The king didn’t get to finish because his sister launched herself towards her opponent. Lann managed to get his sword up in time to clumsily parry her attack. With little more than a twist of her wrist, Astrid jabbed him in the chest with the blunted end of her weapon hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Taking two strides back, she turned to her confused-looking brother.

‘That – that doesn’t prove anything,’ he said. ‘Jarl Gudbrandr simply allowed you win.’

‘Allowed me to?’ Astrid’s eyes narrowed. ‘Nobody allowed me to win, brother.’ That wild look was directed towards Lann again. ‘Another bout, “champion”?’ she asked.

‘No,’ he spluttered. ‘I mean, look, can’t we just talk—’

Astrid didn’t wait to hear any more; she moved in to attack again.

Lann, his chest aching, gripped the sword and prepared to defend himself. He saw her attack coming easily enough: a big swing from the outside towards his shoulder. He brought his own weapon round to block it, but her stroke was just a ruse designed to provoke such a move on his part. Astrid stepped a little to her right, rotating her hand and whipping her sword down in a chopping blow on to his wrist. At the same time she kicked out with her left foot, catching him a painful blow in an area that he definitely did not want to be kicked in. All the air rushed out of his lungs and he folded forward, clutching himself in pain. Astrid, grabbing his injured sword hand, twisted it viciously enough for the wooden weapon to fall to the floor with a clatter. The new pain made him straighten up again, only to find Astrid’s sword at his throat.

The girl smiled sweetly over her shoulder in Erik’s direction. ‘Want to see some more? Maybe he let me win again. Or was I lucky?’

Erik sat back on his throne, mystified. ‘I don’t understand,’ he admitted.

Lann was relieved when the shield maiden removed the wooden blade from beneath his chin and stepped away. His chest, wrist and another particularly delicate region all hurt like hell, and it struck him that he would have died twice over in the last few moments had they been using real weapons. Worse yet was that he knew Astrid had not even been trying particularly hard. Fleya’s amused expression was equally annoying. ‘Oh, I’m sure you find this highly entertaining,’ he muttered to her.

Another thing occurred to him: the blade at his side had remained completely inert throughout the exchange. There had been no strange whispers or words in his head, no urge for it to be unleashed so it might come to his aid. It seemed everyone and everything in the longhouse were conspiring to make him look like a fool.

‘Explain this to me,’ Erik demanded of Fleya. ‘Was it your majik that allowed Lann to beat Oknhammer the other day?’