Sconces holding burning torches lined the walls of the temple, the flames casting shifting shadows on every surface. The walls of the place were painted in a deep red that quickly turned to black in the shadows.

‘I thought you said you were not a celebrant of Geshtrik.’

The priest, a short distance ahead, directed his answer over his shoulder. ‘I told you no lies this evening, Lannigon Gudbrandr. Nor shall I. I have no love for this new god.’

‘Then what are we doing here?’

‘This temple is built on the site of a much older one. Much of the latter still exists, even if it is not immediately obvious.’ He stopped before a huge altar. Behind it loomed the figure of Geshtrik. The god, like the altar, was carved from a dark, almost black, wood. Naked, except for a small loincloth, the god held a kid goat under one arm, a flaming torch in the other.

‘Help me to move this to one side,’ the priest said, ignoring the statue and nodding at the opposite end of the altar. Heaving aside the thing between them revealed a metal-reinforced wooden hatch set into the floor. There was a recess, into which the priest placed a flat, thin object of the same colour and material, rotating it until the two pieces slotted together. There was a muted click. Lifting the hatch up on its hinges, he exposed a dark cavity from which no light came.

‘What is it?’ Lann asked.

‘An entrance.’

Fetching one of the burning torches, the priest illuminated the first few steps of an extremely steep and narrow stairway. Beyond this, lower down, was utter blackness. Without saying a word, the robed man set off down the steps, leaving Lann little choice but to follow.

The descent into that dark fissure was claustrophobic and Lann had the strong sense that the walls were pressing in on him. Even when he put his hands out, brushing his fingers against the rough stone, he was hardly able to banish the notion. As the unease he felt increased, the temperature all about him dropped, until he reached the bottom. The priest stood waiting for him and it was cold enough for his breath to hang in the air before his face.

‘This way,’ the priest said, turning to walk off down a passageway carved into the stone to their right.

Lann paused for a moment. The place had an earthy smell to it. Like a grave, he thought.

Lann felt the change in the air as he emerged into a wider space. The red-robed man stood in the centre of the room, before a large metal bowl set into the floor. As Lann watched, the priest touched the flaming brand to it, igniting a substance inside and filling the place with a dancing, shifting light.