With mouths agape, they stared in awe at the floor of fire and wall of flame. Atop a horse of golden flames that whipped and licked the leather reins, untouched by the fire that twisted and burned, sat Heimdallr, guardian of the Bilrost.

I should kill you,” Kallan whispered, “and watch your blood run with the cries of my people. If I kill you, all my troubles end. And I go home to Lorlenalin, my father’s death avenged.

Think back to the oldest era your mind can fathom, back beyond everything we can remember, when gods were still men who had not yet lived the deeds that would deify them.