But glory would one day be his.
ForÚlfdrekiwas more than a mere vessel.
She would carry him across wind and wave to face his fate.
Chapter 5
Fate by Firelight
Cheers echoed across the fjord from the top of the cliff as Gunni, one of King Álfr’shúskarlaron the deck ofÚlfdreki, gripped Sigurd’s forearms in tribute. “She’s a fine ship, Sigurd Sea Wolf. MayÚlfdrekicarry you into legend.”
Hákon, another of the king’s highest-ranking men, approached Sigurd with a hearty grin. “We’ll furl the sail, stow the shields, and meet you on the cliff by the fire.” He handed Sigurd a lit torch. “To light your way along the stairs.”
Sigurd nodded and accepted the flame. “Takk. TheSjórúlfarwill go back to the feast with thegoði. See you soon.”
Leaping from the deck of his ship into the white-capped waves which lapped at the clinkered hull, Sigurd led Hródvarr, Kveld, Eyvindr, and the other Sea Wolves back onto the pebbled shore where thegoðiawaited.The pale crescent moon rose above the glimmering fjord, echoing the curve of the sheltered inlet, bathing hischalk-painted face in shimmering silver light.
TheSjórúlfarfollowed the pagan priest across the beach and up the narrow stone stairwell. When they reached the clifftop, King Álfr lifted his elaborate elkhorn high and hollered, “To Sigurd Sea Wolf and theSjórúlfar!”
The crowd erupted in frenzied cheers.
While the Sea Wolves had been down on the beach for the blood blessing of the ship, servants had carried the king’söndvegiand the queen’s high-backed throne, along withelegantly carved chairs for King Rögnvaldr and hisvölvaEldsjá from the royal hall, centering them near the bonfire.
A special seat draped with the rare pelt of a white wolf had been placed for Sigurd beside hismóðirthe queen, with a bench clad in grey wolf fur for theSjórúlfaron Sigurd’s other side. Behind them, a long seat laid with sleek sealskin was reserved for the visiting jarls, with remaining guests standing in a semi-circle behind the monarchs, Sea Wolves, and honored noble chieftains.
King Álfr’s shout rose above the jubilant din. “Gather now around the bonfire. A trinity ofskáldsshall entertain us with saga and song!”
As servants refilled horns and pewter goblets with golden mead, and guests flocked around the fire, mellow notes of a lute floated in the salty breeze. Dagfinn—Jarl Hróald’sskáldfrom Bjørndal— strode across the heathered meadow and settled onto a large, flat stone in front of the gathered throng. Tall, strong, and burly, the warrior poet wore a silver circlet upon his blond head and a deep green tunic embellished with shimmering silver thread. In his song,Waves of Wyrd,theskáldwove a tale of Norse heroes anddrakkarships tossed by stormy seas. As the flowing melody of his lute evoked rolling waves, he praised the prowess of theSjórúlfarand the glory of Sigurd Sea Wolf.
King Álfr rose from hisöndvegi,the lapis gems, etched runes, and engraved wolves in his silver crown glinting in the moonglow. “Dagfinn of Bjørndal,skáldof Jarl Hróald, your song carries the fury of the sea and the courage of wolves. Accept this gift as honor for your skill—and for the praise you have brought to mySjórúlfar!” With a glorious smile, the generous king proudly presented a silver armband, intricately etched with waves and wolves.
Dagfinn bowed before the Wolf King, accepted the prestigious gift, and slid the torc over his brawny arm to raucouscheers, warriors striking fists against their armored chests in thunderous tribute.
After Dagfinn joined the crowd and accepted a horn of mead, King Rögnvaldr’sskáldEilifr took his place upon the large stone before the fire.
Unlike Dagfinn, Eilifr was lean and lanky, with rich marten fur lining his chestnut cloak, fastened at the shoulder with an ornate bronze brooch set with an enormous oval garnet. A bronze circlet with glittering garnets crowned his long dark hair, and more of the blood-red gems were braided into his deep brown beard. His scarlet tunic matched the elegant cloak of his wealthy king and the gathered silk gown of the exoticvölva,whose ochre-painted face and bronze diadem completed the trio of crimson and gold drawn from the red stone cliffs ofRauðvik.
