Zhúlgorr rose to his feet and extended his hand to welcome Alberic. “Goda dag, Min herra.Greetings Lord Alberic, Count of Soissons.” Ducking his unkempt bearded chin, the Dark Elf bowed humbly before Alberic as his honored noble guest. “You certainly remember mymalva,the Lady Myrkkha.” Zhúlgorr gestured to the intoxicating beauty whose full, creamy breasts tantalized Alberic as they overflowed the seductively low-cut bodice of her amethyst velvet gown.
Alberic stifled his traitorous body’s vigorous response. Between the alluring pearlescent globes which transfixed his lusty gaze, a black obsidian amulet with the carved image of the Goddess Hel glistened with a dark, foreboding aura. Myrkkha was a voluptuous vulture who would sink her claws into his hungering flesh and suck out his soul. Dread shivered down Alberic’s spine. With concentrated effort, he diverted his attention from her luscious curves and met her disquieting garnet gaze. “Of course I remember her.” Alberic bent his head to kiss themalva’sporcelain hand, shuddering as his lips brushed the ominous swirls and arcane runes inked upon her pale flesh. “My lady, your exquisite beauty has left its indelible mark upon me. I shall never forget your irresistible allure, nor your astounding, malevolent power.”
A sultry smile stretched Myrkkha’s pouty, sensuous lips.
“Please, be seated, Lord Alberic.” Zhúlgorr gestured to a barmaid, who promptly brought a sapphire-studded silver chalice filled with golden mead and placed it on the table before Alberic. “Did you relinquish Lord Thorfinn to Richard the Fearless in Reims?”
“I did indeed.” Alberic settled into the wooden chair across the table from Zhúlgorr and Myrkkha. He took a hearty gulp of mead to quench his parched, constricted throat and calm his quavering limbs. “Thorfinn was gaunt and weak—having spent three months in my dank prison—but in relatively sound health otherwise, as agreed.” He took another long pull from his silver goblet.
“And the altered sword,Galadir?” Zhúlgorr’s yellow eyes glowed with predatory intent.
“Delivered toJarl Rikardhimself.” Alberic smirked at the thought of the sinister sword being interred alongside Thorfinn’s deceased son in the burial mound near the castle. With Myrkkha’s evil enchantment, theLjósálfarprotection of thesacred grovewould be desecrated byDökkálfardarkness. Which would aid Alberic immensely when he infiltratedle Château Blancthrough the hidden, forested tunnel near the castle.
Alberic’s muscles twitched with trepidation. Why had he been summoned here? The increasing tension was unbearable. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took another long gulp of mead.
As if reading his thoughts, Zhúlgorr announced the purpose for their meeting. “Myrkkha will relate what she has foreseen in a recentseidrvision.”
Alberic’s heart hammered in his chest. What had she seen which would require such an urgent summons?
Myrkkha’s voice was as velvety as her deep purple gown. “Threedrakkarlongships set sail from Étretat. Elfi Thorfinnsdóttir was aboard the ship with her betrothed, theWolf of the Nordic Seas.”Themalvasipped from her silver goblet, crimson eyes locked on Alberic. “They plan to marry in Ísland, to prevent you fromacquiring the clifftop castle ofChâteau Blancthrough a forced marriage to her.” With a long, skeletal finger, Myrkkhapushed a wayward lock of blood red hair from her hauntingly beautiful face. “My vision also revealed that avölva—gifted with powerful magic from the Sun Goddess Sól—is sailing with the bridal couple as well. It is therefore imperative that I sail to Ísland at once. To destroy thevölvathrough theDökkálfardarkness of Helheim.”
Frustration and impotent fury raged through Alberic. He had already failed twice in his attempt to seize the castle ofChâteau Blancand establish a Frankish colony in the Viking heart of thePays de Caux.King Lothaire had promised to make Alberic the Frankish Duke of Normandy if he succeeded in this quest. Alberic simply could not fail a third time. “I do not understand. Why must you sail to Ísland now? By the time you arrive, Elfi will already be married, so my plan to invade the castle and force her father’s hand will be futile.”
“Not if I arrive in time to stop the wedding.” Myrkkha grinned like a cat who had just swallowed a mouse.
Alberic was dumbfounded. “How is this possible? Thedrakkarships left Étretat a week ago.”
Myrkkha flashed another sly feline grin and nodded imperceptibly to Zhúlgorr, who gestured to someone sitting at the polished oak bar in the center of the tavern.
At theDökkálfar’ssignal, a towering brute with a savagely scarred face arose from a stool and strode across the tavern floor with the swift stealth of a serpent.
Braided black hair tumbled over his broad shoulders, his thick black beard plaited with the same silver beads and dark glittering gems as those woven into his long, wiry locks. Chain mail glistened over his black leather armor, the metal greaves inscribed with Nordic runes covering the shin area of his black leather leggings. Steel vambraces engraved with swirling snakes protected his forearms from wrist to elbow. Draped over his wide shoulders, a gleaming black fox fur cloak—fastened with a silver brooch engraved with a slithering snake—fell to the middle of his black leather boots.
