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had opened the door.
    “Snagi, you old fool, how dare you open the door to a stranger
    this way, with no regard for the safety of the house? How do we know
    what sort of creature he is?” He turned toward Leifr abruptly, without
    losing a stride in his rapid fire of questions and accusations. “How do
    we know you’re not plotting to murder us all in the middle of the
    night? How do we know you’re not one of them?”
    Leifr’s heart condensed into a cold, hard knot and sweat trickled
    down his spine. If this hard-eyed, suspicious character was Thurid,
    Gotiskolker’s scheme would be detected immediately, and all due
    retribution heaped upon him.
    “Thurid! Won’t you listen a moment!” Snagi at last made
    his presence known, after a series of unheard protests and exclamations
    quivering with excitement. “Look at him, Thurid! Listen to his voice!”
    “What nonsense is this!” Thurid flung open the door to let the
    light fall upon Leifr. “Stop where you are,” he commanded, striding
    out onto the porch, his eyes riveted on Leifr with a sudden acute
    sharpening of his gaze.
    Certain he had betrayed himself somehow, Leifr edged a step
    backward. “I think I’ve made a mistake,” he muttered. “This must be
    the wrong house. Sorry I’ve disturbed you.” He had almost turned away
    when Thurid spoke.
    “Fridmarr!”
    Leifr froze, then swung around warily.
    Thurid scowled blackly. “Don’t pretend you don’t know me. I
    almost didn’t recognize you in that wretched attire. As long as you’re
    here, you’d better come in, before Sorkvir gets wind of your return.”
    Leifr’s eyes narrowed with dislike. He felt his hackles rising
    dangerously. Men of this authoritarian, autocratic ilk had always
    irritated him almost beyond endurance.
    “Thank you for your kind invitation,” he said coldly. “I regret to
    intrude myself where I’m not wanted, but I wish to see my father.”
    “Intrude? It’s your hall now, since Bodmarr is dead. You know
    I’m here only on Fridmundr’s sufferance.” He led the way into the
    shadowy kitchen, fragrant with ancient wood and peat fires, whose
    pungency had permeated every beam and turf for generations. “Let
    me go ahead and prepare him for the shock of your
    unexpected return.” Thurid arched his left eyebrow, as if to say
    Fridmarr’s return was unwelcome as well as unexpected.
    Resenting his officious tone, Leifr’s gaze traveled over Thurid’s
    apparel, the long cloak and gown affected by scholars and men of
    wisdom who often were paid to remain at the halls of wealthy men to
    enhance the atmosphere. His clothing was of exceptional quality, if
    somewhat threadbare and shabby, and his fine boots had been
    assiduously mended and patched to extend their lifespan beyond the
    normal years for a pair of boots.
    “Still down on your luck, I see,” Leifr observed. “Your study of
    magic hasn’t gotten you far, has it?”
    Thurid darted him an evil glare. “Thanks to your late disgrace
    and Bodmarr’s ill luck, I’ve lost a lot more credence in Solvorfirth. I
    can’t even get children to tutor. Rhbu magic never prospers those who
    practice it. Wait here while I see if Fridmundr is in any condition for
    visitors. I shall summon you in a moment.”
    “I’ll come with you,” Leifr said, not trusting Thurid out of his
    sight. “I’m not a visitor here. I wish to. see my father at once.”
    Thurid conceded with ill grace. “Come on, then,” he said,
    stalking into a cold, dark corridor that led toward the back of the house.
    “I can see there’s still no reasoning with you. By the way, did you ride a
    horse, or are you afoot?” He glanced down at Leifr’s worn, dusty
    footwear with a supercilious smile.
    “I had to sell my horse long ago for ship’s passage. It was either
    sell it or eat it.” He ignored Thurid’s visible shudder of disgust and
    strode down the corridor at Thurid’s heels toward a dim doorway,
    where a massive carved door stood