It is Weodmonath, the warmest month of the year and the last of summer when a band of Geatish warriors meet at Brihtwoldstead. They are led by Lytelman who shows himself to be a man of substance and the leader of the warband by stepping forth and gifting Thegn Brihtwold with an armring of silver. Others with him are the bowman Herewulf, a young geoguth hight Stigand and the scarred walcyrige Nothgyth the Ugly. There they meet their old comrade, Priest Eawulf whose family live in those parts.
That evening at feast Lytelman is sat in a place of honour and he and Brihtwold exchange tidings. Lytelman it seems is intent on questing to the north where he has heard there is a Sweon haegtesse allying with wights and bringing death to Geatish homesteads there in a manner that recalls the activities of Raedmund in Brihtwold’s lands during the spring. Lytelman is keen to deal out the same fate to her as he and his band did to Raedmund – the more so since he suspects that she might be the same witch that he pursued that way after the battle of the Spile but failed to catch. Brihtwold can find little to object to in this and encourages Lytelman in his endeavour – in word if not in deed.
The following morning band set off up the northward leading gully they explored previously. They encounter nothing of note during the first day. Watchmen suspect something of spying upon them in the night but see nothing significant.
The following morning, however, Nothgyth, scouting some way ahead, is ambushed by a force of pukelfolk. Hearing her hunting horn, the party rush to her aid but are themselves ambushed and run into some difficulty. The situation is rescued by Eawulf’s bale-fire, the godgift of Thunor, from which the wights flee in terror, leaving most of their number, including their leader, dead upon the ground.
After a short rest the party move on. As shadows begin to lengthen they come to the head of the gully where the ground rises to meet ever steeper sides and a small rivulet cascades from a pool in front of a small cavern mouth. There they are beset by Pukelmen flinging rocks from above and as they protect themselves from this threat they are surprised by a nicor in the form of a dread beast – part boar, part bull, part wolf – that bursts forth from the pool above. Stigand is badly gored in the initial rush and although the Beast is badly injured by a blast of bane-fire from Eawulf, the wight bursts through to the other side of the warband and turns to come at them again.
The Geats are disordered and made vulnerable to the pukel hordes following up behind the beast’s charge. Others jump upon their backs from above. It starts to look ugly for the Geats but they stand their ground. After a sharp struggle Herewulf manages to slay the Thunor-blasted nicor with his axe; Lytelman and Nothgyth stand firm against many opponents and even the wounded Stigand fights on from the ground with his scramasaex. At length, with the aid of Herewulf, Eawulf is able to free himself sufficiently from his attackers to recommence his Galdor-chant and another blast of bane-fire shoots through the Pukel horde, robbing them of life and spirit – their leader is cut down by Lytelman and the remainder flee in terror.
The party take some time to rest and tend their wounds. Some of the less injured take to exploring the Nicor pool, finding silver, gold and other objects. As they are doing so they begin to hear cries from within the cave. Cautiously they enter and find a stout cage, within which is held a large warrior. He is a Sweon hight Sweyn – a mighty warrior by the looks of him, being tall and immensely broad of shoulder. He begs them release him, which they do. They are too late for his comrade who he says was called Coenraed. The remains of Coenraed are tied to a spit over the firepit in the cave.
Sweyn admits freely that he was once sworn to the witch, Eangyth, but he believes that for much of that time he was bewitched. When he and his comrades managed to shake off their ensorcelment they could see that her service was not mete for warriors and swore to leave her. However, she overcame their senses with her arts and they awoke bound. She and Coenraed she gave to the Pukelfolk. What became of her other three hearthguards he did not know. He can think of nothing that he would rather do than help them take her head. They return his axe, which was being wielded by a Pukel and his armour which they find elsewhere in the small cavern complex they now have in their power.
Sweyn shows them that from the back entrance to the cavern, which goes from one side to another of an east-west running ridge, they can see across the next valley to the witch’s hall. He also tells them of a pool and a shrine that she frequents in the marsh that fringes the north side of the valley. The Geats decide to spend the night in the shelter of the cave.