Eilifr’s deep voice, feral and fierce, rose in a rhythmic chant as he sangThe Wolf Spear,his skáldic song celebrating the exquisite gift which his powerful king had bestowed upon Sigurd.The savageskáldcradled a large frame drum against his seated lap, the pale reindeer hide tooled with blackened runes and curling flames, its bronze rim adorned with glittering garnets which blazed like sparks in the bonfire’s golden glow.
Each strike of theskáld’sdeliberate palms thundered across the heathered moor, mingling with the crackle of flames and the whispered murmurs of the enthralled throng. His sinewy body swayed with the pulsing rhythm, intense eyes dark beneath the bronze circlet, the garnets braided into his beard sparkling in the firelight like the gems along the rim of his pounding drum.
Caught in the hypnotic chant and thumping beat, the nobles, warriors, and Sea Wolves leaned in, lulled by the pulse which rose and fell like rolling waves crashing against the cliffs ofRauðvik.
When the last echoes of Eilifr’s chant faded over the fjord, King Álfr rose from hisöndvegi. With a reverent nod to hisroyal guest and the regalvölva, he stepped forward to praise the splendid poet. “Eilifr,skáldof King Rögnvaldr, your songThe Wolf Spearhonors Sigurd and celebrates the courage and loyalty of theSjórúlfar.Receive this gift as tribute to your skill, to the glory you have brought upon this hall and to the bonds between our kingdoms!”In recognition of Eilifr’s status as a royalskáld, Álfr personally fastened an engraved silver torc upon his right arm, its shimmering surface etched with wolves and waves.
Amidst another round of clinking horns and riotous cheers of “Skál!”, King Álfr resumed his seat on theöndvegi while his own royalskáldSkúli settled onto the flat stone before the roaring fire.
A wreath of sacred rowan, interwoven with silver threads and wolf fur, rested atop his golden brown mane. Deep blue lapis gems, glittering in the moonglow, were braided into his gilded hair and glistening brown beard. Grey wolf fur trimmed his indigo woolen cloak, clasped at the left shoulder with an elaborate silver brooch shaped like a snarling wolf whose feral eyes were glinting lapis gems.
In contrast with Eilifr’s raw, primal chant, Skúli softly strummed a wooden lyre, the melodic notes floating over the rapt crowd like waves flowing across the moonlit fjord. His heroic song,The Saga of Sigurd Sea Wolf,recounted the three arduous days and agonizing nights of the perilous Wolf Trial, in which Sigurd’s courage, strength, and final triumph had placed him among the nine eliteSjórúlfar.
When the final notes of Skúli’s song wafted away on the salty wind, King Álfr rose from his carved throne to bestow a majestic gift. Pride, honor, and gratitude shone in his regal gaze and rang out in his royal voice. “Skúli, venerableskáldof the Wolf King, your song honors both Sigurd and mySjórúlfar. To reward your incomparable skill, I present this elegantly carved whaleboneflute. Its sheath is crafted from sleek sealskin—etched with runes, trimmed with wolf fur, and adorned with lapis lazuli gems set in precious silver.”
The king handed the prestigious gift to his awestruckskáld,who accepted it with reverence and a formal bow of gratitude. “May its sublime music carry the deeds of Sigurd Sea Wolf, theSjórúlfar,and the warriors ofSjóborginto legend with your skáldic song.”
As cheers thundered across the meadow and out over the fjord, King Álfr raised his elkhorn in tribute to the trio of skálds. “To Dagfinn, Eilifr, and Skúli! May your songs ever honor Sigurd Sea Wolf and theSjórúlfar!” He lifted the elkhorn high, the etched runes and lapis gems in the silver rim sparkling in the starlight. “Let the halls ofSjóborgresound with their skill, as the cliffs echo the song of the sea!”
When everyone had toasted the trinity ofskálds—and theSjórúlfarhad howled in raucous, riotous tribute—Álfr turned toward King Rögnvaldr of Rauðvik, whose crimson-clad, golden-facedvölvashimmered in the firelight at his royal side. Álfr’s gaze sharpened with solemnity. “And now, noble king, I call upon yourvölva,Eldsjá—named for her gift ofFiresight.May she wield herseiðrmagic of prophecy and foresee the fate of Sigurd Sea Wolf in the flames which dance before us.”
