He stood by the fire pit. The man-wolves ignored him. They continued their feasting, biting and rending at their meal, crunching upon hands crabbed from roasting. Rib bones broke between flashing teeth. When two wolves reached for the same morsel they snapped and snarled at one another. Violence was a moment away.

'My lord!' shouted Russ.

No attention was paid him. It was as if he were not there.

He looked around at the hunched beast-men, threw back his head, and howled. The power of his call was magnified many times in that uncanny hall. The timbers shook. Snow slumped from the roof. The fire died back.

Their attention was his. Silence fell. A hundred pairs of yellow eyes stared at him from the gloom.

The giant king stood, thrusting his granite throne backwards with ease.

'Who is this who comes into my hall and makes the call of challenge?' He spoke in rumbling juvjk, the hearth language of Fenris.

A coal in the fire cracked. A patch of embers collapsed in on themselves, sending up sparks that fled for the smokehole.

'I am Leman of the Russ, Lord of Winter and War, the Great Wolf, primarch of the Vlka Fenryka that men call Space Wolves, the Sixth Legion of Terra, master of Fenris in the Verse, and son of the Emperor of Mankind. I beg your indulgence, lord. The night is cold, and I have travelled far. Could I stay a while and rest? I call upon the law of hospitality.'

'You are a king?'

'I am,' said Leman Russ.

'Such poor tailoring is unfit for a king,' said the wolf, holding up his hand to gesture at Russ' clothes. 'And you are no wolf. See the false wolf, walking on two feet!' he mocked.

The warriors laughed, a barking cacophony full of threat.

'Do you know who I am, mortal?' Russ smiled openly, though within his skull he was thinking quickly. Every word he said must be weighed. Speaking poorly could trap him there forever. 'One of your names is the Erl king. You are the lord of wights and of the alvar, the god of the nettagangr. This is the Muspjall, the hall of those who die deaths that serve no one. Those slain by age serve at your tables, and here cowards are devoured.'

The wolf nodded approvingly. 'I am that and many other things,' he said. His pink tongue flopped clumsily in his jaws as it formed human words. Growling further roughened his speech, which was wet and throaty to begin with. 'Here I am the Great Wolf, like you. Leman of the Russ, I have many names, and that title belongs to me more than it belongs to you. I say thee begone. You have no place in my hall, creature of the Verse. This is my domain. Go out and freeze.'

His retainers snarled.