Corpse in the Mead Hall by Cate Martin

Author:Cate Martin [Martin, Cate]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781951439606
Publisher: Ratatoskr Press

16

The dwarf's voice was deep, old but still strong, and in no hurry to get the words out.

I turned to see a face much like I had drawn earlier, like weather-shaped stone. His hair was gray, and so were his eyes, and so was even his skin. His beard fell down past his barrel-chest and hard stomach to pool at the toes of his booted feet. His hair was sparse on top and stood out at crazy angles, as if he had just been doing experiments with static electricity before coming to speak to me.

"Hello," I said, not sure how exactly to address this man.

"We have food and drink prepared, if you will kindly follow me," he said with a little bow. He was speaking Villmarker Norse, but with an accent I had never heard before. The consonants were softer and the vowels more whispery than I was accustomed to hearing.

"Am I also invited, lord dwarf?" Thorbjorn asked.

The dwarf, who was already leading the way across the square, turned back to look at him. "You are the guardian of the volva. How can you be left behind?" Then he turned away again and resumed walking. He had a halting gait, as if his joints pained him.

Thorbjorn took my hand, and we walked together, following the dwarf across the square and then up an alley that was all one steep staircase. It took a turn but kept climbing.

The second time it turned, I looked up and saw that the top of the staircase was where the alley ended. But it wasn't a dead end, it just flowed naturally into one of the larger buildings. It certainly had the largest doorway I had seen yet, tall enough for two Thorbjorns stacked to pass through, and wide enough for him and all his brothers to go through at once, shoulder to shoulder.

Warm firelight filled that building and spilled out of that doorway, so bright I couldn't see what lay on the other side. But I could smell roasting meat and fried potatoes and beer.

The dwarf stopped at the doorway and stood to one side, bowing and sweeping his hands to tell us to go in before him. I squeezed Thorbjorn's hand even tighter as we once again stepped into a space we couldn't quite see.

At last we had found a place that was inhabited and lushly furnished at that. The light came from two fireplaces, one at each end of the room, both burning with what looked like bonfires on their hearths. The walls were hung with colorful if somewhat faded tapestries depicting elaborate stories interspersed with embroidered bits of text. Runes. I longed to get a closer look at them.

But what beckoned first was the long table that dominated the center of the room. It had space enough to sit four dozen easily, but currently held only four dwarves as old, gray and wizened as our host. They all sat together near one of the fireplaces, and the food was all set around them.

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