He slept, or half-slept. Nessa’s image was in his mind. He saw her slight, ethereal figure walking on a lonely shore, turning to gaze at him with those strange light eyes, shell-gray rimmed with darker blue. They were like the eyes of some wondrous wild creature…A tiny sound roused Eyvind abruptly from his reverie. He was on his feet in an instant. There was someone on the other side of this rock, someone treading very softly as if to creep up and attack him unawares. Very well, two could play that game. Eyvind moved swift as a hunting dog, stepping around to pinion both the fellow’s arms with one of his own, while he clapped his other hand across the man’s mouth to stifle any screams for help. Good: this, at least, he could still do well enough. He glanced quickly across the hillside and over to the grazing lands fringing the lake. No sign of anyone; with luck this fool was a lone assailant. He relaxed his grip a little. The man was putting up no fight at all. As Eyvind removed his hand from the fellow’s lips, his captive began to speak quietly, in measured tones. The language was vaguely familiar, the voice instantly recognizable.

“Pater noster qui es in coelis, sanctificetur nomen tuum…”

Eyvind released his grip altogether. “You’ll get yourself killed one day, creeping about like that,” he said sternly.

Brother Tadhg fell silent, turning mild eyes on his captor. He did not appear much shaken; perhaps a man with such faith in his god is difficult to frighten. “Ah,” he said. “It’s true, then, what they say. Your ghost walks, a warrior still wielding his axe from beyond the grave.”

“You speak in jest, I take it.”

“Not entirely,” said the priest. “For myself, my ribs tell me all too plainly that you are flesh and blood, and that you have somehow survived a battle and a long disappearance. Others tell the tale of your manifestation in a most unlikely place, your axe and helm glittering with eldritch light, and a great ruby-eyed wolf-dog by your side. I see you are heading southward.”

Eyvind nodded. He had plenty of questions, but he could not ask them. It was not safe to tell where he had been, not even to this mild-mannered Christian; he could not say what he had learned.

“I did not intend to do you any harm,” Tadhg said.

Eyvind smiled. “No, I don’t imagine so. I’m sorry I was rough. It could have been anyone. Can you tell me—” No, he could not ask.

“What is it you wish to know? I spend little time with your people now. Somerled finds my style of translation ill suited to his purpose. King Engus was less than pleased with the offer of peace your friend made to him.”

There was an assumption there, Eyvind thought, that he would be aware of this; surely Tadhg could not know where he had been?