‘What are you saying?’ Lann said, frowning. ‘That I was … destined to wield the weapon?’

‘Who else?’

Lann waited for the god to continue, shaking his head when the deity stared back at him blankly. ‘It’s true what they say about you. You speak only in riddles. Half-truths and words designed to trick us. My aunt knew this. She warned me never to trust you.’

Rakur smiled, but there was no humour in his look. ‘Then let me speak plainly to you, Lannigon Gudbrandr. Your aunt told you many things, but she withheld something crucial. When we first met, you asked me whether I was your father. Do you remember?’

Lann nodded.

‘You also asked me what happened to the gods when people stopped believing in them.’ He hesitated as if weighing up how best to go on. ‘Who was the sword forged for?’

‘Trogir.’ Lann remembered his time in the catacombs. ‘He who banished the dark god Lorgukk. And after he’d saved the world from the dark god, you and the other gods tried to kill him.’

Rakur nodded. ‘He was insane. The fight against Lorgukk had taken his senses. Power can corrupt the purest heart. He wanted to rule over this human world on his own. If that had happened, we would simply have been swapping one tyrannical monster for another. But we were unsuccessful. He escaped. Trogir wandered this world for hundreds of years, half mad, and unaware of who he was.’ He lifted his extraordinary eyes and looked at Lann. ‘He found peace when he finally found love.’

Realisation dawned on Lann. ‘My mother … She fell in love with the god Trogir?’

Rakur nodded. ‘By then he was neither god nor man. He fell in love with Lette every bit as much as she loved him. You were a result of that happiness.’

Lann felt the sword stir at his side.

‘The Dreadblade. Nobody else can wield it, can they?’

‘No. Not while you live.’ The god studied the boy for a moment. ‘Now do you understand what I meant when I told you I have not interfered with your fate?’ He made a gesture that took in the carnage behind them. ‘This is your fate, Lannigon Gudbrandr. Yours too, Astrid Rivengeld. And your journey together has only just begun. Your destinies, and that of the young necromancer Kelewulf, are like intertwined ropes stretching out before you all. Your aunt knew this. She gave her life so you might know it too.’

He glanced behind him, as though called by a voice only he could hear. ‘I must leave you now.’

Lann took a step towards him. ‘Wait. You say we have a path to walk together – what do we do now?’