Too late, too late, what point in shouting out accusations now, what point in branding their leader as brother-killer? Eyvind knew all too well how it felt, that moment before the call to advance, every sinew tensed, every muscle bunched, the mind tightly focused on the challenge to come. It would not matter what words of truth he uttered, for they would not even hear him. Quick, then, there must be another way. Holgar was to signal the advance. Holgar and Grim and Erlend would be first, leading the troop across the causeway, spearheading the attack on the unsuspecting islanders. He must be on the causeway before Holgar, and somehow he must stop them.

Eyvind ran, jamming his helm on his head, seizing Biter in his hand, willing strength into his exhausted limbs and courage into his anguished heart. He ran as he had never run before, out along the track that skirted the promontory above the wide rock shelves where gray seals had sunned themselves in warmer times. The tide was well out already, the rocks stretched slick and dark toward the sea. The Whaleback reared up from the waves, its great sloping surface tilting high toward the western end where cliffs fell away to the ocean. Gulls cried; it was morning. He passed men with bows and men with hammers, men leather-capped and iron-helmed, men with spears and staves and swords, silent, all of them, obedient to Somerled’s command. Now he could see the causeway that stretched across to the tidal island, a narrow safe path of meticulously laid stones, a great work of construction that had held firm against the pull of the tide through many seasons. At low water it was exposed, its flat surface draped with shawls of dark weed and scattered with pale shells. Two men could walk there side by side, or pass one another. At high tide, the sea would submerge it, making the Whaleback both fortress and trap. To either side of the path great tumbled stones glistened, wrack was strewn thickly in slippery heaps, sudden pools lay dark and treacherous between rock slabs. It would be possible to pick a way across there, if one were prepared to risk the hazard of broken limbs or sudden drowning. The causeway was the only choice for armed men looking to cross in a hurry and silently.

There, where the safe path began, stood three familiar figures, wolfskins on shoulders, weapons held ready, close together with eyes shut and hands clasped in a brief ritual of silent preparation. Eyvind could hear it in his own head, though it was not to him that Thor spoke. Burn bright for me, warrior; strike true. This was the moment he needed, and he moved with the breath of terror at his heels, running past the three of them, leaping to stand, legs astride, on the narrow path. He looked ahead to the Whaleback as the first rays of sunlight pierced the sky, touching the sloping fields of the great brough with warm gold. Let her be safe.