Haldor and Skjöld said goodnight to all and entered thelàvvuwhich they had shared for the past two summers. Inside the reindeer hide tent, a stone-enclosed fire burned in the center, the curls of smoke slipping through the opening of the high peak, out into the frosty autumn air.
“Jaskka and Máret were pleased with our gifts.” Skjöld stood his Dwarven shield against the side of the tent. He removed his bearskin cloak and chain mail armor, laying them atop the wooden chest where he stored his personal items.
“Indeed they were. I’m proud of you for offering the spirit boat to Jaskka. A truly honorable gift.” Haldor leaned hisÍsfálkrspear against a wooden pole supporting the tent, then shed his reindeer cloak and falcon armor, which he laid over his own wooden trunk. He poured water from a pitcher into a basin to clean his face with a cloth and his teeth with a willow brush.
While Skjöld washed in his own basin, Haldor retrieved the bronze box from his belt and crossed the tent to show him the wedding rings. “A gift from Dvalinn.Freyja’s Eyes.Made from the same amber as herBrisingamennecklace.” He handed the box to Skjöld, who examined the glowing gems and intricate runes inscribed inside the golden bands.
Skjöld beamed from ear to ear. “You plan to ask Úlvhild again?” He knew that she’d already refused Haldor twice. Andthat his late grandfather, King Harald, and his uncle Swey were anxious for Haldor to wed the daughter of the Jarl ofOrkneyjar, for a powerful political alliance of Viking forces. He closed the box and returned it to Haldor, who tucked it back into the belt at his waist.
“I do indeed. On the winter solstice, when we celebrateJólin thePays de Caux.” Haldor returned to the pile of blankets and furs where he slept, removing his belt and placing it on the leather floor of the tent beside his comfortable bed.
“Skadi wants me to come toÁlfheimon the night of the winter solstice.” Skjold’s white teeth gleamed in the firelight. “You and I shall both be with oursoulboundmates. I cannot wait to see her again.”
“Nor can I. It has been eight long winters. I pray she’ll accept me this time. I have no desire whatsoever to wed Svanhild,” Haldor scoffed, referring to the jarl’s daughter. “Or anyone else, for that matter. My heart, body, soul—and magic—are all bound solely to Úlvhild.”
Skjöld laid down on his bed and nestled into his pile of furs. “It will be good to see theBlóðsmiðragain. We’ll arrive in Vågan by midmorning. That will give Niillas and the others time to row back to the village before nightfall.”
“We’ll share a meal, so they have time to rest before heading back. And I agree, it will be good to see Gråskegg and thecrew again.” Haldor reclined on his own bed, pulling furs and blankets over his shoulder. He sighed with a contradictory blend of exhaustion and exhilaration. “I cannot wait to return to thePays de Caux.”
Soon, Skold snored softly, but Haldor, despite his fatigue, felt a restless energy and warmth from thefjörúnmark which bound him to Úlvhild. He pulled back the furs to look at his chest, where theseiðrfjáðr—the violet spiral of herseiðrmagic inside his falcon feather—glowed amidst the magical tattoos shimmering across his chest. As if his thoughts had conjured her, Úlvhild’s voice floated into Haldor’s receptive mind.
“Haldor, heed my call. Do not sail to the Land of the White Chalk Cliffs.. Come at once toFálkhöll. Meet me in the Faroe Islands.”
Chapter 11
Sigurðshöll
Úlvhild was utterly miserable.
The biting winds whipped the strands of hair that had come loose from the long, thick braid down her back as she scrabbled again toward the gunwale, avoiding the oars which stabbed into the sea. The pitching waves rose to jagged peaks, dropping the ship into the dark maw of the deep as if the world serpent coiled beneath the keel. Each lurch of the hull summoned another wave of sickness, her belly churning like the tumultuous sea. Clutching a rough knot of rope lashed to a shield bracket, thevölvahurled the sour broth from her clenching gut, gripping the slick side of Njörd’sDrakkúlfrship as they plowed through the night storm towardOrkneyjar. Weak as a kitten, she crawled back to her damp pile of furs under the waxed wool awning and curled into a ball midway along the ship’s creaking deck. As the wind clawed at the rigging, icy water spilled from the edge of the oilcloth and dripped down her neck. A violent shudder shivered down her spine, an ominous warning from the gods.
Elfi sat down at Úlvhild’s side and stroked the wet hair from her face. Although with child, Elfi—thesjóvættirdaughter of a billow maiden mermaid—was not ill in the least from the rough seas. Her gentle touch was calming and soothing. “The worst is over,” she murmured, her voice barely audible in the howling wind. “Dawn is breaking. Look at the sky.”
