Rain had stopped for a while. Mists eddied over the sodden ground. Westward the clouds had parted enough to let through a nearly level sunbeam. It turned the mere blood red. Water dripped off roof and trees.

Hadding looked down into his leman’s eyes. They burned like the pool, though her fingers where she caught at his wrist were cold. “Here I can work a spell,” she hissed. “We’ve had too many bad foretokenings. If we know what lies ahead, we can make ready for it and belike win free.”

“I have always heard that the will of the Norns stands not to be changed,” he said misgivingly.

Her voice sharpened. “Would you go blind toward your foemen if you could scout them out first? I’ve lived far longer than you, and learned somewhat about the underworlds.”

“What do you think to do?”

“This man is newly dead. His soul has not yet fared far. It Will be easy to call back. But he has been beyond time. I will make him foretell for us.”

Hadding’s skin crawled. “That’s an ill repayment for the widow’s kindness.”

“Ha, shall a dirt-grubber and her brood hold back the last of the Skjoldungs from what is his? Hadding, I, who made a drow speak with me, am going to do this. Best will be if you help, but will you or nil you, it shall happen.”

Her keenness overwhelmed his youthfulness. Besides, if she turned herself into a giantess again, he could not stand against her He watched unhappily while she cut a shoot off a blackthorn, trimmed it to a short stick, and carved runes in it. When she was done, night was falling fast and rain gusted anew. They went back inside.

“There is something we must do,” Hardgreip told Gerd. “Keep off, you and your children, and you’ll come to no hurt. Otherwise dreadfulness can befall you.”

The woman gaped and cringed. Loath though Hadding seemed, he did not gainsay his friend. His sword could easily put an end to her family. Gerd moaned. She herded her youngsters back in among the kine.

Hardgreip stoked up the hearthfire. From a household jug she poured water into the household kettle and set it above. From her pack she took things Hadding had not known she had brought along, leaves of nightshade, a dried toad, a bat’s wings, the withered navel string of a stillborn, and uglier stuff. She cast them into the water and cast the garb off herself. Naked she stood in the shifting flamelight and thronging shadows, holding the runestave above the kettle and chanting while that which was within came to seethe.

Hadding stood as if frozen. It was worse than at the dolmen. Never, in all his years with the giants, had he seen this side of her.