Brynold! Fat as a seal 'fore winter y'are, with a maw that reeks like a cesspit, but your head - brilliant! Making a mold of the key with a lump of clay - damned clever, can't believe I didn't think of it meself! I strolled right into the armory after dark, Kuliu was lying there right where you said, in a case, wrapped in oilcloth. What a blade! Fits your hand like a toothsome lass's tit, point's sharp as a needle, hilt's set with gems... Stared so hard I didn't hear that fool Olaf coming. He would've caught me had he not tripped and smacked his gob into the ground. Seems the gods are lookin' after us!
So now we've got to sell the blade - and that won't be easy. Not many got that kind of coin, and them who do don't want to cross Crach. Luckily, my brother Yrjan knows a merchant, fellow named Gimre, who always finds willing buyers for "second hand" goods. They're going to meet in the old fortress near Fyresdal. Maybe they'll make a deal with Lugos? He's got heaps of gold - and not a drop of fear for an Craite.
Cheers to you, old goat!