Somerled’s voice was unsteady; he seemed almost on the verge of weeping. Eyvind could see that lost child again, the friendless boy who had slashed his arm in the forest and challenged him to be a brother.

“The attack must go on,” Somerled said. “The men are balanced on a knife edge; they’re hungry for battle. It’s too late to back out now. I’d have a riot on my hands. They respect me, Eyvind. They like my way of doing things. And it seems to me this kingship can only be won by finishing Engus and his pathetic warriors once and for all. He simply can’t be allowed to live, nor can his son or any of his kinsmen. I will spare the women, to the extent possible. Eyvind, I’m detecting a definite change in the light. We’re running short of time, old friend. Will you stand beside me in battle? Will you be my chief Wolfskin as we planned so long ago?”

Eyvind closed his eyes a moment, summoning what strength he could find. He was going to have to say it, and rob his friend of this victory. He would have to threaten Somerled with the loss of everything that fierce, lonely child had ever striven for. His hand moved to his breast, where Nessa’s gift lay under his tunic, next to his heart. “These men will not follow you when they learn you killed your brother so you could take what was his for yourself,” he said quietly. He waited, a cold sweat breaking out all over him, while Somerled stood staring back at him. Now it was Somerled who looked away first, folding his arms and frowning.

“This is very foolish, Eyvind,” he observed levelly. “I don’t think you realize just how foolish.”

“I have evidence, and I will not hesitate to use it. Call off this attack or I will tell the world what you have done. I don’t care what happens to me, Somerled. You can do what you like. Just call off the advance. It’s not dawn yet, you still have time.”

“What evidence?” Somerled snapped. “Show me! This is nonsense, Eyvind. I’m sure you have simply got things mixed up again, you do tend to do that—”

“Here.” Eyvind stretched out his open hand; on it he showed Ulf’s belt buckle, entangled in its bloodstained network of knotted cords. An instant too late, his fingers closed to keep it secure, but Somerled already held it in his hand.

“Where did you find this?” he hissed.