The shadow wolves howled with mirth, and banged their drinking horns and lanxes on the table boards.

'I am willing to provide this entertainment, in exchange for a boon,' said Russ.

'And what boon would you ask?'

'I will ask a question, and you must answer.'

'Very well,' said the Great Wolf. 'My wisdom is widely known. I think now you did not come to this hall by accident. Yet you have me intrigued, mortal. I will grant your request. Four tasks I will set you. Let us say the drinking of the mjod was the first, and that you have already failed. Three more await.'

'That is hardly fair. Had I known it as a mead-challenge I would have tried harder. I fail before I begin.'

The Great Wolf snarled. 'You seem weak, so I will be fair. Succeed at one of these tasks, and I shall grant your request. Fail them all, and you will remain here in my service forever.'

The challenge was fair, as custom demanded. Russ expected this mirroring of his own welcome to the Emperor, so many years ago. He wondered if he had appeared as savage as the Great Wolf to his father, that first time they had met.

'I will fight for you, if I fail,' said Russ.

The Great Wolf laughed, his warriors joined in.

'You are too feeble to join the murder-make with the enemies we face, little man! No, we require a fool to make my warriors laugh after their labours in battle. And, if you are unsuccessful in the task of mirth-bringing, you shall be devoured nightly, and remade to try again.'

'It does not sound so bad,' said Russ with a careless shrug. 'It is in a man's nature to wish to be of use.'

'So we have a bargain?'

'We have a bargain.'

The Great Wolfs teeth pulled back in a canine parody of a grin. 'Your jesting had better be good, Leman of the Russ. My teeth are sharp.'

The Great Wolf stood tall and raised his arms. He lifted the forefinger of his left hand and swept it downwards through the air. Russ drew in his breath at unanticipated pain. By some employment of Underverse sorcery, a wound like the stroke of a single claw opened upon his right breast.

'A first mark for the failure of the first challenge. Suffer four, and your soul is ours.'

The shadow wolves banged their drinking vessels upon the tables, playing an insistent rhythm.

'So then, the second challenge!'

The rhythm increased in tempo, its coordination tumbling apart. The shadow wolves howled. At the cacophony, the massive wolf before the high table twitched and rolled over in its sleep.

An old crone came limping out from among the tables. She was neither wolf nor shade, but a living being of flesh and blood, though greatly aged and infirm.