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pulling you out, but we couldn’t have allowed three valuable hounds

to perish so miserably.”

Thurid elevated his nose and turned his back in a smart about-

face and marched away to saddle his horse. For the rest of the morning,

he maintained a haughty silence. Once the mud and moss on his

clothing had dried, it turned to dust, which he shook out and brushed

away carefully, until he could once again present a dignified and

imposing appearance. Pointedly, he eyed his companions’

miserable attire.

Shortly after midday they sighted Luster ahead, in a green fold in

the skirt of the barren fell. The large turf hall boasted four gables and

various additions, and the stables and sheep folds rambled outward from

it in all directions, enclosing a well-trodden yard before the front door.

A dead tree in the center of the yard with a shield hanging on it

proclaimed that the house was a house of refuge, a safe haven for all

travelers of whatever persuasion, where anyone who left his weapons of

war hanging on the tree outside was welcome to come in.

“Luster!” Thurid announced. “This place is famous far and wide.

Alof, the woman who owns it, has kept the peace in this part of the

Pentacle for a good many years, as well as keeping a good table for her

guests. We should be well- fed tonight.”

As they rode slowly down the lane past the barns and

paddocks, Leifr noticed that it all seemed desolate of ordinary use, and

all that he could see of any livestock were heaps of bones hither and

yon.

“Sorkvir’s curse has been hard on this place,” he observed to

Gotiskolker.

Gotiskolker nodded abstractedly, peering around him warily.

“This place is dangerous,” he muttered. “Although there is only one

woman here, instead of four. Doubtless Thurid will be glad to hear

that.”

Thurid turned slowly to glare over his shoulder, clearing his

throat indignantly. “I don’t believe we’ll have anything to fear from our

hostess, Alof, on any account. She has long been known to this part of

Skarpsey as a generous, fearless, and solitary woman.”

“I wonder if she’s expecting us.” Leifr noted the freshly hung

carcass of a calf in the kitchen annex porch. “News travels fast in the

Pentacle, it seems.” “You ought to have learned what sort of

hospitality to expect by now.”

Gotiskolker grunted. “No one is going to welcome Fridmarr

Fridmundrsson with fresh meat.”

“How right you are,” Leifr replied gloomily. “Not even the dogs

will come out to welcome us.” He nodded toward the long barn,

where a row of dark snouts showed under the door edge, snarling

and growling menacingly. The troll-hounds’ fur stood on end, and

they would have attacked if Leifr had not called them back sharply.

The riders paused beside a window in the accepted fashion

and Thurid tapped at the shutter with the end of his staff. The house

seemed silent and watchful.

“What are we supposed to purify while we’re here?” Leifr

asked Thurid while they waited, speaking in a low voice so he would

not be heard by anyone inside.

“A spring,” Thurid answered, “called Lusterfoss, because there’s

a small waterfall below it. Hark, someone’s coming. They’re unbarring

the door.”

The door opened a short way and someone peered out cautiously.

“Are you travelers who come in peace?” a woman’s voice inquired,

somewhat suspiciously, and Leifr could feel himself being scrutinized.

“Yes, we’ve come with a just and peaceful intent,”

Thurid replied pompously. “We’ve heard that this is a house of refuge

and that we can expect food and shelter here.”

“You are day-farers, and I already have night-farers within. Do

you promise to abide one another’s presence and refrain from your

quarrels while you are under my roof?”

“Yes, we promise,” Thurid said, and Leifr and Gotiskolker

nodded their heads in agreement.

“Then you. may hang your weapons on my tree and come inside.

One of my men will come for your horses.”

As Leifr hung his sword and shield on the dead tree he studied

the Dokkalfar weaponry already hanging there—four broad axes, four

shields, and four swords with walrus tusks for handles.

“We’re outnumbered,” he observed to Thurid.

“They are outwizarded.” Thurid sniffed arrogantly and strode

toward the hall with his tattered cloak surging gallantly around the tops

of his pretentious old boots. Leifr and Gotiskolker slunk after him,

looking like two badly off thralls trailing at their master’s heels.

“Pardon the darkness,” their hostess said, after the door had

closed behind them. “My other guests prefer the dark, but they won’t

mind one small lamp.”

“Are you the famous Alof ?” Thurid inquired. For the first time,

Leifr got a good look at her. Short and rather stocky, she had little

to recommend her except a broad, good-natured face and a massive

coil of golden hair. In the Alfar realm, true age was impossible to guess.

Alof laughed, a husky, jovial laugh. “Have you been hearing

stories about me and my house of safety?” she asked. “I hope you’ll

find my hospitality deserving of your good opinion, but I must say that

times are not what they once were. One rule I must explain first so you

will understand. No one is to go outside after the sun has set. I’ve had

guests who slipped away after dark to fight a holmgang and I don’t like

to have then-blood upon the soil of Luster. This house is supposed to be

a haven from battle. Also, the trolls are too abundant around here to

make any nighttime strolling a pleasant experience.“ She smiled

broadly and beckoned them to follow her. ”Now come into my hall

and make yourselves comfortable.“

The Dokkalfar already in residence looked up suspiciously at the

new guests for a moment, then turned their backs to resume their

conversation, putting their faces close together and whispering

intensely. When the newcomers sat down at the far end of the table, the

four Dokkalfar shot them lowering glances and scuttled away to a far

corner.

Food and drink were brought. To Leifr’s famished eyes, the

modest meal looked like a feast. Even Alof’s rather coarse features

took on a lovely tint by the light of her hospitable fires.

