Now, as he thought of what he’d found, his hand drifted down to a pouch at his belt, fingertips through his gloves brushing it. Then he turned and looked to the snow-heaped forest, saw the track Hildith and Ulf’s hunting party had made through the snow, and followed after them.

Drem stood in the woodland twilight, looking at the trampled ground. Searching. He found the buckle from his da’s belt, amidst forest litter and something darker. He didn’t want to look too close, didn’t need to. Ahead of him lay the path the white bear had trampled, the one he and his da had been following it along, branches splintered to ruin, bushes and undergrowth trampled and torn. And to Drem’s right lay another path, the destruction that the other ‘bear’ had caused in its attack, leaping out from the darkness. Drem stared into it, all shifting shadows and the rare glitter of daylight on ice.

Behind him he heard the distant baying of hounds, somewhere north and west of him, Ulf’s hunt picking up the scent of the white bear. He kept his back to it.

That is nothing to me.

He thought of his da then, an act of choice, of will, basked in the memory of him, felt the grief stir in his belly, and something else, anger, fire in his veins. He thought of the decision he’d made when he declined Asger’s offer to leave Kergard and travel south, and the reasons why.

Two reasons to live, I said to Asger, though I didn’t tell him what they were. One, to finish Da’s quest. To go to Drassil and cut Asroth’s head from his shoulders. But I need the Starstone Sword to do that.

And the second reason, to see justice done for my da.

He tugged off a glove with his teeth and reached down to the pouch at his waist, pulled out a cloth and opened it carefully, revealing a few strips of torn, tattered leather. He’d found them within the jaws of Surl, Fritha’s hound, and another strip hanging from one of the hound’s paws. They hadn’t matched any item of clothing within the cabin.

If I find the Starstone Sword I will find the answer to who killed my da. A bear, yes, though not a white one with only four claws on its right paw. And it wasn’t alone. Bears don’t pick up swords and walk off with them, and nor do they wear leather clothing. It wasn’t the bear that struck me on the head, but a person. Whoever or whatever it was, it played a role in my da’s death, and now has the Starstone Sword.