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I climbed out from beneath the temple floor. The riches of the pirate Abraxas of Lore lay at my feet, and my companions pored over it, dreams of finery and rich foods and expeditions to distant shores passing between them in whispers. My thoughts were only with the dragon harpoon, and how if I had such a weapon in my possession on the far northern sea, perhaps I would have slain the lind-worm as I had hoped to do.

Even the gods could not change the past. I had it now, and it sang to me, a song of dragon flight and the hands of heroes. I was the last of many to carry this weapon. When the dragon who had given it shape had hatched from its stone egg, the world had been young, covered in water and fire. It was with reverence that I replaced the oil cloth covering the harpoon and fashioned a sling out of rope to carry it on my back.

“I don’t need a share of the treasure,” I told Hamilcar. “I only want this weapon.”

He looked up at me and gave an expansive shrug. “If that’s your choice, then, you can have it. Gods know I wouldn’t be able to find a buyer for months.”

“My friend,” said Halvor, “you need to learn the value of money.”