On the deck of thesnekkja,Ísfálkrfound its intended mark, impaling theDökkálfarthrough the chest.
Petrifying him into stone.
Skjöld rushed to Haldor’s side, relieved to see his mentor staunch the blood from his wounded arm with a strip of linen torn from the lining under his woolen tunic.
“It’s just a scrape.” He flashed Skjöld a crooked smile. “Go free the girl.”
Skjöld sprinted across the scorched battleground, where human corpses—victims of crossbow quarrels and arrows— cluttered the black rocks splattered with blood and salt spray from the sea. As he neared the shore, he spotted the petrified forms of severalDökkálfar,turned to stone by Durinn and Dáinn’s Dwarven bolts.
And the crushing blows of Dvalinn’sSteinvegrhammer.
Skjöld climbed aboard the ship, palms up to indicate he came in peace as he slowly approached the young woman tied to the mast. “I will not harm you.” His tone was gentle and reassuring, as if he were calming a frightened horse.
She was young— no older than he— her limbs shaking from exhaustion, terror, or cold. A heavy woolen cloak of deepest blue, fastened under the neck, draped her pale lavender gown. Her shoulders were slumped forward, awkwardly pulled by the short length of the rope which tightly bound her wrists. The harsh sea winds had whipped her long blonde hair, the tangled locks tumbling down her arms, onto the pinewood planks of the deck. Sparkling with violet fire, her ice blue eyes blazed like the flames from hisÍsfirshield. As a sliver of sunlight sliced through the dark clouds, the woman’s pale skin shimmered, nearlytranslucent, her ethereal aura lit from within.
“I am Skjöld,” he whispered, withdrawing the knife at his waist and kneeling to cut her ropes. “What is your name?”
“Skadi. Like the Norse Goddess of Winter.” Her smiling eyes sparkled like sunlit snow.
“I will bring you inside,” he said, indicating the dwarf’s cave on the ledge of the cliff with a nod of his head. “Where you can warm yourself before the fire.”
When he sliced through the rough ropes, Skadi rubbed her wrists, the tender skin raw and tinged with blood. “Thank you,” she murmured, as Skjöld helped her to a stand, her legs wobbling while she regained her balance. She gazed up at Haldor, who was watching them both, standing on the scorched earth charred by theÍsfirshield. “Who is thatvitki? He flies as a falcon, and summons birds to attack from the skies. He killed myDökkálfarguard with that spear…” she indicatedÍsfálkr, laying near the stone statue at her feet, “…and risked his life to save mine.”
“My mentor, Haldor Falk.Falcon of the Faroe Islands.” Skjöld flashed her a proud, triumphant grin.
Skadi glanced up again at Haldor, her brow furrowing in concern. “You must take me to him.” Urgency laced her tremulous voice. “For he was wounded by aDökkálfarblade. And I am aLjósálfarhealer.”
Chapter 6
Skadi
Haldor stood on the scorched ground, gripping his injured arm with the strip of linen he’d torn from the lining of his tunic. He watched Skjöld—clad in thenoaidiwhite bearskin cloak, the fierce blue dragon tattoo coiling around his neck—help the young woman from the deck of thesnekkjalongship onto the grassy bank of the shore. A glimmer of magic flowed between them, like starlit waters of an icy fjord.
Wrapped in a dark blue cloak over a light purple gown, her pearlescent skin radiated an otherworldly glow, shimmering like spun silver. Although tangled and matted from salty winds and sea spray, her pale blonde hair tumbled in wild waves to her narrow waist. Wintry blue eyes sparkled with violet light, like thefrostfireflames of Skjöld’sÍsfirshield. Despite her ethereal beauty, tremendous power emanated from the ice maiden. Undoubtedly why theDökkálfarhad captured her.
As Skjöld led the lady up the hill, Haldor reflected how the magic sparking between them reminded him of the first time he’d seen Úlvhild. Her wild mane had also tumbled to her waspish waist…but of deepest black instead of moonlit blonde. Hisvölva’seyes had glowed with otherworldly light, but molten gold rather than icy blue. Her magic had sparked his own, the current between them sizzling with passion. And when their bodies had melded in ecstasy, their magic had merged as one. An immutable, infinite bond entwined them—heart, body and soul.
As tantalizing images of Úlvhild’s long limbs wrapped around his throbbing body throttled him with unbearable longing, grief gripped Haldor in a crushing, suffocating vice.
Three days was all he had leftto live. For he’d been wounded by aDökkálfarblade.
Haldor would never see his belovedvölvaagain, nor ask for her hand one last time. Inhaling sharply, he pulled bracingly cold, cleansing salt air deep into his constricted lungs. Now that fate had tragically altered his plans, he decided on a new course of action.
He would give Úlvhild theÍsfálkrspear, which Skjöld had retrieved for him on the enemy ship and now carried up the rocky incline.
His Battle Wolf—Haldor smiled wistfully at the Norse meaning of Úlvhild’s name—could wield the Dwarven weapon alongside Skjöld, his father Skårde, and Jarl Rikard, the Viking Duke of Normandy.
To defend the Land of the White Chalk Cliffs against the enemy Franks.
Along the alabaster coast of her belovedPays de Caux.
Haldor lifted the blood-soaked linen strip and peered at the festering wound on his right inner forearm. A foul-smelling pus oozed from the deep gash, and black swirls snaked like sinister shadows from the angry, reddened skin. At Skjöld’s approach with the young woman, he quickly covered the wound to conceal it from his acolyte’s perceptive gaze. Although Haldor would not live to see Úlvhild again, he was determined to get Skjold to the village of Vågan. Where theBlóðsmiðrcrew would sail him home to thePays de Caux.
For theSon of the Dragonto fulfill Úlvhild’s fateful prophecy.
“Haldor, this is Skadi. She is aLjósálfarhealer!” Elation blazed like blue fire in Skjöld’s exhilarated gaze.
As incredulous relief flooded Haldor, a deluge of thoughts and emotions stole his speech.
