That night, Raenshold feasted in celebration of the victorious return of the Vidofnir and the Heidrun. From his seat by Father’s side, Einarr grinned across the table at the unflappable Kaldr and took a deep draught. He was mostly glad to be home, but it was hard to pass up a chance to nettle the man. “What you need,” he said, wiping the foam from his beard with the back of his hand, “Is to relax a little. Isn’t that right, Jorir?”
The dwarf, at Einarr’s side, chuckled.
Kaldr gave one of his trademark placid looks to the heir apparent. “I fail to see what is so relaxing about playing the fool.”
“Ease up, Einarr. That is relaxed.”
Einarr rolled his eyes in mock exasperation and picked up a joint of rabbit from his truncheon. “You, too?”
Jorir’s eyes twinkled with mirth. Plainly the dwarf knew something Einarr did…
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