‘Never mind that, now,’ his da said, a clear end to that line of conversation. Olin fell silent, eyes distant.

Has he committed a crime, been hunted for something?

Olin shook his head, sucked in a deep breath and looked at Drem. ‘You don’t like to fight, I saw that in you the other day.’

‘I’m sorry, Da,’ Drem said. ‘I wish I was as brave and—’

‘You are brave,’ his da interrupted, a fierceness in his voice. ‘I asked Fritha what happened. She told me what you did. You, against eight men. Trying to protect the weak, the outnumbered. It reminds me of an oath I once heard . . .’ He was silent again. ‘Knowing what kind of man you’ve become, makes me prouder than I can tell you.’ He put a hand over his heart, his lips twisted, but no words came out.

Drem wanted to say something in response, but his da’s speech had hit him like a hammer, stolen his words and set a lump growing in his throat that words couldn’t get past, anyway.

‘I wish your mam was here to see you now.’

I wish that, too.

They sat in silence awhile, Drem feeling happier than he could remember.

‘You’re a good learner, Drem,’ his da said. ‘You listen; you think things through. Like talking sense to people, showing some kindness, and some manners.’

‘Aye, well, I’ve seen you do it,’ Drem said. ‘Seen it work.’

‘It does, most of the time. But not all of the time. Like the other day. Sometimes the only answer is blood and steel.’ He sucked in a long, deep breath, back straightening, as if setting his mind to a task. ‘I’ve taught you how to use your fists, if you’ve needed to, some spear-work, and how to use a knife and axe to defend yourself. But it’s time for something more, now. In case that tide that I’ve kept us running from catches up with us. I’ve thought we could find peace, you and me. That I could keep us separate from the darkness of this world.’ He sighed, rubbing his eyes. ‘Looking back on it, I should have taught you a long time ago.’

‘What do you mean, Da?’

‘This,’ his da said. He stood up and strode down the creaking timber steps into their courtyard, the ground frozen hard. Drem followed him and his da turned and threw something to him, Drem instinctively catching it.

It was a wooden sword, long and heavy, and Drem saw his da was holding one, too.

His da had taught him some rudiments with a sword, but it was not a weapon that a trapper required in the same way as axe, knife and spear, so it felt awkward and strange in Drem’s hand.

What is it that I need to fight with a sword? Why won’t he just tell me?