“This is generous indeed,” said Engus, “and I thank you from my heart. There is, of course, still the matter of a cargo of timber which was promised me.”

“I gave my word,” Ulf replied, “and I have not forgotten. In spring my friend Eirik here will take my ships home, and arrange this gift for you. You will have your fine trunks of oak and pine by midsummer.”

“It’s not in any agreement of ours to stay here over the winter,” growled the knarr’s captain. The men around him wore heavy frowns. “We’re working men, not idle courtiers who can afford to sit around twiddling their thumbs a whole season. We’re expected back.”

Somerled stepped forward. “You’ll be compensated for your time, of course,” he said smoothly. “Generously compensated. And I’ll have work for you over the winter. You won’t be idle.”

“Thank you, my lord,” the fellow said, somewhat mollified.

“I would remind you, too, that the knarr belongs to me,” put in Ulf. “While you stay with her, you’re under my command.”

“You can buy a boat,” the captain muttered, tight-jawed, “but you’ll find it’s not so easy to buy a man.”

“Anyone can be replaced,” said Ulf coolly. “Let’s see if you are so ready with your comments in the spring.”

It was that evening, over supper, that King Engus reminded Ulf of another promise: to sail the Golden Dragon across to High Island while the weather was still good enough. He would like to see the longship put through her paces. Besides, he wanted to show Ulf a place of magic there, a center of ritual, where it was customary for the men of the islands to gather once a year to reverence the sun. The significance of this offer was lost on nobody. Engus’s words were greeted with a deep hush. By extending this invitation, he was recognizing Ulf as a part of the islands, not merely an ally but almost a kinsman.

“This is the first time,” the king said, “that a man who is not of our people has been offered the chance to see this place. The terrain is difficult; we’ll be gone a night or two.”

Ulf nodded gravely. “I am honored by your trust,” he said. “Not tomorrow, but the next day, if the winds are fair, we shall set out on this short voyage.”

“This king must think we are mountain goats, not men,” observed Somerled as the Golden Dragon came in to shore at around midday. Above them rose the daunting flank of a great, bare hillside, the northern of High Island’s two massive peaks. “I never thought I’d be grateful for all that running about in the hills above Hammarsby, but the practice may yet come in useful.”

Eyvind grunted in response, watching as the pebbly shore below the dark rise of the land grew closer.

“Poor Eyvind,” said Somerled. “So disappointed. You shouldn’t be. I’ve told you, my brother is on a mission here; he cares for nothing but his own path. Maybe winter won’t be so bad.”