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stood up, his hand on the hilt of
    his sword. “I would never do such a thing!”
    Gotiskolker favored him with a bitter sneer. “Not even when
    you consider how short-lived you Sciplings are? Fifty years is
    considered a lifetime for you, but to an Alfar, fifty years is a reasonable
    length of time to spend visiting relatives you’re not particularly well
    acquainted with. With this stone, you could seek knowledge beyond the
    ken of the most enlightened Scipling sorcerer and attain power beyond
    your wildest imaginings.”
    Leifr unfolded his arms and again leaned forward to contemplate
    the carbuncle. It seemed to wink at him invitingly. Cunningly, he
    inquired of Gotiskolker, “If all this is true, why have you ended up
    so miserably? Surely you possess a carbuncle of your own, if you are
    an Alfar, and if these stones can bring you power.”
    Gotiskolker lifted one sharp shoulder in a shrug. “As I
    said before, carbuncles are sometimes bought, sold, or stolen. Mine
    was sold a long time ago, but I won’t bore you with the story.
    Fridmarr’s is the only one of interest to you.“ His tone was
    almost venomous in its harsh self-loathing. ”Parting with my jewel
    is partly to blame for the wreck I am now. Alfar do not live well
    without their carbuncles—or wisely, I fear.“
    At last Leifr heaved a reluctant sign and picked up the stone
    again. “I’ll carry this stone for the sake of your venture, but I’ll never
    be host to it. As soon as I’m finished with it, I’ll give it back to you. I
    can still scarcely believe that all I have to do is carry it and everyone
    will see me as Fridmarr.”
    “There are curiouser marvels,” Gotiskolker said drily, watching
    sharply as Leifr fashioned a hanger for the stone and strung it around
    his neck inside his shirt.
    Leifr returned his watchful stare with a belligerent scowl to hide
    uneasiness and distaste for wearing the carbuncle. “Well then, do I look
    like Fridmarr?” he demanded challengingly.
    Gotiskolker looked away, reaching for his walking staff again.
    “The resemblance is there,” he grunted unhelpfully. “And it will
    increase the longer you wear his jewel—whether you like it or not.”
    Leifr felt as if a cold wave of air had touched him, awakening
    him to the utter strangeness of the Alfar realm. All the normal laws
    of Scipling behavior and expectations had been suddenly revoked,
    leaving him bereft of guidance.
    Gruffly he said, “Well, I’m not going to like it, so let’s get it over
    with. We’ll meet again soon, I trust?”
    Gotiskolker shook his head. “You’ll be completely on your own,
    except for the carbuncle. I’m not particularly welcome at Dallir, except
    to haul away rubbish that no one wants or to bring tallow for candles.
    I’ll watch out for you when I can, and you know where to find me, if
    you care to. I’m your dear old friend, remember; but also remember that
    it isn’t wise to be seen with your old conspirator, as far as Sorkvir is
    concerned.”
    “Sorkvir be blasted,” Leifr muttered in consternation. “You’ve
    got to help me at least some of the time.”
    “I hope it won’t be necessary,” Gotiskolker responded.
    The sun was low in the west, casting long shadows behind
    the rocks, barrows, and thickets. Gotiskolker hurried along with many
    uneasy glances over his shoulder. Once he motioned to Leifr urgently,
    and they crouched in a ditch while six riders in long black cloaks went
    by with an officious jingling of harness and weapons. Leifr stared at
    their battle banners, hung on long pikes ornamented with fluttering
    trophies of hair and rattling bones. The devices on the banners were
    skulls and bats, which matched the symbols on the warriors’
    shields and helmets. When they had passed, Leifr looked to
    Gotiskolker for an explanation.
    “Dokkalfar,” Gotiskolker whispered grimly and hurried
    onward, darting from shadow to shadow until they came into view of a
    turf house and its many sprawling