“Bloodstone. It will bind the curse to the wearer’s blood.” While Zhúlgorr left to fetch the jewels, Myrkkha turned to Gúldur. “I will also need a dagger with a dark gem in the hilt.”
Gúldur unstrapped a sheathed blade belted at his hip and gave it to her. Within the tooled black snakeskin leather of the sheath, a trio of black gems glistened in the incandescent light. And in the intricately engraved hilt of the dagger, a large black gem glittered like a malevolent midnight star. “Take mine.”
“Black obsidian. Like the stone in my own amulet.” She tenderly stroked the carved image of the Goddess Hel in the pendant suspended from her tattooed throat. “Perfect.” Themalvacarried the sheathed blade across the room and laid it carefully upon a table draped in sumptuous purple velvet.
Myrkkha searched among the vials, instruments, and artifacts cluttering her wooden shelves. She selected a fine tipped chisel, a metal file, and a glass vial, which she placed upon the counter. With a slender taper which she dipped into the fire, she lit myrrh incense inside a gem encrusted dish, murmuring an incantation as she placed nine dark crystals in a circle on top of the velvet covered table.
When Zhúlgorr returned, he handed her the ring and talisman, each set in polished silver, which themalvaplaced inside the circle of nine enchanted crystals. Amethyst gown shimmering in the firelight, sleeves fluttering like a raven in flight, Myrkkha settled onto a wooden stool near the table, chanting in a gruff, guttural language which Alberic had never heard. With meticulous precision, she engraved Nordic runes into the silver band of the ring, smoothing the shapes with the metal file, all the while whispering mysterious words of evil enchantment. When she’d finished the ring, she repeated the process with the silver setting of the talisman, inscribing the same runesin the pendant as she had carved into the ring.
Alberic’s heart hammered wildly as he, Gúldur, and Zhúlgorr watched Myrrkha wield her malignant magic.
“Thurisaz,the thorn, to bind and protect the crippling curse.Berkana,to heal the stonecutter’s injured foot. AndKaun, the rune of fire. For transformation, communication, andsubjugation.” Myrkkha withdrew from the black leather belt at her waist a twisted knife etched with twining vines, a glistening black gem affixed to the intricately engraved hilt. Slicing the tip of her finger with the razor sharp blade, Myrkkha added three drops of hermalvablood into each of the trinity of runes, chanting a diabolical incantation as she imbued them with a powerful curse. “This enchanted ring will heal the injured foot of the brown wolf—theÚlfhéðnarpermanently maimed by aDökkálfartrap.Bodo le Boîteuxwillwantto wear it, for without his disfiguring limp, the lame stonecutter will be much more attractive to the female thrall he wishes to mate. But theShadowbindcurse—which I have enshrouded inmalvamagic to make it undetectable, even to the heightened senses of theÚlfhéðnar—will bind him to Narglok through theDökkálfarspell imbued in the bloodstone pendant.” An insidious smile blazed across her pallid face and flared in her infernal crimson eyes. “The troll will control the brown wolf, who will bring you the Dwarven sword. And lead you from the secret cave in the sacred grove into the bottom of the castle keep.”
Zhúlgorr hissed as his serpentine gaze narrowed onto Gúldur. “Narglok will deliver the Dwarven sword that you searched for but could not find on your voyage to the Faroe Islands. At long last, you will be able to avenge Nithrak’s death. By killing theLjósálfarwho turned your brother to stone.”
A wicked grin stretched the withered, wrinkled skin of Gúldur’s gruesome face.
Myrkkha rose to her feet and smoothed her amethyst gown. “And now, the dagger.” She unsheathed theDökkálfarblade that Gúldur had given her and placed it inside the circle of nine enchanted stones. Inhaling the thick, sweet smoke of myrrh incense, themalvaretrieved her ebony staff and pounded it likea drum upon the wooden floor. She chanted a discordant, disturbing melody, her guttural incantation different from before. As her skeletal fingers flitted like dragonflies over the pernicious blade, the black obsidian gem in the engraved hilt glowed with malevolent menace. When Myrkkha withdrew her bony hand, the gem absorbed the otherworldly brilliance, its stellar radiance collapsing into the midnight void of the black obsidian stone.
Her spell complete, Myrkkha sheathed the dagger and handed it to Alberic. “Narglok has assumed the human form of a Varangian warrior. Give him this dagger,Wolfsbane.It willkill the great grey wolf—the leader of theÚlfhéðnarwarriors who are training atle Château Blanc.” She watched with bated breath as Alberic examined the shadowy swirls of the curved, insidious blade. “TheDökkálfaressence of thedagger is hidden from detection by theÚlfhéðnar—through themalvamagic I imbued in the black obsidian stone. The grey wolf will be injured in a friendly competition, and no one will suspect that the minor wound will prove fatal.” She grinned wickedly, her gleaming white teeth displaying an alarming array of sharp, pointed fangs. “Until it’s much too late.”
Myrkkha faced Gúldur, her velvety voice laced with forewarning. “Once you have slain Ildris—theLjósálfarLight Elf who killed your brother—you must destroy the Dwarvenblade in the fires of your Dark Elvenforge.” Her scarlet eyes glowed like cursed bloodstones. “For theWolf of the Nordic Seasis prophesied to wield theVölsungsword,Úlfsongr.To killyou,theDökkálfarblacksmith of Dorestad.”
