The towering cliffs rose like old guardians, the royal fortress over theÚlffjordenWolf Fjord a silent sentinel defending the lands he had roamed since childhood. He spotted the treacherous cliff he had climbed—and twice fallen from, into the icy fjord—when he claimed theÚlfklówolf claw talisman now hanging around his neck beneath the goldenbrynja. There, atop the craggy bluff before the stone monolith carved with the snarling wolf, Kveld had inked his forearm with the wolf paw sigil of theSjórúlfar.
He gazed at the pebbled shore where thegoðihad made the sacred offering to the gods, anointing Sigurd’s forehead with the sacrificial blood which bound him to his ship. He thought of the gold-faced, crimson-hairedvölva, Eldsjá, with her prophetic gift offiresight. The words of herseiðrvision floated into Sigurd’s mind.
“The sons of kings shall be sworn in blood.
The Wolf’s defeat shall blaze as triumph.
In fire shall the God-sword be reforged.
Through fire shall the Wolf ride the wind-borne steed.”
He reflected upon the accuracy of her predictions. He had indeed sworn blood oaths with the sons of kings—first Agnar, then Gunnar and Högni. His defeat at theSólhjartaTournament had blazed as triumph, for though he had lost to Brynhildr in the final duel, he had knelt at the feet of a Valkyrie and gained reputation, gold, and glory. Hisfaðir’sgod-forged swordGramrnow rested at his hip. And he had ridden Grani, the wind-borne steed, through fire to save his beloved Valkyrie.
AsÚlfdreki’sdragon prow scraped against the pebbled beach, Sigurd deeply inhaled the salty wind which stirred his lupine soul. He was no longer a mere foster son.
He was now the Völsung King of Lindesnes.
Fierce pride surged in his Sea Wolf veins.
As his fleet beached upon the shore, Sigurd leapt from the prow. Booming cheers and guttural howls echoing from above drew his attention to the clifftop.
Wolfskins shimmering in the light of the rising moon, theSjórúlfargrinned with feral delight at his return.
Nearby, the armored warriors of Sjóborg stood with King Álfr and Queen Hjördis, each draped in deep blue cloaks trimmed in grey wolfskin, silver circlets set with gleaming lapis lazuli atop their crowned heads.
Their warm, proud smiles welcomed Sigurd home.
As the wolf sails were furled and the crews disembarked on the beach below, Sigurd climbed the stone steps carved into the face of the cliff.
In his scarred hands, he clutched the bronze crown and royal brooch of the Eagle King who had slain hisfaðirSigmund. Behind him, wrapped in the fallen banner Sigurd had torn from Lyngvi’s fortress of Örnfjall, was the eagle sword which Kveld solemnly carried as a gift for Sigurd to offer his belovedmóðir.
Her blue eyes widened in recognition at the sight of the amber-eyed eagle perched atop the bronze crown and the royal brooch of the enemy king who had killed her Völsung husband. Her lower lip trembled as Sigurd knelt at her feet, arms outstretched before him, offering her the proof that he had avenged hisfaðir.
"I bring you Lyngvi’s eagle crown, royal brooch, and traitorous sword.” Sigurd’s deep voice echoed across the heathered moor, off the craggy cliffs, and out over the moonlit fjord. “I offer these aswergild—repayment for the loss of your husband, and for the honor of your noble heart. May this gift remind you always that your son avenged hisfaðirwith Sigmund’s own sword,Gramr.”He rose to his full height and gestured to the wolf and raven crown atop his bowed head.“I have reclaimed the kingdom of Lindesnes and restored the Völsung line. Sigmund’s rightful heir now sits upon his throne."
Tears welled in her grateful eyes as her pale fingers brushed the bronze eagle crown. She remained silent, overcome by grief from the past and the long-awaited proof of justice now presented before her. Her whisper caught in her throat, choked with repressed emotion.
"Thank you, my son. Yourfaðirwould be as proud of you as I am.” She looked up at him, love and gratitude shining in her maternal gaze as she caressed the side of his face. “You are so much like him… he still lives through you.” Rising onto her toes, she kissed his bearded cheek.
Sigurd motioned for Gunnar and Högni to approach. “King Álfr, Queen Hjördis, may I present Gunnar and Högni, sons of the Burgundian River King Gjúki. They arebloodswornbrothers who fought at my side to defeat Lyngvi in Götaland. They also witnessed thehjolmgangwhere I defeated Jarl Vísburr and reclaimed the kingdom of Lindesnes.”
Gunnar inclined his crowned head, the silver circlet with coiled serpents glistening in the moonlight. “It is an honor to meet the Wolf King of Sjóborg.” A cordial smile split his dark braided beard.
Deep brown eyes flashing with pride, Högni bowed to gallantly kiss Hjördis’ slender hand. “And a pleasure to meet his beautiful queen.”
Álfr smiled broadly, nodding in approval. “Well met, Gunnar and Högni. You shall be honored in my royal hall.” He paused, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “And now, let us feast, for the sons of kings return victorious to Sjóborg!”
While theSjórúlfarhowled at the moon, and cheers rippled through the throng, Álfr gestured for all to follow him into the Great Hall. “Come, let us celebrate the triumphant return ofSigurd Sea Wolf, Dragonslayer of Sjóborg. The Völsung King of Lindesnes.”
Laughter and music filled the hall as Álfr’sskáldSkúli sangTriumph of the Völsung King, a saga of Sigurd’s victory over Lyngvi of Götaland and his crowning in Lindesnes. The warmth of the hearth fire, the rich scent of grilled fish and steamed seafood, and the flavor of the mellow honeyed mead lingered in the air and danced on Sigurd’s tongue. But his mind was elsewhere, his lupine heart tugged by theouroborosmark upon his chest, guiding him ever toward Brynhildr.
At his side, the black fur of Kveld’s wolfskin cloak shimmered in the torchlight. As if he sensed Sigurd’s thoughts, thevitkiturned to face him, a sly smile curling his dark, bearded lips. “The Sea Wolf longs for the Sun Falcon. Tomorrow, we set sail for the Camargue.”
Sigurd drained his elkhorn, wiped his blond beard, and whispered so only the Nightwolf could hear. “I wish to fetch some of Fáfnir’s gold, to bring Budli as a bride price for Brynhildr.” Now that the feast was dwindling, with exhausted warriors and weary crewmen retiring to longhouses and guest lodging, they could soon depart under cover of darkness, with the light of the full moon to guide their way.
“I have hidden the trove in Regin’s waterfall cave, where the dwarf and I reforgedGramr.With you and me both at the oars, it won’t take us long. I’ll fill a small chest with gold and gems, and bring it to Hrafnfjall, to offer the Raven King as amundrfor the royal hand of hisdóttir.We’ll be back long before dawn.”
The amber eyes of the black wolf and thevitkiglowed golden in the incandescent light.
