It is part of the Ancient Pact.'

'Pact?'
'Enough questions, laddie. I must go.'
'I hope that one day we will meet again, jarl,' Ragnar said seriously. The old man turned and looked down at him. There was an odd look in his eye. 'I like you lad, so I will give you some advice. Pray that we never meet again. For if we do, it will be on a day of doom for you.' Something in the old man's tone chilled Ragnar to the very bone. The words were uttered with all the force of a prophesy. 'What do you mean? Will you kill me?' 'You will know if ever it happens/ Ranek said, then turned and strode away. Ragnar watched the old man stride up the ramp. As he did so, the great doors swung open soundlessly. He was greeted by a hunched figure garbed all in black robes, its face obscured by a metal mask. Ragnar watched him vanish into the gloom and then stood bemused for long minutes.
After a while he heard a humming grinding noise. The great flower on top of the building had started to move, to face away towards distant Asaheim. As he watched in wonder, its metal petals unfurled. In the centre lights pulsed eerily. Ragnar was not sure what this magic meant but he was sure it had something to do with the old sorcerer. Left by himself in the huge square, something like panic seized Ragnar. He turned and hurried back to the docks.
The drumbeat sounded loud in Ragnar's ears as the Spear ofRuss pulled out of the dark waters of the Iron Masters' harbour into the open sea. He breathed deeply of the clean fresh air and smiled, glad to have left the foul and polluted town behind. The islanders may have been rich, he thought, but they lived in a way that seemed less healthy than the lowliest of thralls. At the rear of the dragonship lay a cargo of iron axe and spearheads, wrapped all in dragongut to protect them from the corrosive effects of the sea. They represented huge wealth to the Thunderfist dan, and Ragnar was proud to have been part of the voyage that had won it. Still, there was something worrying about it too. He suspected good fortune, and he believed the old adage that the gods made men pay for their gifts. None of the others aboard seemed to share his concern. They sang cheerful drinking songs, relieved to be out of the harbour and no longer to have the Wolf Priest aboard. Much as they had respected and been in awe of him, his presence had damped all of their spirits. Now, they joked and told tales of the events of the voyage. They ate their salted beef jerky happily and drank stoops of ale with glee.