Erlan saw only a dark shadow hovering over him, a great span of black spread above him like an eagle’s wings; he felt sharp talons tight around his neck, choking him and choking. His body was filled with pain and black despair. And then all of a sudden a beam of light pierced like a spear-shaft straight through the huge hovering shadow, driving deep into his stomach, ripping through the wall of muscle and flesh, opening up a great cavity in his abdomen that sent blood gushing out of him. He looked down and was bewildered: the shaft of light was now a pair of hands buried deep in his body. He felt heavy. So heavy. The hands pulled and suddenly in their strong fingers they held the links of a massive chain. They pulled and pulled and a long length of chain poured forth from his stomach. The hands pulled again and still more came – blood-slick black metal, brute and scarred, link after link, yard after yard, it came out of him, absurdly long – and all the while he felt lighter and lighter until the hands stopped with a jolt. They pulled again hard but could not budge the last of the chain. Instead they reached inside him. He felt the hands moving in his innards, yet there was no pain now. They lifted and tore and tugged and all at once it was as if they had torn away roots sunk deep into him, and they had in their palms a massive metal lock, sharp-edged. They strained with one final effort and the lock dislodged at last. It was out of him. And then he watched and saw the hands dump the lock into something like a forge fire. At once the metal melted into a silver pool of liquid until out of the pool rose a blade. . . a sword. . . a weapon of such shining, silvered beauty that it took away his breath. . . Above him, the shadow was gone.

He lay completely still. For a few moments, all was silence in the octagonal hall. Lilla wondered, was he dead? Then he opened his eyes.

‘Erlan?’ said Lilla in a whisper.

‘Lilla?’ he croaked. It was his own voice again.

Domnicus was kneeling over him, panting for breath. Einar was there, breathing as hard. He grunted and flopped back on his arse, shaking his head in mute wonder. Lilla pulled Erlan upright and wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing him tight to her chest.

‘Praise God,’ Domnicus murmured. ‘Praise God, praise God. . .’

‘What happened?’ said Erlan.

‘You’re free.’ The priest smiled. ‘The blood of Christ has set you free.’

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

‘You should be resting,’ said Lilla.

‘I can’t rest. Not now,’ replied Erlan, prodding gingerly at his throbbing skull. He winced. ‘The emperor needs me.’

‘You’re in no state to fight.’

He shook his head and immediately regretted it. ‘What can I do?’