"Let me sing praises of your lordship till my dying day!" he cried with joyful passion.

Tears streamed down his face, dropping to the dirt and sawdust on the floor of his simple hut. Remnants of years of hard work. As he wept, Durthang saw the armor-encased feet of Siegfried shift slightly. One arched upward while the other braced itself firmly against the flat stone floor.

Durthang's brain did not have time to process what this might mean before his brain became incapable of processing any information at all.

The peasant carver felt the weight of the mighty blade against the back of his neck for only an instant. In half a heartbeat, the sword passed through his spine, his throat and sliced out through his Adam's apple on the other side.

As Durthang's aged body collapsed to the floor, his severed head dropped and rolled, tumbling end over end to the simple stone hearth. His long white hair scattered among the gray ash and glowing orange embers.

Near Durthang's bleeding, headless corpse, Siegfried replaced his sword in his belt. He gathered up the engraved block of wood, placing it atop the carver's table.

Searching quickly, he found a hammer and chisel among the tools. Collecting the hammer in one hand, he steadied the chisel atop the carving with the other.

With a single great crack, he shattered the wooden map into two sections. He gathered up the two remaining sections in turn, snapping them each in half.

By this time the embers from the hearth had ignited the hair of Durthang. The fire burned up around his scalp, catching onto the thatch of the walls. Yellow flames raced up to the ceiling.

As the tiny hut was engulfed in flame, the king of the Nibelungs collected the four sections of the map beneath one powerful arm. Flames burning an inch above the splayed falcon wings atop his gleaming battle helmet, he hurried from the ratty, burning cottage.