Elfi nuzzled the dark hair on his chest and kissed his scarred skin. “I felt it, too. As if fate had brought us here— to merge as one.” With a delicate fingertip, she traced the rugged skin across his shoulder, trailing the tip of her tongue over it and up along the side of his neck. “Mmmm,” she purred. “I love your taste.”
“And I love yours.” Her tangy flavor danced upon his tongue. He deeply inhaled her musky scent which lingered in his moustache. By the gods, he wanted her again!
“We should go. My grandmother will be wondering where I am.” Elfi stroked a pattern in his chest hair, then rubbed it out with a flattened palm.
“And I do need to get back to work.” He sighed in resignation. “We’re repairing the castle wall—and I want to have everything completed before your father’s return. That gives us three weeks, and there’s still a lot left to do.” He sat up as Elfi got to her feet. “You and I will train tomorrow in the sacred grove—I’m anxious to see your progress. And I look forward to ourdance with swords.” As she bent to retrieve her clothes, he eyed her small waist and the alluring curve of her round bottom. His body stirred at a sudden surge of desire.
“I can’t wait!” Elfi slipped on her linen shift, then her dark blue gown, her long locks tumbling to her hips. She pulled her hair over one shoulder to refasten the necklace and talisman, bending over to slip on her leather boots.
Njörd tamped down his lust as he pulled on his breeches, tunic, and boots. He strapped on his sword and donned the white wolfskin cloak. Drawing Elfi against his chest, he leaned downto kiss her sweet lips. “Nor can I. Mayhap tomorrow, we can come here again.” He grinned at the excitement in her widened eyes.
“That’s a wonderful idea. Now I’ll look forward to our training even more.” A sly, seductive smile stretched across her flushed face. As Njörd adjusted his wolfskin, Elfi eyed the passageway where theLjósálfarhad disappeared. “Lugh said this cave is the portal to theÎle de Sein. I still can’t believe it. He will take me to the island of theGallizenae—the mermaids who will teach me to wield my mother’s magic!”She peered into the darkness where a long, curved path led deep into the recesses of the cave.“I cannot wait to meet them. To learn about my mother, Dúva. And discover how to wield her power.” Elfi’s blue eyes glimmered like the glistening waters of the Mermaid Cove. “I have the blood of asjóvættirsea spirit. A billow maiden daughter of the Sea Goddess Rán!” Her ebullient laughter was like a bubbling, limpid stream. She rose up on tiptoes to kiss him, eyes alight with wonder. “And you, my love, are aVölsungdescendant of Odin! A wolf warrior of theÚlfhéðnar.With the blood of theLjósálfar, like Lugh!” An awestruck grin stretching across her radiant face, she wrapped her arms behind his neck and kissed his bearded lips.
Njörd chuckled, sharing her enthusiasm and excitement. He retrieved the lit torch from the earthy ground where Elfi had stood it near the entrance to the waterfall cave. And, holding the flame high to illuminate the gloom, led his betrothed into the forest and through the tunnel, back to the sacred grove.
Chapter 16
The Dökkálfar Blacksmith of Dorestad
The Count of Soissons and two dozen of his Frankish knights rode northeast from Alberic’s fortress in West Francia to the vibrant Frisian trade center of Dorestad. Uniquely situated in the delta of several rivers at the mouth of the Rhine, the lucrative emporium controlled by the Franks offered hundreds of jetties for merchant vessels to dock, granting access to both the North and Baltic Seas. Yet, with its sheltered location far enough inland to avoid flooding and coastal destruction from raging tides, Dorestad also offered profitable trade via land as well as by sea.
As he and his men arrived at the port, the sights, sounds, and smells of success overwhelmed Alberic’s heightened senses.
Along wharves which jutted far from the sandy shore well out into the waters of the Rhine, merchants unloaded barrels and bales of bulk products such as wool and wine from ships docked at the port. In front of countless longhouses which lined the beach for miles, a variety of shops and thatched-roof huts displayed ornamental objects, such as glass beads, amber, silver, and gold. Traders from Scandinavia sold combs made from reindeer antlers, pelts of fur from the rare black fox, quern stones for milling grain, soapstone and ceramics, raw iron, copper, and lead. Merchants from the Far East sold brightly colored silks, aromatic spices, glittering gemstones, and artifacts carved from ivory and bone. The sweet floral fragrance of perfumes and scented wax mingled with the woodsy blend of essential oils, incense, and herbs. And the smell of roasted meat and fresh bread made Alberic’s ravenous stomach growl.
After a long, arduous journey in the saddle, sleeping in tents on the hard, mountainous terrain as they traveled from West Francia to Dorestad, the Count of Soissons looked forward to a hot meal, proper lodging, and meeting the Dark Elven blacksmith Gúldur.
