By ancient custom, the host had to provide food for the guest and promise not to harm him, while the guest had to swear not to draw a weapon in the hall after accepting the food. This was an ancient law of the Old Night, one no one could violate lest a curse descend upon them. Rough muttering rose from all around as the warriors whispered among themselves, seemingly furious at Salomon's refusal. Some armed warriors pushed through the fur-clad crowd and the aged human servants to stand behind Salomon, apparently awaiting The King's command from the dais. Ghostly creatures dwelling in the shadows along both sides of the hall whispered eagerly to one another in disbelief.
"You refuse the meat placed before you!" A warrior wielding a huge axe stood closest to Salomon. He advanced until Salomon could smell the stench of rotten blood in his hair and animal pelts. A low growl rumbled from the warrior's throat, exposing inhuman fangs. He wore the pelt of the wolf Salomon had seen earlier. "Are you insulting us, human king? You followed me here, and now you look down on our meat?"
Salomon did not look at him. Instead, he forced down his anger and surveyed his surroundings. By now, he was certain these warriors were not human. Both their souls and the shadows cast by the hearthfire had twisted into some evil creature with long muzzles. "I have already received generous hospitality. Your king has provided me with shelter and warmth; how could I ask for more?" He composed himself and spoke politely. "This meat makes warriors stronger. I am merely an outsider—how could I take away such a delicacy?"
"Then drink!" the warrior said viciously. "If you refuse the mead, you insult our hospitality."
He summoned an old, frail