“Álfheim…” Skov hissed, nodding with dawning comprehension. “No wonder Gúldur was unable to find it.”
“Elfi and Njörd will marry this evening,” Bodo announced quietly. “The entire castle ofÍslyrais preparing for the royal wedding. Hence the hurry to retrieve trunks from the ships.”
Skov exhaled in disgust, then shrugged his broad, armored shoulders. “It matters not. The Count of Soissons can acquirele Château Blancof Étretat by marrying Elfi as a widow as easily as a maiden.” He adjusted hisbrynjaand heavy woolen cloak, “Once Njörd has claimed theÚlfsongrsword, you must lure Elfi to the warm underground spring beneath the black cliff just south of the village. Tell her the bubbling pool there steams, warmed by Freyja’s breath, blessing the earth with abundant flowers and healing herbs. A gift of the goddess she simply must behold.”
Cold black eyes, hard as obsidian, fixed Bodo with a piercing, malevolent stare. “I will be there—in the form of Njörd’s white wolf—feigning an injury to draw her near. Once I have hold of her, you will fetch Njörd. And he will relinquishÚlfsongrto save Elfi’s life.” A sinister grin slithered across Skov’s serpentine face. “Gúldur and his ally Skugga have an army of Rus raiders andDókkálfarbeached beneath the Lóndrangar cliffs. When you bring Njörd to save Elfi, rally theÚlfhéðnarandLjósálfarto accompany youas well. We cannot attack the queen’s fortress at the top of the mountain. You must lure them into an ambush down here.”
A sudden surge of foreboding raised the hackles on the back of Bodo’s neck. Primal instinct told him to bare his fangs and tear the traitorous throat of Óttar Skov. But asÚlfhéðnarurges flooded Bodo’s lupine blood, the Varangian warrior withdrew a bloodstone amulet suspended from a black leather cord from beneath his padded tunic. He removed the glove from his hand and rubbed the trio of glowing red runes etched into the silver which encased the talisman’s cursed stone.
The bloodstone ring on Bodo’s left hand pulsed, instantly calming the raging beast within, suppressing his innate response to attack.
A wicked gleam glinted in the soulless eyes of Óttar Skov, who commanded Bodo as he calmly tucked the bloodstoneamulet beneath the gambeson under his chain mail tunic. “Ensure that theSon of the Dragonand theFalcon of the Faroe Islandsfollow you to the meadow beneath the black cliff. Once there, you will obtain theÚlfsongrsword from Njörd, who will gladly sacrifice it to save his beloved Elfi. Give the blade to Gúldur, for him to avenge the death of his fallen brother by slaying theLjósálfarLord of Starlight. Gúldur will then behead theWolf of the Nordic Seas,while Skugga slays Haldor Falk and theSon of the Dragon. We shall abduct Elfi, and bring her to the Count of Soissons, who will pay us handsomely. You and your woman may return with us to the Frankish port of Frisia. Or book passage back to the Lofoten Islands of Norway. The choice is yours.” The shapeshifting troll flashed Bodo a triumphant, gloating grin. “Now, head back to the ships and help with the trunks. Tomorrow, lead Elfi to the spring right afterdagmál. I shall be waiting—in the form of Njörd’s injured white wolf.”
Chapter 18
Úlfsongr
Skjöld marveled at the appetizing array of refreshments which Queen Íssla’s attendants laid upon the long table of carved ice and stone.Silver platters offeredLjósálfarguests food fromÁlfheimto restore and enhance their Light Elven magic, while others displayed slices of roasted meats and smoked fish for the heartier appetites of theÚlfhéðnar,who had returned from the beach with the royal sentinels.
Moonflower Mead—a surprisingly delightfulLjósálfarblend of sweet honey brewed with delicate moonflower blossoms, golden plums, and silverleaf herbs fromÁlfheim—shimmered like liquid gold in slender crystal goblets. Pale bluefrostberriesin silver bowls were artfully arranged amidst stone plates topped with soft goat cheese and crushed hazelnuts. Dark loaves of Elven bread crusted with nutritious seeds and fresh herbs rested on silver trays beside small bowls of wildflower honey.
Once everyone had eaten, royal servants escorted theÚlfhéðnarand the humans—Úlvhild, Haldor, and Hjálmarr—to their respective guest quarters in the crystal fortress so they could rest after the exhausting morning and prepare for Elfi and Njörd’s evening wedding. Since Skjöld had inherited theLjósálfarmagic ofnen glirfrom his mother Ylva, and Elfi carried Njörd’s child, they would accompany Queen Íssla and theLjósálfartoÁlfheim.
Skjöld nodded goodbye to his mentor as Haldor exited the Crystal Hall and disappeared down the shimmering corridor with Úlvhild and the other guests who would remain in the fortressand rejoin them later for the wedding and feast.
Íssla’s crystalline voice, limpid as a lyre, flowed like liquid silver across the shining hall. “You who carryLjósálfarblood or wield its magic. Come with me toÁlfheim.”
Four Light Elven sentinels, clad in frosteddragonscalearmor and bearingLjósálfarswords and daggers, fell into formation behind the queen as she led the group from the Crystal Hall out of the fortress through the carved ice entrance doors. They descended a separate stairwell that wound down the opposite side of the mountain from the path which led to the black sandy beach of Ólafsvik.
