“I can’t. I have to face him; have to tell my side of the story. But thanks. I thought I had no friends left here.”

“Huh.” Grim’s eyes flicked one way and the other, watching for the returning guards. “We don’t think much of what you’ve done. That doesn’t mean we want you dead. Why not? Why not get away? You’ve about as much chance against him,” he jerked his head in the general direction of the hall, “as a naked babe against an armed warrior. None, that is. Better to die a free man, surely.”

“I can’t. Someone has to tell the truth, and it looks as if I’m the only possibility. Grim?”

“What?”

“Where’s Eirik? I sent him a message, a while ago. Why isn’t he here?”

Grim scowled. “Don’t know. Seen nothing of the pair of them, him and Thord, since long before we took the Whaleback. Busy with the ship, I should think. Nearly time to sail. Still, this isn’t like him. Eyvind—”

Grim broke off as footsteps sounded along the hallway: the guards returning. “You sure?” he hissed.

Eyvind nodded. Inexplicably, there seemed to be tears in his eyes, and he turned away so his old comrade could not see this sign of weakness. He had to be strong: strong, clever, and calm, like Somerled. The arguments, the facts; he would go over them once more, make sure he would be able to relate them clearly, even with Somerled looking right at him, ready to pounce on any flaws. He sat down again on the straw pallet and tried to concentrate, but his mind seemed to have stopped cooperating. The images he saw in the shadowy cell were not of the voyage to High Island, the climb, the mist, the desperate search and sickening discovery. Instead, he saw the forest above Hammarsby and two boys walking along a narrow path under tall firs. They went soft-footed, knives and spears ready for the hunt, moving together in a silence of complete understanding. One felt pride: He’s good at this now, and I taught him. What the other felt, there was no telling. He saw them younger, in the red light of a winter dawn on the frozen lake, one unsteady on his new skates, the other supporting with kind words and strong arms. He saw himself with crudely splinted leg, face white as chalk, staggering down the rocky hillside, and a small, fierce-eyed Somerled struggling to keep him upright. The grim jaw, the scowling determination of that exhausted child set him apart; surely, Eyvind thought, such single-minded courage had destined Somerled for greatness. And he had indeed become a king, just as the seer had foretold.