As Haldor lowered himself into the blissful relief of heat, Úlvhild removed her woolen gown and linen chemise underdress, kneeling nude beside the woolen tub. With a small ceramic pitcher, she poured warm water over his head, kneaded soap through his filthy hair, and rinsed away the salt and grime from the sea.
He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the tempting sight of her creamy breasts, the pink nipples enticing him as she leaned forth to pour the rinse water through his hair. Unable to resist, he pulled her toward him and suckled one with a guttural moan.
“Let me finish first,” she murmured, her voice husky, as she soaped his chest, back, neck, and arms, driving him wild as she washed between his shaking legs. “I want to worship all of your glorious body.” She rose to her feet and slipped across the floor,giving Haldor a perfect view of her alluring backside and long, lithe limbs. Fetching something from her pouch of herbs, she returned—ever so slowly—allowing Haldor to drink in the sight of her sleek body. And the tempting thatch of dark hair between her slender thighs.
“Lavender, mint, and myrrh,” she whispered, pouring a small amount of fragrant oil into her hands and massaging it into his shoulders and back. “To soothe, revitalize, and restore you.” Her strong hands kneaded his flesh, stoking his desire to the point of madness. Unable to withhold any longer, he stood, water running in rivulets through the hair of his chest and down his legs. He grabbed the linen cloth which lay at her side and dried off quickly, stepping out of the tub and onto the floor.
He pulled her against his pounding chest, shuddering with desire as he lowered his lips onto hers. Brushing them softly at first, he deepened the kiss, parting her lips with the tip of his tongue to penetrate, probe, and reclaim her as his.
She moaned into his mouth, her legs weakening as she collapsed against him. He scooped her up and carried her to the bed, laying her gently atop the pile of soft furs and spreading her legs wide to feast his ravenous gaze on her tender flesh. “I have hungered for you for eight long winters. How I long for your taste.” Haldor lowered his mouth onto her glistening pink folds, savoring her sweet, salty flavor. “Mmm,” he murmured, lapping and stroking with eager lips, fingers, and tongue. “Golden mead of the gods.” He rubbed her sensitive bud with the tip of his nose, bristled lips, and tender tongue, thrusting two fingers deep inside her wet warmth in a relentless rhythm, like waves crashing against the cliff. He felt her limbs tense, her body taut as a tightly drawn bow, until she shuddered in release, clenching his fingers with a pulsating grip, quivering under his insistent tongue.
Haldor hovered above her, nudging her thighs apart with muscled knees as he positioned himself between her trembling legs. He slid calloused hands beneath her smooth bottom and tilted her hips up to receive him. With a groan of ecstasy, he buried himselfdeep inside her. He pounded her tight flesh, the delicious surge rising quickly, until the fountain burst forth from his body as he arrowed into Úlvhild, filling her with his seed and his soul.
After a few moments, he laid down at her side, cradling her over his chest. She traced theseiðrfjáðrmark above his heart with first a fingertip, then her tongue, sending a sizzle up his still shivering spine.
“Now that I can think and speak,” he quipped, smoothing her wild mane of long black hair, “perhaps you can explain why you summoned me here. I suspect it has to do with Njörd and his quest to reclaim Brökk’s Dwarven sword.”
“I had a vision,” she said, stroking the dark hair and glimmering feathers which stretched across his chest. “There will beDökkálfarand a band of raiders, with a black raven and blood red stripe on the sail of their stealthy ships.” She sat up, a flash of terror blazing in her amber eyes. “I saw a warrior with a scarred face, clad in black leather and a black fox fur cloak, He wields a deadlyDökkálfarsword—imbued with the essence of a black snake.” Úlvhild gripped Haldor’s hand and clutched it to her breast. “He has been sent by the Frankish Count of Soissons who serves King Lothaire.” She tossed wiry black locks away from her frantic face. “The Count wants to seizele Château Blanc. This past spring, Soissons attacked thechâteau, killed Elfi’s brother Dag, and stole Dag’sLjósálfarsword. On the summer solstice, Soissons attacked again and abducted Elfi’s father Thorfinn. The Frankish count tried to force Elfi to submit to his demand for her hand in marriage—in exchange for her father’s life. But Elfi is a warrior, so rather than surrender, she sent for Jarl Rikard. And the duke asked King Harald to send a Danish jarl to marry the Heiress of Étretat. Harald sent Njörd—the Jarl of Ribe known as theWolf of the Nordic Seas. And now, we must sail to Ísland at once. Because Njörd must reclaim Brökk’s Dwarven sword. And marry Elfi before the Snake Warrior and theDökkálfarattack.” She ran a loving finger along Haldor’s bearded cheek. “They want to prevent Njörd fromfulfilling the prophecy. And abduct Elfi for the Frankish count before she can marry Njörd.”
Haldor digested the disquieting information. “So you need me to summon the birds as we battle theDökkálfar.Like I did alongside Skårde when we reclaimed Jarl Rikard’s fortress in the Battle of Fécamp.”
“I do indeed. But we also need Skjöld. For I saw in the vision that he will shield theLjósálfarwhile Idestroy the shadow cloaks of theDökkálfarwith my new magic.” Úlvhild slipped out of bed, her wild black hair falling to her narrow waist. “Granted to me by the Sun Goddess Sól.” Graceful as a swan, she floated across the floor and selected a quartz crystal from the shelf, which she set upon the table. With impish delight, she flashed Haldor a dazzling smile and cast a brilliant beam of sunlight with a flick of her fingers toward the clear gem. To his astonishment, it sparkled like a radiant star. “Sólrún,” she whispered, golden eyes aglow in the firelight. “The secret rune magic of the sun and the stars.”
