Högni followed, and Gjúki drew them both into a fierce embrace, the metal of chainmail, axes, and swords clattering amidst hearty laughter.
When he released his two eldest sons, the king’s shrewd gaze shifted to Sigurd.
Sigurd stood upon the deck of the ship, the winged dragon helm atop his proud head, the goldenbrynjagleaming beneathBlárúlf’sshimmering blue fur, the snarling wolf head hilt ofGramrsheathed in its scabbard. At his side was Kveld Nightwolf, the thick black fur of his wolfskin glistening in the pale morning light. Behind them, the white stallion ofSjáfaxi’ssail whipped in the crisp spring wind. The Frankish blades lashed to the gunwales glistened like captured silver. Tryggvi, Hálfdan, Ingólfr, and Heimir’s skilled crew watched in solemn silence.
Standing on the wooden dock with Gjúki and Högni,Gunnar turned toward them and beckoned. “Faðir,” he called, his deep voice carrying over water and wood alike, “this is Sigurd Sea Wolf, Dragonslayer ofSjóborg—the man who freed us and reddened the Rhône with Frankish blood.”
Murmurs rippled through the crowd gathered on the dock and battlements above. Several of Gjúki’s men spat at the mention of the Franks. All eyes fixed upon Sigurd.
Sigurd placed one hand on Kveld’s black wolfskin-clad shoulder and the other on Ingólfr’s armored one as he addressed the Burgundian River King. “Kveld Nightwolf and Ingólfr charged at my side on the riverbank.” He gestured to Tryggvi, Hálfdan, and the valiant crew ofSjáfaxi. “Not one of these men faltered when we fought the Franks. If praise is given, let it fall on all our blades.”
Sigurd leapt down onto the jetty amidst the creak of ropes and the lap of the river against wooden hulls and pilings.
King Gjúki clasped Sigurd’s forearms in a firm warrior’s grip. “You come to Rhônehöll not as mere guests,” he boomed, his voice rough with restrained emotion, “but as the men who freed my sons and saved my bloodline. Tonight, Burgundy will blaze for you. Oxen will turn on the spits, and the mead will flow until the rafters drip. Let the wolf-fearing Franks hear our howls of triumph all the way to the Rhine!”
A raucous roar answered him as warriors shouted, striking shields with axes, spears, and swords.
Kveld, Tryggvi, Hálfdan, Ingólfr, and the highest-ranking crew members who’d received Frankish blades strapped their prized swords and daggers at their hips while servants unloaded the ship. Boys ran alongside Sigurd’s disembarking crew, widened eyes filled with awe at their gleaming chainmail, wolfskin cloaks, fearsome weapons, and gruesome scars. Women emerged from the storehouses, some weeping openly at the sight of the princes returned.
Above them all, the double oak entrance doors of Rhônehöll opened wide in welcome.
* * * *
The expansive Great Hall burned with firelight from the central hearth, flickering across timbered walls lined with painted shields bearing the images of Rhônehöll’s silver serpent coiled on deep blue waves. Massive pillars and oak beams carved with beasts, claws, runes, and fangs ran from pinewood to peaked ceiling. Above the elevated dais, silver serpent banners of King Gjúki writhed against the deep blue background, snapping with every breeze that whispered through open windows and oaken doors. The scent of roasting ox, freshly baked bread, and spiced pike mingled with the tang of the Rhône, while bowls of barley porridge, honeyed mead, smoked trout, and plates ofsteaming root vegetables were carried on polished platters to the long trestle oak tables.
Lively melodies of lyres, flutes, and lutes threaded through the festive hall, mingling with the murmurs of armored warriors, elegant nobles, and bustling servants. Sigurd sat at the high table with King Gjúki and the royal Burgundian family, beside Queen Grímhildr and Princess Gudrún, with Kveld Nightwolf on his right.
Chainmail glinting in the firelight, gleaming Frankish swords sheathed at their hips, Tryggvi and Hálfdan sat proudly with Ingólfr and the crew ofSjáfaxiat a table of honor below the dais. Each man watched the high table with disciplined attention, ready to spring to action if needed, but content to share in the triumph.
Seated in an elaborateöndvegithrone at the high table, King Gjúki’s coronet etched with his serpent sigil glistened atop his silvered head. At his right, Queen Grímhildr, resplendent in a deep violet gown, eyed Sigurd over the rim of her amethyst-studded elkhorn of mead. Between the queen and Sigurd, Princess Gudrún sat with quiet grace, her long dark hair braided with silver beads and amethyst gems, her silk gown the same hue as her royalmóðir’s.
On Gjúki’s left sat his three sons Gunnar, Högni, and Guthorm, the youngest, their fur-trimmed cloaks fastened with silver brooches bearing Rhônehöll’s serpent sigil.
The royal table upon the elevated dais where Sigurd now sat faced the crowded Great Hall. He’d removed his winged dragon helm, which he’d tucked beside him in his carved chair of honor, but he still wore the goldenbrynjaandBlárúlfr,both of which gleamed in the firelight. Over Sigurd’s right shoulder, Kveld Nightwolf quietly observed the queen, the amber eyes of the black wolf in hisSjórúlfarcloak watching her with its otherworldly gaze.
