I could not say how old she was. The curves of her slender body, the smoothness of her face, and the firmness of her voice gave the impression of a young woman, but the whiteness of her hair told a different tale, and Ingvar had spoken of her as someone who had been known to him since his youth.

Ingvar was the first of us to recover his voice.

“Gudrun, Lady of the lake,” he said, bowing low. In the short time I had known him, he had shown deference to nobody, and his obeisance further disquieted me. “We bring you an injured man, and ask that you might heal him.”

“It has been a long time since last you visited me, Ingvar Styrsson,” the woman said. Her voice was haughty, but soft, and just as with her body, it seemed ageless. “It saddens me that men only remember me when they are in need.” She fixed Ingvar with her unearthly stare and he quailed before her.

“Can you help our comrade, or not?” said Runolf, stepping forward.

Gudrun stared up at the giant axeman.

“I know you,” she said.

“I have never been here before,” Runolf replied, scowling. “And I would recall having met you.” His voice was firm, and I admired his bravery, for there was a power emanating from the woman that could not be denied. Ingvar had not been able to meet her gaze for more than a few heartbeats, but Runolf squared his shoulders and did not flinch as she transfixed him with her pink-tinged icy glare.

“That you would,” she said, with a chuckle. The sound of it was like splinters of ice tumbling down a frozen cataract. “But perhaps I have seen you nonetheless. Mayhap in my dreams.”

Runolf frowned.

“Enough of your games, völva,” he said, using the Norse word for seeress or witch. “Our friend cannot stand here talking of your dreams. Can you help him?”

Gudrun smiled.

“You have your father’s anger, I see,” she said.

“What do you know of my father?” Runolf growled.

“Nothing that you do not already know, Runolf.”

It was Runolf’s turn to be afraid now, his brash bravery dissolving like snow in spring.

“How do you know my name, völva,” he said.

“I know many things. You would do well to remember that. There is power in names, and respect too, so I would have you use mine.”

Runolf stared at her. For a time he did not speak, then Sygbald began coughing, shattering the spell that had fallen between the witch and the warrior.

“Very well, Gudrun,” Runolf said. “Ingvar here said you were the only chance we had of healing our friend. Will you tend to his injury?” She stared at him as if he were an errant child. “Please,” he finished.

The raven croaked somewhere in the forest. It sounded like laughter. I shivered. Leofstan made the sign of the cross.