“You know what it will be,” Hadding said. “We’ve touched on it and shied back, again and again. This day I’ll have it out with you.”

He looked off into the fog. Droplets of it glistened in his gray hair. “I too once lusted for war, victory, fame, greatness. Over and above that, though, I had my father to avenge, my kingdom to win, less for myself than for the house of Skjold. Then came the long feud with the Ynglings. Oh, yes, I also roved and fought for my own gain, as men do, but I see now that that was not really what my life was for.

“And along the way, I learned other things.” He chuckled. “Or else the gods rubbed my nose in the knowledge. From Hardgreip I learned something about love, from your mother far more.” He gave his son a hard stare. “That is not an oldster’s mawkishness. Remember who it was that lately slew Tosti, hand to hand.

“Frodi, my peace with Hunding has not weakened us. It strengthens, as well you should know who wedded his daughter. Still more does the work of our folk, yeomen, craftsmen, traders, all the Danes over whom my warriors and I stand guard. And I have striven to uphold the law at home, for men should turn to it before they turn to the sword. There lies the rightful work of the king.

“From time to time we must needs take up arms. And I’d be foolish to tell men they cannot fight abroad when they stand to gain thereby. But, Frodi, the king’s care should always first and foremost be for the kingdom.”

The young man stood wordless. The fog swirled and dripped.

“Do you think I am merely another viking?’ he asked at last.

“I do not call you unworthy. You are my son by Ragnhild and he who shall be lord after I am gone. I must hold by that, or Denmark will tear itself apart and outlanders again make prey of the Danes. But you spend gold and lives as if they could never be emptied out. Take thought. Already you have sons of your own. What will you leave to them, to your grandsons, to the house of Skjold? How will they remember you?”

“With honor,” said Frodi.

Hadding turned about. “We may as well go back.”

The next day he bade goodbye and rode off with his guards. He reached the hall by Haven in the evening.

That night, lying by himself in his shutbed, he had a dream.

Once more he stood in skyless, blinding mists. They streamed by him on a wind he could not feel or heat Never had he been so alone.

Out of the gray into his sight came Ragnhild striding. The wind fluttered her grave-clothes and tossed her unbound locks about her. Their red was the only hue in all the world.