Inside the cave, the appetizing aroma of wild garlic, fresh herbs, and savory fish stew inundated Haldor’s heightened senses as he followed Dvalinn though the heavy oak door. Places were set at the table with wooden bowls, plates, and spoons. A woven basket of barley bread, a small ceramic dish of butter, and an iron tray of roasted carrots and turnips—the handles and rounded edges charred by the fire—were grouped in the center of the table.
Inga stood near the hearth, turning oatcakes onto a flat slab of soapstone which jutted from the stone wall over the fire. As the sweet scents of honey and hazelnuts wafted into the warm air, Gunnar joined her at the hearth, placing the haddock and cod which he had caught and cleaned onto a woven willow grill stretched across the embers. He brushed the pale flesh with oil and sprinkled it with crushed herbs. The fragrant smoke curled around the pieces of fish as they sizzled gently over the hearth.
“Hang your cloaks and store your armor here,” Dvalinn said, gesturing to hooks in the wall, “then come sit at the table. Dáinn will pour us all a goblet of mead.”
The redbeard apprentice nodded, hanging his reindeer fur cloak on a hook, “I’ll tend to your armor in the morning. Oil it with tallow so the leather shines.” Dáinn collected a ceramic pitcher from the counter, crossed the hearth room, and filled the container with golden mead from a large wooden cask in the corner of the cave. He strode to the table and replenished the pewter mugs, including a goblet for Skadi.
Skjöld helped Skadi remove her woolen mantle, hanging it on a hook near his white bearskin fur and chain mail armor, while Haldor drapedhis reindeer fur cloak and leather armor over wooden pegs protruding from the stone wall. The three guests then settled onto benches on either side of the trestle table, with Skjöld seating himself next to Skadi.
As Dvalinn sat across from Haldor, he spoke to Inga, his thick red brows furrowed in concern. “How is Durinn?”
“Sleeping now. I gave him some fish broth and a bit of bread. And a draught of willow bark for the pain.” With a flat wooden tool, she slid the oatcakes onto a platter and set in on the counter to cool, drizzling the warm cakes with sweet honey. “The fish will take just a few more minutes,” she announced, watching her husband turn the pieces of cod and haddock on the willow grill, “so I’ll serve the stew.”
Inga ladled the savory fish soup into wooden bowls, serving Dvalinn first with a respectful nod to honor him as the host. She then placed a bowl before Skadi, Haldor, Skjöld, and Dáinn, serving Gunnar and herself last of all. Gunnar placed a heaping platter of steaming fish fresh from the grill in the center of the table, settling onto the bench beside Dáinn while he waited for Inga to finished serving. When she took her place beside her husband, Dvalinn raised his mug of mead to propose a toast.
“To Skjöld, the spirit walker whosenoaidivision warned us of the impending raid. To Haldor Falk, thevitkiwho summoned birds to attack from the skies. And to Skadi, whoseLjósálfarlight healed the wounded falcon. You three defended my forge, my mountain, and my kin. Tonight, we feast in your honor. You have my thanks—and my table.Skál!”
The clank of pewter mugs punctuated the hearty cheers as everyone swallowed gulps of mead and dug into the delicious fare.
Washing a mouthful of haddock with a swig of honeyed brew, Haldor wiped his bearded lips with the sleeve of his tunic and spoke across the table to Dvalinn. He was curious to hear how the dwarf had obtained the dragon sail. “You honor us with this splendid feast, Dvalinn. Now regale us with your promised tale.”
The Dwarven blacksmith grumbled with gruff laughter. “The tale begins with Gunnar,” he grunted, raising his mug of mead to the brawny woodcutter at his side. “Speak, woodsman. Tell our guests how you came by the Sámi sail.”
Gunnar took a hearty pull of mead, wiped his lips with a calloused hand, and set his goblet down. Amusement glinted in his crunkled eyes. “I trade for supplies in the Norse settlement of Vågan, but I also swap goods with Sámi villages along the fjord. Five or six winters ago, I met thenoaidiof theLáhpitribe.”
“Jaskka.” Skjöld’s whisper was laced with awe as he darted an amazed glance at Haldor.
“Já,that was his name.” Gunnar nodded and took another pull of mead before continuing his tale. “He’d found a large piece of driftwood on the banks of the fjord, the morning after the winter solstice—when the spirits and stars had danced across the sky,he said. He knew of my skill as a woodcarver, and that I had access to sacred stones.” Gunnar smirked at Dvalinn, a snide grin splitting his bearded cheeks. “Thenoaidiasked me to carve the driftwood in the shape of a wave, for theÁhkkáhad washed it upon the shore as a sacred gift. He wanted it set with an enchanted gem that would warn the village if enemies were near.” The woodsman speared a large piece of haddock with his knife, chewed it with obvious relish, and washed it down with more golden mead. “I brought the driftwood back here. Shaped it with my tools. Carved it with runes, which Dvalinn imbued with wards of protection.” Fervor sparked in Gunnar’s gaze as he turned toward their Dwarven host. “Now tell them about the stone.”
