‘What’s a span?’ Talen asked.

‘Nine inches,’ Berit replied. ‘It’s supposed to be as far as a man can stretch out the fingers of one hand.’

Talen made the quick computation in his head. ‘Seven and a half feet?’ he said incredulously. ‘He was seven and a half feet tall?’

‘It may be slightly exaggerated,’ Ortzel smiled.

‘Who is this Hrokka?’ Bevier asked him.

‘The Lamork War-God,’ Ortzel explained. ‘There was a period at the end of the bronze age when the Lamorks reverted to paganism. Obviously, Drychtnath won the trial-at-arms, and he didn’t even kill too many other Lamorks in the process.’ Then Ortzel took up his recitation. ‘And so it was that Drychtnath the smith, mightiest hero of antiquity, won the hand of bright-eyed Uta and became King Hygdahl’s heir.

‘And when the wedding-feast was done, went Hygdahl’s heir straightway to the King. “Lord King,” quotha, “since I have the honour to be the mightiest warrior in all the world, it is only meet that the world fall into my hands. To that end shall I bend mine efforts once Hrokka hath called thee home. I will conquer the world and subdue it and bend it to my will, and I will lead the heroes of Lamorkland e’en unto Chyrellos. There will I cast down the altars of the false God of that Church which doth, all womanly, hold strength in despite and weakens warriors with her drasty preaching. I spurn her counsel, and will lead the heroes of Lamorkland forth to bear back to our homes in groaning wains the loot of the world.”

‘Happily heard Hygdahl the hero’s words, for Hrokka, Sword-Lord of Lamorkland, glories in battlestrife and doth inspire his children to love the sound of sword meeting sword and the sight of sparkling blood bedewing the grass. “Go forth, my son, and conquer,” quotha, “Punish the Peloi, crush the Cammorians, destroy the Deirans, and forget not to bring down the Church which doth pollute the manhood of all Elenes with her counsels of peace and lowly demeanour.”

‘Now when word of Drychtnath’s design reached the Basilica of Chyrellos, the Church was troubled and trembled in fear of the mighty smith, and the princes of the Church took counsel one with the other and resolved to spill out the life of the noble smith, lest his design dispossess the Church and win her wealth to wend in wains Lamorkward, there to bedeck the high-built walls of the conqueror’s mead-hall. Conspired they then to send a warrior of passing merit to the court of Hygdahl’s heir to bring low the towering pride of dark-forested Lamorkland.

‘In dissembling guise this traitorous warrior, a Deiran by birth – Starkad was his name – made his way to Drychtnath’s mead-hall, and mildly made he courteous greeting to Hygdahl’s heir. And beseeched he the hero of Lamorkland to accept him as his vassal. Now Drychtnath’s heart was so free of deceit and subterfuge that he could not perceive perfidy in others. Gladly did he accept Starkad’s seeming friendship, and the two were soon as brothers even as Starkad had designed.

‘And as the heroes of Drychtnath’s hall laboured, Starkad was ever at Drychtnath’s right hand, in fair weather and foul, in battle and in the carouse which is battle’s aftermath. Tales he spun which filled Drychtnath’s heart with mirth, and for the love he bare his friend did the mighty smith gladly bestow treasures upon him, bracelets of bright gold and gems beyond price. Starkad accepted Drychtnath’s gifts in seeming gratitude and ever, like the patient worm, burrowed he his way ever deeper into the hero’s heart.

‘And at the time of Hrokka’s choosing was wise King Hygdahl gathered into the company of the Immortal Thanes in the Hall of Heroes, and then was Drychtnath king in Lamorkland. Well were laid his plans, and no sooner had the royal crown been placed upon his head than he gathered his heroes and marched north to subdue the savage Peloi.

‘Many were the battles mighty Drychtnath waged in the lands of the Peloi, and great were the victories he won. And there it was in the lands of the horse-people that the design of the Church of Chyrellos was accomplished, for there, separated from their friends by legions of ravening Peloi, Drychtnath and Starkad wrought slaughter upon the foe, bathing the meadow’s grass with the blood of their enemies. And there, in the full flower of his heroism, was mighty Drychtnath laid full low. Seizing upon a lull in the struggle when all stood somewhat apart to gather breath and strength to renew the struggle, the deceitful Deiran found his opportunity and drove his cursed spear, sharper than any dagger, full into his lord’s broad back.

‘And Drychtnath felt death’s cold touch as Starkad’s bright steel pierced him. And turned he then to face the man he had called friend and brother. “Why?” quotha, his heart wrung more by the betrayal than by Starkad’s stroke.

‘“It was in the name of the God of the Elenes,” quoth Starkad with hot tears streaming from his eyes, for in truth loved he the hero he had just slain. “Think not that it was I who have smitten thee to the heart, my brother, for it was not I, but our Holy Mother Church which hath sought thy life.” So saying, he raised once more his dreadful spear. “Defend thyself, Drychtnath, for though I must slay thee, I would not murder thee.”

‘Then raised noble Drychtnath his face. “That will I not do,” quotha, “for if my brother have need of my life, I give it to him freely.”

‘“Forgive me,” quoth Starkad, raising again his deadly spear.

‘“That may I not do,” quoth the hero. “My life mayest thou freely have, but never my forgiveness.”

‘“So be it then,” quoth Starkad, and, so saying, plunged he his deadly spear full into Drychtnath’s mighty heart.

‘A moment only the hero stood, and then slowly, as falls the mighty oak, fell all the pride of Lamorkland, and the earth and the heavens resounded with his fall.’

There were tears in Talen’s eyes. ‘Did he get away with it?’ he demanded fiercely. ‘I mean, didn’t one of Drychtnath’s other friends pay him back?’ The boy’s face clearly showed his eagerness to hear more.

‘Surely you wouldn’t want to waste your time with some tired, worn-out old story that’s been around for thousands of years?’ Ortzel said. He feigned some astonishment, but there was a sly twinkle in his eye. Sparhawk covered his own smile with his hand. Ortzel had definitely changed, all right.

‘I don’t know about Talen,’ Ulath said, ‘but I would.’ There were obviously some strong similarities between the culture of present-day Thalesia and that of ancient Lamorkland.