The stranger was silent for a while, and Ragnar feared that he was not going to answer. Just then the sorcerer pointed. Ragnar could see that his finger was shod in metal, and reflected the sunlight. He looked at what the stranger was pointing to and caught his breath. Ahead of them mighty peaks rose over the horizon, a great battlement of spears that pierced the clouds. The walls of the peaks were white and something like ice glittered along their slopes even where they flowed down into the sea. 'The Walls of the Gods,' Ragnar said and made the rune-sign of Russ over his breast. 'The peaks of Asaheim,' the stranger murmured softly and smiled to reveal those enormous fangs. 'I must have been your age when I first saw them, lad, and that was well nigh three hundred years ago.'
Ragnar looked at him open-mouthed. The stranger had all but admitted that he was a supernatural entity. No man of
Fenris, not even the oldest greybeard, lived more than thirty-five years. 'I am glad I had the opportunity to see them again this way/ the stranger said, sounding like one of the old men of the village did before he went off to chant his death poem. The stranger shook his head and grinned down at Ragnar with those alarming fangs. 'I must be getting senile, to babble so,' he said. Ragnar said nothing, merely looked at him and then at those distant mountains. 'Run back and tell your father to change course. Bear to starboard and follow the coast. We will get to our destination the sooner.' He said it with all the force of a prophecy, and Ragnar believed him.

For the next two days they sailed along the coast of Asaheim. Two days of quiet seas
and cold winds, and a stillness broken only by the crash of huge chunks of ice falling from the mountains and drifting out to sea. This was indeed Asaheim to the north of them, the place where the great icebergs were birthed, the frozen land from which the icy floating mountains came. Overhead, mighty sea eagles soared and occasionally the men spotted the spouts of the great orca herds as they rose from the cold, pure waters. They passed the mouths of great fjords, places of astonishing beauty, and sometimes saw the stone villages of the people of the glacier perched high on their slopes. They rowed swiftly then, for the folk of the fjords were fierce, some said troll-blooded, and were rumoured to devour their prisoners rather than taking them thrall. Such a fate made even the sea daemons' clutches seem tempting. During the whole time they passed the coast, the stranger never left his post at the ship's prow. At sunset he stood there limned by the Eye of Russ's dying rays. At dawn he would still be there, as the daywatch arose. Ragnar talked with the night watch and was not surprised at all when they told him the stranger had not slept. If he felt any weariness, the stranger showed no sign. His eyes remained as clear and bright as they had the day of the battle with the dragon.