The brown leather boot on Bodo’s misshapen right foot was much larger than the other and was strapped with a belt above the ankle to hold it in place. Turned outward at an awkward, impossible angle, the obviously mangled foot made walking difficult for the stout, solidly built stonemason. Yet, as he hobbled out the door of the armory, back into the crowded street of Étretat, he led Njörd at a good pace to a wattle and daub hut near the edge of the thick beech forest just beyond the outer curtain wall surrounding the castle.
“I live alone,” Bodo explained, unlocking the heavy wooden door and ushering Njörd into the small cabin. “And I’m a terrible cook. So I take my meals in the Great Hall of the castle,” he quipped with a sly grin. “But my neighbor’s wife sells me some of the ale she makes, and it’s very good. Please sit, and I’ll fetch us two drinking horns.”
While Bodo lumbered over to a row of shelves affixed to the wooden wall, Njörd sat down at the table and perused his surroundings.
At the back of the spacious rectangular room, there was a small bed piled with furs and a carved oak trunk on the herb-scented, rush-covered floor. In the opposite corner, he noted carving tools, chisels, saws, and hammers on a workbench beside stone figurines, decorations, and trinkets that Bodo was apparently creating to sell in the local market.
When Njörd spotted a stunning limestone sculpture, his breath hitched in his throatand a violent shiver rippled up his spine.
For there—on a pinewood table nestled against a side wall—stood an intricately carved stone statue featuring the lifelike head, neck, and shoulders of a Viking warrior, draped with a wolfskin over a chainmail coif headpiece.
Just like the armor and white wolf fur that Njörd himself always wore into battle.
The rugged features and braided beard of the scarred, savage stone face were very much like his own, for Njörd had often glimpsed his reflection in the still, smooth waters of the fjords in Norway when he’d sailed the Nordic Seas.
While Bodo watched with an amused wolflike grin, Njörd rose from his seat and strode over for a closer look.
The resemblance was uncanny.
Njörd’s limbs shook at the sudden surge of adrenaline. Mouth agape, stunned speechless, he spun toward Bodo for an explanation.
“That’s your father. Brökk Sigurdsson. My mentor. My trainer. My friend. When he died in my arms, I swore that I would find you. And tell you all about him. The white wolf he sent to protect you. And the prophecy I must help you fulfill.” Bodo approached an astounded, awestruck Njörd, offering him a white elkhorn wrapped with inlaid silver and engraved with Nordic runes. “Come, sit at the table and drink this. While I honor my sacred oath to Brökk.”
His mouth parched, his throat clenched, Njörd downed the contents of the ale. He plopped down onto the bench, his arm twitching as Bodo refilled the drinking horn, set the pitcher and two wooden stands on top of the table, and settled onto the seat across from his astonished guest.
Taking a long pull from his own elkhorn, Bodo placed the vessel in the wooden stand before him and began the tale that Njörd was desperate to hear.
“Your father and I were members of theÚlfhéðnar—an elite band of wolfskin warriors who served Harald Bluetooth, the Viking King of Denmark and Norway. When Brökk led us to victory in a gruesome battle despite overwhelming odds, ourimmensely grateful king bestowed the Dwarven swordÚlfsongr—Wolfsong—to your father as a reward for his exceptional valor and extraordinary skill.” Bodo leaned back, folded brawny arms across his broad chest, and fixed Njörd with a riveting stare. “Bluetooth sent six of hisÚlfhéðnar,including Brökk and myself, with a Viking army and a fleet ofdrakkarwarships to aid his ally Haldor Falk. A chieftain in the Faroe Islands who was under attack by an enemy aided by theDökkálfarDark Elves.”
Revulsion and rage blazed across Bodo’s bearded face. “In wolf form, theÚlfhéðnarcan kill theDökkálfar. But if we are wounded by a Dark Elven weapon, we will die within three days unless treated by aLight Elven healer.” Bodo averted his eyes, unable to meet Njörd’s direct gaze. “Although we defeated the Dark Elves and saved Bluetooth’s ally, Haldor Falk, Brökk was mortally injured in the Battle of Tórshavn, on the Faroe Island of Streymoy, by the deadly spear of aDökkalfár.” Grief ravaging his scarred face, Bodo choked and spluttered as he drained his elkhorn. He refilled both drinking vessels, his hand visibly shaking as he poured.
Njörd’s pulse hammered against his ribs. Equally torn between desire and dread to hear the rest of the harrowing account, he forced down a gulp of ale to quench his scorched throat. “But you couldn’t get him to aLjósálfarhealer in time.”
Bodo nodded, struggling to regain his voice. “While the rest of Bluetooth’s army remained in Tórshavn to bury our fallen and treat the injured, I sailed west with a crew of thirty men to take Brökk to Ísland. Home of the greatest Light Elven healer of all. Brökk’s wife and fated mate. Your mother. TheLjósálfarQueen Íssla.”
Too stunned to speak, Njörd’s head spun as he grappled with the implausible, impossible revelation.My mother’s name was Hlíf. She died when I was a babe. Bodo’s tale cannot be true.
Like a whisper from the distant past, thevölva’svoice from Norway floatedacross the Nordic Seas. “You will discover the truth. And fulfill the prophecy. For you are destined to wield the Dwarven sword.”
