Amid the scraping of benches and the murmuring of the crowd, servants circulated among the guests, offering pewter goblets of mead. Elaborate elkhorns were presented to the ten champions at the table of honor, the eliteSjórulfarin their imposing wolfskin cloaks, the visiting jarls and their beautifuldóttirs,and finally the high table, reserved for the king and royal guests.
His regal gaze scanning the crowd, Budli stood when everyone had been served.
As a hush of anticipation swept across the expectant hall, his thunderous voice boomed like a heavy bronze bell.
“Hear me, honored guests of Hrafnfjall!”
A broad grin stretched across his bearded face as his gaze raked the rapt throng.
“Before kings and jarls… before gods and men… tonight we honor the ten warriors who triumphed in the first trials of theSólhjartaTournament.”
He raised his elkhorn high, the ravens, runes, and embedded gems gilded by the golden sun. “Let us drink in their honor.Skál!”
Riotous cheers rippled through the hall, fists hammering against armored chests and thumping on wooden shields.
At their private table, theSjórulfarrose as one, wolfskins draped over broad shoulders, lupine eyes agleam with an otherworldly glow. A low growl rumbled through their throats, swelling into a single, thunderous howl that echoed off the rafters and out over the fjord.
An icy shiver shook Brynhildr’s trembling limbs.
Silence stretched across the stunned hall, soon replaced by raucous laughter, hearty cheers, and the clash of clinking cups.
Wiping mead from his thick red beard, Budli bellowed to the ten warriors seated at the table of honor, centered on the floor directly in front of his own.
“Champions of the first trials—rise and receive a gift of silver to reward your impressive feats. Stand before the Raven King of Hrafnfjall and his Sun Falcon Shielmaidendóttir. Let all see that courage and valor are honored in theSólhjartaTournament!”
While the ten champions rose from the table and lined up before the dais, Brynhildr’s heart fluttered like the raven wings in herfaðir’sflapping banners as Sigurd’s penetrating gaze pierced hers.
The massive head of the blue grey wolf, snugly perched atop his own, gleamed in the golden sunlight, the glorious pelt glimmering with sapphire sheen. Sigurd stood in the center ofthe warriors, near her booted feet. Asseiðrsparked in her veins and scorched her trembling limbs, she suppressed the overwhelming urge to touch him by swallowing a mouthful of mead.
His fierce, feral eyes never left hers.
King Budli motioned to two of his trustedhúskarlarstanding at attention along a side wall. Each armored guard held a silver platter draped with shimmering black silk, upon which rested five thick silver torcs, embellished with amber beads set like sunbursts, radiant rays etched with ravens and runes.
Silver crown glinting atop his thick red hair, blue beads glistening in his braided copper beard, Budli majestically descended the steps of the elevated wooden dais and halted before the ten competitors who had triumphed in the first round of trials.
One by one, the Raven King personally placed a silver torc upon the right arm of each warrior, murmuring private words of praise as he secured the prize of tribute.
When he affixed the wide band upon Sigurd’s brawny arm, a thrill rippled through Brynhildr, as if the gift were meant for her.
As herfaðirproceeded to reward the next warrior, Sigurd’s intense gaze—as deep and blue as the sea—flooded her like the sunlit fjord flowing beneath the cliff.
While her legs quivered under her emerald gown, and her riveted gaze remained transfixed on Sigurd Sea Wolf, King Budli’s booming voice reverberated through the hall.
“Champions of the first round in theSólhjartaTournament! Turn now to face the crowd who witness your glory in the Great Hall of Hrafnfjall. Honored guests, raise your horns! Let us drink in tribute to those whose deeds will echo inskáldicsong!”
Everyone in the hall—visiting jarls, monarchs, warriors, andskálds—raised their horns and shouted, “Skál!”
When the ten warriors returned to their table of honor, Budli invited the standing guests to be seated. Once everyone had complied, he shouted, “Let the mead flow, the musicians play…and may the feast begin!”
Bustling servants appeared, laden with sumptuous platters heaped with roasted boar, grilled salmon, steaming scallops, oysters, and crab. The aroma of fresh vegetables—carrots, turnips, and leeks, seasoned with fragrant herbs and melted butter—mingled with the salty scent of the nearby sea.
Attendants served the high table first, then the ten champions, followed by the vising jarls and theSjórúlfar,and finally the remainder of the assembled guests. Festive notes of lyres and lutes wafted softly on the sunlit breeze.
“YourSjórúlfarare a fearsome sight in their wolfskins," Budli remarked to King Álfr at his side, his appraising gaze scanning the fearsome warriors of Sjóborg. "And among them, your foster son, Sigurd Sea Wolf, has proven himself peerless among the champions. I have not seen such prowess and courage in any other warrior here. Truly, his deeds shall be sung into legend."
Another thrill rippled through Brynhildr at the mention of the great blue Sea Wolf.
As she sipped from her horn of mead, her admiring eyes sought his.
