As the last sparks spiraled into the night sky, guests murmured their goodnights and drifted toward their quarters, tents, huts, and longhouses.
HisSjórúlfarspirit stirred by theskálds’songs, the royal gifts, and thevölva’sprophecy, Sigurd eagerly anticipated two more days of feasting before the warriors and rulers returned to their respective kingdoms and jarldoms.
And tomorrow, the mock battles would begin.
* * * *
Seated fordagmálin the Great Hall among theSjórúlfar,Sigurd savored the flavors of grilled salmon, salted boar, barley porridge with lingonberries, oatcakes topped with hazelnuts and honey, and rich, creamy skyr. As he drained his pewter mug, he pondered thevölva’sbaffling prophecy.
“The sons of kings shall be sworn in blood…the Wolf’s defeat shall blaze as triumph.”
Surely, I am the Wolf in her vision. But how can my defeat blaze as triumph?
Washing down a mouthful of salmon with a hearty gulp of ale, Sigurd’s racing thoughts ran through the mock battles of the previous day. Not only had he won the spear-hurling event with the Wolf Spear gifted from King Rögnvaldr, he’d also defeated Eyvindr Waverunner in an intense sword fight. Although they had fought with controlled strikes, and neither Sea Wolf had been harmed, the thrill of combat still pulsed through him.
Eyvindr’s fierce parries and agile feints had forced Sigurd to pushÚlfblóðrto its limits, every calculated strike scoring pointsrather than drawing blood. The clang of weapons, the cheers of theSjórúlfar,and the smell of sweat and pine from the training yard lingered in his mind.
As if reading his thoughts, Eyvindr flashed him a wolfish grin from across the table. “You wieldedÚlfblóðras well asArfinn yesterday. The swordmaster’s training has proven its worth.”
“And that Wolf Spear—King Rögnvaldr’s gift—flew true as Odin’sGungnirin your Sea Wolf hands!” Strykar the Beast thwacked Sigurd’s back, making him choke on his ale.
While theSjórúlfarrumbled with raucous laughter, the blare of a trumpet echoed through the Great Hall. The clarion cut through the clatter of pewter mugs and the chatter of exuberant guests, and an expectant hush swept over the silent hall.
All eyes turned toward the wide double doors, where a tall figure clad in a magnificent black cloak adorned with raven feathers entered Sjóborg, flanked by two royal heralds and escorted by King Álfr’s armored guards. In his gloved hand, the dark, mysterious messenger carried a folded scroll sealed with a raven in flight.
The courier’s keen gaze swept the stunned crowd as he strode briskly across the polished pinewood floor to deliver the message to the seated king.
The hollow thud of his heavy boots pulsed in rhythm with Sigurd’s pounding heart.
King Álfr straightened in theöndvegi, his royal gaze sharp as steel while the hushed hall waited in tense anticipation.
The raven-cloaked messenger knelt before the Wolf King, bare head bowed as he offered the scroll with both outstretched arms.
Taking the rolled parchment, King Álfr pressed his thumb into the raven-sealed wax until it cracked. Shrewd eyes movingswiftly over the runes, he inclined his crowned head and handed the scroll back to the raven messenger, granting royal permission for it to be read aloud.
“From the clifftop fortress ofHrafnfjall,” the herald intoned, his deep voice booming across the rapt crowd. “A challenge to all unmarried warriors of noble birth and courageous heart. TheSólhjartaTournament is hereby proclaimed by King Budli. The competition shall commence on the first day of June and culminate on the Summer Solstice, when the champion shall earn the right to fight for the royal hand of the Raven King’sdóttirBrynhildr, known as the Sun Falcon Shieldmaiden. The victor of theSólhjartaTournament shall compete in a single combat against Brynhildr, who has sworn to wed the champion who can defeat her in battle. May all who seek glory and renown come forth. Maywyrddecide the worthy beneath the watchful eyes of the gods.”
A shiver rippled down Sigurd’s spine, as if the Norns were weaving the threads of his fate.
He glanced at the golden-faced, crimson-hairedvölva.
Her amber eyes blazed like the flames in the hearth.
Chapter 6
The Sólhjarta Tournament
Brynhildr stood on the balcony of her private chambers, gazing at the dozens of ships lining the shore of the fjord in the sheltered inlet below herfaðir’sclifftop fortress. Along with the Wolf King Álfr of Sjóborg and his wife, Queen Hjördis—who had arrived with the nine eliteSjórúlfar,clad in their fearsome wolfskin cloaks—several neighboring jarls had sailed to Hrafnfjall, theirkarviandsnekkjalongships loaded with warriors to compete in theSólhjartaSummer Solstice Tournament. As the setting sun lit the evening sky and glistening fjord with brilliant shades of crimson fire, Brynhildr’s gaze wandered to thedrakkarship whose fierce blue dragon prow was etched with snarling silver wolves.
That is his ship. The fearsome warrior known as Sigurd Sea Wolf.
He’d caught her attention the very first day of the competition, for not only did he stand half a head taller than all the other warriors, his blue grey wolfskin cloak, shimmering in the summer sun, had given him the otherworldly air of a god. Deep blue gems glittered in his braided blond hair, pulled back from his rugged face and tied with leather at the nape of his corded neck. Lapis lazuli stones glinted in his golden beard, braided like his long thick hair. As Brynhildr had sat beside herfaðiron the elevated dais to watch the competition, a sizzle ofseiðrhad shivered up her spine when he’d removed his wolfskin cloak and tunic.
Dark blond hair and blue tattoos covered his rippled chest, and for the first time in her entire life, Brynhildr had shared Astrid’s fascination for the spear-throwing event.
Even his spear had caught her attention.
The pale wood of his impressive weapon had been painted with blue swirling waves and silver snarling wolves, like his magnificentdrakkarlongship. And when he’d hurled the spear farther than any other competitor, a thrill of triumph had coursed through her veins, as if she had thrown the weapon herself.
