The shout from the watchtower had not yet faded when the Wolf King himself strode down to the shore, his fur-trimmed cloak snapping in the salty wind.
Sigurd swung down from the deck ofÚlfalkrand joined his fosterfaðirKing Álfr and the Sea Wolves on the pebbled beach. From the fjord, the longship cut toward land, its banner dark against the pale sky.
Álfr’s men waded into the surf, hauling the vessel up onto the shore. The messenger vaulted over the gunwale, heedless of the cold surf, boots splashing into the shallows. Salt-crusted and hollow-eyed from the harrowing voyage, he spluttered the message he’d been sent to deliver.
“I bear a summons for Sigurd Sea Wolf,” he gasped, accepting a waterskin and quenching his thirst. “King Agnar of Bjarkhölm calls for aid.”
Sigurd shot an incredulous glance at Álfr, then directed his attention back to the emissary. “KingAgnar?” he asked, astonishment lacing his voice.
“Hisfaðirwas slain by Hjálmgunnar. Agnar is the newly crowned king.”
Álfr roared above the billowing sail and banners flapping in the wind. “You and your men shall come into my hall. We’ll share meat and mead—while you tell us the tale.”
* * * *
A blazing fire crackled in the enormous central hearth, wisps of smoke curling into the rafters of the tall, peaked roof. Battered shields, painted with the fierce faces of snarling wolves, lined the wooden walls. King Álfr held the elaborateöndvegi, Queen Hjördis at his regal side, while Sigurd and theSjórúlfarsat with the messenger at a nearby table. With a flick of his jeweled fingers, the Wolf King commanded the envoy to rise.
“King Álfr, Queen Hjördis, and theSjórúlfarof Sjóborg, I have come bearing an urgent message for Sigurd Sea Wolf.” Dark hair and beard slick with sea mist, the messenger bowed first to the Wolf King, then to the queen and theSjórúlfar,before directing his attention to Sigurd. “Hjálmgunnar attacked Bjarkhólm, and King Björn fell to his sword. My king sends me to summon your aid, for Hjálmgunnar will soon return—with even more ships and men. Without your help, Bjarkhólm will fall.”
Sigurd rose from his seat to address the Wolf King who had raised him like a son. “My king,” he said reverently, lowering his blue wolfskin-clad head. “I ambloodswornto Agnar, the Bear of Bjarkhölm, and I must heed his call for aid.” He met Álfr’s scrutinizing gaze, resolve steeling his oathbound voice. “Hjálmgunnar is vassal to King Lyngvi of Götaland, who murdered myfaðirSigmund. In Lyngvi’s name, Hjálmgunnar rules Lindesnes, the Völsung kingdom of my birthright. If Hjálmgunnar seizes Bjarkhölm, he doubles Lyngvi’s holdings in southern Norway.”
Álfr gripped the intricately carved arms of hisöndvegi,the snarling wolves mirroring the Wolf King’s livid sneer. “Which would pose an untenable threat to Sjóborg.” He cast his shrewd gaze over the nine Sea Wolves seated at the trestle table. “Hródvarr’ssnekkja…Sigurd’strio ofdrakkar—Úlfdreki,Úlfalkr, andÚlfhrafn.” The king spun to Sigurd. “Along with your four ships, I pledge five more, with three hundred men toaid our ally, the Bear of Bjarkhölm. Load weapons and supplies, and prepare to depart on the outgoing tide.”
* * * *
Clusters of fresh herbs were suspended from hooks in the ceiling, the cleansing scent of sage, yarrow, and wild thyme wafting in the air inside Kára’s tidy cottage. Flames flickered and crackled in the hearth where the pine scent of juniper reminded Brynhildr of theseiðrchamber in her private tower at Hrafnfjall, where she had learned countless lessons with Yrsa. She swallowed a lump of grief and met the incredulous, stricken stares of the two Valkyrie sisters seated with her at Kára’s polished ashwood table. She had just informed them of herseiðrvision, her intent to choose Hjálmgunnar for Valhalla instead of Agnar, and her need to become human to speak with Sigurd.
“Though it is possible for a Valkyrie to assume human form—for a single day or night only—she does so at tremendous risk.” Desperation laced Kára’s dire warning. “You would have to surrender your swan cloak, your spear, and your immortality…you could be slain as a mortal in Midgard.” She cast an anguished glance at Skögul, then fixed Brynhildr with eyes as pale as a wintry sky. “Our Valkyrie sister Sigrún chose Helgi as her hero and human lover—and their fates ended in tragic death.” Kára cradled Brynhildr’s cold hand in both of hers. Concern and compassion blazed on her shining face. “Become human to guide Sigurd’s fate…share mortal love and pleasure…but Brynhildr—you must not defy the web ofwyrd.”
