There was a hush as Oknhammer entered the square, the crowd parting before him like a wave. The man was a giant, towering above everybody else around him by almost a foot. Although the weather was mild, he still wore a great bear fur around his shoulders. It was said he was only eleven years of age when he killed the beast. Armed only with a knife, the young Frindr had refused to run when the bear attacked him in the hills near his village. When he was discovered, pinioned beneath the creature, covered in blood, he was thought to be dead. But it was the bear’s blood that soaked the earth, and the unconscious young Frindr was merely trapped beneath the creature.

But you didn’t need to know the story of Frindr Oknhammer’s childhood to know what he was. One look at his cold, dead eyes was enough to tell you everything about him.

Astrid searched the crowd, seeking out Brant Skifrmunn. But when her eyes met his she saw only fear. Her admirer might be the best sword in Stromgard, but it was clear he had no wish to fight the giant.

‘Well?’ Glaeverssun said, one eyebrow raised first at the queen, then at the witch. ‘Who is to champion the king-killer?’

Astrid implored Brant with her eyes, but he responded by lowering his head in shame before turning away. Panic coursed through her – that and a dreadful realisation that she had condemned her brother to yet further agonies.

Lann observed the exchange between Astrid and Brant, and he’d watched the beautiful young queen’s heart break as Fleya’s plan unravelled before her eyes. It was a terrible thing to witness: the devastation of hope. He was aware Glaeverssun was talking, the man’s tone triumphant now as he addressed the crowd.

The dark blade stirred at his side.

‘… Does this not tell you everything you need to know?’ the jarl shouted, pointing at Fleya. ‘The witch and the killer’s sister invoke the right to trial by combat, and have no champion to fight for them. They have proven the gods wi—’

‘I’ll fight for the true ruler of Stromgard!’ Lann shouted.

The jarl turned towards the speaker, his mouth opening in amazement when he saw who had voiced the words. ‘Is this a joke?’ he asked.

Fleya too had spun around at the sound. Her look, in contrast to Glaeverssun’s, was one of horror. ‘Lann!’ she hissed. ‘Don’t do this. You can’t!’

He stepped forward, ignoring her and directly addressing the jarl. Clasping his hands together in an attempt to stop them shaking, he did his best to do the same with his voice.