She scampered back to the bed and pounced on him like a cat, straddling him with her long legs as she leaned down to swallow his lips into her own. “More magic to share with you through theseiðrfjáðrwhich binds us as one.”
“A sizzle of power rippled up my spine.” His senses reeled at the touch of her full, luscious lips, his body responding with immediate ardor. But before they made love again, he wanted to share his news with her.
He showed Úlvhild the ouroboros ring which shimmered on his smallest finger. “I have new magic as well. Or rather, the power to summon magic. Of afrostdragon.” He grinned as her eyes widened in wonder. “You’ll hear the tale tonight, when Skjöld describes his vision. He saw a young woman trapped on a ship. I saved her life with that Dwarven spear,” he said, nodding toÍsfálkr,which hung on a hook near the door.“In return, she gifted me this ring to summon her when needed. She is halfLjósálfar—indeed, she healed me from aDökkálfarwound—and halfjótunn, with theability to shift into afrostdragon.” He rotated the ring so that the runes etched in the dragon’s scales shimmered with violet fire. “I can summon her for the battle in Ísland. Skadi projects a plume offrostfireflame. And can soar high into the sky on enormous silver wings.”
He pulled Úlvhild down against his chest, wrapping his arms behind her back and kissing the top of her sweet head. “We’ll ensure that Njörd reclaims Brökk’s sword. And marries Elfi before the battle begins. With your sólrúnmagic, Skjöld’s Dwarven shield, and my ability to summon Skadi, we’re certain to prevail in Ísland.”
Úlvhild ran a hesitant finger over the glimmering ring. “Skadi? You call her by name and wear her ring?”
“Jealous?” Haldor teased her with a taunting smile.
“Of course I am.” Intense lovelight burned in her desperate golden gaze.
He pulled her into his arms again, cradling her protectively over his pounding heart. “There is no need, my love. There can be no one for me but you.” Haldor kissed her wild black hair. “Skadi issoulboundwith Skjöld. Just as I am with you.”
When Úlvhild raised her head and gazed into his eyes, Haldor sensed a profound sorrow in her. “You must beware the Snake Warrior,” she whispered, brushing soft lips against his. “I saw him raise hisDökkálfarblade to strike you down. Promise me you will not underestimate him. For he intends to kill both you and Skjöld.”
“I promise. But no more talk of prophesies and battles,” he said, rolling her over onto the pile of furs. “Our last coupling was urgent and quick. But this time… I want to make it last.”
Chapter 15
Welcoming Feast
Haldor’s cooks, Hildr and her daughter Ragna, had prepared a sumptuous feast of roast mutton with garlic and onions, grilled haddock with roasted carrots and turnips, barley bread with creamy sheep cheese, and oat cakes with hazelnuts and honey. Vigdis, the talentedbruggyfr,hadbrought forth the barrel ofher famous bilberry mead known asFálkamjöðr—Falcon’s Mead—which she had brewed and reserved in cold storage for the welcoming feast when Haldor returned home. As Úlvhild savored the delightful contrast in flavors between the sweet honey of the mead and the tart tang and earthy spice of the deep purple berries, she sipped the violet brew which captured the firelight like the shimmery falcon feathers which trimmed Haldor’s magnificent grey wool cloak and the leather vambraces strapped to his rugged forearms.
How handsome he looked, seated upon theöndvegi—the elaborately carved, elevated wooden seat, reserved for the jarl ofFálkhöll,whose massive oak was intricately detailed with falcons, feathers, and runes. Úlvhild admiredhis deep red woolen tunic with falcon motifs embroidered in shimmery silver thread which glistened along the collar and hem. She had lovingly braided deep red garnets and silver beads, etched with the head of a falcon, into his thick dark hair and glorious beard. The sparkling gems exuded both beauty and power, just like the man himself.
Two more nights. I shall soak up every drop of the love he offers. Treasure every moment, for this is our last time together. I’ll pour my new sólrún magic through the seiðrfjaðr mark which binds us. Fortify him as much as I can. For he mustsurvive the battle of Ísland. Even though I shall not.
As Úlvhild listened to Skjöld share tales of his long, arduous journey to become a Sámi spirit walker—days spent in isolation in dark caves without food or water, swimming naked in the freezing fjord, breaking free from tightly bound animal sinew, enduring the endless jab of bone needles as the ash, woad, and reindeer fat ink was embedded into his skin—she relived her own training to become avölva, pushing her body to the limits of physical endurance in order to open her spirit to the Otherworld. She marveled at Haldor’s acolyte—the young boy of ten winters he had brought to train inFálkhöll,then among the Sámi tribe who had raised Haldor himself— remarking how very much Skjöld resembled his father Skårde as the tattooed blond brute described his final test to become anoaidi.
TheBlóðsmiðr,Ljósálfar,andÚlfhéðnarwere equally enthralled asSkjöld related his spirit journey in which theÁhkká—his female Breton ancestors from whom he had inherited the gift of sight through water—had revealed an impending attackon an unsuspecting dwarf with a hoard of treasure and a cache of Dwarven weapons hidden inside a secret cave.
“Skjöld used his gift to find the cave,” Haldor told the attentive allies gathered in the Great Hall. “We informed the dwarf that Skjöld was anoaidiwho had foreseen an impending attack by Rus raiders andDökkálfarintent on seizing his weapons and treasure. We offered to fight at his side, and Skjöld explained that he had foreseen two weapons in the vision—a shield with a shimmering gem that projected fire, and a spear with a curved blade shaped like the beak of a falcon. When the dwarf invited us into his cave, he gifted the shield to Skjöld and the spear to me. We used these Dwarven weapons in the battle to defeat the raiders and turn theDökkálfarto stone.”
