Bragi grunted. He did not care now.

I think I hit it, Haaken said.

Bragi started digging with his hands. He soon exposed a small chest.

Sigurd and Soren arrived with the packs. The four surviving warriors would go south from the shingle pine.

The chest proved to be shallow and light. It was not locked. Little lay within. A small bag of southern coins, another of gemstones, an ornate dagger, a small parchment scroll on which a crude map had been inscribed hastily. And a copper amulet.

You keep the valuables, Bragi told his mother.

No. Ragnar had his reasons for keeping these things together. And of treasure he left me plenty elsewhere.

Bragi considered. His father had been secretive. The forest round Draukenbring might be filled with pots of gold. All right. He pushed the things into his pack.

Then came the moment he had dreaded, the time to take the first southward step. He stared at his mother. She stared at him. Haaken stared at the ground.

The cord was hard to cut.

For the first time in memory Helga revealed her feelings in public though she did not exactly go to pieces.

She pulled Haaken to her, held him for nearly two minutes, whispering. Bragi caught the sparkling of a tear. She brushed it away irritably as she released her foster son. Embarrassed, Bragi looked away. But there was no evading emotion. Sigurd and Soren were, once again, parting with their own families.

His mothers embrace engulfed him. She held him tighter than he had thought possible. She had always seemed so small and frail.

Be careful, she said. And what less banal was there to say? At such a parting, probably forever, there were no words to convey true feelings. Language was the tool of commerce, not love.

And take care of Haaken. Bring him home. No doubt she had told Haaken the same thing. She pulled away, unclasped a locket she had worn for as long as Bragi could remember. She fastened it round his neck. If you have no other hope, take this to the House of Bastanos in the Street of the Dolls in Hellin Daimiel. Give it to the concierge, as an introduction to the lord of that house. Hell send it inside. One of the partners will come to question you. Tell him:

Elhabe an dantice, elhabe an cawine.

Ci hibde clarice, elhabe an savan.

Ci magden trebil, elhabe din bachel.

Hell understand.

She made him repeat the verse till she was sure he had memorized it.

Good. No more can be done. Just dont trust anyone you dont have to. And come home as soon as you can. Ill be here waiting.

She kissed him. In public. She had not done that since he had been a toddler. Then she kissed Haaken. She had never done that at all. Before either could react, she ordered, Now go. While you can. Before we look more foolish than we already do.