Einarr once more offered Jorir the hilt of his sword in token of their pledge, and the dwarf grasped it without hesitation.
“A test, my lord?” Jorir raised an eyebrow, his voice held low.
“I was the one on trial, I think. Well, we gave them a story, anyway.”
“You!” The show-off from the circle thundered, striding into the ring in his spectral fury. “That was no challenge. You planned this!”
“Are not sword dances typically agreed on?” Einarr kept his voice light. If he played this right, the only one to lose honor would be the enraged ghost. “What matter if it was friendly or otherwise?”
“The sword dance is a sacred trial by steel, and you have defiled it! What dispute was this meant to settle?”
“Good sir, I believe you are mistaken. The sword dance is a ritual, true, but one which contains a story. Have we…
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