Alberic and his personal guards dismounted before the Sapphire Chalice Tavern, a popular timber framed waterfront inn located on the banks of the Rhine River in the thriving Frisian trade center. The Count of Soissons barked orders to his men. “Gozo and Engilram—with me. The rest of you, settle the horses and remain here until I return.”
Alberic led his two most trusted and highly skilled guards into the tavern which provided meals and lodging for shipping merchants, travelers, and wealthy patrons of the lucrative Frankish emporium. Inside the bustling establishment, female attendants clad in sapphire blue dresses poured goblets of mead from gleaming pewter pitchers behind a carved walnut bar. Muscular male servers carried heavy wooden trays laden with steaming oysters, mussels, and clams as they wove among the crowded tables packed with boisterous customers. Savoring the appetizing aroma of fresh seafood and the exotic scent of incense, Alberic settled at a table in the Sapphire Chalice Tavern with his two armed guards and waited for a server to approach.
He eyed the elaborate display case above the walnut bar which contained the exquisite sapphire chalice for which the tavern was named. A royal gift from King Lothaire of West Francia, the heirloom was engraved with the fleur-de-lys emblem of the Frankish monarchy and studded with rare blue sapphires from the Far East. Inside the intricately wrought silver filigree casing of the display cabinet doors, burning candles flanked the treasured chalice, casting an incandescent light which reflected off the polished silver and glittering sapphire gems. Not only did the chalice represent the distinctive name of the lively tavern, it also symbolized the wealth and power of the Frankish monarchy which controlledthe profitable Frisian port of Dorestad.
An amiable female server greeted Alberic and his men with a cordial smile. “Good day and welcome to the Sapphire Chalice Tavern. How may I serve you fine gentlemen?”
Alberic ordered a pitcher of ale and three goblets. When the attendant returned and poured them each a mug, he placed the silverDökkálfarcoin with sinister swirls and etched Nordic runes on the gleaming wooden table. “I wish to speak to Lord Gúldur. Please inform him that a patron has presented this coin and requests the royal favor owed to King Lothaire.”
The woman’s eyes widened in instant recognition. She replied in a reverent whisper. “Of course, my lord. Please wait here until I return.” With a discreet bow of her head, she backed away from the table, wove through the chattering crowd, and disappeared into the rear of the tavern.
A few moments later, she returned to the table. “Please come with me. I will take you to Lord Gúldur.”
Alberic retrieved the rareDökkálfarcoin and tucked it securely into the pouch at his waist. As he rose from his seat with Gozo and Engilram, he tossed a few Carolingiandenierson the table to pay for the ale and followed the server out the back door.
She led them into an adjacent wooden building where a burly blacksmith and four apprentices hammered and hollered over an open forge. “This is Lord Gúldur’s shop,” she said as she hailed the brawny smith.
Obviously impressed with the regal attire of a wealthy Frankish count, the blacksmith summoned an assistant to take his place at the anvil, wiped his blackened hands on a dingy apron, and greeted Alberic as the serving wench excused herself and returned to work in the tavern. “Good day, my lord. You wish to speak to Lord Gúldur?”
“I do indeed. Please inform him that the Count of Soissons has presented this coin.” Alberic removed the unusual token from his pouch and displayed it to the sweaty blacksmith. Recognition blazing in his dark eyes, he bowed his head and disappeared behind a thick black curtain into an adjoining room.
Like all Dökkálfar, Gúldur cannot bear sunlight. He works in darkness behind a wall of thick, heavy drapes.
The burly smith returned a few moments later and motioned for Alberic and his two guards to follow, parting the curtains for them to pass through.
Inside the darkened workshop, candles in metal sconces burned upon the wooden walls above numerous rows of hammers, tongs, pliers, pincers, and countless assorted tools. An enormous fire burned in a confined stone hearth which occupied the entire back wall. A dutiful apprentice diligently pumped air onto the raging flames from a huge bellows attached to the side of an enclosed furnace. On the right side of the room stood a large trough of water for cooling. Huddled over a giant anvil in the center of the room was a stout, swarthy blacksmith with wiry black hair, hammering white-hot metal into the shape of a sword.
As Alberic and his two guards entered the workspace, theDökkálfarblacksmith—whose dark, leathery skin and golden eyes evoked the image of a deadly snake—turned away from his forge and strode across the workshop to greet them. “Góðan dag, Alberic of Soissons. It is always a pleasure to do business with a wealthy Frankish count.” Gúldur bared a garish grin, revealing a repulsive array of yellowed and blackened teeth. A revolting odor of foul, fetid breath assailed Alberic’s nostrils.
“Fetch two goblets and a pitcher of ale, for my guest and me.” Ignoring Alberic’s two personal guards, Gúldur sent his assistant scrambling to obey while he conducted his important client to a comfortable chair at a corner table. “Come, Alberic, have a seat. And tell me how I may serve the mighty Count of Soissons.”
