Karung's Tenth Hand

Karung Ten-Hands wheeled around, catching Andvett's sword in his ax's beard.
Andvett was no weakling - in fact, among the refugees in their little community, he was counted among the best fighters. But he was weary, bleeding from a dozen small cuts the older man had given him. This last stroke was meant to kill Karung, as it had slain countless rogues during the Great Winter. But Karung had seen Andvett's bladework before, was ready for it, and as Andvett wrenched to free his blade, Karung's own flashed down in an eyeblink, freeing Andvett's sword hand from his wrist. Andvett reeled back, though not in surprise, for seven others before him met the same fate.
Though the world was ending, had ended, the eight mutineers, bound by honor for fear of their souls, offered old Karung a choice: leave the settlement, or meet them each in single combat. Others in their position would have simply murdered the man. Karung, a Christian, had faith that the winter would end, and God would preserve them. For now, he said, we must ration and save. Starve a little now, show piety, and they would be saved. But the others had given up hope, and wanted to fill their bellies once more before going to meet their fate against the Helbuar. So they gave Karung a choice.
And he would repay each in turn, and give them a choice - to die, or to never raise their sword-arm against him again. Some chose death. For none had suspected that the old man, gray-bearded, limping, a Christian, would turn into a demon when he drew his sword. When the sword was drawn, it shone like fire - indeed, seemed to light a fire in Karung's soul, seemed to burn the fire out of his winter-touched limbs.
Karung felt no joy when he finally sheathed his sword. He was, above all, a pious man, and abhorred violence. But he did what needed to be done to feed the women and children in his care, to save the men from going to their deaths against the endless legions of the dead.
As symbol of the men's oaths to Karung, the flesh was boiled from the severed hands, and the fingerbones kept in a pouch that Karung wears on his waist.
Then, they all got along for a time and lived in peace and law, but Karung's Refuge would not survive. Despite his efforts and despite his prayers, it fell one night to snarling foemen, savages more animal than man, their souls as wolfish as they pelts they wore, who took fire to the place and ravaged all within with tooth and claw. Karung, blessed among men, escaped with his daughter Luta only when he was sure none could be saved.