He thought about Calder, could not believe that the big man was dead. He looked at his da and felt a wave of sympathy for him, knew that he and Calder had been good friends.

And Calder’s death. There’s something about it that’s not right. Another bear attack? And why was he in the woods when he was supposed to be meeting Da at the gates of Kergard? His mind was picking through the threads and tangles of this knot, but he couldn’t focus on it, not yet, because there was something else foremost in his mind.

‘Da, we need to talk.’

Olin paused in his work, a frozen moment, then he carried on, reaching for a strip of tan leather. Drem watched him as he pinned it close to the cross-guard, then began to wind it tight around the ash hilt, spiralling up towards the pommel.

‘We do,’ Olin replied. ‘You’ve got questions.’

Da’s always been good at understating an issue, but that’s the biggest understatement I think I’ve ever heard.

‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘Last night, the things you did, the things you said!’

Drem sucked in a deep breath, condensed all of the spinning questions into one.

‘Who are you, Da?’ he breathed.

A pause in Olin’s work. ‘Your father. First, before all other things.’

‘I know that.’ Drem sighed. It’s like getting a horse to walk where it doesn’t want to. Just say it straight.

‘Da, last night, you spoke a spell. In a different language. And it worked! The metal wouldn’t soften, even with the white heat of the forge. But then you spoke, and . . .’

And you sprinkled your blood on the fire and metal . . .

But some things he just couldn’t say out loud.

‘And the metal softened. And now you want to go running off and cut Asroth’s head off. I thought Asroth was already dead, and how would you find him, anyway, to get close enough to, you know, chop his head off, and—’

‘Stop!’ Olin said, turning around. He’d finished wrapping the sword’s hilt, was holding it now, blade lowered. There was something about it that drew Drem’s eye, even though it was plain and simply bound, no gold or silver wire, no jewels or intricate scroll-work. Shadowed runes were carved into the dark metal of the blade and cross-guard. Drem noticed something else, at the top of the blade; just before it met the guard a small, four-pointed star was carved.

‘There’s something I need to show you. It will help you understand.’ Olin walked away, still gripping the Starstone Sword, out of their shared room into his own bedchamber. He dropped to his knees beside his cot, pulled a pile of furs out of the way and dragged a chest into view. It wasn’t particularly big, and about as long as Drem’s arm. The wood was plain, old and worn.