“Of course. It’s in my shop.” He glanced around at the stone masons enjoying the respite from heavy labor in the hot sun. “We still have a little while before work resumes. Want to go see it now?” Varg rose to his feet, dusting oak leaves off his breeches.
“Já, I do. Let’s go.”
****
The hut and adjacent workshop where Varg lived with his wife Runa and their two small sons were located in the village within the walled city of Étretat, a short distance from the castle. With an infant in her arms and a toddler hiding behind her skirts, Varg’s pretty, brunette wife waved in greeting as the two men headed into the wooden shop with its sloped, thatched roof.
“Normally, I have two or three apprentices working with me in here. But after the recent attack, everyone is needed to rebuild the village and fortify the castle. I’m very fortunate that my family is fine, and neither my shop nor my home were damaged.” Varg walked across the workshop and fetched a bow from a hook on the wall. He strung it with flax and handed it to Njörd. “Here it is. A fine shortbow. Three feet long, made from the finest yew. Perfect for a lad of thirteen winters.”
As he examined the sleek, polished wood of the finely crafted bow, Njörd spotted a leather quiver containing a sheath of fletched arrows. “I’ll take those, too.” He paid Varg, then asked for directions to the castle armorer’s smithy.
Varg indicated the blacksmith shop, not far from his own. “Tóki has taken on a few more workers, to forge weapons for the increased demand. If you’re interested in finely adorned swords or decorated shields, he’s also hired one of the new stone cutters—the one calledBodo le Boîteuxbecause of his lame foot. Bodo specializes in carving and engraving, creating intricate patterns with inlaid silver and gold.”
Perhaps he can craft a weapon with the bones of the white wolf. I’ll stop by and inquire tomorrow.Njörd thanked Varg, who headed toward his hut for a brief visit with Runa and his sons before returning to work repairing the castle wall. “See you back at the site.” With a wave goodbye, Njörd went home to his longhouse nearle Château Blanc.
He went inside the rectangular wooden building which Jarl Rikard had converted into a royal hall for him, passing the thralls who were busy preparing the evening meal. At the far end of the vast chamber, he ducked under the drapes which cordoned off his private quarters and stood the yew bow in the corner of his room. Placing the leather quiver of finely fletched arrows beside it, he smiled, admiring Elfi’s new gift.
He knelt beside the carved oak chest which stood on the floor at the base of his bed. With a key from the leather pouch belted at his waist, he unlocked the latch and lifted the lid of the wooden trunk where he kept his clothing, the white wolfskin, and—wrapped in wool, tucked protectively inside the sacred fur—the two jaw bones which the haunting voice in the forest of Norway had told him would protect his future mate.
Elfi needs a dagger of her own. I’ll take these to the castle armorer on the morrow. Mayhap the stone cutter Bodo can craft a superb weapon with a carved wolf bone handle. Inscribed with Nordic runes.
He tucked the bones carefully back into the wooden chest, closed the lid, and locked the latch. As he rose to his feet and tucked the key back inside the pouch at his waist, he glanced again at the bow and quiver of arrows leaning against the wall.
Tomorrow, we begin archery lessons.
Desire flared at the thought of holding her lithe body against his, inhaling the subtle floral scent of her long, silky hair.
With a wolfish grin, he left the longhouse.
Strode briskly across the wildflower-strewn castle green.
And rejoined the men driving stakes into the waters of the moat.
Chapter 7
The Count of Soissons
Alberic of Soissons and a dozen of his personal guards rode through the increasingly sloped terrain of the dense forest to the mountaintop castle of Lâon, royal residence of King Lothaire of West Francia.
Known asla Montagne Cournonnée—the Crowned Mountain—the fortified royal castle, residence of the Frankish kings, was built atop a towering mountain of white limestone and encircled by massive walled battlements, like a crown upon a monarch’s majestic head.
As his Friesian plodded up the steep path to the castle, Alberic ruminated with rage over the recent message he’d received fromle Château Blanc.
The oceanfront castle that he had twice attacked, yet failed to conquer.
In his first thwarted attempt to seize the fortress, Alberic’s Frankish army had destroyed a large section of the external defensive wall surrounding the castle, permitting the Count of Soissons to successfully impale Dag Thorfinnsson with the Dark Elven spearDûrmaur.
Crafted especially for Alberic by the blacksmith Gúldur, the spear had been forged in the fiery, underground world of theDökkálfarDark Elves, imbued with evilenchantment so that it would never miss its mark.
Alberic had hurledDûrmaurfrom amongst the rubble of the damaged outer wall ofle Château Blanc.The spear had penetrated the chain mail armor of the Heir of Étretat.
And Dag Thorfinnsson had plummeted to his death from the rooftop battlements of the castle ramparts.
Alberic had stolen the priceless Elven swordGaladir, imbued with the powerful magic of theLjósálfarLight Elves. He’d been certain that, once he’d stolen the Elven blade, he would be invincible in battle.ButGaladirhad not served Alberic, for the razor sharp edge of the magic Elven blade had dulled like unforged iron.
He’d subsequently learned thatGaladirhad been created by a powerful Light Elf to ward against evil and defend against darkness. The enchanted blade had been crafted to protect the castle. And could only be wielded by the Heir of Étretat.
If Alberic married Lady Elfi—Thorfinn’s sole surviving heir—he would acquire her lands, her title, and her dowry. As Lord ofle Château Blancand Count of Étretat, he would then be able to wield the enchanted Elven sword.
