He did not like the silence of the Krakgard on that stifling summer's day. The chants of the gothi were done. The weight of the mountain at his back pressed on him, as if a warrior offered silent challenge, and waited for him to turn around to knock his head in with his axe.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood to attention. Wind blew around the collar of his leather suit, stirring them. He waited tensely in anticipation of the blow. There was nothing behind him. It was a fanciful thought. Too close to fear. Nevertheless, Bjorn felt him, the man who would end his life. He had the impression if he strained his ears only a little more, he would hear his heartbeat, his hungering breath. It was as if Morkai himself stared at his back.

The sensation fled at the first notice of Leman Russ' approach.

Footsteps rasped heavily in scree. Stones skittered down the slope behind the primarch's progress. He smelled broken stone and post-human sweat. He came from the left-hand side. Why did he not use the stairs?

'I have returned, Bjorn of Tra,' said Leman Russ.

'You are alone, my lord.'

'I am. Look upon me.'

'I cannot' said Bjorn.

'The gothi forbade it. I recall. Where are they?' asked Russ.

'The gothi are dead,' said Bjorn.

'How?' asked Russ.

'I heard,' said Bjorn.

'Then tell me what you heard.'

Leman Russ paused at the edge of the circle around Bjorn's sentry place. His presence was almost as awful as the non-thing that had been staring at his neck this last hour.

Bjorn stared straight ahead. This was important. He must formulate the words right.

'Eight times I heard the cries of the dead and the battle chants of lost tribes. Eight times I heard an attack. Eight times I heard the ring of steel on steel. And then it stopped. When the gothi's chant began again, Halvar Flintdrake's voice was silent.'

Russ crunched over the gravel to stand near him. Still he remained outside the circle of wolf skulls. Still Bjorn did not turn to look at him.

'And then what did you hear?' WOLFSBANE

'j heard the screams of fiends,' Bjorn said. 'Eight times, fell voices shrieking min. Eight times I heard them wail. Eight times I heard them fall silent. And when the gothi again sang the wyrd-make, Ake Akesson the Snowmaker did not speak.'

'What came after?' asked Russ.

Thereafter there were eight earthquakes, which shook the rock upon which I sit. Still I did not look back. The earth ground and rumbled. Eight times the gothi spoke their words of power. When the shaking was done, Wise Gimfulfor did not raise his voice.

Then came eight blasts of wind, so strong they lifted me from this rock, and I bloodied my fingers clinging to the boulder's skin. When they were done, Edun Balthunsbane was silent.

'To eight strikes of lightning, Gerrun Hros was lost. Eadrede to eight storms of laughter.'