“We’ll keep it furled overnight, to protect it from the winds. Tomorrow morning, before Skjöld and I depart, we’ll offer a sacrifice to the sea gods for safe passage.” Haldor wiped his sweaty brow and hopped from the ship back onto the grassy bank.
“This gift humbles me, Dvalinn. Your generosity shall never be forgotten.” Skjöld bowed his head in gratitude to the Dwarven blacksmith.
“Thanks to your vision, I still have my forge, my weapons, my mountain—and my life. It is I who am indebted to you.” The setting sun gilded the dwarf’s golden eyes and set fire to his flame red hair.
While Gunnar and Dáinn jumped from thesnekkjaonto the grassy bank, Skjöld stood on the shore, the salty wind whipping his long blond hair and the white fur of his bearskin cloak, admiring the gleaming prow of theDragonfirelongship, which now belonged to him. He inhaled the cold, brackish tang of the salty fjord, envisioning the return to Normandy and his parents’ castle ofChâteaufort.
In the eight winters since he’d left thePays de Caux,Skjöld had become a battle-hardened Viking warrior, thanks to the bloodyBlóðsmiðrcrew.He grinned as the bearded faces of Gråskegg, Bjarni, and Yrjar—and memories of their ruthless, relentless training—floated on the waters of the fjord before him. He’d also become a Vikingvitki,a rune master like his mentor, Haldor Falk. And a Sáminoaidi, a spirit walker through water, able to commune with theÁhkká.
His father Skårde would be duly impressed with Skjöld’s brute strength and exceptional skill with sword, spear, and axe. And now, with theÍsfirshield and thesnekkjaship, he’d burst with pride in his son’s commendable achievements. Skjöld’s mother Ylva—a Druid priestess and Celtic healer—would bethrilled to see her son wield the gift of otherworldly sight through water that he’d inherited from her. And learn how her legacy had enabled him to become anoaidi,whose vision had earned him a Dwarven shield with which he would fulfill Úlvhild’s prophecy.
A flicker of light drew Skjöld’s attention from his reverie to an adornment around Skadi’s slender throat. The wind had swept her cloak away from her neck, and Skjöld’s first thought was that she wore some sort of jewel. But when he looked more closely at the blackened silver torc which encircled her pale throat, the crimson-eyed witch that he’d seen in the vision appeared in the blood red runes. Revulsion shuddered down his spine. “What is that?” he hissed, recoiling in horror as Haldor, Dvalinn, Gunnar, and Dáinn gathered around to see.
“A cursed collar. To prevent me from wielding my power.” Skadi spat with impotent rage.
“But… you wieldednen glirto cure my wound.” Haldor bared the healthy skin of his healed forearm, where the Dark Elvenblade had inflicted the gruesome gash.
“Dökkálfardarkness cannot extinguishLjósálfarlight.” A wistful smile brightened Skadi’s somber face. “It was a different power they wished to subdue. And they have, with this malevolent torc.”
“When I gazed at the runes, I saw the crimson-eyed witch—the one from the vision in the fjord.” Skjöld stepped back, to allow Haldor a better view of the ominous blood-red runes. “I sense her sinister magic.”
Haldor examined the intricate pattern of interlocking runes in the charred, corrupted metal. “These arebindrunes,”he murmured to Skjöld, indicating the three interwoven symbols. “Thurisaz,the thorn—to block power.Nauthiz, for constraint, to bind the magic. AndKenaz, the flame. To control fire. A trio of interwoven runes, to triple the strength of the spell.” His falcon eyes blazed as he spoke to Skadi. “What power did theDökkálfarwish to suppress?”
Skadi avoided Haldor’s question and turned instead to the Dwarvenblacksmith at her side. “Lord Dvalinn, you have a vast array of magical weapons. Can you remove this cursed collar? And I will answer Lord Falk with a demonstration.”
Dvalinn bellowed with gruff laughter as he withdrew his Dwarven knife from the leather sheath at his waist. He displayed the glistening blade, adorned with an amber stone which glowed with sunlit fire. Etched along the curved spine were arcane runes that pulsed with palpable power. “Fjallráðr.Mountain’s Might,” he grumbled, golden eyes gleaming like molten ore. “Made of Dwarven steel. Capable of cleavinganymetal throughout the nine realms, fromAlfheim’ssilver spires toNiflheim’sfrozen chains.”
