The Obotrites were the last to step forward.
Their chieftains came heavy with armrings, broad men scarred from years of feuding along the Elbe.
They were no strangers to steel, and no fools. The gifts Vetrúlfr had showered upon the Rani gleamed before their eyes, but still they hesitated.
Their leader, a bear of a man with hair like pale straw, stood before the dais. His voice carried deep and unbending.
"You give fine words, Northman," he said, "and finer steel. But we are not beggars to be bribed, nor hounds to be bought with meat. If you ask us to march at your side, then prove to us that you are no wolf with hollow fangs."
The hall stirred. Murmurs rippled across the benches.
Even Armodr cocked his head in curiosity.
Vetrúlfr set down his horn and rose. H
is cloak slipped from his shoulders as he descended the dais, eyes locked upon the Obotrite chief.
"And what proof do you demand?" he asked evenly.
