I sat alone on the worn wooden planks of the York dock. In my hands, I cradled the dagger, a relic of my father's legacy. Currently Askeladd was off somewhere, plotting the downfall of King Sweyn with Canute and a few others... that bastard, I didn't care about the rest, the day of his death by my hand would come, I swear. Suddenly, I heard footsteps approaching.

"Who goes there?" I called out, shifting my gaze.