He donned a leather glove, which he withdrew from his belt, and slipped his skilled fingers under the torc to protect Skadi’s tender throat. With a sure, single stroke, he sliced through the vile metal, severing the shackle without a scratch upon her luminous skin.
Skadi staggered, her legs nearly buckling beneath her, shuddering in audible relief. “Many thanks, Lord Dvalinn. You’ve freed me from that wretched curse.” Reaching her arms overhead, she stretched out her limbs, regaining her repressed power. A radiant smile illuminated her beautiful face, her icy blue eyes glittering like frosted stars. “And now, Lord Falk,” she said, clutching the ends of her deep blue cloak, “I will show you why theDökkálfarcontained me.”
Skadi spun in a swirl ofLjósálfarlight, a whirl of blue flame frosted with violet ice. As the whirlwind whipped, gathering wind from the fjord, it shimmered with searing light. And from the blinding spiral of ice and flame, a majestic frost dragon unfurled.
Her serpentine body was graceful and sleek, the perfect balance between beauty and terror. Enormous wings laced with shimmering scales of a pale glacial blue were edged with violet frost, like fire beneath a frozen lake. Elegant and angular, her slender snout was lined with delicate ridges of crystalline frost, yet her powerful jaws revealed sharp, pointed fangs like lethal spears of ice. Curved talons edged her lavender claws, forearmsand massive hind legs etched with deep blue glowing runes. Long and sinuous, her whip-like tail tapered to a pointed blade of sharply frosted crystal.
While men and dwarves gaped in astonishment and awe, Skadi spread her shimmering wings and took to the twilit sky, soaring above the icy fjord. She circled and dove, racing toward the westernmost point of the rocky island.
Where she unleashed a plume offrostfire,like the frozen blaze from theÍsfirshield.
The glorious dragon swooped down to the rocky beach, landing not far from a stunned Skjöld. And, in a flash of ice blue light tinged with violet frost, shifted back into Skadi.
“I am halfLjósálfar, from my mother Vélara,” she announced with a luminous grin, approaching the stunned, speechless men. “And halfjótunn. For my father, Skallagrímr, was a shapeshifting frost giant.”
Skjöld’s magic surged, a current of energy sparking from Skadi and mingling with his own. His spirit stirred in her presence, as if magically drawn to her. Skadi healed with theLjósálfarmagic ofnen glir,the Light Elven song of water—like the gift of sight through water which Skjöld’s mother Ylva had passed on to him. And Skadi wieldedfrostfireflame as a dragon, the same magic as Skjöld with his Dwarven shield.
Her ice blue eyes held his—sealing the otherworldly bond between them—as waves of water and flames offrostfireinundated Skjöld’s scorching veins.
Tearing her searing gaze away from Skjöld, Skadi turned to smile at Haldor. “Lord Falk, you saved my life with your Dwarven spear,” she said, indicatingÍsfálkr, which leaned against the side of the mountain beneath Dvalinn’s cave. “And you are theFalcon of the Faroe Islands, avitkiwho commands winged creatures.” She reached inside a hidden pouch sewn into the lining of her woolen cloak and withdrew a silverouroborosring—a dragon swallowing its own tail in an infinite loop. “Orkadrakk.” she whispered, placing the ring in Haldor’s palm. “The force of thedragon.” Skadi traced a delicate fingertip over the shimmering silver band etched with a trio of Nordic runes which glowed with violet light. “Fehu, for magical power.Othala,for ancestral heritage. AndGebo, for divine balance between myLjósálfarandJótunnmagic.”
At Haldor’s inquisitive look, Skadi smiled again, radiatingLjósálfarlight. “Now you may call forth afrostdragon. Touch the trio of runes and speak the command.Orkadrakkwill summon me from the skies.”
Haldor slipped Skadi’s ring—too tiny for his enormous hand—onto his smallest left finger. An array of intense emotions flickered in his fierce falcon gaze. Honor. Gratitude. Reverence. Vehemence. Resolve. Taking hold of her porcelain hand, he raised it to his bearded lips, bowing at the waist to bestow a noble kiss. “Thank you, my lady. A sacred gift, which I shall always wear with honor.”
Dvalinn clapped Haldor’s shoulder, a broad grin breaking through his braided red beard. “Well earned, rune-weaver. May it serve you well.” With a swoop of his brawny arm, he invited everyone to head toward the stairs. “Come—it’s time for the feast. We’ll exchange tales over mugs of mead.”
Chapter 8
Freyja’s Eyes