The amber beads in Dvalinn’s braided red beard glimmered like the glowing embers in the hearth. He leaned forward, eager to embellish the tale. “I’d found a brilliant blue crystal, with a heart of violet fire. Trapped in ice, on the eastern side of the mountain—where I’d discovered theHriímsúlgem of yourÍsfirshield,” he said to Skjöld. “I enchanted the gem so the heart would glowin the presence of enemies or malevolent magic.” Dvalinn inclined his head to the burly woodsman. “Gunnar, finish the tale.”
“I returned to the Sámi village with the talisman, and presented it to thenoaidi. He placed the driftwood staff at the base of the cliff, among the trees on the northern bank. So the talisman could serve as a sentinel, protecting the tribe as it kept watch over the sacred fjord.”
“The Eye of the Áhkká.” Skjöld spun to Haldor, astonishment in his sapphire eyes.
Haldor nodded pensively and sipped from his goblet. He lowered the mug to the table and explained to the others. “This past summer solstice, the gem glowed with purple fire, warning us of an imminent attack. A small band of Rus raiders—like the warriors on thesnekkjawe battled today—swarmed the Sámi village, but we were ready, thanks to theEye of the Áhkká. After the attack, Jaskka refused to keep the enemy vessel. Not only would it have been too large and expensive to maintain, but he did not want any malingering spirits near the village. So he traded it to Knút Eiriksson, the Norse chieftain of Vågan, for axes, spearheads, and arrows. Weapons for the warriors of the tribe.” Haldor spoke to Gunnar. “You were paid for the talisman with the dragon sail?”
Gunnar sopped up the rest of the stew in his bowl with a hunk of barley bread, which he popped into his mouth. Washing it down with mead, he swiped his chin and nodded. “Thenoaidisent for the women who had woven the sail. He insisted I take it as payment, for he had foreseen in a vision that it would one daycarry flames across the seas in the form of a dragon.”
Dvalinn raised his mug to honor Skjöld. “To theSon of the Dragonwho wields the flames offrostfire. May the Dwarven shield, the dragon prow, and the Sámi sail carry you across the seas—to fulfill your fateful prophecy.Skál!”
Mugs clinked together as everyone toasted Skjöld with good cheer.
Inga rose from the table, clearing away the empty wooden bowls and platters, which she stacked on the counter, leaving theindividual plates before each guest. “I’ll serve the oatcakes now,” she announced, placing the platter of coarse, nutty rounds dripping with honey in the center of the table.
When Inga took her seat once more, Dvalinn lifted the platter and offered it to Skadi. “Guests first,” he said with a gruff grin.
Skadi broke off a small portion for herself, placed it upon her plate, and passed the platter to Skjöld. “These smell wonderful, Inga. Hazelnuts and honey—two treats I can never resist.” The lovelyLjósálfarflashed Dvalinn’s cook a radiant smile. Inga nearly burst with pride.
Once every wedge of honeyed cake had been claimed, Inga refilled the mugs of mead, and Dvalinn spoke to Skadi. “You’ve heard our tale, now tell us yours, my lady. How did you end up on theDökkálfarship?”
Skadi swallowed a mouthful of cake and sipped from her goblet before responding. “I was raised inJötúnheimwith my frost giant father, Skallagrímr,” she said, pushing back a long lock of pale blonde hair. “I never knew myLjósálfarmother Vélara, for she died giving birth to me.” Skadi’s pale eyes glimmered like winking stars. “This summer past, my father arranged for me to study with aLjósálfarhealer inÁlfheim, so that I could learn to wield the magic ofnen glir.When my training was complete, he met me on the island of Skrova, at the waterfall cave portal toÁlfheim—where theDökkálfarwere waiting for us.” Tears welled in her ice blue eyes, and she struggled to find her voice. “They beheaded my father,” she choked, “and subdued me with a poisoned dart.” She dashed the tears from her luminous cheeks, anger flaring in her fiery gaze. “I woke up chained to the mast of their ship. With the cursed collar around my neck.”
Restless and agitated, Skadi darted an uneasy gaze around the table. “I overheard them say they planned to attack the dwarf’s cave and seize the weapons, so that theSon of the Dragoncould not fulfill the prophecy. The commander of the ship—myDökkálfarguard that you killed,” she told Haldor, “said that he would bring me and the seized Dwarvenweapons to Skugga and Myrkkha. But I do not know where.”
“Myrkkha.” Dvalinn snarled, his lips puckering as if he’d tasted something vile. “The crimson-eyed witch from your vision.” His molten gaze fixed on Skjöld. “She serves Gúldur, theDökkálfarBlacksmith of Dorestad. And Zhúlgorr, the Dark Elven silversmith who forges evil relics and talismans. He undoubtedly crafted the collar around your neck. Which Myrkkha—amalvawho wields darkseiðrmagic—imbued with a malevolent curse.”
“I am eternally grateful to all of you for freeing me.” Skadi beamed at Dvalinn, Haldor, and Skjöld. “And for avenging the death of my father—by killing theDökkálfarwho slew him.” She raised her mug of mead. “To friendship, solid as this mountain. To alliances forged in honor. And to victory of light over darkness. May the gods—and theÁhkká—guide our path.”
