Dealing with the rope round his chest would be harder. He would have to wait till the sea covered it. And he still had to work out what to do about Rurik. “I’m sorry, Gunnar,” Rurik said suddenly. “You don’t deserve to die like this.” “I don’t intend to,” muttered Gunnar. The ships in the harbour stirred and creaked. Small waves slapped against their hulls, and the sea chuckled under their keels. Up on the quayside the crowd grew even noisier, and the old man from the God House had disappeared. “You must try to accept it, Gunnar.” Rurik’s voice was soft and sad. “This is our fate. It seems neither of us will be going to Valhalla.” “But I can save us, Rurik. I’ve got a knife.” “I should have died a warrior’s death…” Rurik said wistfully. “Do you really want to know what happened to me in Miklagard?” Gunnar groaned in frustration. He wanted to yell and scream at Rurik and shock him out of his despair. They didn’t have time to worry about such things – the tide was coming in quickly and the water was already up to Gunnar’s waist.
