By the time he reached the outer perimeter of the settlement, his legs felt as if they scarcely belonged to him, and his sight was blurred by the throbbing in his head. The place was surprisingly quiet; only a few torches burned in the creeping dusk, and there was no movement of folk. The sentries challenged him; he stepped forward into the light, helm safely under his arm this time, and saw terror blanch their faces and cause their swords to shake in their hands before he summoned words of reassurance.

“Easy, lads,” he said. “I’m no ghost, but flesh and blood: the same man who shared your voyage from Rogaland last spring and sat with you at table many a night. I’ve been away. Sick. Now I am returned and I must see Somerled without delay. Will you let me pass?”

“Eyvind!” The man’s tone suggested there might still be some doubt. “You’re alive!”

“Most certainly.” Eyvind slapped the fellow on the shoulder, and felt the ache in every muscle of his arm. It was just as well he had not been called upon to draw sword or brandish axe, for he doubted he’d the strength to lift either right now. “Feel this? I am no specter, but a living man.”

“Maybe so, but you seem far from yourself, Wolfskin,” observed the other fellow, an older man who had been one of Ulf’s household guards. “You’re nothing but skin and bone. Best be off indoors and stir the women to find you a bit of roast meat and a pot or two of ale. Then you’ll want to be away again, no doubt.”

The first man nodded. “You got here just in time. That’ll please the king well.”

Eyvind’s head was fuzzy; he didn’t seem to be understanding. “King?” he echoed.

“Not yet, maybe, but he will be by morning.”

Through the pounding of his head, Eyvind struggled to comprehend. “What do you mean?” he asked. “Who?”

The younger guard raised his brows. “Where’ve you been?” he queried in amazement. “Somerled Horse-Master, of course, King of Hrossey. I’ll tell you something, that fellow may seem hard at times, but there’s a man who knows how to make up his mind quickly and step forward without hesitation. A true leader, he is.”

There was a shadow in Eyvind’s thoughts, though he still struggled to piece together the full meaning of the man’s words. “I must see Somerled,” he said, “now, straightaway. I must talk to him, and persuade him—”

“He’s not here,” said the older guard. “They left a while back. Best go in, have a bite to eat before you head off again. Long walk. Not so hard for your kind, I suppose.” And when Eyvind only gaped at him, he added, “Dawn attack, that’s the plan. He’ll welcome you with open arms, lad. How can they fail, with the hero of Ramsbeck leading them forward?”