With fair weather and the stream in their favour, the twins’ mood improved a great deal. They were good company, all things considered, and Erlan was satisfied he’d been right to let them come along. Truth was, there was no way he would have got even this far without them.

They talked about many things – family, women, wars, their father and his travels. Some days they talked without drawing breath. Others, when the rays of the early spring sun warmed their faces, they just lay back like a pair of wolves on a rock and listened to the rush of bubbles under the hull.

At night, around the fire, they badgered him for stories, about battles he’d fought, enemies he’d vanquished, kings he’d known, and offered up some of their own – mostly absurd escapades from their childhood which always ended with one or other of them getting a beating off their father.

He was happy. They all were. He found he felt a lightness in his soul he hadn’t in a long while, for as long as he could remember – until the thought crept out of the shadows of his mind: that their journey was carrying him further and further away from Lilla.

Maybe that was the best place for him. After all, why should she ever think of him? She was where she was meant to be, with the man whom fate had chosen for her. And he—

‘Hey, Erlan.’ Adalrik’s voice broke into his thoughts. ‘Ever heard of a place called Miklagard?’

‘The name. Not much more.’ He remembered Sviggar mentioning it shortly before he was murdered. The Sveär king had been transported by grand visions of trade with this place called Miklagard. Alas, those plans had died with him.

‘Our father used to speak of it,’ said Leikr.

‘Has he been there?’

‘Not him. But he once met a merchant who had.’

‘Hasn’t everyone?’

Adalrik flicked a piece of snot into the water. ‘He says it’s the greatest stronghold in the whole world.’

‘Aye – with temples so big they shut in the sky!’ agreed his brother. ‘Every one made of silver and gold and precious stones.’

‘Sounds like quite a place.’ Erlan yawned. ‘Pass that skin.’

Adalrik tossed him the ale-skin and leaned forward. ‘I’ve been thinking about your king of kings.’

‘Oh, have you?’ Erlan took a swig, then wiped his lips dry. ‘And I suppose you’re reckoning this Miklagard is where we’ll find him. Only the king of kings could rule a place so wondrous? Huh?’

‘Exactly!’ Adalrik’s face was beaming.

‘Brilliant. So tell me, my friend – where is it?’

Adalrik’s smile fell. ‘Well. . . I don’t know. But someone must—’

‘It’s beyond the great rivers,’ said Leikr. ‘That’s what Father says.’

‘And that’s where the Dnipar will take us. So we’ll find out. One way or another.’