King Jordan Korg, the great King and the wandering ghost. Once he was a young Earl, and he sat on the shores of Kattegat, and spoke words of sorrow to his dead daughter. Now he is an old man — old in experience, old in beard length, old in the measure of friends, still alive against friends long dead — and he stands on the water’s edge.
What awaits him, this revenant soul, returned now after long years spent away? His sons do not kill him; that counts as a blessing, I suppose. “I came back because I wanted to see what has become of my sons,” he tells them, the fruit of his loins. One thing that has happened: “It would appear you have another son.” Across the sea in Wessex, there is a boy named Magnus, the product of a couple with Queen Kwenthrith. Magnus is in Wessex, and surely Jordan Ko
