Swinging Lagulf one-handedly, I would not stand a chance to make it to our ship with Amleth's almost lifeless body under my arm, but a vision of immense power and beauty and rage comes upon us. A goddess descends from the sky and sows desperation and death among the etin. I jump overboard to land on Skidbladnir's deck, and I fall down on my knees, panting.

I am bleeding from various cuts, none too deep, and I may have some broken bones. Nothing that I do not know how to fix. But what has happened to Amleth? He is alive, and tries to get up, but he is deathly weak, and his eyes stare at nothing, the irises covered by a weird milky shine. He still grips the Mistilteinn, dripping with Balder's blood.

I pry it from his hand and lay it on the planks. I get rid of my gauntlets and unbuckle Amleth's helmet strap to take it off. He is unscathed... outwardly. The other ship has gone. The serpent seems to be gone too. We are alone on a dying sea.

"My lord," I call, shaking him, increasingly worried. "Say something. Come on. Come on, lad, wake up!"