The path bent past an outcrop of rock. Braki rounded it. His horse reared and neighed. There stood two hounds, wolflike but coal black, well nigh as big as it was. Their eyes smoldered, their fangs glistened. A man yelped. “Hold still, I told you!” Braki flung back. He fought his mount to a standstill while the hounds bristled and growled. “Vagnhöfdi!” he shouted. “Call off your dogs! Braki is here. We have sworn peace, you and I.”

Someone ahead winded a horn. The deep sound of it echoed from hillsides and shuddered in men’s bones. The hounds lowered their ears, turned, and trotted back. Braki made his horse follow them. His men could do no less.

They came out on a hillcrest. Cleared, it overlooked the highland wilds from ridge to ridge. The house that stood there was roughly built of stone below and logs above, chinked with clay and moss, roofed with turf But few kings owned a hall so huge. Smoke from a hole overhead blew off across the treetops like storm clouds. Through an open door passed glimmers of fire, with heat and rank smells.

The giant waited outside. Thrice the height of a big man he loomed, and more than broad enough to match. Unkempt black hair fell around a shelf of brow, craggy nose, and cave of a mouth. Beard spilled halfway down to a belt studded with spikes. His coat, breeks, and boots were of hide. A nine-foot club was in his grasp and a scramasax of matching size at his hip.

Thunder might have been speaking: “Hail, Braki. I bade you always to come by yourself, when come you must. Why have you brought this pack along? Am Ito kill them for you?”

The thrall wailed. Men stiffened in their seats. Gudorm flushed angrily. Braki waved them to stay quiet.

Looking straight up at the thurs, the chieftain said, “It’s not for my own sake I’m here this time, Vagnhöfdi. I needed guards along the way lest harm befall the sons of my king.”

“What are they to me?”

“This. Their father is fallen in war. His foeman, the Norse King Svipdag, now holds Denmark and means to seek lordship in Svithjod and Geatland as well. Let him gain his wish, and he will rule on either side of you. Likewise will his son after him. Folk are breeding children who grow up land-hungry. Svipdag and his kindred have sworn no oaths with you.”

“Hunh,” rumbled the jotun. “This I knew not.” After a bit: “Well, I will guest you overnight, at least, and we will talk.”

Braki’s followers loosened their grip on their weapons. Things were going as he had promised them.