Of course I didn’t stand a chance. Heimdall was stronger, and armour-clad, and sooner or later I knew he’d get the upper hand. Just as I thought I had him – his face half blackened, his glam getting weak – Goldie cast Isa and froze me in place, yanking me from my fiery shape and back into my human form.

For a moment, time froze. I could feel the darkening air; smell the stench of the fire-pits; hear the Watchman’s breath in my ear and see – was that a star in the lurid sky? Was that my star hanging there? I looked towards the east again and saw the black tip of a giant wing coming out of the shadow-cloud.

Then Heimdall looked straight into my eyes and stepped right off the battlements, carrying me down with him through the hot air towards the ravaged battlefield.

I grinned. He was so predictable. I’d guessed he would follow me from the Bridge to try and even the score with me. I’d guessed he would be quite prepared to sacrifice himself for me. And now he was staging a double jump, just as the end came into sight – secure in the grim satisfaction of knowing that, if he had to die, at least he’d taken me with him.

There wasn’t much time to struggle. Even if I’d tried to escape, Isa would have held me fast. All I could do was watch the ground rushing up to receive me, looking very rocky and hard and cratered with smoking pits of fire.

So what’s the worst that could happen? I thought. Doesn’t Hel owe me a favour?

And then something swept across the land like the shadow of a monstrous black bird, and the ground disappeared; and the sky disappeared; and a cold like the ice of distant stars fell into sudden silence.

Now comes the final reckoning.
Now come the folk of Netherworld.
Now comes the dragon of darkness, Death,
Casting his shadow-wing over the Worlds.

And at the same time, I felt something snap inside me, like a little bone. I’d never felt the sensation before, but all the same, I knew what it was. They say you know instinctively whenever you break a bone, and in the same way I knew that what I’d just felt was the rune Kaen, giving up the last of its glam, reversed by a violent psychic blow.

And I knew Death wasn’t my problem. No. My problem was a larger one. That cloud – that wing of darkness – was Surt in his primary Aspect. Surt the Destroyer; Chaos incarnate; the ultimate ruler of Netherworld, crashing into the Worlds through Dream . . .

I said: ‘Oh, crap.’

Then, night fell.