Remembering Kólga’s foretelling that she would soon go toÁlfheim, Elfi redirected her attention. “You say that I will soon wield another facet of my magic— to heal a gravely injured wolf. How will I cure him?”
Himinglæva flashed Elfi an affectionate, knowing smile. “Yourmagic givesyou much more than the power to hurl waves and sink ships. To call forth theMélusineswith the Sirens’ Song or summon your sea goddess grandmother.” Her sky blue gaze bore into Elfi’s very soul. “Withsjósongr—the song of the sea—you may also wash away darkness and disease. Cleanse the wounded wolf with ocean water. And heal him with the curative essence of the sea.”
“You wield both the ocean’s destructive force and its curative power to heal.” Kólga’s words stirred hersjóvættirmagic, like an ocean current coursing through her veins.
Bylgja and the otherGallizenaecame back into the cottage to say goodbye. She handed Elfi a wrapped parcel with a shy smile. “A few of my barley cakes. With aconfitureof buckthorn berries and honey. In case you get hungry on the way home to Étretat.”
Elfi rose to her feet and gratefully accepted the delicious offering. “Merci beaucoup. Iloveyour barley cakes and jam.” She hugged a blushing Bylgja, then turned to kiss the rest of thesjóvættirsisters on each cheek withla biseof fond farewell.
She strapped thedragonscalesheath with herÚlfbladdagger around her hips. Secured thetrollkorstalisman behind her neck, smoothing the three tiers of enchanted gems at the base of her throat. Slinging her leather satchel over her shoulder and hugging the barley cakes to her chest, she bid her mermaid mentors goodbye and exited the cozy stone cottage.
With a lump in her throat, tears in her eyes, and the tingle of magic in her veins, Elfi headed west to the wild, windswept coast ofla Mer de l’ Ouest.
And into the cave to summon Lugh.
Chapter 26
Skikkja
Alberic’s dutiful servant drew the heavy blue drapes to wrap the regal chamber in a blanket of darkness. Although the sun had already set—indeed, he had specifically arranged this clandestine meeting during the evening for the comfort of his anticipated guests—he insisted on eliminating any possible trace of sunlight. As a valet escorted Narglok and Gúldur into the well-appointed solar where Alberic conducted political affairs as the Count of Soissons, he rose to his feet and gestured to the two velvet tufted chairs opposite his own at the ornately carved walnut table.
“Velkomnir, herrar.Welcome, gentlemen. Please be seated. May I offer you a goblet of fine Frankish wine?” Alberic grinned to cover his unease as his valet Pathelin filled the intricately carved silver vessels and offered them to his two unnerving guests. Although Narglok and Gúldur were his allies, the shapeshifting troll—who had assumed the form of a Frankish lord for tonight’s meeting—and theDökkálfarblacksmith of Dorestad sent shivers of dread slithering like snakes up his spine.
“What news do you have for me, Narglok?” Alberic sipped the rich red burgundy, observing the troll over the rim of his sapphire-studded silver goblet.
“The Shadowbind curse has exceeded our expectations.Bodo le Boîteuxwears Myrkkha’s enchanted ring, his limp is cured, and he reports directly to me. He has even shown me the secret passage into the castle.” Narglok savored a swallow of wine, eyebrows raised in appreciation of the superb vintage. “There is a cave inthe sacred grove with a tunnel which empties into the base of the castle keep. The stairwell leads into Elfi’s private chambers, behind a hidden door concealed by a heavy tapestry on the wall.” Narglok cast Alberic a cryptic grin, his black eyes glinting with malice. “Bodo’s lover—a thrall named Sif who is Elfi’s personal attendant—routinely slips back into the castle at dawn after spending the night in the stonecutter’s cottage. That is how we shall infiltrate the castle. When she returns, we’ll follow.”
Alberic nodded, processing the intriguing information with a pensive swallow of wine. “I leave tomorrow with Thorfinn—to deliver him to Richard the Fearless in Reims.” Alberic turned to Gúldur, seated at Narglok’s side. “Are the ships ready to sail to Ísland?”
The leathery skin of the Dökkálfar’s hideous face crinkled into a garish grin, revealing repulsive yellow fangs amidst rotted brown teeth. A foul fetid odor rent the air as he barked out a gruff reply. “"Já, mín herr.We depart in three days, so that we arrive before theWolf of the Nordic Seas.” Gúldur spoke to Narglok. “I have waitedyearsto avenge my brother Nithrak’s death. But in order to kill theLjósálfarwho turned him to stone, I must have that Dwarven sword. You are certain the stonecutter will give it to you in Ísland?”
“The Shadowbind curse forces him to obey my command. I am certain he will obtain it from the white wolf and give it to me. My concern is avoiding sunlight. On the ship, I can feign illness and stay below deck. But what of Ísland?” Narglok ran calloused fingers through his long dark locks, pulling at the roots in aggravation.
