Heart pounding, adrenaline surging in his veins, he jumped at the sudden roar of vicious snarls, shrieks, and snapping bones—then eerie silence. A few moments later, the trio of wolves appeared, with the severed limbs and heads of twoDökkálfar,which they carried in their bloodied maws and flung into the fire.
As the bodies burned, thick, noxious smoke swirled like serpents into the black sky, a fetid stench fouling the night air. When the threeÚlfhéðnarshifted back into human form, Njáll fetched a waterskin, swished out his mouth, and spat into the fire. “Dökkálfartaste like death. Enough to make a wolf gag.” He passed the pouch to his lupine brothers, who rinsed their mouths and spat as well.
Njáll glanced at Skjöld, his feral eyes gleaming. “Trollkorscold again?”
Skjöld nodded. “Glad it woke me up.” He grinned at the trio of wolves. “And glad you three were in the camp.” He turned toward the tent he shared with Skadi. “See you at dawn. May the gods favor us tomorrow.”
Njáll, Bodo, and Flóki ducked their bearded chins and headed off to their respective tents.
Inhaling deeply to calm his jagged nerves. Skjöld slipped back into his tent to reassure Skadi.
She threw her arms around his neck, showering his facewith frantic kisses. “Thank all the gods you’re safe!”
He held her close, his hands gentle, his voice calm. “TheÚlfhéðnarkilled twoDökkálfarspies. Thetrollkorsis cold again, so all is well.” Removing his bearskin cloak, boots, breeches, andbrynja, he lead her back to their pile of furs. “Come. Let’s try to sleep. Dawn will be here soon.”
Inside the furs, she curled against him, and soon, sleep found them both.
* * * *
Dawn broke beneath a steely grey sky thick with clouds, but the rain had finally ceased. After a quickdagmálof barley porridge and salted pork, the men packed up tents, loaded the wagons, doused the fires, and saddled the horses. Jarl Rikard led the vanguard of armored warriors and Norman knights, while Skjöld, Skadi, and Haldor flanked Hugh Capet, the clergy, and the electoral council, as they rode onward to Noyon.
A shrill horn blast split the cold morning air, searing the bleak sky from the heights ofla Montagne Couronnée. Atop the forested ridge where the imposing fortress loomed, King Lothaire and his son Louis the Fifth reined their warhorses before the armored Frankish army, the royal blue banner emblazoned with three goldenfleur-de-lyssnapping in the biting wind.
Spurring his majestic warhorse—its engraved steel chamfron and blue caparison glinting in the grey morning gloom—King Lothaire raised his blade high, the dim light shining along its sharpened edge as he bellowed the command to charge. “The crown is mine! Cut down the traitor and his Viking dogs!”
Swords drawn, lances leveled, two hundred armored warriors thundered down the grassy slope with a deafening roar, war cries echoing across the valley below.
Chaos and carnage erupted as arrows rained from the skies.
“Anjou—to the west!” Rikard bellowed, as Audric of Amiens’ Frankish army burst from the tree line in a torrent of steel. Sinister blades and golden serpentine eyes flashing with fire, dozens ofDökkálfardescended upon the Count of Anjou’sfrantic knights, their hissing snarls blending with the shrieks of fallen men.
The dense cloud cover blocked the sun, rendering thegildirgems useless against theDökkálfar. Lugh, Ildris, and a dozenLjósálfarsent by Queen Íssla leapt into the fray,dragonscalearmor shimmering in the soft light, Light Elven swords glinting slightly in the gloom. AsLjósálfarsteel pierced reptilian flesh, the screeching, snapping beasts turned to stone.
While Jarl Rikard and Thorfinn held Lothaire’s northern assault with the Norman vanguard, swords clashed, axes splintered shields, and lances pierced armor with jolting thuds. Amidst the roar of combat and the whinny of terrified horses, the duke wheeled his mount and bellowed to Skjöld, gesturing fiercely toward the east, where Skårde and his Viking army fromChâteaufortsurged from the dense woods.“Base of the mountain! Shield Capet!”
Skjöld hollered to the terrified clergy and council members at his side. “Leave the horses here—we go on foot. Follow me!” He dismounted and called to Haldor, Njáll, Bodo, and Flóki. “Help me get them over there.” He pointed to the sheltered curve at the mountain’s base. With Capet, the clergy, and council huddled close, Skjöld raced across the churned, muddy grass with Skadi, Luna, Haldor, and the threeÚlfhéðnar,He raisedhis Dwarven shield high, ready to form the protective ring offrostfire.
As the trio of wolf warriors grouped the council in a tight circle, Haldor shouted in Skjöld’s ear. “I need to summon the birds. I’ll have a better vantage point up there.” He indicated a rocky ledge above their position. “Shield Capet. And send Skadi into the sky.”
With a swirl of pale blue light and a flash of violet fire, Skadi unfurled her magnificent wings, scales shimmering like frost on an icy fjord. She swept into the dark grey sky, a streak of brilliance against the gloom.
“Stay with Skjöld.” Njáll’s deep voice was ragged and raw as he pulledLuna close. He pressed a fervent kiss to her lips before turning to Skjöld. “Protect her for me.” Desperation blazed in his fierce, feral gaze. “Bodo, Flöki, and I are going for theDökkálfar.May the gods grant us victory—or Valhalla!” With a nod to his two lupine brothers, Njáll shifted into a massive black wolf. Close behind, two snarling brown wolves followed him into the chaotic din.
Skjöld pressed histhumb against theEldhrímrrune inside his Dwarven shield, unleashing a plume offrostfireflame and encircling the council, the clergy, Luna, and Capet.
As he completed the shield of fire, the talisman under his armor suddenly burned against his chest.
He remembered Elfi saying that trolls could assume any form, and that thetrollkorswould burn hot in the presence of one.Her words of warning floated into his mind.If the Frankish king sent a troll to Ísland, to prevent Njörd from fulfilling his prophecy, he might well try to thwart you in Noyon.
As his eyes frantically searched the council members huddled behind him, he realized with horror that he was shielding the wrong Hugh Capet.
For therealCapet—in his distinctive dark green cloak—was stranded near the terrified horses, with an equally terrified bishop.
And Lothaire, with four armored knights, was barreling toward the future king.
Skjöld needed to get to the real Capet and bring him and the bishop into the protected circle. But in order to do so, he would have to retract the fire, leaving the council, clergy—and Luna—exposed to the troll and the carnage of battle.
And he needed to immediately halt Lothaire’s advance before it was too late.
