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What man can ask more than that, Lord Regin?”
    “It would seem that the whelp has more in him than readily meets the eye. Well enough, keep your hero, King’s-Son.” Regin laughed in such a way as made Sig feel hot and clench his good fist. Yet Sigurd’s hand still rested on his shoulder and then drew him forward, so that he no longer lurked in the shadows but sat on the step of the guest chair in full sight of all, with his lord’s favor plain.
    Venison they ate, and wild honey, and white bread such as Sig had never seen, and grapes both tart and sweet on the tongue. Afterward they were led into a small side chamber for sleeping where there was a couch of myrtle and hemlock woven together cunningly to form a soft bed. Sig settled at the foot, wrapped in his cloak, but Sigurd stretched out full upon the boughs and slept.

    When they awoke it was after sunup and Sigurd sat up with a strange look on his face.
    “This night I did dream,” he said in a low voice as if he spoke more to himself than to Sig. “And it was a dream of power, though I have not the wit to read it.”
    They went into the great hall and there Regin sat once more in the high seat, as if he had never moved through the long night past. Across his knees lay the harp of a bard. Now and then he absently plucked a string to bring forth a singing note. Before the guest seat there were bread, goat cheese, honey, and horns of barley beer. Regin waved them to sit and eat, and Sig again took his place on the seat’s step.
    “You slept well through the night?” Regin asked as might any ordinary host.
    “I dreamed,” Sigurd answered.
    “And of what did you dream, King’s-Son?”
    “That I stood on a mountain peak, among other peaks, though none higher. And about me flew eagles, while snow lay at my feet. There were the Norns there—Urd, the Past, was to the east where the sun rises, and between her fingers she spun thread which glittered as if it were formed of that very sun.
    “And Verdanda, the Present, was afar in the sea where sky and water meet. She caught up that thread and wove a web of purple and gold, richer than any king’s wear I have seen. But even as she wove it, Skald, the dire Future, caught it from her and tore it to shreds, which she cast from her so that they fell at the cold white feet of yet another who watched. And she was Hel, who is queen over the dead. It seems to me that this was a dream which began well but ended ill.”
    “In this life many things begin well and end ill,” Regin said. “Listen to one such—” And Regin, old as he was, lifted up his voice and sang.
    His voice was full and strong, and that of a great bard. They listened as if caught in a witch wife’s spell. Also, as he sang, he changed so that his white hair and beard faded away, and they saw not Regin the forest lord in that high seat but rather Mimir Master-Smith.

    Then he put down the harp and laughed.
    “Ay, I am Mimir, who was Regin. But that is another tale and the time had not yet come for the telling of it But it is true that you have great deeds to do, Sigurd King’s-Son. A sword you have, though it was forged from the shards of another, which was the All Father’s gift-but not a kind one—to your forefather. Now you must gain a horse such as will serve you as well as steel, perhaps even better.”
    “And where do I find such a horse, master?”
    “You go to the north, to the giant Griph, and there ask it of him. On his pastures run the finest steeds in the world.”
    “Well enough.” Sigurd nodded, “And this I am to do now?”
    “What time is better?”
    As Sigurd King’s-Son prepared to go he shook his head at Sig, who stood waiting, with no sword at his belt but only the stoutest staff he could find in his hand.
    “This is no quest for you, youngling.”
    “Lord, I do not stay behind. If you will not suffer me to go with you, then still shall I follow.”
    Sigurd looked at him for a long, long moment. Then he nodded