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so long, too long. Philibert had made promises, yet he had died. All men were liars. It should have expected as much. It too was a liar, a lord of lies, and prince of pain.
    And now it was free. What to do first? It should start with the village and skin them all, every man, woman, child, and animal. These thoughts gave it a rush of joy, but then it halted in place as a worry intruded into its consciousness. What of the Eastern men? Where were those fools? They would never give up. It wouldn’t, so why would they? If it destroyed the village, would that send a message and lead them there before it was ready for them? No. It wasn’t strong enough yet to resist them. They were out there somewhere, it was certain of that. It understood the need for power all too well. They would never stop searching for it. The fate of their Caliphate depended on it.
    It wandered aimlessly through the woods, weighing its options. It was on an island, which was good and bad. It couldn’t go far inland anyway because it needed to stay near the ocean. But if it stayed there, still wearing the rotting shell, it would be vulnerable to the Eastern men when they came for it—and they would come for it.
    And then it felt something new. A small part of its existence still remained within the crypt of Philibert. The piece was so small that it had forgotten it was there. Then someone touched it, releasing its malignance. It felt a connection with the living.
    Someone new had arrived on the island, someone interesting.
    It turned back toward the black monastery.

Three
    The Black Monastery,
    August 2, 799,
    Early evening
     
    Koll’s and Mar’s faces reflected their fear as Harald explained how Asgrim had betrayed them all, leading them here to their doom.
    “But we’ve swuh—swuh—sworn oaths,” Mar stuttered, as he always did whenever he was nervous. He ran his hands over his bald head. An ugly little man with pig’s eyes, he always looked like he had just been punched in the face.
    “He’s already betrayed us,” said Harald. “Don’t you see it? He promised us plunder, land in Ireland.” Harald motioned around himself expansively at the walls of the stable where they had been digging near the support beams. “Is this Ireland?”
    “You’re splitting hairs,” said Koll, leaning on his shovel and watching Harald carefully. Koll was a tall, thin man with blond hair that he wore in long braids. “The oath we swore was to serve him for the voyage. None of us actually said Ireland .”
    Harald snorted. “Didn’t need to say it. All of us meant it. It was understood, an unspoken promise. One he broke.”
    Mar’s face still showed his uncertainty and his worry, but Koll looked as though he were beginning to get it. “Perhaps,” he muttered.
    “He’ll ku—ku—kill us if he hears what we say.” Mar looked about himself.
    But no one else was within earshot. Harald wasn’t stupid. First, he needed to get his friends onboard and convince them. It wouldn’t be too hard, he knew. Neither Mar nor Koll particularly enjoyed doing their own thinking.
    “He’s done,” said Harald. “He just won’t admit it. The idiot killed the earl’s son. He’ll never go home again, but he can bring us all down with him.”
    “He’s a dangerous man,” said Koll. “Kill any one of us in a duel.”
    Harald hawked and spat on the oat-covered earth surface of the stable. “He’s not that good. Everyone’s just afraid to challenge him. If it weren’t for that freak brother of his and the ship his father built, he wouldn’t even be a captain, just another man, just like us, just like me.”
    “Yu—yu—you should challenge him,” said Mar. “You’re b—b—better than any man with an ax.”
    Harald’s mouth opened, but Koll spoke before he could. “Not better than Bjorn. No man can fight him.”
    “A duel won’t work,” said Harald. “He’d probably cheat anyway. Or ask his brother to fight it for him.” Harald looked away. Even he