Skjöld followed the ice-frosted stone steps beside Ildris, theLjósálfarLord of Starlight who imbuedgildirstarstones inLjósálfarbrooches and weapons with powerful Light Elven magic. They descended the steps behind Elfi and Njörd, Luna and Lugh, and theLjósálfarwho had sailed with them from Normandy—Olvir, Áryndor, Runar, and Veldar. As they approached the base of the winding stairwell, the thunderous roar from the Lyravél waterfall increased to nearly deafening intensity.
The glittering cascade of clear crystals and shimmery silver concealed a cave mouth which opened into the solid black rock of the mountain. Along the crescent shaped arch opening of the grotto, a trinity of runes glowed with silver light.Algiz, for protection.Reidho, for a sacred journey. AndPerthro, for secrets, hidden knowledge, and the unknown.
Alternating with the trinity of etched runes was a pattern of three glittering gems. Radiantgildirstarstones, deep blue lapis lazuli with threads of shimmering gold, and luminous moonstones—like the trio in Luna’s distinctive necklace which glowed at the base of her throat—were inlaid into the solid rock.
“Only those withLjósálfarblood or Light Elven magic may pass through the waterfall and cross the crystal bridge.Follow me...toÁlheim.”Queen Íssla slipped through the silver sheet of water and disappeared into the secret cave.
Skjöld and the others followed the queen through the waterfall which, to his surprise and delight, did not saturated hiswhite bearskin cloak, for it was not liquid which tumbled from the top of the cliff, but a clear cascade of crystal. The interior of the grotto was pearlescent, like moonstone, aglow with ethereal, otherworldly light. They emerged from the cave into an enchanting land bathed in twilight and luminous swirls of billowy clouds. Íssla and her fourLjósálfarsentinels led them across a radiant arc composed of countless clear crystals which glittered like stars and emitted a soft golden glow.
They ascended, as if climbing into the clouds, arriving at a lush landscape of luminescent forests with towering trees whose foliage ranged in verdant hues from frosted sage to deep emerald green. High cliffs of pearlized rock sheltered a brilliant blue sea, with cascading waterfalls, glimmering lakes, and crystalline springs. Beneath a pale turquoise sky, the clean scent of pine mingled with the sweet floral fragrance of white flowers blooming amidst soft meadows and clear flowing streams. In the distance, tall spires of translucent stone and luminous crystal, intricately woven with dark green vines and snowy blossoms, revealed the clifftop dwellings where theLjósálfarresided.
“The Elandrian Sea!” Elfi gripped Njörd’s hand, her pretty face alight with joy. “Where I first shifted into a mermaid for you. And showed you mysjóvættirpower… by hurling a wave at those distant cliffs.” She nodded to the opalescent rocky bluff on the opposite shore of the brilliant turquoise sea.
As they followed Íssla across a meadow strewn with fragrant white flowers, Elfi indicated the grassy bank of a shimmering lake fed by a stream which flowed from an underground spring. “And there, near the Ísilwen Spring, is where Ylva, Luna, and I healed Úlf, when he was wounded by aDökkálfarblade.”
Luna gestured to a grove of radiant trees whose deep green leaves sparkled with violet frost. Clusters of white flowers with five delicate points swayed gently in the soft autumn breeze. “Look, Elfi! The frosted starfruit trees are full of blossoms now. Soon, they will produce fruit that will ripen for the winter solstice.” Thelovely blondeLjósálfardazzled Skjöld with a radiant smile. “Frosted starfruit trees are only found here. On the eastern shore of the Lyrian Lake.”
Skjöld immediately recognized the name. “The Lyrian Lake? This is where I have promised to meet Skadi, on the night of the winter solstice.”
At the inquisitive looks of theLjósálfargathering around Queen Íssla—who had halted near the trunk of an enormous ash tree—Skjöld displayed thefjórúnmark which glowed inside his left palm. “Skadi and I aresoulbound,”he explained, demonstrating the violetfrostfireflame engulfed inside the silver-edged droplet of water.“She is halfLjósálfarand halfjótunn. And can transform into afrostdragonwho unleashes a flood of ice blue flame.”
He grinned at the astonished, luminous faces of theLjósálfarqueen androyalguards. “Tonight, at the wedding feast, I’ll tell you the tale of how Haldor and I freed her from a band of Rus raiders andDökkálfar.And how he and I aided a dwarf to defend his treasure and cache of Dwarven weapons.” Skjöld wanted to display the gloriousfrostfireplume of hisÍsfirshield, strapped across his back over the white bearskin cloak, but decided to wait until evening. Now was not the time, since they had come toÁlfheimfor Njörd to reclaim his father’s legendary sword. And the serene, luminescent realm of the Light Elves was not the place for fire and fury.
“OurLjósálfararmor and leather scabbards are made from the discardedscales offrostdragons.We obtain them on the Vågakallen Mountain. In the Lofoten Islands of Norway.” Lugh gestured to the shimmering scales in the magnificent leather armor that he, hisLjósálfarcompanions, and Queen Íssla’s royalsentinels all proudly wore.
Skjöld wanted to tell them that the Vågakallen Mountain was where he and Haldor had defended Dvalinn, but since the dwarf wanted the location of his clifftop cave kept secret, he held his tongue and complimented theLjósálfararmor instead. “Impeccable craftsmanship. It exudes the fierce strength and sleek grace of the dragon.”
Pride illuminated Lugh’s noble face as he inclined his pale blond head in the acknowledgement of skilled Elven artistry. He then turned his emerald gaze toward theLjósálfarqueen who stood regally before the pale, pearlescent trunk of the towering ash tree.