Úlvhild lifted her heavy head from the soggy furs. Behind the ship, a soft pink light pierced the dark grey clouds. “Freyja’s light shines upon us. Praise the goddess, we are saved.”
The sentinel’s eager shout rose above the lashing wind and billowing sail. “Land sighted! The black cliffs of Byrgisey!”
Elfi and Sif, her personal attendant, helped Úlvhild slowly sit up so she could peer over the dragon prow.
In the distance, the jagged silhouette of black cliffs rose sharply from the storm-darkened sea. Mist curled around the craggy rocks like pale fingers clinging to stone. At the top of the highest cliff, an enormous longhouse loomed, its sturdy timber blackened by the sea, its roof steeply pitched to defy the storms. As long as a dragon ship and as tall as five men,Sigurðshöll, the stalwart fortress of Sigurd Hlodvirsson, Jarl ofOrkneyjar, stood like an unyielding warlord of the Western Sea.
“Let me tend your hair. It’s come wild with the wind.” Elfi loosened the thick black braid and ran an antler comb through Úlvhild’s wet, wiry mane, deftly replaiting it and tying it with a narrow leather cord. She poured water into a small bowl and fetched a swathe of linen from among her supplies. “Here’s a bit of fresh water and a clean cloth to wipe your face.” Elfi gently washed the vomit from Úlvhild’s cheeks, then retrieved the satchel of herbs and handed it to her with a reassuring smile. “Perhaps mint leaves will cleanse the salt and sickness from your mouth.”
Úlvhild accepted the satchel, rubbed a mint leaf over her teeth and tongue, then spat over the side of the ship, rinsing her mouth with a sip of fresh water. “Thank you, Elfi. I feel almost human again.”
As the threedrakkarships approached the rocky coast, Úlvhild repressed a violent shudder. Here, she would meet Svanhild, the beautiful daughter of Sigurd, Jarl ofOrkneyjar.The coveted bride whom Jarl Rikard, Count Skårde, and King Sweyn Forkbeard all wished to wed Haldor, thereby establishing a formidable Viking alliance between Norway, Denmark, and Normandy, with the Faroe andOrkneyjarislands. Úlvhild forced a swallow as her throat constricted in sorrow.It is for the best. Now that Skjöld’s training has come to an end, it is time for Haldor to wed. Svanhild is young—less than twenty summers old. The perfectbride to bear him many sons. Something I can never do.
Slipping her slender fingers inside her woolen gown, she traced the seiðrfjáðrmark over her heart. Thesoulbindingrune magically bound her to Haldor. He would never marry another, so long as Úlvhild lived. But he would soon be free, for Úlvhild did not expect to survive the upcoming battle inÍsland.
She had foreseen the crimson-eyed witch wield the forces of Hel.
“There’s an inlet up ahead where Njörd plans to bring the three ships ashore.” Elfi’s cheerful voice interrupted Úlvhild’s despondent reverie.“He will beach the ships and meet Jarl Sigurd’sbrytito request hospitality and shelter. And request permission for us to restock supplies.”
WhenDrakkúlfrslid onto the pebbled beach, Elfi and Sif helped Úlvhild stand and rearranged her woolen cape. Her featheredvölvacloak was stored inside the trunk containing her herbs, face paint, and potions. And her moonstone staff was wrapped in protective leather casing, secured to the side of the ship near the pile of furs which had served as her bed. Njörd himself had promised to bring it to her, along with her wooden trunk, once they had been greeted by the jarl and invited into his Great Hall.
“Lugh and I will take six armed guards and meet Jarl Sigurd’s men. They are undoubtedly wary to see our threedrakkarships arrive unexpectedly. We’ll inform them that we come in peace and merely request shelter while we replenish supplies in the village. I’ll be back to escort you off the ship as soon as the jarl extends an invitation.” Njörd motioned to six armored Danes among his crew. The Viking warriors adjusted theirbrynjasand sheathed weapons, following Njörd and Lugh from the ship onto the shore. As commander of theDrakkúlfrwarship, Njörd was the first to disembark, followed by hisLjósálfarally, then his most trusted, battle-hardened men.
At the highly unusual sight of anÚlfhéðnarcommander, clad in a fearsome white wolfskin cloak over chain mail armor, accompanied by a towering Light Elven warrior and six armedVikings, the Orkney guards exchanged uneasy glances, their gloved hands hovering near swords, axes, and spears.
