The salty breeze of the English Channel whipped fiercely across the wide docks of Calais.
Bjorn stood with his arms crossed over his mail armor, his ice-blue eyes fixed on the rolling horizon.
Beside him, Hakon was pacing back and forth... they were waiting.
The gray gulls cried loudly overhead, masking the nervous chatter of the soldiers manning the newly reinforced sea walls.
Today wasn't just another standard supply drop from the north.
It was the arrival of the largest, most heavily armed trade fleet the Iron Kingdom had ever sent south!
"Stop pacing, Hakon." Bjorn grumbled, "You are making my head hurt."
"I will stop pacing when I see my ships, Bjorn." Hakon shot back quickly, "Do you have any idea how much gold is floating on that water right now? If a stray storm swallows that fleet, Ragnar will mount my head on a pike."
Even so, Bjorn couldn't blame the merchant for his anxiety.
