Sigurd wiped the sweat from his wolfskin-clad brow as Budli majestically rose from hisöndvegi,shouting above the boisterous din.
“Honored guests of theSólhjartaTournament!” The Raven King bellowed across the cliff and out over the sunlit fjord. “Today, we witness the Summer Solstice duel for the hand of mydóttirBrynhildr, sworn to wed the champion who can best her in single combat!”
Shouts erupted from the raucous crowd.
Budli raised a royal hand, and hushed anticipation swept over the field. “Yesterday, Sigurd Sea Wolf, Champion of the Sólhjarta Tournament, earned the right to challenge mydóttir.And now—let us see if the Sea Wolf of Sjóborg can claim the Sun Falcon Shieldmaiden of Hrafnfjall!”
While axes thumped shields, swords struck steel, and hands clapped in thunderous applause, Brynhildr emerged from herprivate tower, radiant as the summer solstice sun cresting the crystal cliff.
Her long blonde hair was braided down her back, woven with amber beads that glowed like molten fire. A golden corslet was molded to her feminine curves, as if sculpted uniquely for her. Across the gleaming breastplate, a magnificent falcon with unfurled wings and amber eyes glistened like captured sunlight. Behind the glorious bird, a radiant sunburst of inscribed runes and inlaid amber gems pulsed with latent power.
Rich bronze leather hugged her lithe legs, and golden vambraces etched with falcon feathers encased her forearms. At her hip, a magnificent golden sword with the head of a fierce falcon observed with piercing amber eyes. And in her fitted, gloved hand, a golden shield bearing the same falcon in full flight blazed like the summer solstice sun.
She strode across the flagstone courtyard, escorted by four of Budli’s royal guards. Crossing the grassy meadow strewn with golden gorse, she halted at the edge of the square arena enclosed with stones and faced Sigurd. Her proud, fierce eyes—blue as the sea, green as the forest—blazed with the samedragonfirethat scorched Sigurd’s skin and seared his soul.
Ulric Ironshield bellowed to the enthralled crowd. “Disarm your foe or destroy his shield to claim victory. Let strength and skill decide who shall prevail!”
Brynhildr lunged first, her golden sword arcing like streaks of sunlight.
Sigurd blocked her blow withÚlfblóðr, sparks flying where steel met steel.
I cannot strike her. Though I want nothing more than to win her hand, I cannot rob her of glory. Yet neither can her triumph appear unearned.
Heart hammering, the trio of tattoos burning his flesh, Sigurd parried her flurry of strikes, impressed by her speed,strength, and skill. Sleek as a lynx, she spun and lunged, her swift sword clashing against his, ringing like thunder across the cliff. Her Sun Falcon eyes gleamed like her golden armor, aflame like theouroborosthat branded their skin and bound their souls.
As the summer solstice sun gilded her in glorious light, Sigurd’s heart faltered.
For an enormous pair of golden wings rose from her back in radiant arcs of luminous feathers, blinding with otherworldly brilliance.
She is destined to ride as a Valkyrie. And I cannot strike the woman I love.
In Sigurd’s moment of awestruck hesitation and divine revelation, Brynhildr disarmed him with a fleet, deft strike.
As crowned kings, fur-clad jarls, Agnar the Bear, theSjórúlfar, and the incredulous crowd watched in stunned disbelief, Sigurd dropped to one knee.
Bowed his humble head.
And kissed his Valkyrie’s beloved hand.
A sudden gust swept across the cliff and swirled in a whirlwind of golden light.
Sigurd leapt to his feet, lunged for his fallen sword, and spun,Úlfblóðrraised, ready to defend Brynhildr.
From the midst of the brilliant mist, Freyja emerged, the violet-tinged feathers of her falcon cloak shimmering in the sunlight, rippling in the salty wind. Her long blonde locks glistened like molten gold, the amber teardrops of theBrisingamennecklace glowing at the base of her slender neck. Embroidered in glittering golden thread, swans and falcons glimmered at the hem and sleeves of her amethyst velvet gown. Clutched in her radiant hands was an elegant golden spear, carved with falcons in flight, etched with runes, and embeddedwith a large oval gem of glowing amber beneath the shining blade.
Clear as a limpid stream, Freyja’s crystalline voice floated over the silent throng.
“I have come to claim Brynhildr, theSun Falcon Shieldmaiden of Hrafnfjall.Chosen by theAllfatherto ride as a Valkyrie!”
While a pair of ravens watched from a perch overhead, and the summer solstice sun gleamed on the Sun Falcon’s glorious golden corslet, Freyja strode from the crystal clifftop to the grassy arena where Sigurd stood, transfixed, beside Brynhildr.
“Valkjósleiðr.”The golden goddess handed Brynhildr the enchanted spear.
In the radiant light, the amber gem beneath the blade glowed like the droplets ofBrisingamenwhich danced above Freyja’s amethyst gown. “With this, you shall choose the slain for Valhalla.”
As Brynhildr accepted the golden spear, her Valkyrie eyes held Sigurd’s. In their glorious depths, he glimpsed triumph, torment, and tragedy.
From the hidden folds of her falcon cloak, Freyja retrieved a magnificent mantle of white swan feathers tipped with gold. “Your Valkyrie wings,” the goddess crooned, her melodic voice mellow as a harp. With a majestic swoop of amethyst and amber, she draped the sublime swan cloak over Brynhildr’s golden corslet. The pearlescent feathers stirred in response, luminous in the summer solstice sun.