Njörd, having just come from Úlvhild’s eerie hut, recalled her otherworldly sighting throughseiðrmagic.“Find the stonecutter with the maimed foot. He holds the knowledge you seek.”While Njörd reeled with voices and visions, Bodo continued his extraordinary tale.
“Aboard ship, Brökk realized he would die before we reachedÍsland. He made me swear to bring the Dwarven sword to hisLjósálfarwife, who would guard it until I brought you to her one day to reclaim it.” A nostalgic smile mellowed Bodo’s rugged features. “He told me all about you. The son his otherworldly mate had born and shielded fromDökkálfarspieswith a cloak of Light Elven magic. How she had taken you as a babe to Norway, shrouding you with wards of protection, rendering you invisible to the Dark Elves determined to thwart the prophecy.” He took a long pull of ale, wiping his mouth with the back of a hardened hand. “In Norway, Íssla cast a spell on a young woman named Hlíf,so that she would believe you were her own son. Brökk told me how the old fisherman Ívarr raised you after Hlíf died. He also told me he’d sent hishámr—the essence of his spirit—as a white wolf to serve as your guardian, to watch over you until you reached manhood. With his dying breath, Brökk asked me to find you, in the Land of the White Chalk Cliffs. Where destiny would lead you to your fated mate. Thesiren with the sea goddess eyes.”
A violent shudder shook Njörd’s limbs. Astrid—thevölvain Norway—used those exact words to describe Elfi. “Your fate… and your mate… the siren with sea goddess eyes…lie on distant shores, across the Nordic Seas.” The hairs on his arms rose as the fateful vision enveloped him, like the protective pelt of the white wolfskin cloak.
“We must bring your mate with us when we sail toÍsland.Brökk did not know how she would help you fulfill the prophecy, but that she was essential to our success.” Bodo finished his horn of ale and watched Njörd warily, waiting for him to respond.
Njörd rose from his chair and began pacing the room, adrenaline surging in his veins. “You say we must sail toÍsland,for me to reclaim my father’s Dwarven sword. But for what purpose? And that Elfi must come with us. Yet we cannot possibly leave now, with her father still imprisoned and his release uncertain.” He stared incredulously at Bodo. “I have just arrived from Denmark—with an army of a thousand Viking warriors to rebuild Étretat and defend thePays de Cauxagainst the constant threat of another attack by the Count of Soissons and the Frankish King Lothaire.”
Stymied by conflicting and seemingly contradictory information, Njörd approached the table where Bodo sat and withdrew the leather parcel from his belt. He unfolded it upon the table, revealing the bones of the white wolf and thetrollkorstalisman that Úlvhild had just given him. “In Norway, when the white wolf died, I found his body in the forest. A male voice—that I heardinside my head—told me to save these two bones. That I would need them for weapons to protect my future mate. He also told me to remove the white wolfskin fur, and to wear it as a cloak each time I went into battle, so that the wolf could protect me from the afterlife. Today, I brought these bones to thevölvaÚlvhild. She foresaw that aLjósálfarwould craft weapons with them—for my betrothed Elfi to wield. That he would come to meet Elfi and me in the sacred grove where we train with swords. And that the man who hunts her—the treacherous Count of Soissons—has allied withDökkálfarDark Elves and a shapeshifting troll.”
Njörd pointed to the enchantedtrollkorsamulet. “Úlvhild imbued this talisman withgaldrmagic, etching my blood as Elfi’s fated mate into the runes for her protection. Thevölvasaid that if the troll or the Dark Elves try to touch Elfi, they’ll burn from the inside out.” Njörd’s heart hammered in his chest as he held Bodo’s scrutinizing gaze. “I will give thistrollkorsto Elfi tomorrow. And pray to Odin that theLjósálfarcomes to the sacred grove very soon.”
Bodo reverently picked up the bones, sniffed them, and peered up at Njörd with shrewd lupine eyes. “Lugh—the Lord of the Light Elves—will be the one who comes to you in the sacred grove. He’ll craft the wolf weapons for Elfi with these protective bones. Lugh is the leader of theLjósálfarwho defend the Land of the White Chalk Cliffs. He’s the one who crafted Jarl Rikard’s swordAragil.And theLjósálfarswordDuradrakk, for CountSkårde as the Dragon of Denmark. Both enchanted blades have defended Normandy against the Franks in several bloody battles.” Sorrow tempered Bodo’s savage tone. “Lugh was also the one who craftedGaladir—the Light Elven sword which the Count of Soissons stole when he killed Elfi’s brother Dag.”
Bodo carefully wrapped the white wolf bones andtrollkorsback inside the deerskin leather, returned the package to Njörd, and rose from his seat. “Remember I said there was something I wanted to show you? Drink your ale while I fetch it. I’ll be right back.”
A few moments later, Bodo returned with a huge metal trap with sharp teeth and a thick iron chain. The sight of the hideous device raised the hackles on the back of Njörd’s neck and sent a sudden jolt surging through his veins. Instantly and inexplicably, he was primed for battle and shot to his feet. “What in Odin’ name is that? It exudes raw, wretched evil.”