As Alberic watched the troll tug on his human hair, he idly wondered what Narglok looked like in his natural form.Perhaps withered reptilian skin, wiry black hair, and horrid fangs, like the Dökkálfar. Or an even more enormous, hideous beast.He shuddered at the ominous thought.
Gúldur cackled, releasing another wave of noxious odor with his revolting breath. He reached for the satchel slung across the back of his chair and retrieved a black cloak from its contents.With a snide smirk, he handed the garment to Narglok. “A gift from Myrrkha.Skikkjya.A shadow cloak to shield us from sunshine. Enshrouded with the dark magic of amalva.” His reptilian eyes glowed in the golden firelight. “She made one for me as well. And for each of the dozenDökkáfarwho will sail with my Frankish crews on the ships to Ísland.”
Narglok accepted the cloak with reverent awe, brushing an appreciative hand across the fine black wool woven with threads which glistened in the candlelight. He furrowed his human brow in contemplation. “I’ll be sailing withBodo le Boîteuxand theWolf of the Nordic Seas. How will I find you in Ísland?”
“Myrkkha has foreseen that theLóndrangarCliffs on the southwestern coast jut out from the rocky shoreline, forming a curve where we could hide our two Frankish ships. Look for me there.” Gúldur swallowed a gulp of fine Frankish wine.
Narglok nodded, tugging on his neatly trimmed beard. “I’ll come as a white bear—like those native to the icy terrain— to avoid suspicion. Once I find you, I’ll shift into a Frankish warrior and inform you of our location. When I obtain the Dwarven sword from Bodo, I’ll bring it to you there.”
Gúldur’s wrinkled face twisted into a grimace as he examined theskikkjashadow cloak. “You say this will shield us from sunlight. Even a solar reflection from agildirstarstone?” Wariness and suspicion lined his gravelly voice.
“Even sunlight reflected from aLjósálfarblade or brooch.”Malevolence gleamed in Narglok’s obsidian eyes. “Which means we can kill them as easily as theÚlfhéðnar.” He drained his goblet and watched as Alberic refilled it. “Once you have avenged your brother, I’ll command Bodo to betray Njörd. So that I can slay theWolf of the Nordic Seaswith his own Dwarven sword.”
At the mention of a sword, Gúldur eyed the sheathed blade hanging from a hook on the wall near the massive hearth where a fire crackled and spit. “Galadir,” he sneered. “Stone of light. Imbued withLjósálfarradiance.” He drained his goblet, wiped his vile mouth,and snickered. “More aptly namedMaladir, now that Myrkkha has infused it with evil.” TheDökkálfarblacksmith croaked like a toad. “You will deliver it to Richard the Fearless when you relinquish Thorfinn?”
“I shall indeed. I depart for Reims in the morning. With my prisoner, the enchanted sword, and a retinue of two dozen Frankish guards. We shall arrive as scheduled on the first of October.” Alberic adjusted the blue silk mantle and fleur-de-lys brooch draped across his broad shoulders. The dazzling sapphire ring on his right hand—a gift from King Lothaire of West Francia—sparkled in the flickering firelight. A visual reminder that once Alberic seizedle Château Blancand established a Frankish colony in thePays de Caux, his grateful, generous king would proclaim him the Duke of Normandy.
Adrenaline coursed through Alberic’s shaking limbs.
“Thorfinn’s mother Oda and Lady Elfi are planning a feast to welcome him home. AHaustblótFestival to celebrate the fall harvest. And a ceremony to buryGaladirwith Thorfinn’s slain son in the burial mound of the sacred grove.” Narglok scoffed. “Once they do, it will no longer be thesacredgrove, for Myrkkha’s evil enchantment will render it thedesecratedgrove.”
Alberic laughed heartily with his two nefarious allies, then fixed a steadfast gaze on Gúldur. “When you return from Ísland, we’ll attack the castle from thedesecratedgrove on the howling moon in late November. You and theDökkálfarwill destroy thewarrior wolves of theÚlfhéðnar--and the Light Elves who arrive to defend the forest. Unearth the buried blade and use it to slay Lugh, theLjósálfarlord who crafted it.”
Narglok flashed Alberic a gloating grin. “While you and your Frankish army infiltrate the castle and force Thorfinn’s hand.” He snickered. “Bring a Christian priest to perform the hasty wedding. Marry Elfi and become Count of Étretat. Then slaughter Thorfinn, Richard the Fearless, and the Dragon of Denmark, Skårde the Scourge.” He tipped his silver goblet to Alberic. “And celebrate the Yuletide season with your new wife and your new title. In your new castle.Le Château Blanc.”
