“He’s done it, Leila,” Sigurd said, looking to the place where her burning burial ship had finally slipped beneath the surface. “Jarl has given The Treasure Huntress away, as promised.” He smiled at the water. “I was in town today and heard it from a merchant ship at the dock. But that’s only half of the story. According to the captain, Jarl has not only given up the ship, he’s settled on the shores of the Caspian Sea with a native barbarian princess.”
Sigurd recounted the passionate whirlwind love affair—the capture, the escape, the trial, as the man had described it to him, refilling his own cup twice in the process. “And I know you think I’m exaggerating, but as Odin is my witness, I swear I am not. The merchant said Jarl was so enamored with this woman, he offered up his own life to the gods to get her back. It’s exactly as you said, love truly is more powerful than a man’s sword—or his mind, and, once experienced, it’s the most precious treasure of all. Jarl has discovered it as you had hoped. Along with great fortune,” he added, nodding with satisfaction.
Sigurd looked out over the water. The bottom edge of the sun was already lost. “I miss you, you know. So much. Every day.” He shook his head to fight back the tears that welled in his eyes. “I know. I know. I promised you I’d not be sad, but sometimes it’s too hard. I still feel you with me, but it’s not enough. I long so desperately to touch you, to hold you—to hear you laugh and see you smile. Hearing that man describe the ship to me today as if I didn’t know it, for he knew not who I was, brought everything back so clearly. As he described the golden dragon’s head and the animals on the dragon’s scales, I could see you holding each one of the sketches.” His voice quavered. He paused and closed his eyes. “Apologies. This was to be a happy conversation. A celebration of our success. And even though I miss you so much, I am happy you are free.”
The sun was now a quarter gone.
“The ship is becoming a legend. They say she is everything we dreamed—fast, nimble, strong. Blessed by the gods they say.” He took another deep swallow of his mead. “They also say Jarl gave her to his third in command not his second, a man named Gunnar Frederiksen. I thought that strange, but you probably already knew that, didn’t you? You probably already knew everything I told you today. Hell, you probably even chose her next captain. There was something about his second that you didn’t like, so you swayed Jarl’s decision.” Sigurd nodded as he considered it. “Of course you did. I must admit the thought of you measuring and choosing another man makes me jealous, though in some ways I pity him for what you’ll put him through.” He smiled. “He doesn’t stand a chance against you. And though the reward in the end will be more than worth it, that poor bastard is about to have his life turned upside down.”
Sigurd smiled again and took another long swallow. “I think I shall become a regular at the port to hear of your next adventures—and as I hear them, I’ll come here to share them with you. As much as I dislike going to town and being amongst people, I’ll do it. I can see the huge smile on your face at the thought of me mingling with strangers, making small talk, pressing any who come for information of your travels.” He frowned. “That was also probably your intent, guiding me even from the afterlife. I can hear you right now claiming it’s for my own good. And I’m not saying I agree with you, because I don’t, but I’ll do it anyway. I wonder where you’ll go, what you’ll see....” His voice trailed away.
Sigurd raised his glass as the last glowing red rim of the sun prepared to dip below the horizon. “To your success with this next captain of The Treasure Huntress, Leila. I look forward to hearing all about it.”
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AS GUNNAR SLOGGED through the mud, he was at least thankful for the lull in the driving rain that had plagued them since leaving the Dublin slave merchant’s estate earlier that night. He tried to imagine the hot dry days ahead when he returned to the East—the incessant red dust clogging his nostrils, the sweat chafing under his armor. He would long for this cool Irish damp then. He glanced up at the nearly full moon about to be overtaken by a smaller cloud, then at the more threatening clouds looming behind. The rain may have let up for the moment, but it appeared it was not to last.
“Run!” The unexpected shout and jangle of chains from one of the prisoners behind him jolted Gunnar from his musings. His hand closed on the golden hilt of his sword, just as the small cloud that had previously only flirted with the moon’s perimeter plunged them into total darkness.
Gunnar turned and took a quick assessment of the group of slaves. None were moving. None seemed poised for escape. All remained securely tethered together with their iron neck collars and chains. He glanced at his men who were also trying to identify the recipient of the slave’s sudden warning. Some had weapons drawn. Others had their hands ready on the hilts of their
