‘Some say so.’ The priest paused. ‘Others say he escaped the storm, only to wander the earth for hundreds of years, unaware of who and what he was.’

‘And the Dreadblade?’

‘Lost. To this world, at least.’ He glanced at the scabbard hanging at the boy’s side. ‘Until now.’

Lann considered everything the robed man had told him. ‘Why did you bring me here?’

‘To show you the dangers of what you seek to do. And to show you that defeating the dark god alone may not be enough. The greater battle for you, Lann, might be the one you must fight with yourself.’

‘Do you really think I can stop Lorgukk if he is returned?’

‘That will depend on many things, Jarl Gudbrandr. But it has been done before.’

‘By a god,’ Lann said with a shake of his head.

‘Yes, that is true. By a god.’

Lann turned slowly on the spot, taking in the images one last time. It was not a complete surprise to find the man in the red robes had disappeared when he finished. Even so, he had no wish to stay in this place on his own a moment longer than was necessary. Grabbing the torch, he hurried back along the corridor to the stairs and the exit.

26

Fleya had requested that they be alone for the ritual to restore Erik’s memory and, despite the protests of his guards and advisors, the king agreed.

They both sat on the floor in his private chambers. At any other time, the young king might have relished the idea of being in such intimate company with this beautiful woman. But this was no ordinary situation. Large wooden shutters at the windows banished the daylight, and the only illumination was from tallow-and-beeswax candles that sputtered and spat in their holders, filling the room with an unpleasant, slightly meaty odour. Around the pair, describing a circle on the floor, was a length of hemp rope, tightly knotted where the two ends met. In the centre, between Erik and Fleya, were three items: a dead songbird, a loaf of bread and an empty drinking horn.

A number of minutes had passed since the two had taken up their positions, and neither had said a word to each other during that time. Indeed, the witch hadn’t moved a muscle since she’d lowered herself to the floor, where she sat with her legs crossed beneath her. Eyes closed, chin tilted slightly up, Erik watched as her breathing became increasingly shallow until it seemed she was not breathing at all. The only evidence that she was even alive was the tremendous heat coming off her, as if she were in the grip of some terrible fever. He had never seen anyone perform majik like this, and it made him uneasy. She had told him nothing about what to expect, and this only fuelled his apprehension.