Two burly stags with wide antlers were led from the paddocks, their breath steaming in the chill, hooves crunching over the frost-laced ground. Knút’s men hitched them to the sled with practiced ease, then returned with bundles of firewood, smoked meats and fish, dried berries, fresh water, flatbread, and nuts, which they loaded into the sides and rear of the sled. Herbs wrapped in linens were tucked alongside soft furs in the nest they created for Úlvhild.
Skjöld checked each bundle, making sure everything was secure and balanced. He went inside with Knút and returned withBjarni and Yrjar, who would help them transport Úlvhild and the supplies up the mountain to theDragon’s Leapcave.
As they gathered near the sled, four of Knút’s men led sturdy ponies from the stables, saddled and ready for the journey.
Skjöld crossed the snow-covered ground and strode down the wooden dock where the two ships were moored. He hopped onto the deck ofFreyja’s Falconand spoke to Haldor. “The price was fair. I paid for the use of the sled, the ponies, and a pair of skis—for me to deliver supplies to you and Úlvhild.”
Haldor grasped Skjöld’s forearms in gratitude. A silent bond passed between them—eight winters of battle and brotherhood bound into a single, compelling look. “You’ve stood by me through fire and frost, Skjöld.” He glanced down at Úlvhild’s pale face, remembering how Skjöld had shielded her during the battle in Ísland. “She lives because of you.”
Loyalty, pride, and fierce love blazed in Skjöld’s warrior gaze.
Together, Skjöld and Haldor carried Ulvhild from the ship and lowered her carefully onto the sled, securing her with soft furs and blankets. Skjöld returned to the ship and fetched her moonstone staff, laying it beside her, while Bjarni and Yrjar hauled the trunks and settled them at the back of the sleigh.
With a firm nod from Knút, the men who had harnessed the reindeer handed the leather reins to Skjöld as Haldor sat down in the sled beside Úlvhild. He would keep her stable during the journey through the forest until they reached the foot of the Vågakallen mountain.
We’ll carry her up to the cave and settle her with furs and blankets. I’ll start a fire… and remain at her side, to sustain her through the seiðfjáðr. Skjöld and the Blóðsmiðr can carry the supplies up from the sled.
They would leave the ponies, the reindeer, and the sleigh at the base of the mountain, since the ascent was too steep for the animals to climb.
With Gråskegg and Bjarni riding on either side of the sled, and Yrjarbringing up the rear, Skjöld, atop his pony, held the reins in his gloved hands and thanked Knút. “Takk, Knút. For everything.”
Knút raised a hand in farewell. “May the mountain spirits guide your path.Farðu vel!”
His men echoed the blessing with low murmurs as the sled slowly creaked into motion.
Skjöld led them toward the snow-capped mountain and shouted, rallying theBlóðsmiðrand Haldor alike. “To theDragon’s Leap cave. Gods willing, we’ll be there by midmorning.”
* * * *
When they arrived at the base of the Vågakallen mountain, where theÍsstjarnawaterfall cascaded from a high cliff, the morning light was pale, the biting wind crisp and sharp, with light snow swirling in slow spirals. Jagged black peaks of theDragon’s Spine, as it was called by local traders and trappers, sloped upward in a steep, narrow climb. Dusted with the first white hint of winter, the rugged crests cut through the low clouds like sharp spikes of a massive beast. High above, barely visible through the icy mist, the rocky ledge ofDragon’s Leapjutted out into the frosty shroud.
The men dismounted and hitched the ponies to stout trunks of pine trees near a narrow stream which trickled from the waterfall nearby, half-hidden beneath moss and tangled roots. The animals lowered their heads and drank, breath steaming in the cold air. Bjarni unhitched the two reindeer from the sled, murmuring softly as he guided them to the trickling brook beside the pines. Their hooves crunched over the frosted ground as they joined the ponies, dipping their muzzles into the icy water. Since the grass was sparse and brittle, Bjarni pulled a small sack of oats mixed with dried moss from his pack and scattered handfuls for the animals to eat.
Haldor rose from the sled and adjusted the sword, axe, and knife strapped to his hip. As he secured Úlvhild’s moonstone staff on his back, alongside his Dwarven spear, he glanced up at theDragon’s Leapledge high above in the shrouded mist. “Skjoldand I will carry Ulvhild,” he said. “Be cautious. The path is narrow, and the stones are slick with moss and ice.”
Gråskegg grunted in agreement and secured a bundle of firewood onto his back, along with wooden bowls, cups, and a pot for cooking. “I’ll follow your lead.”
Yrjar strapped the water skins and a wrapped parcel containing smoked fish, dried meat, flatbread, nuts, and berries, leaving his arms free for the treacherous climb. He shifted the weight and settled in behind them. “And I’ll watch our backs.”
The brisk wind whisked through the jagged peaks, carrying the cold scent of frost and pine. Bjarni stood with the reindeer and ponies, scarred hand resting on his sheathed sword. “I’ll watch the beasts and keep them safe. Can’t have them wander off or fall prey to wolves.”
Skjold’s Dwarven shield was strapped tightly to his back, the worn leather bindings creaking slightly as he shifted. Beneath it, bundles of blankets and furs were tucked in securely, soft against the hard metal handle.
As they began the arduous ascent, a falcon’s cry pierced the sky. The tattooed feathers ofFreyja’s Markburned warm across Haldor’s chest and back. A gust of wind caressed his bristled cheek like the brush of wings.
Haldor inhaled deeply. A faint trace of juniper—remnant of the berries Úlvhild had burned in her lastseiðrvision in Ísland—still clung to the folds of his woolen cloak.
The wind shifted, carrying the crisp scent of snow-kissed heather and old lichen from the craggy rocks.
He looked up the path to the craggy ledge overhead.
And carried his belovedvölvato theDrekafjallcave.
Chapter 23
Freyja’s Bloom
The mouth of the cave was narrow, opening into a rounded chamber where light filtered through fissures in the roof which would also allow smoke to escape. Moonstone veins glimmered faintly in the dark rock, casting a soft, silvery glow. On the back wall, a natural stone shelf jutted out, as if the mountain had shaped it just for Úlvhild.
