The arm came back, swatting me off like an unwelcome insect, and I crashed to the floor, jarring hip and elbow. My mind edged toward blank terror. Oh gods, in a moment Ardal would be dead, and I couldn’t, I couldn’t . . . You are a druid, Sibeal, said a small, strong voice inside me. Use what you know. Use what is already here. A distraction. I needed him to let go just for a moment. A moment of elemental magic—use what is here—fire, glowing red beneath a blanket of ash. Now, quick! I concentrated my mind on that red, feeling its heat, feeling its strength in the beating of my heart. Help me. Help us. I spoke a word I had learned from Ciarán, a word of power.

The fire flared into sudden brilliance, flames shooting high. The attacker uttered an exclamation, perhaps a Norse curse, and in that instant Ardal rolled out of his grasp, toppling off the pallet and landing on the floor beside me. His breath was the scrape of metal on stone.

I struggled to my knees, then to my feet. The fire had died down now. Knut was standing very still, facing me; the flickering light played in his eyes, and set a gleam on the knife at his belt.

“You were trying to kill him,” I said, hearing the cold iron in my voice. “I saw you leaning over him with your fingers on his neck. I saw you.”

“No, no,” Knut said, taking a step closer. “You see nothing. Mistake.” His hand went to the knife’s hilt. “You see nothing at all. Yes?” There was a small, metallic sound, and now the weapon was in his hand.

How Ardal managed it I do not know, but he was up in a flash, grabbing me by the shoulder and thrusting me behind him. He stretched out his arms to shield me. His hands were shaking. His voice came in a harsh whisper, and although he spoke in Norse, I could guess the meaning. Lay a finger on her and you’re dead, I swear it.

A crash as the back door was flung open. Gull strode in. The light from his candle sent shadows leaping around the chamber. “What in the name of the gods is going on?” he bellowed.

In the moment of distraction Knut moved, slicing with his knife. Ardal cried out, staggered and fell. As he went down, his head struck the chest by the pallet with a thud.