And, as Himindrápa unfurled his magnificent white wings, flew west over the open sea.
When they descended through the clouds and landed on the wildflower-strewn field near the gleaming amber walls ofSessrúmnir,Freyja and the other Valkyries stood waiting.
Shock, disbelief, and horror etched upon their stunned faces, they watched as Brynhildr silently slid from the saddle and turned to face her goddessmóðir.
But before she took a single step or uttered a single word, a thunderous spear arced through the sunlit sky and slammed into the fertile earth at her feet.
“Gugnir.” Kára whispered, pallid skin and pale eyes wide with fright.
Freyja’s frigid voice cut like a steel blade as she fixed Brynhildr with an icy glare. “Odin arrives from Valhalla. Prepare to face his wrath.”
Chapter 15
Wolf Blood Reborn in Dwarven Fire
Sigurd stood on the deck ofÚlfalkr,sailing home to Sjóborg withÚlfdreki,Úlfhrafn, and six new ships that Agnar had gifted him—the enemy vessels seized in the Battle of Bjarkhölm which had once belonged to Hjálmgunnar, vassal of King Lyngvi. He breathed deeply of the salty wind which whipped his beard and ruffled the fur of hisBlárúlfarcloak, grinning at the irony of fate.
One day, I shall sail Hjálmgunnar’s own ships when I reclaim my Völsung lands.
Sharp pain hit him like a blow to the gut. As they did each day, memories of Brynhildr flooded his mind and stole his breath.
He gazed down at the triplebindrunethat Kveld Nightwolf had carved beneath the mast. It glistened in the golden light like her Sun Falcon corslet andValkjósleiðrspear. He remembered the moonlit night before the final duel of the Sólhjarta Tournament, when he and Brynhildr had sworn the blood oath on this very ship. They had pierced their thumbs with the Nightwolf’s dagger, each letting a droplet of blood fall into the trinity of runes.
With this bindrune, sealed with our blood, we are bound to each other, Úlfalkr,, and the sea.
As if his thoughts had summoned him, Kveld Nightwolf approached Sigurd on the deck. The golden eyes of the fierceblack wolf atop his head gleamed with the same otherworldly fire as thevitki’slupine gaze. “She came to you at Bjarkhölm.” His haunting voice wafted on the wind.
“She did.” Sorrow clenched Sigurd’s heart. Though only three days had passed since she had returned toFólkvangr,his longing for her was a torment that tore at his soul.
“What knowledge did she share? She put herself at great risk to assume human form.”
Sigurd gazed at the sunlit sea, where the towering cliffs of Sjóborg appeared on the horizon. “She foresaw thatÚlfblóðrwould shatter—and that I would reforge myfaðir’ssword with the broken shards which mymóðiryet holds in his memory.” He searched the Nightwolf’s scarred, rune-inscribed face. “She told me to bring the remnants of both broken blades to a Dwarven blacksmith who dwells in a waterfall cave, concealed in mist, just north of Sjóborg.”
“Regin.” Kveld’s rasp sent a ripple ofseiðrup Sigurd’s spine.
When he was a boy, Regin had been the royal blacksmith for King Álfr. His fosterfaðirhad arranged for Sigurd to apprentice with Regin, so he could learn how to repair weapons and armor, essential skills for a warrior, especially the son of the powerful Wolf King. But though the blacksmith had been short of stature, Sigurd had never realized Regin was a dwarf.
Dwarves were highly valued for their incomparable craftsmanship of otherworldly blades. Even the gods sought Dwarven weapons, such asMjöllnir,Thor’s legendary hammer. OrGugnir,Odin’s unerring spear.
Sigurd remembered Regin’s black, wiry hair…his murky, wrinkled skin…his powerful, brawny arms. “I know him,” he muttered, stunned by the revelation. “I was his apprentice as a young boy. But I never knew he was a dwarf.”
The Nightwolf’s black bearded lips curled up in a wolfish grin. “Only those withseiðrvision can perceive his true self. Helived apart…rarely mingled. When he left Sjóborg, he told me that one day, you would find him. Indeed, you are the reason he had come.”
Kveld’s amber eyes burned like molten embers, igniting theouroborosthat blazed above Sigurd’s pounding heart. “He will reforge yourfaðir’sVölsung sword, strengthening it with theSjórúlfarspirit andSea Wolf blood ofÚlfblóðr.But beware…Regin shall expect something in return. A price that only you can pay.”
As horns blared from King Álfr’s watchtower sentinels, announcing their arrival, Sigurd spotted dozens of the Wolf King’shúskarlarswarming the beach, while crews of the returningdrakkartossed ropes and moored their ships along the pebbled shore. Atop the cliff, clad in deep blue cloaks trimmed with silver wolf fur, King Álfr and Queen Hjördis awaited, welcoming the Sea Wolves home.
While gulls squawked overhead, and crews unloaded the ships, Sigurd and theSjórúlfarclimbed the stone steps of the cliff.
Sigurd bowed his head to King Álfr and hismóðir,standing at her royal husband’s side.
The Wolf King roared in welcome as he strode forward and gripped Sigurd’s forearms. “You return with six more ships! You now have nine at your command.” Álfr grinned at Hródvarr, who had just kissed the queen’s hand. “Sigurd will need his own pack ofSjórúlfar. Select the finest warriors, train them well…and arrange another Wolf Trial.”
While the king addressed the rest of theSjórúlfar,Sigurd greeted his smilingmóðir.
“Welcome home, my son.” Hjördis kissed his bearded cheek, maternal pride shining in her loving eyes. “YourfaðirSigmund would be honored to witness your triumph and glory. Champion of the Sólhjarta Tournament…valiant warrior in the Battle ofBjarkhölm… ship commander with a fleet of ninedrakkar…surely he watches from Valhalla, boasting of your prowess before Odin and theeinherjar.”
Álfr bellowed over the raucous din as his royalhúskarlarand the crews of the beacheddrakkarclambered up the cliff steps. “The bathhouses are steaming, the longhouses await. Tonight—a feast to celebrate your triumphant return!”
