Seeing the king in a good mood, Eyjolf gave him a rueful grin and said, “Well, I was looking forward to the drinking and swiving back there. But maybe we can make it up later.”

“You will, if I know you,” laughed Hadding.

He went on to speak of bygone times, and roused such talk that the other man lost any forebodings and well-nigh forgot that their errand was unknown to him. They had all their years to call forth, strife, joy, threat, gain, grief, deeds, fun, wonders, tumbling around the North from Denmark to Gardariki, from haunted wilderness to wealthy town, and for Hadding always the seafaring, throb of waves in hull and thrum of wind in rigging, spindrift salt on the mouth, foam and surge before the eyes. They hardly felt the short day pass.

But when the sun went from them, they fell silent. It was as if they had emptied the horn of memory. A full moon rose out of Scania to throw a shivery bridge across the water and strew sparks over the snow. Elsewhere the Winterway frosted heaven; the Wain wheeled upward around the Lodestar; Freyja’s Spindle gleamed amidst glittering throngs. Here at the northern end of Zealand were no dwellings, only heath hoar under the moon, thickets, and a few lonely trees standing black upon it. Off in the west gloomed an edge of wildwood.

The road had become a track, but there was not much farther to go. Where the trail gave out, a but of wattle and daub stood by itself, behind it a bubbling spring. Hadding drew rein. “I keep this for when I wish to hunt hereabouts, or be by myself for a span,” he said. “Wayfarers may use it, but they seldom come. It will do for the night. If you open the door, you’ll have moonlight enough within. You’ll find split wood and kindling, should you want to start a fire and warm your food.”

“What, you’ll not stay with us?” asked Eyjolf.

Hadding shook his gray head. The moon whitened it. “No. I told you I’ve business with the gods. If I’m not back by morning, seek me at the strand.” He pointed northward, onward.

The two housecarles glanced at each other. Under cover of shadow, one drew with his finger the sign of the fylfot, the sun.

Eyjolf’s look was on the king. “Is this your will?”

Hadding smiled. “You should know me well enough by now to know that it is. Goodnight, old friend.” He reached forth to clasp Eyjolf’s hand. “Fare ever well.”

He spurred his horse and rode off over the heath. Their gaze followed him until he was lost to sight.