In the pre-dawn they set off for the witch’s hall, arriving in the early morning. Neither the gates nor the hall doors are barred against them. Entering the hall they find it dark and deserted but for a pit fire and a woman sitting on a high-backed chair upon a dais. She greets them in a courteous manner but they are in no mood for small talk. However, as they surge forward they all find themselves gripped by a strange lethargy. Only Herewulf and Nothgyth manage to shake it off completely and they find themselves in desperate combat with two Lichs that spring from the ground in front of them. This is a desperate fight for Herewulf in particular who finds that the iron of his axe will not bite upon his opponent and he is forced to give ground, all the while striving to shake his companions from their dwam. Nothgyth, however, is wielding the obsidian blade taken from the Merefolk chieftain and has better fortune in her blows. Meanwhile their companions struggle with the sorcery that robs them of their strength of mind. Stigand in particular finds that he must lie upon the ground and sleep.
Suddenly fortunes change. Eawulf manages to shake off his sloth and charges the witch. He is met with a barrage of curses that cause him great agony and drain his life-force, but he keeps coming. Sweyn rouses himself by the expedient of jumping into the firepit – the pain clearing his head and allowing him to aid the sore-pressed Herewulf by grappling the lich and throwing the dead-walker into the firepit in turn where it is consumed by the flame. Nothgyth at last strikes down her lich with a series of keen blows from her stone blade. She begins to advance upon the witch alongside Lytelman who has at length managed to throw off his lethargy.
The witch flees through a hidden door behind her chair. Lytelman tries to follow her but is thrown back by a baleful ward thrown up behind her. With many in the party sore hurt, they choose to rest before pursuing the witch further for it is clear that she is retreating to her shrine, deep in the marshes and they all think it best to recover before they beard her in her place of power. So Lytelman shares around a flask of healing draught given him by the priestesses of Frige as reward for his return of Lira Goldentongue’s body to them and Eawulf calls upon the power of Tiw with his Godgift of Battle Healing to close the wounds of Herewulf – grievously injured in his struggle with the lich.
So refreshed the Geatish warband and their Sweon ally set off along a clearly wrought path across the marsh. As they cross a plank bridge they encounter a nicor in the form of a great toad which grasps Lytelman with its rasping tongue. Lytelman, who has some experience of such situations prepares to show that it has bitten off more than it can chew, while his comrades attempt either to close on it through the treacherous swamp or pepper it with arrows and daroth. Meanwhile Eawulf calls upon Thunor to cast a great Wight-bane upon it. So intent is he upon his galdor-chant that he fails to notice a second nicor-toad bubble out of the water behind him. Yet Thunor, the Shield of Mankind, is with his priest. Alerted by a timely shout from Stigand he just manages to avoid the great teeth sprouting from its gaping maw by the barest margin. The creature, seeing its mate put to the iron death by Lytleman and Sweyn, sinks back into the mud – a goodly portion of Eawulf’s trews in its jaws but leaving the priest essentially unharmed.
As the Geats make their way through the wetlands, all note a sudden change in the weather, as dark clouds roil in blotting out the sun. Some call on Thunor, but Eawulf remarks that there are other darker gods who can summon the storm at will. As they draw near to the end of the path they see before them a dark pool surrounded by evil-looking trees with a squat, black stone idol sitting on a small outcrop in the centre. In front of the pool stands the witch, arms aloft, shrieking her galdor-chant.
The hero Lytelman rushes forward with no delay and grasping his keen, rune-marked scramasaex grapples with the haegtesse. However, instead of a woman Lytelman finds himself grappling with a great river-serpent that falls back with him in its clutches into the pool which boils with their struggles. The others arrive, hot on his heels. Eawulf and Nothgyth dive immediately into the pool with Stigand not far behind. Herewulf and Sweyn, burdened by armour and an inability to swim stand on the edge of the pool looking for an opportunity to take some part that keeps their feet on dry land.
Eschewing defence, Lytelman thrusts his saex over and over into the serpent’s body as she wraps her nicor-like coils about him and begins to squeeze the breath from him. He feels his ribs begin to crack under the pressure. Meanwhile Nothgyth and Eawulf have swum to the islet and grasping the idol between them overthrow it and cast it into the deep. All at once the clouds disperse, the sun shines upon the mere and the trees reflected upon its surface take on a less sinister mien. Lytelman surfaces with the body of the witch – in human form once more – his blade embedded in her heart.
Afterwards all those in the pool report a brief encounter with the goddess Gefion, who thanks them for freeing her from the black sorceries of the witch. All find themselves free from their hurts. The greatest wonder, however, is that when Nothgyth emerges from the water she is healed of all her childhood scars – her looks that of a comely maid and her voice restored from a raven’s croak to one of beauty and power.