Skögul rose from her chair and paced near the open window. In sharp contrast with her silvery blonde hair, which glistened like pearls in the sunlight, the jagged scars on her livid face were garish and grim. “No Valkyrie haseverbroken the web ofwyrd.If you defy theAllfather,you shall incur his wrath. Odin may leave you alive, but make you wish you were dead.” Ferocity gleamed in her fiery gaze. “Loki still lives,” she spat, her furyblazing. “Fettered and helpless, bound across jagged rocks in a dark, underground cave. Above him hangs a poisonous serpent, its venom dripping into his right eye in endless, excruciating pain.” Skögul leaned closer, her voice low and deadly. “Defy Odin, and your punishment could be even worse.”
Though her legs shook beneath the table, Brynhildr stood, her golden corslet gleaming as she gazed out the open window toward the Mirrored Sea. Sunlight danced on the waves which rolled against the towering cliffs and lapped at the pebbled shore. She turned to face her two Valkyrie sisters, conviction and courage burning in her fierce falcon heart.
“Sigurd could have defeated me in the Sólhjarta Tournament,” she stammered, emotion clenching her throat and stealing her voice. “But he chose love for me over his own glory—and knelt at my feet rather than strike me down.”
She drew a deep breath, inhaling the salty scent of the sea which bound her blood to Sigurd. “I shall now do the same and choose love for my Sea Wolf over my glory as a Valkyrie. Whatever price I must pay to save Agnar, I shall—for he isbloodswornto Sigurd.” Brynhildr’s gaze seared Skjögul, theouroborosburning her skin and fueling her inner fire.
“The Bear of Bjarkhölm shall aid Sigurd in avenging hisfaðir’sdeath when he sails to Sweden to challenge King Lyngvi. Agnar will help him reclaim his birthright—the Völsung lands that Lyngvi seized by murdering Sigurd’sfaðir. Hjálmgunnar rules Lindesnes for Lyngvi. By choosing Hjálmgunnar for Valhalla, I spare Agnar for Sigurd…and enable the man I love to fulfill his destiny, avenge hisfaðir,and reclaim his ancestral lands.”
Below her, the Mirrored Sea shimmered, enemy ships beaching along Agnar’s besieged shore. She smoothed the white feathers of her swan cloak and slammed her spear onto Kára’s pinewood floor.
“It is time,” she hissed, striding for the door. “The Battle of Bjarkhölm begins.”
* * * *
Brynhildr descended from the clouds, hovering over the battlefield where steel clashed, men shrieked, and the stench of blood and bowels fouled the crisp saline air. On the beleaguered shore, Agnar’s men had formed a shield wall to block the invading army swarming from a dozen warships, their green sails bearing the fierce image of a black tusked boar. Nearby, she spotted theSjórúlfarlongships with wolf banners—Sigurd’s trio ofdrakkaramong them—alongside others with furled sails and banners marked with Agnar’s bear sigil.
On the blood-soaked field atop the cliff, clad in his brown bearskin cloak over hisSólvörnsunburst armor, Agnar tore through enemy warriors in full berserker rage, seemingly impervious to slashing axes and swords. Warriors bearing shields painted with the black boar fell beneath his furiousBjarnrökrblade.
Among the wolfskin-clad, armored Sea Wolves, her heart lurched at the sight of Sigurd.
The blue-grey fur ofBlárúlfrshimmered in the sun, his gleaming blade streaked with blood, like his scarred, beloved face. He lunged, spun, and struck, hisÚlfblóðrsword felling warriors with each swift thrust, while his snarling wolf shield blocked enemy blows.
As Skögul and Kára selected the slain, the fiery swirls and crystalline strands spiraling upward, bearing souls to Valhalla and Fólkvangr, Brynhildr spotted the blond brute she had glimpsed in the vision—the invading king who had slain Agnar’sfaðir,King Björn of Bjarkhölm.
Iron noseguard of his helmet shaped like the tusked snout of a raging boar, King Hjálmgunnar clutched the god-forged swordÚlfsbani,poised to strike Agnar with a killing blow.
As thick swirls of black smoke coiled around Agnar, marking him for Odin, Hjálmgunnar’s malevolent blade fell.