Strapped at his left hip inside a black snakeskin sheath was a magnificent sword forged from dark, shadowy steel. A vicious snake coiled around the pommel, its reptilian head the focal point of the hilt. Venomous fangs bared, its golden amber eyes emitted an uncanny, preternatural glow. A bearded axe hung from the leather belt on the warrior’s right hip, and a black snakeskin scabbard sheathed a dagger just behind his sword. His round shield was painted a deep blood red, with a coiled snake—ready to strike—engraved on the metal boss.
Tucked under his brawny arm, a conical metal helmet with a nose guard glistened in the morning sunlight streaming through the windows overlooking the Rhine. Alberic recognized the helmet and armor. It was the same that the troll Narglok wore for his assumed identity as Óttarr Skov. A Varangian warrior and Rus raider from the Baltic Sea.
As the menacing Viking approached their table, Zhúlgorr rose to his full diminutive height and introduced him to Alberic. “Lord Alberic, Count of Soissons, may I present Ilya Rurikovich, a Varangian warrior from Novgorod known as Skugga—the Shadow.”
Alberic remained seated, asserting his superior rank as a Frankish count, but ducked his clean-shaven chin to acknowledge the Viking brute. Still rattled by the unexpected summons and the unsettling presence of theDökkálfarand the mysterious malva, he wondered where all this was leading.
While Zhúlgorr continued his introduction, the Varangian warrior assessed Alberic with an icy blue stare that sent shivers through his shaking limbs. “Skugga is not only the commander of an elite band of Varangian warriors, he is also thehersirof asnekkja— a sleek, swift vessel capable of reaching Ísland before theWolf of the Nordic Seasand his trio ofdrakkarlongships.”
Skugga inclined his dark head in homage to Alberic.
Myrkkha greeted the Varangian warrior, who bent at the waist to gallantly kiss her elegant, tattooed hand. “Please join us, Ilya.” She smiled asthe bearded Rus Viking lowered his armored bulk into the available chair and accepted a mug of mead from Zhúlgorr. “Is your ship ready to sail?”
Skugga downed half the contents of his goblet and swiped a swarthy hand over his black braided beard. “It is, indeed, my lady. I suggest we depart within the hour. To take advantage of the outgoing tide.”
An astounded Alberic addressed the bearded brute. “Your vessel can overtake the threedrakkarlongships hat sailed from Étretat a week ago? How is that possible?”
Mellow laughter rippled from Myrkkha. “Because theWolf of the Nordic Seasplans to stop at the Faroe Islands. To replenish supplies, of course. But also to enlist the aid of his ally, Haldor Falk. The shapeshiftingvitkiknown as theFalcon of the Faroe Islands.” Themalva’slush lips clamped on the rim of her silver goblet, sending a staggering wave of lust straight to Alberic’s straining loins. The sultry glimmer in her crimson eyes conveyed comprehension of her intended effect on Alberic. She smirked with sly satisfaction. “Skugga and I shall arrive in time to prevent Elfi Thorfinnsdóttir from marrying theWolf of the Nordic Seas. I shall destroy thevölvawho wields solar magic. Gúldur will avenge the death of his brother Nithrak. And you, Lord Alberic of Soissons, will successfully seizele Château Blanc.”
Adrenaline spiked in Alberic’s veins.
The deep, gravelly voice of the Varangian warrior interrupted his racing thoughts. “I shall abduct Elfi of Étretat in Ísland and return her to you, so that you may force the marriage as planned. I shall also aid you in seizing the castle, eliminating Richard the Fearless, and the Dragon of Denmark, Skårde the Scourge. You will establish a Frankish colony in the Viking heart of thePays de Caux.” A serpentine grin slithered across Skugga’s scarred face. “And when your grateful king proclaims you the Frankish Duke of Normandy, you will ally with me against the newly crowned Danish king, Sweyn Forkbeard—son of Harald Bluetooth, our mutual enemy. With an alliance between King Lothaire of West Francia and you as the Duke of Normandy, my magnanimous prince Vladimir will proclaim meKnyaz ofNovgorod—a rank of Rus nobility equivalent to your title as a Frankish duke.”
Myrkkha leaned forward, offering Alberic another enticing view. Her melodic voice was smooth and rich as honey. “Skugga and I shall ensure that Gúldur and Narglok prevail in Ísland. That theWolf of the Nordic Seasand his allies—theLjósálfarand theÚlfhéðnar—are slain in the bloody battle. And that you, Alberic of Soissons, shall marry Elfi of Étretat and acquire the clifftop castle ofChâteau Blanc.”She inclined her scarlet head, deferring to Skugga.
