Sunlight gilding his golden hair, sublime music and warrior movements enthralling the rapt throng, theskáld’sincomparablesonghadcaptured the radiant glory of the SunFalcon Shieldmaiden and the fiery heart ofSólhjarta, the Summer Solstice Tournament.
Skallagrímr inclined his braided head to Brynhildr, bowed reverently before Budli, and returned to sit upon the bench alongside the two otherskálds.
While the crowd shot to its feet and erupted in cheers, adrenaline surged in Brynhildr’s veins as she pictured herself in the golden Sun Falcon armor.
I shall triumph in the final challenge. And rise to ride with the Valkyries!
As the thrill of imminent victory coursed through her, Brynhildr’s eyes were inexplicably drawn to Sigurd, who watched her with the predatory gaze of a wolf sensing its prey.
Sparks sizzled up her limbs as doubt niggled at her mind.
Sigurd had triumphed in every trial, outperforming every other competitor.
He is the son of the slain King Sigmund, a Völsung descendant of Odin. Divine blood flows in his Sea Wolf veins.
What if he defeats me in the final challenge?
I have sworn to wed the warrior who can best me in battle. Will Sigurd win my hand and destroy my dreams?
Or shall I ride with the Valkyries, as foreseen in my seiðr vision?
Herfaðirrising from theöndvegibrought Brynhildr back to the high table. When Budli raised a royal hand, silence swept across the jubilant hall. The Raven King’s booming voice echoed off the rafters and out over the glimmering fjord.
“Honored kings, jarls, and royal guests…theSjórúlfarwolf warriors of Sjóborg…the ten champions of the first trial…and all who have come to theSólhjartaTournament…” Budli raised his elkhorn high, the ravens and runes glinting in the firelight. “Tonight, threeskáldsof royal courts have sung with skill,honoring valor, prowess, and beauty. Let their sublime song be rewarded with royal gold.”
Placing his elkhorn in its elegant stand on the high table, Budli majestically swept down the steps of the wooden dais toward the bench where the threeskáldswere seated. He nodded to an awaiting attendant, who approached carrying a silver platter draped with deep blue silk which glistened like the sunlit waters of the fjord beneath the crystal-veined cliff. Atop the silk rested a trinity of golden brooches, each bearing an etched raven, wings unfurled in full flight before a sunburst set with amber gems.
As Budli approached, the trio ofskáldsrose, humble heads bowed before the redbeard Raven King.
Budli’s deep bellow thundered through the hall like a heavy drum.
“Skáldsof the Summer Solstice Tournament…I bestow these gifts of gold. By your song, you have stirred hearts and sharpened swords. Let these ravens mark you in the royal hall of Hrafnfjall and across the northern fjords asskáldsof incomparable skill and unparalleled honor.”
One by one, Budli pinned the exquisite golden brooches upon the fur-trimmed cloaks of the Summer Solsticeskálds.Each bore a raven of Hrafnfjall, with lapis eyes like the Sognefjorden and an amber sunburst reminiscent of the radiant Sun Falcon Shieldmaiden. When he’d finished pinning the final brooch, the king turned to face the enthralled crowd.
“Three voices have stirred Hrafnfjall,” he announced, a generous grin breaking his braided red beard. “But only one shall be crowned, receive the golden lyre, and ascend to the seat of honor at the high table—where kings, royaldóttirs, and the blue-facedvölvashall witness his triumph and glory.”
Budli gestured to the empty reserved seat beside Yrsa. Though not as elaborate as the king’söndvegi,the high-backedchair of ornately carved oak bore a raven, wings unfurled before a sunburst set with amber gems. In the radiant light of the setting sun, the golden threads in the lapis lazuli eyes of the raven glowed as if alive.
Silver fox fur of his black cloak shimmering like the silver crown upon his braided copper hair, the Raven King faced the hushed crowd and proclaimed the name of the winning bard. “Honored guests of Hrafnfjall,” he boomed over the expectant throng. “I present to you theSkáld of the Sólhjarta Tournament—Skallagrímr, poet to Prince Agnar of Bjarkhölm!”
When Skallagrímr bowed his blond head before the Raven King, Budli solemnly placed the golden circlet upon theskáld’sbrow and conferred upon him the prestigious title. “I hereby crown youSkáld of the Solhjarta Tournament.”
The king motioned to another awaiting attendant.
Across the polished floor strode an armored guard, reverently holding a wooden lyre painted in shimmering gold, embellished with ravens in flight, amber sunbursts, and intricately etched Nordic runes.
Murmurs of awe rippled through the rapt throng.
“Sólfjaðr,” Budli proclaimed, taking the nine-stringed instrument from thehúskarland displaying it to Skallagrímr and the astonished crowd. “Carved from yew, like the sacred tree Yggdrasil. Etched with the ravens of Hrafnfjall. Embellished in amber sunbursts. A royal tribute to theSkáld of the Sóhjarta Tournament,who honored the Sun Falcon Shieldmaiden with glorious golden song.”
The Raven King placed the golden lyre into the skilled hands of the stunned Summer Solsticeskáld.
Skallagrímr cradledSólfjaðragainst his broad chest, below the gleaming raven brooch. When a long finger strummed a single string of the golden lyre, a deep, clear note floated like afalcon’s cry through the hall, across the cliff, and out over the sparkling fjord.
Theskáld’smellow voice flowed like a limpid stream. “Your gifts honor me, Raven King. MaySólfjaðrever sing for Hrafnfjall.”
Budli inclined his head in acknowledgement, swept across the gleaming wooden floor, and climbed the steps of the elevated dais. When he returned to stand before the ornateöndvegi, he addressed the newly crownedskáldand gestured toward the reserved chair beside Yrsa. “Skallagrímr, asSkáld of the Sóhjarta Tournament, I invite you to claim the seat of honor at my high table.”
