possessor of the Nibelungen Hoard.

Siegfried regarded the dusty interior of the tiny peasant hut with regal disdain. He looked from hearth, to kitchen table, to cot, to work area with equal contempt. At last his eyes alighted on the nervous Durthang.

"It is complete?" Siegfried intoned.

Durthang nodded anxiously. "'Tis surely so, sire."

Siegfried didn't say another word. He stretched out an open palm to the carver. The hand was encased in an expertly crafted chain-mail glove. The gauntlets stretched halfway up his forearms and were attached around the back with elaborate metal fasteners.

Durthang obediently placed the block of wood in the hand of the Nibelungen king.

The wooden piece was heavy and flat. Though Siegfried's hand was large, the wood was larger.

With his fingers splayed, his hand was only as big as one of the four equal-sized sections. He nodded his approval as he scanned the details of the map.

"You have done well," Siegfried said with satisfaction.

Durthang the Carver sighed in great relief. When he had accepted this special appointment, his worst fear was that his work would dissatisfy his lordship, and that Siegfried would condemn him as an inferior craftsman. His business among the nearby villagers-meager as it was-would surely suffer from such a condemnation.

"I thank you, my lord," Durthang said, again with a polite bow.