friendly smile, deep blue eyes and light, short hair, leapt lightly onto the grass from halfway up the Gate. He was wearing black shoes made of fine leather, dark navy trousers and a white Ytren shirt with silver skulls embroidered at the neck.
No one moved, and some people even held their breath. Tahon swallowed hard, Surt’s legs buckled slightly, Bragi muttered a quiet curse under his breath, and the twins seemed to want to whistle, but ended up merely taking deep breaths.
Meanwhile, the boy circled the altar, swept his gaze over the crowd, and then focused on the offerings laid out before him. After a moment that might have lasted an eternity, the lad rested his hands on the edge of the stone block and hopped onto it with ease. He sat on the edge, took the goblet of gethun juice with a smile, and, swinging his legs, looked expectantly at Heres.
‘Hail, O Merciful One, who has graced us with your presence,’ began the druid, and Einar shuddered at the tremor in his voice. ‘Forgive my boldness and my request, and deign to bestow your name upon us.’ The boy gazed at the old man for a moment longer, then took a drink from the chalice, and Toinen had the impression that his gaze had met that of a divine being.
‘I bear many names,’ said the boy. His voice, like his appearance, was very pleasant and warm. ‘However, mortals most often call me Thanatos.’ The name struck them all like a lash from a whip. There, before them on the altar, sat the god of death in the flesh. He sat there, sipping the juice from his goblet with satisfaction. ‘You asked the gods for judgement, druid, so I have come to judge,’ he added with a smile.
‘We thank you, my lord,’ said Heres, bowing even lower than before.
‘I have heard the charges, and since this is to be a trial, testimony is required.’ Thanatos clapped his hands, as if preparing for some fun. ‘You, Jarl Olaf, have accused the legionaries of violating the
