'Hearthlaw demands you accept me king to king,' shouted Russ confidently over their growling. 'We are not at feud. I come here unarmed and in openness. Deny my right to warmth, and you will bring a bad cast upon your wyrd. This is code in the Underverse as it is in the lands above.'

The Great Wolf growled. A retainer wearing antlers and draped with charms tapped his arm, and the wolf bent low so that it might whisper into his ear.

'My gothi tells me you speak truly. Sit then, join my warriors, if you dare. You will not live long here. They are not welcoming of human company.'

'I am no ordinary man,' said Russ.

'And yet you are still a man. Amarok! Make space for our guest.'

A wolf detached itself from the mass of the feasting shadows, and held out its arm in welcome indicating a space upon the bench. Russ went over. The wolf was his equal in height, bulging with muscle, though it seemed composed solely of smoky air, and had no certain features beyond its burning eyes, ivory teeth and lolling tongue.

'You rudely followed me to this hall,' said the wolf named Amarok. 'Enjoy the rewards for your stalking.'

Grumbling man-wolves made space. Russ took his place at the table.

'Take meat,' said Amarok, thrusting a wooden platter at Russ. Upon it was a man's leg, bent in half at the knee and charred.

'I shall not,' said Russ.

Shadow wolves snarled and yipped at each other, their language too uncouth for Russ to comprehend.

'You insult us?' said Amarok. 'Is our food not good enough for the king?'

'On the contrary,' said Russ humbly. 'I honour you. I have taken advantage enough already. Your lord grants me shelter, it is all I require. Your warriors are strong, I would see them stronger still. I will not deprive them of their meat.'

'Then at least drink,' said Amarok. 'Refuse this, and we shall kill you for the insult to our hospitality.' A lanx was pushed at him. It was made of hammered lead, with childlike representations of wolves scratched into the rim by claw tips. The workmanship was crude beyond belief.

Dark mjod filled the drinking bowl to the brim. Its surface sparkled with frost. The liquid did not move, being frozen through and through to the bowl.

'I thank you,' he said, and lifted the lanx to his mouth. He bit hard, his sharp teeth shearing through lead and ice. He chewed both, and swallowed. The lead was bitter. The mjod was chilled colder than the depths of the void, and burned his throat, but he smiled.

'A good mjod,' he said.

The shadow wolves laughed growling laughs. Amarok's brow wrinkled with malevolent humour.

'You appear to be having trouble with your refreshment. Allow me to help you.'