ACCORDING TO THE ORACLE, it all happened in only a few stanzas. In fact it took months for Asgard’s folk to meet our folk in battle. During that time, the General barricaded himself inside, conferring with Mimir’s Head and holding endless talks with his people, as my new-found allies and I continued to set the stage for the invasion of the Middle Worlds and its subjugation, an inch at a time.

The first hint of trouble came about a month before our final campaign. We had a thousand fire-ships waiting to attack through Dream. To the north of Ironwood, the Ice People awaited our call, living under deerskin tents; and the Rock Folk had taken the eastern side, adopting as their refuge a labyrinth of limestone caves at the foot of the mountains. Meanwhile, the Folk were assembling; little bands of warriors, at first – no more than a few hundred at a time, armed with swords and axes and shields and sometimes just farm implements – drifting in towards the south-west. There had been a few skirmishes, but nothing more. The Folk were still uncertain. Rumours of an impending war; omens in the winter sky; nightmares; sudden deaths; ominous flights of migratory birds – all premonitions of bad things to come for Mankind and the Middle Worlds.

It was rumoured that Angrboda was in hiding somewhere in Ironwood, leading a pack of werewolves that preyed on the Folk that were gathering in numbers on the outskirts of the forest. I didn’t investigate the rumours. Angie wasn’t my biggest fan, not after the way the gods had dealt with Fenris, and I was in no hurry to introduce her to Heidi.

That’s why when she arrived one night, unannounced, demanding to see me, I felt a shiver of apprehension. I was in my tent; a marquee rather bigger than Odin’s hall, inscribed all over with fire-runes, draped in silk and tapestry and carpeted with wolf skins. I was just opening a bottle of wine and listening to the sounds of the night when in she came, looking warlike, followed by the harassed-looking demon guard I’d posted to avoid just such encounters as this.

‘I’m sorry, General,’ said the guard. ‘She just—’

‘I can imagine,’ I said. When the Witch of Ironwood comes to pay a visit, good luck to the poor idiot who shows her to the waiting room. I dismissed the guard with an absent wave.

‘Angie! Love of my life!’ I said.