Astrid’s bow skills provided two fat rabbits, which they roasted with the herbs Fleya gathered. Bellies full, the three sat beside the fire, staring into the flames as they contemplated what might still lie ahead.

‘What is your cousin like?’ Lann asked Astrid, after a while.

‘Kelewulf?’ She started saying something, but stopped herself. Instead she thought for a moment before responding. ‘Erik always felt sorry for him. My cousin lost his mother when he was young – they were very close, and Erik put any strangeness down to that. I don’t really know why, but I’ve never liked him. He’s clever, but … false.’ She gave a little shake of her head. ‘I don’t think he likes people very much.’

Lann nodded thoughtfully, then turned to Fleya. ‘This lich,’ he said. ‘Who was it before?’

‘A powerful sorcerer with a similar dislike of this world to Astrid’s cousin. He seems to have found the perfect partner with whom to reignite his hatred.’ The firelight danced across her features and Lann could see the consternation on her face. ‘His name was … is … Yirgan.’

The name was familiar to Lann, and he remembered how Fleya had told him how the sorcerer had risen to power. A servant of the dark god Lorgukk, his majik had become so great, it threatened the very existence of the world until the gods themselves were forced to intervene and stop him. If the gods couldn’t destroy the man, what hope did they have?

She sighed. ‘We should rest now. We have a long journey ahead.’

The trio pulled their blankets up around themselves and closed their eyes to the world. But all of them found sleep hard to come by that night.

Lann woke to the sound of a voice calling his name. When he opened his eyes, he was standing in a pasture not unlike the one they’d travelled through earlier that day. It was neither night nor day, but the world was bathed in a weird pink light. The sword was gone from his side.

It occurred to him that he was dreaming.

He looked about him and spotted a strange circle of stones to his left. Each of the nine megaliths that formed the ring was square in shape, and twice the height of a man. They were old, those stones; that much was obvious even from this distance. Covered in lichen and moss, they looked like great hairy giants who had hunkered down close to the ground to shelter themselves from the weather. Stranger still was the pulsating glow that surrounded them, marking this place as one of power and majik.