Thus some time passed, and at the beginning of winter, Calsar's court welcomed back the priest who had been across the sea.

Sif was begrudgedly allowing himself to be held in Douglásc's arms, leering out across the grand hall of the castle. Callán, the son of Calsar, was as usual seated on his throne.

The doors were opened, and just this man came in: tall, heavyset, and brownhaired. He wore strange clothes, under a black cloak, and carried his things in a strange leather bag.

" Priest Brannagh, we welcome you," Callán said, looking down upon him. " My father has been taken ill, so I must greet you in his stead."

This man, Brannagh, came forward and bowed stiffly. But when he looked up, Sif could detect suspicion in his gaze.

" It's been too long, Callán," he said, his voice harsh and guttural with a foreign accent. " I've learned many things in the Selba. They have some very interesting legends about this land. And the beasts that used to inhabit it."

He seemed to be staring a hole straight through Douglásc, standing beside Callán's throne.

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