After they had shared the mead and bread, Heimir seemed to sense their weariness from the long journey. He beckoned his servants and issued a gentle command. “Escort them to their guest quarters,where they may refresh before tonight’s feast.” He smiled warmly at Sigurd and Brynhildr. “Please, make yourselves comfortable. Attendants will fetch you when the feast is ready.”
That evening, they dined on delectable fare—grilled sea bass, steamed shrimp, scallops, and crayfish, and delightful small lobsters calledlangoustines,served in melted butter with garlic and fresh herbs. As Brynhildr sat with Sigurd, Kveld, Tryggvi, and Hálfdan at the high table with King Heimir, her husband informed their royal host of his imminent plans.
“A fleet of fifteen ships and warriors await my return inHeiðabýr,”Sigurd said,draininghis horn and wiping his blond bearded lips with the back of his hand.“We must depart at first light.”
Heimir took a long pull of mead and nodded in contemplation. “Allow me to offer one of my own ships—a sleeksnekkjato glide up the Rhône, then the Rhine, and along the coast of the North Sea toHeiðabýr.Your horses will be well cared for here, in my royal stables, and a ship will be much quicker than the long, arduous ride.”
Brynhildr was relieved at the thought of Grani, Skug, and the two warhorses remaining at Hlymdalir, for Sigurd did not plan to take theknarrcargo vessel which had transported the horses from Norway when he sailed to challenge King Lyngvi in Sweden. Nor did he wish to leave the valuable steeds inHeiðabýr.They would be safe here until his return.
“A generous offer for which I am most grateful,” Sigurd replied with a gracious smile. “I am anxious to return as quickly as possible to Denmark, for my men eagerly await my return.” He took hold of Brynhildr’s hand and raised it to his lips, placing a reverent kiss upon her fingers. “Once I avenge myfaðirand reclaim the ancestral lands of my birthright, I shall return here to Hlymdalir as a newly crowned Völsung king. I plan to bring Brynhildr home to Norway for a glorious royal wedding, uniting the kingdoms of Hrafnfjall, Sjóborg, and Lindesnes.” He leaned forward to speak to Kveld Nightwolf. “We’ll retrieve the horses then, and sail them home with us to Norway.”
An expansive grin stretched across Heimir’s weathered, bearded face. “You shall sail up the Rhône onSjáfaxi,” he proclaimed proudly. “Named after the Sea GodÆgir’slegendary steed, thesnekkjais swift as the sea itself, its keel cutting through waves like a stallion through storm.” He turned to address his royalbrytiGormr, standing at attention behind theroyalöndvegi. “Have the crew readySjáfaxifor departure at dawn.”
With a reverent bow, the steward descended the steps of the elevated wooden dais and hastened to obey his king’s command.
Later that evening, after Heimir’sskáldRáðgeir entertained them withSong of the Marsh King and the Sea Wolf,his tribute to the generous King of the Camargue and the glory of Sigurd’s quest to Sweden, they all retired to respective guest quarters, to prepare for departure at dawn.
Moonlight bathed their private chambers in a silvery glow as Brynhildr unbraided her hair and watched Sigurd hangBlárúlfron a peg by the bolted wooden door. The blue fur shimmered in the opalescent light. He stood his sheathed swordGramragainst the wall, laying his winged helm and goldenbrynjaon the table near the bed.Úlfblóðr’swolfhead hilt glinted, the blue eyes of the snarling wolf and the large lapis stone in the pommel sparkling in the moonglow.
Her heart clenched at the thought of Sigurd leaving in the morning.
“I am glad Grani will be here to keep you company,” he murmured, pulling her into his arms and softly kissing her lips. “It will be three or four moons before I am able to return.” When he removed his tunic, theouroborosabove his heart glowed golden in the silvery light. “Gods willing, we’ll take Lyngvi by surprise, and my vengeance will be swift and sweet.” He sat down atop the pile of furs on the wooden bed and removed his heavy boots
They thudded on the floor, sending a ripple of dread up Brynhildr’s shaking legs.
“After Sweden, the Sea Wolves and I shall sail back to Norway,” he continued, standing to shed his breeches, “and ally with Agnar in Bjarkhölm.” His glorious naked body, rippled with muscles, covered with dark blond hair and deep blueink, sang to her Sun Falcon soul. “From there, I’ll reclaim the Völsung lands in Lindesnes, and be crowned the rightful king.” Sigurd strode across the floor and drew her toward him, leaning down for another kiss. “As King of Lindesnes, I shall formally ask yourfaðirfor your hand, and return triumphant to Sjóborg, where King Álfr and mymóðirwill throw a feast to celebrate—and plan for our winter solstice wedding.”
He lifted her chin so that she would look up at him. “But you must promise me something, Brynhildr,” he whispered, ardor and anguish warring in his fierce lupine gaze. “If I do not return…”
“Do not speak it, lest it come true.” She put trembling fingers on his bearded lips to hush him.
He grasped her hand and kissed it, resolve and regret on his rugged face. “If I do not return,” he insisted, gently forcing her again to look at him. “You must ask Heimir to bring you safely home to Hrafnfjall.”
She averted her gaze so he couldn’t see the terror which surely shone in her eyes.
“Promise me, Brynhildr.” He bent down to meet her gaze, beseeching her with his beguiling Sea Wolf eyes.
“I promise.” Her voice broke as she stifled a sob. “But you must promise to come back for me. Not only am I your wedded wife…we aresoulboundthroughseiðr. I shall not rest until we are together again.”
“If the gods allow, I shall return for you, my beloved.” He helped her remove the emerald green gown and chemise, pulling her nude body against his. “And now,” he said, swooping down to claim her parted lips, “let us make love in the moonglow. And again, before I depart at first light.”
As her beloved Sea Wolf filled her withseiðr, soul, and seed, she clutched him tightly, inside and out, dreading the cold, cruel dawn.
In the morning, their final coupling was ravenous and raw.
Sigurd flipped Brynhildr onto her belly, raising her hips and impaling her from behind. As he pumped her body, theouroboroswedding ring on her finger pulsed with the rhythm of his thrusts. And when the waves of climax crashed over them both, the burningrune above her heart scorched her skin withdragonfireas Sigurd poured his soul into hers.
Gulls squawked in the pale mauve sky. Brynhildr stood with Heimir upon the wooden dock in front of the limestone castle, the salty wind of the marsh tangling her unbound hair and whipping her emerald green gown.
With its majestic white stallion racing across the deep blue sea,Sjáfaxi’ssnapping sail evoked both Heimir’s power as the Marsh King of Hlymdalir and the magnificent white horses of the Camargue.
Sigurd stood at the stern of thesnekkja, his gloved hand raised in farewell, the blue grey fur ofBlárúlfrshimmering in the pale morning light.
Sorrow clenching her heart and stealing her breath, she watched until distance turned him to gold and then to shadow, the Rhône silently carrying him away.
Chapter 22
Ravens Over the Rhône
