No chance of that now. I was marked. All I could hope for was the chance to bring down as many of my enemies as possible – and, hopefully, Mimir’s Head – before going out in flames. As for Heidi, I promised myself that if I could rob her of the chance of handing me over to Lord Surt, then I might even die happy. I had the germ of a plan – not great, but all I could think of at the time – and if it worked, I told myself that maybe, just maybe . . .

But I’m getting ahead of myself. That came nine days later.

I left my tent and my circle of fires and walked out alone to the edge of the plain, where the icy winds scoured the frozen ground and the snow was like iron filings. Even in my thick furs, I was cold; my feet were numb; my hands were claws; the air in my lungs was shards of steel. Across the plain, I could see my army; my hordes of ephemera; my legions of undead; my snakes and trolls and werewolves; my ships and vessels of dark fire.

Above me, Asgard. Defiant; doomed; flying its colours across the sky. I wondered if the Old Man was watching me from that throne of his. Then I stood in the wilderness and wished that I could see the stars, but the light from Asgard’s battlements and the glow of the fires on Ida’s plain had made them all but invisible.

One star still shone out. My star – the Dogstar – still made its mark. Then, as I watched, a bracket of smoke rose up from the plain and engulfed it.

Darkness beckoned. I had to obey. Call it Destiny, if you like, or predetermination, but my path was written in runes of stone, even though I knew it would lead to darkness. The Old Man had known even before he sent his birds that I would not yield any more than he would himself. The Aesir would fall. Asgard would fall. The Vanir would fall, and I . . .

Well. In any case, it wasn’t my fault. I was as much a victim of this as any of the others. If the gods had trusted me; if Odin had swallowed his pride; if I hadn’t listened to the Oracle’s thrice-damned prophecy . . .

In his eyrie above Bif-rost, I knew Odin was watching me. I gave him the finger. Damn him. Damn the lot of them. Because I could have stopped it all, and the bastard knew it. But even so, his colossal pride prevented him from asking for help; instead he’d sent those ridiculous birds with his terms and his ultimatum, even though he needed me so badly that it was killing him.