“Alodia had several properties across England. We never stayed in one for more than a decade before moving to another. And fifty or sixty years would pass before we returned to a previous keep. By then most of the mortals we had known had died, and the few who remained were old, often blind, or too decrepit to get around.” He shrugged. “We rarely had trouble.”

Allie nodded, and wondered if that was how all immortals avoided detection, by moving every decade. Before she could ask, though, he answered her first question.

“And I left because I grew weary of battle and wished to return to my roots.”

“You became a Viking again?” she asked with interest.

Magnus smiled crookedly and shook his head. “I am sorry to disappoint you, but no. My roots were farming. I grew up on a farm,” he reminded her. “That Viking expedition was a one-time thing.”

“Oh, right.” She shrugged at her mistake. “So you gave up fighting for farming.”

He nodded. “It was nice for a time. My father had taught me well and I was a successful farmer. But eventually I tired of that too, and decided to travel around. I tried various things along the way.”

“Like what?” she asked with curiosity.

Magnus considered her question briefly, and then said, “Blacksmith, stonemason, carpenter . . . I seemed to most enjoy doing things with my hands, creating things,” he explained. “Eventually I decided I should like my own castle, but I needed a lot of coin for that. And land, of course, which only the king could bestow on you. So I became a mercenary to earn the coin.”

“And controlled a king to get the land?” she suggested.

“No. I might have, but it was not necessary in the end,” he said with a grin. “I was a very successful mercenary. Most immortals are. We are strong, fast, and hard to kill, after all.”

Allie nodded, but said, “Which makes me wonder how Basha could identify Abaddon among the dead rogues when the only way I know that one can be killed is by fire.”

Magnus blinked, and then smiled wryly. “I knew you would revisit that subject eventually.”

“Hmm,” she murmured, and then arched an eyebrow. “So? Is there a way to kill your kind without fire?”

“Beheading,” he said solemnly. “An immortal can survive it if the head is placed back on the body quickly for the nanos to heal, but if not . . .” He shrugged.

“So Basha will be expected to inspect the beheaded bodies?” she asked, grimacing at the thought of thirty-six bodies laid out with their heads severed.

“The bodies will have been burned,” he assured her. “But the heads will have been kept for identification purposes unless ID was found on their bodies. Enforcers try to keep track of mortals who are turned by rogues in case their disappearance causes problems in the future.”