Pungent herbs smoldered in the sizzling fire and heady smoke hovered in the intoxicating air. Themalva’sbloody gaze held Gúldur’s until he ducked his wiry, bristled chin in stark comprehension. Satisfied with his nod of acknowledgement, Myrkkha slipped across her sanctum in a swish of amethyst silk to retrieve a black leather cord and goatskin pouch from the artifacts assembled on her wooden shelves. When she returned to the table, themalvathreaded the leather strap through the silver loop of the pendant,securing the bloodstone amulet with an intricately tied knot. She placed the cursed ring and talisman necklace into the black leather pouch, tightened the drawstring closure, and handed the small sack to Alberic. “Give these to Narglok. Inform him that the bloodstone talisman will enslave the brown wolf through theShadowbindcurse in the ring. Explain that the ring will cure the crippled foot of the maimed stonecutter, so that the brown wolf will be eager to wear it— but the curse will bindBodo le Boîteuxto Narglok.” Myrkkha’s scarlet eyes glowed like fiery rubies. “The troll will obtain the Dwarven sword for you. And lead you from the forested cave in the sacred grove through the secret tunnel into the castle. To infiltrate and seizele Château Blanc.”
Tension coiled tightly in Gúldur’s venomous voice as he hissed at Alberic. “Have Narglok bring me the Dwarven sword. And when you are ready to infiltrate the castle, I will bolster your Frankish army with a horde ofDökkálfarDark Elves to destroy the wolf warriors of theÚlfhéðnar.” With a sinister smirk, Gúldur shook Alberic’s hand, sending another ripple of chilling numbness up his arm. “Narglok is essential for our success. I shall make a sacrifice to the Goddess Hel, to ensure that the troll prevails.” Gúldur’s rotten, revolting teeth flashed in the firelight.
Alberic withdrew his icy hand, shaking off the peculiar prickling sensation and a premonition of doom. Mouth dry, limbs shaking, he strapped the sheathedDökkálfardagger to his waist and secured the leather pouch containing theShadowbindring and amulet to his belt.
Myrkkha spotted the swordGaladir,which was sheathed at Alberic’s hip. She hissed, recoiling as if in pain. “That is agildirstarstone… imbued with powerfulLjósálfarmagic.” Fury and fear flickered in her scarlet eyes, replaced by cunning as a wicked grin stretched across her eerie, exquisite face. “Place it upon my table.” She gestured to the nine glittering gems atop the purple velvet where she had enchanted theWolfsbanedagger.
While Alberic complied, themalvaselected three herbs suspended from her ceiling and tossed a handful of each into the fire. As the thick smoke permeated the gloom, she centered theLjósálfarsword in the circle of nine black obsidian stones, rearranging the dark gems around the gleaming blade. Myrkkhafetchedher ebony staff, thumping it rhythmically on the floor and chanting an infernal incantation. She hovered over the sword like a voluptuous vulture, her skeletal fingers flittering over the glittering gem as she cast her diabolical spell.
"Goddess Hel of the hidden night,
In shadows deep, I seek your might.
This gemstone bright, in light it gleams,
Shroud it now in severed dreams.
Reverse what theLjósálfarElf has made,
Itsgildirprotection to blackness fade.
Let this Elven sword, forged in light,
Bring death to the hand that crafted its might."
While Alberic watched in morbid fascination, the clear, sparklinggildirgem in the carved hilt of the sword glowed with a sudden blinding brilliance, which quickly dulled and dimmed like a dying star. With a triumphant gloat, Myrkkha handed the blade to Alberic. “In myseiðrvision, I glimpsed a glorious Viking burial for a fallen hero.” Mesmerizing crimson eyes held his rapt gaze. “Return thisLjósálfarblade to its owner, for it will be buried beside the warrior that you slew with Gúldur’sDökkálfarspear.”
“Dag Thorfinnsson.” Alberic whispered with awe as he reverently accepted the altered swordand sheathedGaladirbeside theWolfsbanedagger.
Myrkkha spun toward Gúldur, her scarlet eyes red as blood. “When you attack the castle, unearth this sword from the grave in the sacred grove. And use it to destroy Lugh, theLjósálfarLight Elf who crafted it.” She lovingly traced long white fingers inked with black over the gem in the hilt of the weapon sheathed at Alberic’s quivering waist. “I have reversed the protective enchantment of thegildirstarstone,” she murmured seductively into his attentiveear. His pulse quickened at the warm breath caressing his cheek and her intoxicating, toxic presence. “It is now cursed by the Goddess Hel herself. So that the Light Elvenblade designed to protect againstDökkálfardarkness will instead inflict death and doom.” Myrkkha’s cryptic smile sent a frisson of dread through Alberic’s shivering limbs.
Zhúlgorr stepped forward and gallantly bent at the waist to kiss Myrkkha’s skeletal, tattooed hand. “Takk, elska minn,” he murmured, his dusky voice like the croak of a toad. Inclining his head with a provocative grin, Zhúlgorr thanked themalvaand led Alberic and Gúldur out of her sinister abode.
In the downstairs display room of the silversmith shop, Alberic expressed his gratitude to Zhúlgorr and followed Gúldur—who carefully shielded himself from sunlight with the hood of his voluminous cloak—back outside, where his two trusted Frankish guards awaited at attention.
