The Wizard And The Warlord by Elizabeth Boyer

wants to see the Scipling at once,” came the hoarse reply. “He won’t tolerate waiting, so you’d better hurry yourselves out of this wretched hole before he gets impatient.”
    “Halfdane!” Sigurd muttered in annoyance, finding his boots with difficulty. If the Alfar were adept at anything, it was the art of dissipation. Drinking and gambling occupied almost everyone’s off-duty hours, although Halfdane attempted to keep free time to a minimum, knowing well the propensities of his followers.
    When Sigurd and Rolfr presented themselves at the hall, Jotull greeted them in a solemn, kindly manner. To Sigurd’s surprise, Rolfr flushed crimson and angrily turned his back, saying, “You don’t need to patronize me, Jotull. You know who it was that told Halfdane about your taking Sigurd outside the hill fort against his orders. I’m not fooled by your pleasant manners.”
    Jotull looked aggrieved as he smoothed his beard. “I wouldn’t have thought it of you, Rolfr. Haven’t I always been perfectly civil to you and to everyone since I came to Hrafnborg? Surely you didn’t think I would do Sigurd any harm, did you?”
    “Well, no, not really, but Mikla thought—I mean, it seems to me that you shouldn’t tamper with Sigurd’s natural power. It’s unusual for a Scipling to have power, true enough, but, if he were an Alfar, you wouldn’t dream of trying to capture his natural powers, unless you wished him ill. Even a Scipling is entitled to his powers.”
    Jotull sighed and raised his eyes to the sky. “It seems to me that a spiteful young apprentice and an unproven novice warrior are no judges of wizards’ business and ought to keep their noses out or they are likely to get burned.”
    “Or frozen.” The words escaped Rolfr’s lips involuntarily, and he looked alarmed at his ill-advised speech.
    Jotull shifted his staff to one hand. “Whatever do you mean by that remark? Do you think I’m a Dokkalfar wizard, standing here in full sunlight and not harmed?”
    Rolfr glowered back at the wizard. “Not only Dokkalfar serve the Dokkalfar, as you well know I didn’t mean to accuse you of any disloyalty to Halfdane, but Mikla—well, never mind Mikla. He’s a fool sometimes and I’m another,” he added quickly as Jotull tapped his staff on the ground a few times.
    Sigurd scowled disapprovingly at Rolfr. “How can you say such things about Jotull? No one else but Mikla speaks ill of Jotull in all of Hrafnborg. Didn’t he heal Holti of that dreadful chill? And what about last week when he had the premonition to warn the patrol not to use the river crossing?”
    “Enough, Sigurd, I can bear a little false accusation,” Jotull said, bestowing a wounded glance upon Rolfr. “Let’s go inside and confess my misdemeanors to our chieftain. Halfdane must always be correct, you realize.” He opened the door and motioned Sigurd and Rolfr to enter before him.
    “But I thought Jotull had some authority around here,” Sigurd said. “Not to mention the fact that he’d protect me if any hostile Alfar should appear.”
    Halfdane, Dagrun, and the other leaders stood before the fire in the great hearth. Halfdane looked around and demanded. “What’s this I hear about your leaving the protection of the hill fort, Sigurd? You recall I expressly forbade it.”
    Sigurd bridled immediately, but Jotull put a hand on his arm before he could speak. “I will explain,” the wizard said, averting his eyes from Halfdane’s rather frayed riding cloak and worn boots with a delicate shudder. “The fault is entirely mine, but I don’t wish to be reprimanded with half the fortress watching. Can’t we talk more privately?” He glanced politely at Dagrun and the others, who were listening and staring with all their might.
    Halfdane nodded, turned, and stalked into his adjoining quarters, where he took a stance before the hearth, bending his dark, lordly gaze upon his visitors. “When I give an order, I expect no abrogation