‘Perhaps you should join your father,’ Ildaer grunted, pinning both of Wulf’s wrists together with one huge fist. He strode up the far side of the steps to its opposite column, bending to pick up a spear as he went, and in one blow pierced both of Wulf’s palms, stabbing the spear into the column. Wulf stood with his arms raised overhead, blood running down the column, eyes fixed on his da.

‘Now,’ Ulfilas said, ‘I shall ask you both. Where is Haelan? Hiding in some bolt-hole? Where is he?’ He looked between the two men, father and son, could see the defiance in their eyes. He sighed.

I am a warrior, not a torturer. Where is Dag when he’s needed? Nevertheless, Ulfilas knew his duty, and he knew that he could not return to Jael without Haelan’s head, or else there was a high chance he’d lose his own, and that was not an option.

‘I am going to torture one of you until the other speaks. This will bring me no pleasure. It will be best for you both to speak now and avoid the unnecessary pain.’

Neither answered him. He drew his knife and walked up the steps to stand halfway between them. ‘Who shall it be?’ he asked.

‘I know where he is,’ a voice shouted, someone stepping out from behind a wain. A youth, tall, fair-haired and long-limbed.

A girl?

The youth walked towards them, something in her stride seeming wrong, somehow, different. As she drew closer Ulfilas saw that her arms were corded with thick muscle, her face flat planes and sharp angles.

Like a giant.

‘What are you?’ he asked, frowning.

‘My name’s Trigg,’ the youth said. ‘I’m a half-breed.’

Ulfilas noticed Ildaer cocking his head to one side, studying this new arrival with interest.

I didn’t know such a thing was possible.

Trigg reached the wide steps and stopped.

‘Why would you offer up this information?’ Ulfilas asked, himself as suspicious as the girl appeared to be, half expecting some kind of trap.

‘They have mistreated me all my life,’ Trigg said, pointing at both Gramm and Wulf.

Fair enough.

‘We gave you a home, treated you well,’ Wulf yelled at her.

‘You mocked me, scorned me, beat me,’ Trigg said, her face cold, holding Wulf’s gaze.

‘Where is Haelan, then?’ Ulfilas asked.

‘Trigg,’ Gramm breathed, ‘don’t.’

Ildaer cuffed Gramm across the head.

‘He’s in the cellars, I saw Gramm go down there, heard them talking.’

‘You traitorous half-breed, curse you, I’ll kill you,’ Wulf yelled.

‘Take me to them,’ Ulfilas said. Trigg strode up the steps into the feast-hall, Ulfilas and Ildaer behind her, Wulf’s screams following them. They passed through the hall, dead men lying on tables, others between the tables, through a wide door into the kitchen, ovens cold. A pile of barrels were massed in one corner and Trigg pointed at them.