Free RuneWarriors by James Jennewein

with it, old man!” said Thidrek, drawing a laugh from the men. Lut’s nerve then evaporated altogether.
    And Lut said, “He played well today.”
    â€œYes, yes, that he did,” said Voldar. “Now to the feast.” And off he went with Thidrek and the others. Lut was only too relieved to see them go.

CHAPTER EIGHT
A FEAST OF DELICIOUS COMPLICATIONS
    T he feast was a grand event. There were goats and wild boar and game birds roasting on open spits, a long buffet table laden with dish after dish of great hearty fare, such as elk steaks and rabbit stews and smoked fish, and platters piled high with various breads, nuts and cheeses. There were sauces aplenty, sugared plums, and mounds of fresh elderberries for dessert, and, as always, lots of freshly churned butter.
    Inside a great circle of torches, the athletes and their families sat at long, roughhewn tables having a raucously good time, guzzling mead made of fermented honey, stuffing their faces, and pinching the bottoms of the womenfolk who served up the food.
    At the head of the main table sat Thidrek and his retinue, along with Voldar, Geldrun, Blek the Boatman, and other village dignitaries. Astrid sat to Thidrek’s left, as hisguest of honor, or “dinner companion” as he insisted on calling her. And Jarl, as winner of the games, sat to his right.
    Much to Astrid’s surprise, Thidrek was thoroughly charming, engaging in witty repartee, complimenting the athletes, taking his drink in moderation—acting in every way the perfect gentleman, not at all the imperious, over-bearing boor she’d heard he could be. At times he actually paused to listen to what others had to say, chuckling at jibes that proved unamusing, not once interrupting or disagreeing. And when Blek lamely blurted out that the taxes on their village were too high, instead of ordering that the man’s tongue be cut out, Thidrek calmly explained that, yes, perhaps they were a bit steep, but it was all to build new roads to encourage trade between the villages, which would thus improve the economy and hasten in a highly desirable thing called “progress.”
    â€œBah! Bring back the old days,” said Jarl, with a mouthful of food and a head full of drink. “Pillage and plunder. That’s what real Norsemen were made for. ‘Live off the land’? Pisspots! We’ll have peace in death. We, the living, should spill blood!” He gobbled another portion of boar meat, chewing with his mouth wide open, and as its juices dribbled down his chin, he thoughtlessly wiped his mouth on his sleeve, leaving a long, unsightly smear of grease.
    What happened next was a revelation to Astrid and other women at the table. Thidrek drew from his pocket asoft, square piece of cloth, wiped his lips and mustache clean of gravy, and then returned it to his pocket. Astrid and the other ladies looked upon this in wonder. A man had actually cared enough to remove the unsightly food particles from his mouth! Thidrek noticed their interest.
    â€œIt’s a lommetørklæde ,” he explained patiently. “A handkerchief. What a true gentleman uses at table. Part of a new idea called ‘personal etiquette’ that’s all the rage on the continent.” Not wanting Jarl to feel bad, he added, “No way for you to have known, boy—just one of the perks of upper-class life, I suppose.”
    Jarl issued a loud belch and laughed, unaware that the older man had just insulted his utter lack of sophistication. “Whatever,” Jarl muttered, and refilled his mead cup.
    Thidrek then paid a compliment to the table centerpiece, a handmade ice sculpture of a flower, its open petals aglow from the lighted candle inside. With obvious pride, Blek said his own daughter, the Mistress of the Blade, had carved it.
    â€œI’ve never seen a woman so artful with an axe,” Thidrek said, flashing Astrid a grin, “or so deadly with a