“I feel as if I’m here on false pretenses,” Leifr muttered to

Gotiskolker, under the cover of a burst of laughter from Alof, whom

Thurid was amusing with witty anecdotes.

“You
are
here under false pretenses,” Gotiskolker replied in a

gruff mutter. “Now be quiet about it.”

Leifr ate in silence, watching Thurid putting on his best court

manners.

“Your two companions are so silent,” Alof said, smiling

toward Leifr and Gotiskolker, inviting them to speak.

“They’re rather rough fellows,” Thurid said hurriedly. “Doubtless

the splendor of your fine hall and good food has rendered them

speechless with admiration. Common creatures such as they are

sometimes are very quiet by nature.” His darting glance warned Leifr

to acquire a quiet nature or he might pay the penalties for it later. Leifr

might have shrugged it off if Thurid had not imprudently added, “I

wouldn’t be traveling with such low companions if it weren’t so

dangerous to travel alone these days. The looks of these two are

calculated to frighten off my enemies.”

“Low companions?” Leifr repeated. “Thurid, you’re going a bit

too far. Either you tell her who we are and why we’ve come, or I shall.

This is no time for your foolish games. Perhaps if the lady knew our

names, she wouldn’t be so generous with her hospitality.“

Thurid paled, darting a nervous glance toward the Dokkalfar and

then toward Alof. “Perhaps you have heard,” he began unwillingly,

“that Fridmarr Fridmundrsson has returned and swears to break the alog

and kill Sorkvir.”

Alof’s eyes widened. “Fridmarr Fridmundrsson! I thought I knew

that face.” She leaned forward to stare at Leifr with what he interpreted

as a predatory manner.

“Yes, I’m Fridmarr, the traitor, the despised, the follower of

Sorkvir, who caused his own brother’s death. You’re quite right to hate

me for what I’ve done to Luster, and I’ve got no business sitting down

at your table. If you wish, I’ll leave.” He stood up, ready to take evasive

action if Alof’s opinion of him matched that of the nisses.

“No! No! Please sit down.” Alof held out her hands welcomingly,

favoring him with her homely smile. “For a moment I was surprised,

yes, but then I realized that you have indeed come back to right the

terrible wrong you did to Luster. I forgive you entirely, and I only desire

to help you. Please believe me when I say I bear you no grudge.”

She spoke so earnestly that Leifr sat speechless. Belatedly he

said, “I am truly sorry for what happened before. I expected you to be

angry and to want revenge.”

Alof shook her head, still smiling. “Revenge has no place at

Luster. This is a house of refuge.” Her eyes seemed to bore into Leifr,

large and green, with dilated black pupils that glittered like obsidian.

Then she went on in a silky tone, “Do you really believe you can solve

the problem of Lusterfoss? It used to be such a pretty little spring, until

it started flowing with blood.”

Leifr stiffened, darting Thurid a questioning look, but Thurid

merely gazed back at him in blank astonishment. When Leifr glanced at

Gotiskolker, he encountered a blaze of silent fury that baffled him

further. The scavenger sat glaring at Alof with evident hatred.

“It flows blood,” Leifr repeated carefully, as if refreshing the

details in his mind. “Ah, yes. How often does it happen now?”

Alof shrugged her thick shoulders and gazed into the rafters

thoughtfully. “Sometimes daily. It almost always happens when there

are guests in the house, unfortunately. I’m afraid some of them don’t

carry away a very good opinion of my house when they leave.”

“You’re quite sure it’s blood?” Leifr asked.

She nodded emphatically and folded her arms. “Blood and bits of

flesh and bones,” she said matter-of-factly. “There’s no doubt about it in

my mind. The spring is a polluted, haunted place since Sorkvir made

his alog. You were there, you must know what he did to Lusterfoss.”

Her eyelids drooped knowingly as she nodded her head at him.

“Sorkvir never confides all there is to know,” Gotiskolker said

suddenly in his harsh voice. “But in Fridmarr’s case he made his fatal

mistake. He confided too much and he let Fridmarr escape from his

influence.”

Alof gazed at Leifr with narrowing eyes. Her pupils shrank to

mere slits, almost like a cat’s eyes. “I am very glad to hear it,” she

drawled. “I never thought Sorkvir capable of making mistakes.” She

shook herself abruptly, as if banishing unpleasant thoughts. “Enough

serious talk, for now.”

She smiled her empty hostess smile and excused herself,

taking a wide course around the three troll-hounds sprawled near the

smoldering hearth. They eyed her curiously, growling, with their

hackles bristling. Leifr reprimanded them sharply, and they

immediately cringed and fawned around his feet in apology.

“I’m sorry for their lack of house manners,” Leifr said in

embarrassment. “Perhaps they saw few ladies in Sorkvir’s hall and

think you are a new creature.”

Alof laughed, somewhat uneasily. “I thought I recognized troll-

hounds. What do you call the lovely creatures?” “Kraftig, Frimodig,

and Farlig.”

“What very good names. Powerful, Fearless, and Dangerous. If

they are like their names, woe betide any trolls they encounter. I’m

rather frightened of them myself.” She laughed nervously and edged

away into the kitchen, keeping her eyes on the hounds, who kept their

eyes upon her. Frimodig growled softly, stubbornly refusing to give up

his conviction that Alof was a possible enemy.

“You should leave them out here,” Thurid said angrily when they

were outside. “You don’t know what those wretched killers might

decide to do.”

“At least, he can watch them, if they’re inside,” Gotiskolker said.

“If they’re outside, they might kill all of her dogs and a few of her

servants for good measure. I’ve never seen such a scurvy lot in all my