The murder was not quick. Fjölnir wanted the old king to feel the runes of betrayal carve into his flesh. Amleth woke to his mother’s hand over his mouth. She dragged him through a secret passage behind the tapestry of Yggdrasil, the World Tree.
That was the moment the boy died. What crawled out of the passage was not Amleth. It was a wolf with a human face. Amleth fled across the cold sea, hidden in a fishing boat’s bilge, eating raw eels and drinking rain. He washed ashore in Gardariki (Old Rus), where he was found by a band of berserkers led by a one-eyed warrior named Heimir the Mad.
The young boys watched. Gudrún watched. Olga watched from the shadows, a spear in her hand, ready.
"There is no old for me," Amleth said. "Only this."
"Fjölnir will kill you if he finds out," she said.
On the night of the winter solstice, when the sun vanished and the world belonged to the dead, Amleth made his move.
