When King Álfr rose from his wolf-carvedöndvegiand raised his hand,the raucous revelry quieted as a hush fell over the Great Hall. His bellow echoed off the wooden walls lined with rows of shields painted with snarling wolves. “Let the celebration continue,” he proclaimed with a broad, wolfish grin. “While my queen and I confer with Sigurd the Dragonslayer, Hródvarr Ironfang, and Kveld Nightwolf in private council.” With a nod to the musicians for the lively notes and dancing to resume, Álfr gestured for Hjördis and the three Sea Wolves tofollow him behind the elevated dais to an inner chamber down the hall.
Attendants seated King Álfr and Queen Hjördis upon informal thrones at opposite ends of a trestle table, with Sigurd and hisSjórúlfarwolf brothers settling on benches along either side. Once the dutiful servants had provided everyone a polished elkhorn of fresh mead, they bowed in reverent silence and discreetly disappeared.
The Wolf King raised his elkhorn to his bearded lips and nodded to Sigurd. “You sought a private audience. Now we are gathered—speak your mind.”
Sigurd quenched his dry mouth with a bracing gulp of mead. “Brynhildr defied Odin and has incurred his wrath.”
Hismóðirgasped in shock and the Sea Wolves exchanged stunned glances with the king.
“She spared Agnar’s life—for me—and claimed Hjálmgunnar for Valhalla, defying the web ofwyrd.As punishment, Odin cursed her with frozen sleep, trapped within aRing of Fire.” Sigurd met King Áfr’s shrewd, scrutinizing gaze. “I request permission to sail with theSjórúlfarto Denmark, where Hródvarr can gather warriors and weapons while I ride south to the eastern mountains of Francia and free her.”
Sigurd darted an apprehensive glance at the silent Nightwolf, the amber eyes of the fierce black wolf atop his head glowing golden in the torchlight. “I cannot bring her into battle when we sail to Sweden and challenge Lyngvi. I must take her to King Heimir of Hlymdalir—Brynhildr’s kin—where she will be sheltered until I return to claim her as my bride.”
“But Brynhildr is a Valkyrie! Surely the Sun Falcon Shieldmaiden of Hrafnfjall will be an asset to you in Sweden.” King Álfr regarded Sigurd in stunned disbelief.
Sigurd’s jaw clenched. “Odin stripped her of swan wings and shieldmaiden skills. He cursed her to never win another battle.” Sorrow stole his voice. “I cannot take her to Sweden.”
Álfr gripped the carved arms of his wooden throne. “Who is King Heimir? I do not recognize that name.”
Sigurd took a long pull of mead and wiped his blond bearded lips. “Brynhildr told me that her sister Brekkhildr had wed a King of Provence, a region near southeastern Francia, close to the Middle Sea. Though Brekkhildr and her young son both died of a fever several winters past, Heimir is still Brynhildr’s kin. He will keep her safe for me until I return from Sweden.”
Hródvarr leaned forward and spoke to Sigurd across the table. “Where is theRing of Fire?”
“Atop Mount Hinterfjall, in the eastern Alps of Francia,” Sigurd replied. “I shall rescue Brynhildr, bring her to Heimir, then meet you and the Sea Wolves in Denmark. You’ll be able to stock supplies, gather warriors, and purchase weapons and armorat the port ofHeiðabýr.When I return,we’ll set sail for Sweden.”
Álfr’s eyes narrowed as he considered Sigurd’s request. “I cannot allow you to take all nine of theSjórúlfarand leave my kingdom unguarded.” Bejeweled fingers tapping the carved arms of his oaken throne, his calculating gaze flicked between the three Sea Wolves.
“Ironfang, Nightwolf, Waverunner, and the Beast may sail with you. The rest will remain to defend Sjóborg.” The Wolf King tugged at his braided beard, the lapis gems in the silver strands glittering like a moonlit fjord. “With your ninedrakkar, Hródvarr’ssnekkja, and the five vessels I granted you to aid Agnar, you’ll have a fleet of fifteen ships. Enough to crush Lyngvi of Götaland.”
Álfr grinned at Hjördis, her blue eyes sparkling like the lapis gems in her slender silver crown. “And in the meantime,your lovelymóðirand I shall plan an elaborate royal wedding—between the foster son of the Wolf King of Sjóborg and thedóttirof the Raven King of Hrafnfjall.”
Rising from his informal throne, Álfr extended his arm to Hjördis. “You’ll set sail on the morrow,” he announced to Sigurd, as the queen stood and smoothed her blue silk gown. “But for now,” he quipped with a wolfish grin, “let us return to the feast and celebrate your triumph as Sigurd Sea Wolf, the Dragonslayer of Sjóborg.”
Chapter 18
L’Abbaye Saint Bernard de la Source
For half a moon, Sigurd and Kveld Nightwolf rode south from the Danish port ofHeiðabýrwith Tryggvi and Hálfdan, Sigurd’s two most trustedhúskarlar. They’d brought Sigurd’s silver stallion Grani, Kveld’s black stallion, Skug, and two magnificent warhorses on a sturdyknarr,along with weapons and supplies.
Each night, they slept on bedrolls around a campfire, draping tarps across branches of fir and spruce for shelter from intermittent rain. As they now set up camp in a rugged alpine valley, moonlight poured over the jagged peaks of the mountains that loomed ahead.
The resinous scent of pine, the earthy tang of rich soil, and the sweet aroma of melting frost mingled with woodsmoke from the fire as Sigurd poured handfuls of oats for the horses onto pine needles scattered atop the patches of snow. He’d tethered them to spruce trees near a rushing stream, where they could dip their muzzles into the icy water which rippled in the moonlight.
Tryggvi had hunted eight hares, scraping the skins to save the valuable pelts and skewering the meat over the fire. Hálfdan simmered a pot of barley porridge, into which he tossed crushed hazelnuts and bilberries, with a small dollop of honey. The fire crackled and hissed as fat from the roasting meat sizzled, sending small sparks dancing into the starry night sky.
Sigurd’s empty belly growled at the rich, meaty scent.
He spotted Kveld Nightwolf seated upon a flat stone, his black wolfskin gleaming in the moonglow. Cradled in his scarred, inked hand was a golden ring, set with three glinting gems. With the sharp tip of his stylus, thevitkicarved runes inside the gilded band.
AdjustingBlárúlfron his shoulders andGramrat his hip, Sigurd strode across the campsite, heavy boots crunching the crusty snow. “You’ve been working on that every night since we left Denmark,” he remarked to the Nightwolf. “What are you crafting… a talisman?”
Kveld concentrated on tracing runes with careful precision. “Of sorts,” he growled, working ashes into the etched lines and blowing the excess away with black bearded lips. Amber eyes gleaming like the black wolf’s atop his head, thevitkiexamined his meticulous work and handed the ring to Sigurd.
Carved into the gold were the intricate images of a wolf, falcon, and dragon, with a glistening gem set between each beast. Lapis lazuli, emerald, and amber glittered in the moonglow and starlight. Inside the band, Sigurd noted the same trinity of runes that the Nightwolf had carved into the deck ofÚlfalkr.
Gebo, Raido,andKaun--the triplebindrunewhich bound Sigurd and Brynhildr to each other, the ship, and the sea.
When Kveld held out his tattooed hand, Sigurd placed the gold band back into his palm. “Is the ring a talisman, to guide me to Brynhildr? And shield me through theRing of Fire?”
