“Your men,” Acwellen returned, “are ten years living in peace! They have grown comfortable, Winetongue. You gave them a fort, livestock, good drink and wives. They do not wish to return to war! So they will guard an ancient rock, while these Fae bastards dance about their flames. Then we go home, and they leave us in peace. Far better than the battles you would have them wage.”

Kederic stared at him, his body unable to exact the vengeance his heart desired.

“Traitor,” he said at last.

Acwellen shrugged the accusation off. “It was either stand loyal and die, or betray you and prosper. Simple choice.”

Padric stepped between them. “You were a fool to come here, Acwellen. One word from me and the Swinehelm will spit you over a fire.”

Acwellen shrugged carelessly, turning away to swagger about the room.

“Will he? I very much doubt it. He needs me too much, me and my men. Look at this place,” Acwellen spread his arms, going to the window and nodding out. “A huge, crumbling ruin. That rodent cannot hope to defend it all, even with all his damn Red Caps. He has us camped below, outside the walls to patrol the approaches. I do not think he will give that up for you, boy.”

Padric stepped up, right in the lout’s bearded face. “Are you blind? Did you not see the work that is being done…the living iron?”

“You are the blind one, whelp,” Acwellen said. “There is nothing living about those rusted toys.”

“As soon as those Fae bastards dance about their flames,” Padric said, throwing the man’s own words back at him, “you will see how wrong you are. And it will be your last mistake.”

The big man looked at him for a moment, his eyes twinkling with private glee. He looked over Padric to where Kederic stood. “The memory is a tricky bugger,” he said. “See…I remember all those years we fought together. All them strange lands. Bloody bad times, I recall.” Acwellen stepped around Padric and approached the Thegn. “I also remember your wife, Kederic. Pretty lass. No, that is not worthy of her. She was beautiful. What was her name?”

“Do not,” Kederic warned through his teeth.

“Beladore,” Acwellen breathed the name and Padric watched Kederic’s fists clench.

“Found her in Sasana,” the big man continued. “Quite a prize. Quite a bride. You were so happy, and she must have squirmed like a weasel in bed, for you had her with a swollen belly right quick. And then, the babe was born and something just…changed.”

Kederic was not even looking at the man now. His eyes were downcast and far away, lost in some bitter memory. Acwellen turned and looked at Svala, continuing his story with relish, though the girl looked at him quizzically, his words lost on her.