'The moment the Lord of Mankind handed me that weapon, I felt its ill-wyrd cross my soul. My smile near slipped off my face. I managed to keep it as I accepted the honour,' he stressed the word sarcastically. 'You cannot hide anything from my father. I expected Him to show some sign of noticing my apprehension, to be offended, or to hesitate, but if He did sense my faltering, He said nothing. That troubled me more than the spear itself. He must have sensed my misgivings, because that is who He is, and if He did, which He would have done, and did not say anything, then the spear was doing whatever the spear was supposed to do. So I went back to my place next to Ferrus with a troubled heart and a face as humourless as his.

'When I returned to my pavilion, I could not wait to let go of the thing. As a gift of the Emperor it was hung in pride of place over my other weapons, but I am not ashamed to say I could not look at it, and nor would I touch it. I have never used it in battle.'

What Russ said next was lost as the Hrafnkel encountered a hardened knot in the empyrean's weave and jumped. The ewer rocked on its base. Geri lifted his head and looked towards the ceiling. Coals jumped from a couple of the firebowls. They bounced across the floor, sending out parties of short-lived embers that glinted orange in the dark.

The engines howled, rising several pitches, falling, rising again, a sound more eerie than any wolf's call. The ship quietened. Their passage levelled. Russ waited a moment while aftershocks trembled the vessel before continuing.

'All this took place on Seraphina V. Have you ever been to the system?' asked Russ.

'No, my jarl.'

'If YOU do avoid the fifth planet. It's as hot as the Fimbolsommer, and less charming. The war was fought for Seraphina, the system and she stars around it. The Wheel of Fire remains empty. Nobody wanted it.

'Later that day as I drank stale mjod alone in my sweltering tent I found myself falling asleep. I have learned a little of how we were made from the Allfather. He told me the prime functions of sleep in an unaltered human are the cleaning of the cerebiospiml fluids of damaging proteins and the consolidation of memoir. In His primarchs, these needs are serviced by other processes. Hus is why I do not sleep often, once I had shed the habit. But that day I slept without meaning to. That was unusual. Of equal note, I dreamed.'

He paused for a long time then, perhaps wavering on the cusp of revelation, weighing the worth of sharing against the danger of doing so. Kea waited patiently. Eventually, the primarch drained his wine cup again and continued.