“You are no longer a Valkyrie,” Odin boomed, seizing theValkjósleiðrspear from Brynhildr’s trembling grasp. He slammed it into the meadow, the impact sending shards of frost skittering across the grass. “Your wings are clipped,” he spat, tearing the white swan cloak from her shoulders. “I hereby return you to the mortal realm.” He heaved her feathered wings atop her Valkyrie spear. Glowering with rage, his single eye pierced her like a sharp, pointed blade. “Once the Sun Falcon Shieldmaiden of Hrafnfjall, you, Brynhildr, shall never win another battle.”
A cruel grin stretched across theAllfather’swrathful, implacable face. “You swore an oath to your father, King Budli—that you would wed the warrior who defeats you. I hold you to that solemn vow.”
From within the folds of his dark cloak, Odin removed a long, needle-like spike shaped like a crystalline thorn. Translucent as ice, the silvery shaft was etched with pale blue runes that glowed like starlight on a frosted fjord.
“With thisThorn of Sleep, I sentence you to frozen slumber. On the jagged summit ofHinterfjall, in the ice-capped mountains of eastern Francia, you shall lie alone, shivering in cursed sleep, until the fate-wrought warrior passes through theRing of Fireto awaken you.”
With a swift jab, Odin pricked Brynhildr’s neck with the sharp, frozen point of theThorn of Sleep.
As her limbs turned to ice and a suffocating sleep overtook her, Brynhildr saw Gyllin’s golden wings unfurl as her falcon took to the skies.
And flew east over the open sea.
* * * *
Sigurd unloaded the last of the treasure from the backs of Grani and the pony, storing it in Regin’s waterfall cave. It had taken him three trips back to Fáfnir’s lair to transport it all, but he’d finally finished. He’d decided to secure the treasure here, in the dwarf’s hidden dwelling, for no one except him knew of its location—and Regin had enshrouded the entire mountain with dense mist and defensive wards of Dwarven enchantment.
The blacksmith’s forge now lay cold and dark, its roaring fire long extinguished. Sigurd stored the gold and gems inside wooden chests along the stone walls, locking the massive entrance door to the cave with the key he’d taken from Regin’s belt.
He left thefæringrsecurely tied to the willow in the sheltered inlet, well hidden among the dense trees. Riding Grani to a nearby village, he traded the pony for a meal and fresh supplies for his return to Sjóborg. But as he was securing the sacks to the new saddle on Grani’s back, a golden falcon swooped down from the sunlit sky and landed upon his shoulder.
Brynhildr had told him that falcons were Freyja’s messengers, and that each Valkyrie wasbloodboundto her own spirit bird. He remembered the words she’d spoken when she’d come to him in Bjarkhölm.“Ifever a golden falcon should come to you…you’ll know it’s Gyllin, bearing a message from me.”
By the otherworldlygift of Fáfnir’s blood, Sigurd understood the golden bird.
“Odin has punished Brynhildr,” she told him, fierce eyes filled with fright. “She is no longer a Valkyrie. He has strippedaway her swan wings and cast her down to the mortal realm of Midgard. She is cursed with frozen sleep atop Mount Hinterfjall, an icy peak in eastern Francia. You must awaken her—by riding through theRing of Fire.”
With a whoosh of golden wings, Gyllin returned to the skies.
Astounded by the shocking revelation of Brynhildr’s cruel punishment, Sigurd staggered at the enormity of its implications.
The Sjórúlfar are preparing to sail with me to Sweden—to slay King Lyngvi and avenge my faðir’s death. Yet I cannot undertake such a voyage while Brynhildr lies imprisoned in a ring of fire.
Sigurd’s heart hammered as realization dawned.
If she is mortal, then I shall make her my wife!
Seiðrfire seared his dragon-hardened skin as theouroborosblazedabove his thundering heart—and in the emerald-eyed beast coiled around his smallest finger.
Once I free her, I shall bring Brynhildr to Sjóborg as my intended bride. While Agnar recovers from the Battle of Bjarkhölm and restores his strength, I shall sail with the Sjórúlfar to Sweden and slay Lyngvi. When I return, Agnar will be ready to stand beside me as I reclaim the Völsung lands of my faðir. Once I am crowned King of Lindesnes, I shall be worthy of Brynhildr’s royal hand. And with Fáfnir’s gold, I shall offer her faðir King Budli a bride price worthy of my queen.
Sigurd swung into the saddle, securing the fierce head ofBlárúlfrover the dragon-shaped winged helm. The blue wolfskin glimmered over the gleaming goldenbrynja, withGramrsheathed in the scabbard at his hip.
Conviction and courage steeling his Sea Wolf heart, he urged Grani southward.
From Sjóborg, he and theSjórúlfarwould cross the Skagerrak from Norway to the Danish port ofHeiðabýr.
While the Sea Wolves obtained supplies, weapons, and warriors in Denmark for the voyage to Sweden, he’d venture inland to the ice-capped peak of Mount Hinterfjall.
And ride his silver stallion through theRing of Fireto save hissoulboundmate.
* * * *
The thick blue fur ofBlárúlfrshimmered in the firelight. The winged helm, shaped like the fierce head of Fáfnir himself, glimmered like the goldenbrynjabeneath his wolfskin cloak. At his hip, the snarling wolf head hilt ofÚlfblóðrcrowned hisfaðir’sreforged sword.
As Sigurd sat beside King Álfr and Queen Hjördis at the high table in the Great Hall, pride surged in his pounding Sea Wolf heart. His fosterfaðirand royalmóðirhad arranged a magnificent feast to welcome him home.Tonight, the Wolf King’s hall howled in triumph for Sigurd, the Dragonslayer of Sjóborg.
After the sumptuous seafood feast, Skúli entertained King Álfr’s royal guests withWolfblood of the Dragonslayer,theskáld’sheroic song of tribute. Rowan wreath and wolfskin atop his shining chestnut hair, the giftedskáldstrummed his lyre and sang of Sigurd’s triumph.
