Haldor rose from theöndvegiat the head table where he sat with Úlvhild and Skjöld and fetched the spear which hung on elegant display hooks on the wall behind him. “Ísfálkr,”he proclaimed,proudly displaying his unerring spear, the falcon feathers carved into its frosted ashwood shaft shimmering withviolet ice in the firelight. “Like Odin’s spearGungnir,it never misses its mark.”
He reverently returned the spear to its place and retook his seat at the high table. “I freed a young woman who was imprisoned on the enemy ship by killing herDökkálfarguard with that spear. To our astonishment, she was halfLjósálfar—Odin be praised, for she healed my wound, inflicted by aDökkálfarblade—and halfjótunnfrost giant. With the astounding ability to transform into a dragon.” Haldor flashed the ouroboros band on his finger, which shimmered with the same violet frost as his spear. “She gave me this ring as a gift of gratitude—with the power to summon her in battle.” Haldor grinned at Skjöld, seated on his right. “Skjöld was quite smitten with Skadi. Indeed, he has promised to meet her inÁlfheimon the night of the winter solstice.”
Gråskegg raised his horn of mead and bellowed a toast. “"ToSkjöld, who speaks with spirits and fights like a storm. And to Skadi, winged daughter of frost and fire. May their bond be strong and their saga long.Skál!"
Hjálmarr’s deep voice arose from the table near the dais where he sat with theBlóðsmiðrand high-ranking crew members ofFreyja’s FalconandDragonfireships. “You battled Rus raiders andDökkálfar? And survived to tell the tale?”
Skjöld grinned at his new captain. “Haldor is theFalcon of the Faroe Islands. He can transform into a falcon and take to the skies. Or summon winged creatures to attack.” He flashed a dazzling smile at Haldor. “The birds fell like spears from the skies, blinding the enemy while we attacked with Dwarven weapons. Andfrostfireflame.” Arising from his own seat, Skjöld fetched the inverted droplet shaped shield which hung on a display hook near Haldor’s spear. He carried the weapon down the stairs from the dais, striding across the pinewood floor of the Great Hall to stand beside the hearth fire in the center of the gathered guests. He gestured to theHrímsúlgem which glowed with violet ice in the golden firelight. “Behold thefrostfireflame.” Placinghis thumb on theEldhrímrrune inside the shield, Skjöld projected an enormous plume of brilliant blue flame tinged with violet frost into the roaring fire enclosed within the stone hearth. After retracting the blaze with theKaldheimrrune, he announced to the grinning faces, “That is how we defeated the band of Rus raiders andDökkálfar.And how I obtained myDragonfireship.”
Amidst thunderous applause and howls of approval from theÚlfhéðnar, Skjöld returned to the high table, hungÍsfiron the hook beside theÍsfálkrspear, and took his seat at Haldor’s side.
Úlvhild waited for the cheering to subside before standing to address the rapt crowd. “Like Skjöld,” she announced, nodding to the tattooed blond brute on Haldor’s other side as her clear voice echoed through the silent hall, “I have foreseen an impending attack of Rus raiders andDökkálfar.”She cast a wary gaze over the wolf warriors andLjósálfargathered at the tables of honor. “They will attack us inÍsland, for they wish to seizeÚlfsongr,the Dwarven sword which belonged to your fallen brother Brökk.” Murmurs of unease rippled through the still chamber. “Njörd is destined to reclaim his father’s Dwarven sword and fulfill a prophecy. To slay Gúldur—theDökkálfarBlacksmith of Dorestad. Yet Gúldur seeks to avenge his slain brother Nithrak,” she warned, fixing her gaze on the copper-haired, golden-eyed Ildris. “By slaying theLjósálfarLord of Starlight who killed him.” She raised her catskin-clad arms to silence the menacing growls and muttered curses. “Gúldur and theDökkálfarsail with a band of Rus raiders led by a fearsome Snake Warrior.”
“Skugga!” snarled Hjálmarr, leaping to his feet as all eyes snapped to the glowering, scowling shipmaster. “One of hissnekkja—withDökkálfaron deck—destroyed my shipJárnvingr.Theysummoned shadows that darkened the skies, bewildered my crew, and blinded us. They rammed us,stole our treasure, and sank the ship. Most of my men drowned, but a handful of us made it to shore. We’re part of Skjöld’s crew now, and if you’re sailing into battle in Ísland against Skugga, then you can count on my blade—and my oath to the crew and ship that I lost.”
A warrior from Hjálmarr’s crew raised his horn and shouted “Skál!”
As resounding cheers thundered through the Great Hall, Haldor rose to his feet and raised his commanding arms, the falcon feathers woven into the leather vambraces shimmering with otherworldly light. “Your oath is heard, Hjálmarr. And it is honored.” Haldor paused, letting the silence add weight to his words. He raised his ornate elkhorn of bilberry mead, the silver band around the elaborate mouthpiece intricately embellished with falcons, blood red garnets, and blackened runes. “To the fallen…and to those who raise steel to avenge them.Skál!”
Skjöld, as commander of theDragonfireship whom Hjálmarr served, waited a few moments to honor Haldor’s toast before rising to his feet as well. He nodded to the shipmaster who still stood amidst the suddenly silent, expectant crew. “We’re bound now. By salt, by steel, and by sworn oath. If you seek vengeance against Skugga and theDökkálfar, you’ll have it. Borne by blood and blade.” When he raised his elkhorn in tribute, all followed his lead. “To vengeance. To valor. And to victory. Or Valhalla!”
The entire hall erupted in riotous cheers as the crowd shot to their feet, horns raised high.
