Adalwulf: The Two Swords (Tales of Germania Book 1) by Alaric Longward Page B

on all the doors, and set the dogs out. Let them run around a bit and guard.”
    “Had a fox here yesterday,” Gunter grunted. “Might take after it.”
    “Might rip the balls off some bastard out to rob our lord,” Gisil said ferociously, and grabbed a horn from the table, which a guard filled. Gunter opened up the door, and three happy, large hounds loped out, as excited as any dog when they were allowed to run free, and the door blocked again by the heavy bar. “I’ll bless us in Donor’s name in a bit, but first, I want to be a bit drunk.” We laughed at her, and she did have a way to lighten our hearts. She burped after she quaffed the mead down, smiled at our nervous, roaring laughter. “There. Let them come and see if we let them hurt Hulderic, and take what is his.”
    I smiled at her. “You are nothing like any völva I’ve ever seen.”
    “That’s right,” she agreed with a small grin. There was the odd look in her eyes again, one of doubt. She shrugged off any such feeling and pushed me. “I’m nothing like the simpering Chatti women you have seen previously. Sit down, and throw dice with me.”
    I did. Every Germani had dice and a board to throw them on. I could not easily concentrate on the game, but kept glancing around the odd, Celtic hall and the two famous weapons.
    Gisil took an advantage of it mercilessly. “You gamble like my mother,” she laughed when I lost again, though I was not sure what I lost, and I didn’t care.
    “Is she alive? I take it your husband …” I began, and bit my tongue.
    She looked joyless and gray of face. “I forgot. She is dead. They are dead,” she told me, and I wanted to comfort her, though there was an odd, lost look on her face, but didn’t know how. She saw my desire, and smiled gratefully. “Dead or not, she’d throw dice better than you.”
    “Don’t speak of the dead as if you see them,” the blacksmith admonished her from the side where he squatted, inspecting his framae spear. “It’s not proper.”
    “Unless she does see them,” I chuckled, and by the smug look on her face, I decided I didn’t want to press the issue, no matter how much she intrigued me.
    So we passed the time. The servants went back and forth to the larder, bringing more drink, some food, but they did it quietly, and even the wooden clatter of the dice on the board seemed over loud at times. Finally, I could not take the tension. “Surely Hulderic’s on his way already?”
    “Perhaps,” Gisil allowed, and her face shot up, as she probably heard something, or sensed it.
    I grabbed my spear, as I saw her reaction. Gunther also stopped mid-swing, as he was spitting some firewood in the corner with a small ax. “What is it?”
    “Horses,” she said, frowning. “Very close.”
    “Hulderic, then?”
    She turned her head, and our horses were neighing in the stables. They were nervous, unwelcoming neighs. The approaching horses were not familiar to them, or if they were, they were not alone, and there were strange beasts with them.
    A dog barked somewhere. It was a surprised bark, and then angered one, ferocious with a killing intent.
    Then the dog howled, and the howl was cut short as if hacked by an ax.
    I shot up from the seat, and five men grabbed their spears, while Gunther ran to check on the doors to the sleeping quarters. I walked to the barred door, and my hands went up and down the door, trying to find a crack. “Damn well-made,” I grumbled. ”Like some expert has crafted it.”
    “The Celt has skillful men,” she agreed. “There.” She pointed a finger at the bottom half of the door. She had a framea on her hand, I noticed, and then I leaned to check in a lower right corner of the doorway as she instructed.
    “Not perfect, happily,” I breathed as I finally found the hole and look outside from a thin crack. The torches were fluttering there, casting a wide swath of sputtering light across the yard. There was nothing, no sign of people or the