While Sigurd savored the tender meat of the roasted ox flavored with rich red wine, mushrooms, and wild garlic, Queen Grímhildr spoke to him across her elegantdóttir. “Not only did you free our captive sons, Sigurd Sea Wolf,” she said with a graceful smile that belied the greedy glint in her dark eyes, “but you are the famed Dragonslayer who slew Fáfnir.” A wave of unease washed over Sigurd beneath her probing, piercing gaze. “Dragons are known to hoard treasure. Surely your gleaming golden armor and magnificent winged helmet were part of Fáfnir’s trove?”
Before Sigurd could respond, Gunnar leaned forward to address his royal parents. “FaðirandMóðir, there is something you must know. Last night on the riverbank, Högni, Sigurd, and I swore a blood oath. By life and honor, mybroðirand I are bound to the Sea Wolf’s cause.” He grinned at Sigurd, seated beside the queen. “The Dragonslayer of Sjóborg will return toHeiðabýr,where his fleet and warriors await. They shall sail from Denmark to Sweden, for Sigurd to avenge hisfaðirby slaying Lyngvi of Götaland. From there, the Sea Wolf will return to Norway and reclaim his Völsung lands—and the crown of Lindesnes.” Gunnar glanced at a grinning Högni before returning his attention to the intrigued king and queen. “Högni and I wish to sail with Sigurd and aid our oath-swornbroðirin his fateful quest. Will you grant us each a ship, to follow him toHeiðabýr?”
Gjúki gripped the ornately carved arms of hisöndvegiand leaned back in his throne, his brow furrowed in concern and contemplation as he considered Gunnar’s request. “You and Högni have just returned from the jaws of the Franks. To send you now on a perilous voyage with the Sea Wolf—even if bound by blood oath—would risk the future of my bloodline and the heirs to the kingdom of Burgundy.”
Queen Grímhildr tilted her head, the silver coronet studded with amethysts glittering in the torchlight as she studied Sigurd beneath dark lashes. She placed a porcelain hand upon Gjúki’s, still clutching the carved oak arm of his ornate throne. “My husband,” she murmured, velvety voice smooth as her violet silk gown, “our two eldest sons are blood-bound to the Sea Wolf. If Gunnar and Högni aid Sigurd in avenging hisfaðirand reclaiming the Volsung lands in Norway, the Dragonslayer of Sjóborg will become a crowned king—with armies, gold, and gratitude. A man of such strength, bound by honor to our house, will bring glory and lasting honor to Burgundy.”
Gjúki’s broad grin split the weathered face above his forked silver beard. He lifted his wife’s white hand to his bristled lips and kissed her skeletal fingers. “As ever, I am grateful for your wise counsel.” He turned to Gunnar, eyes glinting with approval. “I shall grant your request, bequeath the two ships, and formally acknowledge your blood oath with Sigurd. Indeed—you and Högni shall sail with the Sea Wolf, thevitki,and the twohúskarlartoHeiðabýr,while Ingólfr and his crew may return to King Heimir in the Camargue, spared the unnecessary journey to Denmark.”
Silver fox fur of his deep blue cloak shimmering like the serpent brooch at his broad shoulder, Gjúki solemnly rose from his ornate oaken throne. “Tonight, we honor Sigurd Sea Wolf, Dragonslayer of Sjóborg, and the valiant crew ofSjáfaxi,King Heimir’s fearsome warriors of Hlymdalir.” He raised his elkhorn high, the blackened runes and sapphire gems in the silver rim glistening in the firelight. Gratitude and reverence shone in his regal gaze as he beheld Sigurd, seated beside the amethyst queen. “You have freed my sons and brought glory to Burgundy. Let all of Rhônehõll know that Gunnar and Högni, bound by blood and honor to Sigurd Sea Wolf, shall see that oath upheld. In recompense for your valor, Dragonslayer of Sjóborg, I grantyou a pair of our finestsnekkja, captained by my two eldest sons, and with them, sixty armored Burgundian warriors to aid in your destined quest.”
Sigurd rose from in his chair, bowing his head before Gjúki. “Your generosity humbles me, King of Burgundy. I accept these ships with the same honor which binds me by oath to your sons. I am grateful for your alliance as I seek to avenge myfaðirand reclaim my ancestral lands. Gods willing, when I return to Rhônehöll, it shall be as Sigurd Sea Wolf, King of Lindesnes, crowned by birthright and Völsung blood.”
As the mead flowed freely, Gjúki’s royalskáldKíli entertained them withSaga of Blade and Honor,his stirring rendition of Sigurd’s heroic rescue of Gunnar and Högni from the treacherous Franks. At last, the festive hall slowly emptied, the echoes of toasts and triumph fading into the starlit night air.
Sigurd rose from his seat beside the queen, his goldenbrynjagleaming in the dying firelight,Blárúlfrdraped across his shoulders, the winged helm tucked carefully under his arm. “Good night, Queen Grínhildr. I thank you again for your generosity.” He bent gallantly and pressed his lips to her outstretched hand.
At her icy touch, a cold frost slithered up his arm. like the serpents coiling on painted shields and snapping banners upon the walls.
Dispelling the unease of Grímhildr’s frigid fingers, Sigurd inclined his head respectfully to Princess Gudrún and bid goodnight to the generous king.
Gunnar and Högni approached, clasping Sigurd’s shoulder and forearm in a brotherly grip. “Sleep well,broðir. Tomorrow, the river winds carry us toward destiny.” Gunnar’s bearded grin was feral and fierce.
