We rowed on, making good time on the smooth waters of Suldalsvatnet. I wondered how Sygbald fared. But despite my worry for him, I could not help thinking that perhaps he had been lucky to suffer the accident when he did. For now he rested in the hut of the imposing seeress, while we hauled on the oars’ looms, pulling Gullbringa over the flat waters of the lake, heading towards fire and death. For what other fate could await us in Ljósberari’s realm?

We stopped only briefly to change rowers and to eat some of the dried fish that we had brought from Sand. It was late in the afternoon when we reached the mouth of the river that Ingvar said would take us north. We would be travelling into the lands of Kaun Solvason, King Hjorleif’s difficult neighbour, but Ingvar told us that upriver aways, whether Hǫrðaland or Rygjafylki, Ljósberari held total sway.

We had followed the lake as it twisted north and east, eventually reaching the northernmost shore, which was bounded to the east, north and south by steep, tree-clad mountains. The river disgorged its waters into the northern part of the lake.

“The going will be more difficult after this,” said Ingvar. “The river winds its way into the mountains and much of our passage will not be easy.” Staring up at the rocky slopes to the north, I could barely imagine how we planned to travel further, but Ingvar had brought us this far.

A small settlement stood on the eastern bank of the river mouth, and Ingvar steered us towards it.

“We will rest here tonight and set off upriver at dawn.”

Dusk was still a long way off, but none of us complained as we rowed up to one of the wooden wharfs that thrust out into the lake. As Eadmaer jumped from the bow, taking a rope with him to secure Gullbringa, it became clear that this settlement had not escaped Ljósberari’s wrath. The buildings had been torched, and along the river’s edge stood several stakes, each supporting the charred corpse of an unfortunate man or woman. There were a dozen in all.

“I will not sleep here,” said Eadmaer.

Runolf spat into the water, but did not argue. Ingvar made the sign to ward off evil and touched the amulet at his neck.

“These were good people,” he said, his gaze sweeping over the blackened bodies. “Last I heard, they yet lived. Gods.” He turned away. He beckoned for Eadmaer to return to the boat, and with a whispered command, we rowed back out onto the lake. “We will rest elsewhere,” said Ingvar.

Nobody spoke as he steered us to the tree-lined shore to the west of the river. We tethered the boat to the lowest branch of a tall fir and clambered ashore.

“Can we risk a fire?” Hereward asked Ingvar.