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Voldarstad and the woodland that ran up the side of the mountain nearby.
    The ten-year-old boy had come to Lut’s hut at dawn, terribly worried about the fate of Dane the Defiant. Four days before, Dane and his friends had set out on their foolish quest to find a battle where Valkyries swarmed. Lut had tried talking Dane out of going, saying that his plan to bargain with Odin was insane. “A bear will not haggle with a gnat,” Lut had told him. “Astrid is gone. Be a man and accept it.” But Dane, blinded by his love for her, had gone off on his absurd, dangerous errand.
    He still had not returned and William was frantic with despair. Dane had rescued the boy from a life of thralldom in the service of the cruel Thidrek the Terrifying. He had defeated Thidrek with the boy’s help, and thus William was freed from slavery and dubbed “William the Brave.” Since then, he had come to idolize Dane like an older brother who could do no wrong.
    â€œWhat if he never comes back, Lut?” William whimpered as they crested the hill.
    The lad had suffered greatly during his brief life, Lut knew. When Thidrek’s armies attacked his Saxon village looking for plunder and slaves, Thidrek himself had murdered William’s mother and father, right in front of the boy’s eyes. Now the prospect of losing Dane as well was too much to bear. Lut put his arm around William’s shoulder, trying to calm his worries. “We will pray the gods bring him home safely,” said Lut.
    It was a short walk to the giant granite runestone that had been erected the season before to honor the exploits of Dane and his friends, including William. They had all been named Rune Warriors for the courage they had shown in defeating the foul Godrek Whitecloak.
    Lut stared at the words hewn in the stone: “Dane the Defiant, son of Voldar the Vile, grandson of Vlar the Courageous . . .” Lut had been well into his forties when Vlar was just a boy, he remembered. So long ago. Bah! It was not good to think of the past—it made him feel so decrepit. He was soon to be one hundred and four years old, for Odin’s sake, and no matter what the ladies might say about the fineness of his beard or the shine in his eyes, the ceaseless aches in his joints told him that death was knocking at his door.
    Lut looked out over the village to the waters of the bay beyond. The morning fog was beginning to lift. There were no ships in sight. He turned his gaze to the rutted path that led away from the village to the east—the path Dane and his pals had taken four days ago. Why must every new generation bring me fresh troubles? he fumed. As the village wise man he had the burden of worrying about each and every young man and woman, offering guidance that would help them survive into adulthood. And what was his reward? They got married and produced more children who robbed him of sleep!
    â€œShouldn’t you begin beseeching the gods?” William asked.
    â€œOf course, of course,” Lut said. “O mighty and benevolent gods, hear my plea. . . .” Lut went on, working up a ripping good appeal to the heavenly powers. When he gave it his all, he was pretty good at this beseeching business, even though he sometimes doubted the gods were paying attention. For a big ending, he thrust his hands to the skies and raised his voice, saying, “O lenient and merciful powers! Spare our four sons! They are each good and courageous souls—foolish, sure, as all humans may be—”
    â€œLut, listen!” William blurted.
    Lut stopped and heard a dull thunder, building in intensity. Could it be? They both turned to look down the hill, to the rutted path. Four horses and riders emerged from the trees, riding as swiftly as if Thor were throwing lightning bolts at their backsides.
    Dane’s horse, slick with sweat, was tethered outside Lut’s hut when Lut and William arrived breathlessly on foot. They