Haldor grinned and turned toward the corner of the hall where his musicians awaited his summons, instruments ready to play. Just as he was about to hail them, Njörd’s deep voice rose above the raucous din.
“Jarl Haldor,Falcon of the Faroe Islands, I too have sworn an oath.”
A hush spread across the hearth room as all eyes turned to theWolf of the Nordic Seaswhose white wolfskin cloak imbued the hall with Brökk’s spirit, as if thefylgyawhich the father had sent from the Otherworld to protect the son lingered amongst them now.
“To deliver a message from Sigurd Hlodvirsson, Jarl ofOrkneyjar, who hosted us inSigurðshöllon our way here to Tórshavn.”Njörd’s booming bellow captivated the entire hall, the blue beads braided into his dark beard glistening like waves of the Nordic Seas. “He offers you his daughter Svanhild in marriage, and demands your answer by the winter solstice. Sigurd wishes to seal her betrothal with a celebration and feast during the season ofJól.”
Fury flared in Haldor’s falcon eyes. He clenched his jaw and pressed his lips into a firm grimace, as if to prevent the stark refusal from spilling forth. Úlvhild observed the man she loved struggle with an impossible choice.He knows that King Harald wanted the alliance with Orkneyjar through the marriage to Svanhild. And now that Sweyn Forkbeard is king, he is even more eager than his father, for he has his eye set on reclaiming Norse territories in Aengaland. Jarl Rikard favors the marriage as well. A Viking alliance that unites Norway, Denmark, and Normandy with the Faroe and Orkney Islands is an offer that Haldor cannot refuse.Úlvhild forced a swallow of mead down her painfully constricted throat.He will grieve my death. But he will send word this winter solstice that he accepts Sigurd’s offer. And with the endless negotiations for the mundr bride price and the handsome dowry that Sigurd will undoubtedly offer, Haldor shall have the winter to mourn.She nearly choked on her mead at the memory of casting runes to foresee the future of the jarl’s fertile daughter.Svanhild will bear five healthy sons. Haldor will have heirs for Fálkhöll. A family—and the crucial Viking alliance—will ease the pain of losing me.
Haldor inclined his head to Njörd. “You have fulfilled your oath and delivered Sigurd’s message.” He paused, letting silence hang heavy in the Great Hall. Raising his horn ofFálkamjöðrbilberry mead, he forced a magnanimous grin. “Let the music and dancing begin! And when our feet grow weary, bring forth the skalds!”
As lively melodies from lyres and lutes filledFálkhöll, Haldor took Úlvhild’s hand, raised her from the seat at the high table, and led her down the steps from the elevated wooden dais to the gleaming pinewood floor. He pulled her into his arms, swooped down upon her like a falcon seizing prey. Andpossessively claimed her with a feral kiss. “I will never marry Svanhild—or any other,” he growled in her ear. “You are the only woman I will ever love.”
Úlvhild’s heart soared as he spun her in his arms, determined to absorb every moment of joy they had left. She knew what the Norns had revealed in the vision. And she would fully embrace her fate.
She watched Elfi dance with Njörd, and Bodo twirl Sif in his brawny arms. Njáll and Luna were clearly smitten with each other, for he kissed her openly, with unabashed passion. Úlf danced with Vigdis, thebruggyfrwho had brewed thedelicious mead. Úlvhild chuckled into Haldor’s shoulder at the sight of the tiny widowed brew-wife dancing with the enormous grey wolf. Several of Haldor’sBlóðsmiðrcrew were dancing with women from the village who had come with their families to welcome Haldor home toFálkhöll.It was a truly glorious feast.
* * * *
At the end of the evening, after hearing skalds sing epic tales of Norse gods and legendary battles, villagers went home to their huts, warriors retired to the longhouses, honored guests to their private chambers, and Haldor led Úlvhild to bed.
Inside his private quarters, he bolted the door and stoked the fire while Úlvhild poured water into the basin and washed with chamomile soap. Once again, he sensed profound sorrow in her. And an ominous, pervasive foreboding.
She fears for my death in the upcoming battle, for she has foreseen the Snake Warrior and his Dökkálfar sword. And she believes I will be forced to wed Svanhild. She knows not the depth of my devotion.
Haldor removed his grey cloak and hung it on a hook near the door. He unstrapped his falcon feather vambraces andSeiðrvindrsword and slung them onto iron pegs, standing his leather boots against the wall. He shed his woolen tunic embroidered with falcons and runes which hefolded carefully and laid upon the bedside table.
As Úlvhild dried her face with a linen cloth, he slipped up behind her, wrapped an arm around the front of her slender waist, and lifted her thick mane of black hair to nuzzle the nape of her neck.
She shivered at his touch.
“After eight long winters apart, I want to savor every moment that we’re together.” He traced warm lips over her pale skin as he unfastened her leather belt filled with pouches of herbs, amulets, and bone runes, laying it tenderly atop the small oak table. Haldor turned her to face him, easing her deep red gown over her shoulders, letting it spill onto the pinewood floor. He slipped the soft white chemise underdress down her arms, and pulled his nakedvölvaagainst his pounding chest.
When she looked up at him, resignation and regret shone in her golden gaze. “You must wed Svanhild,” she whispered, tracing the dark hair on his chest and the shimmering feathers ofFreyja’s Mark,the gift of the goddesswhich enabled him to shift into a falcon. “You need an heir forFálkhöll.Andthe wedding will form the crucial alliance that Sweyn Forkbeard, Jarl Rikard, and even Skårde are anxious to obtain.” She placed her fingertips on his lips to silence his attempt at refusal. “If you reject his daughter, you will insult and enrage Jarl Sigurd. And turn a valuable ally into a formidable enemy who could very well attack Tórshavn to avenge his wounded honor.”
