Beside him along the dock, Gjúki’s men loaded the two Burgundiansnekkjawith sacks of grain, barrels of fresh water, salted meat, and smoked fish, storing bundles of spear heads, bows and arrows, and additional weapons beneath the rowing benches.
When they were at last ready to depart, Sigurd and Kveld boarded Gunnar’s ship, the silver serpent on the indigo sail flapping in the briny breeze. Tryggvi and Hálfdan leapt onto the deck of Högni’s vessel, and Gjúki’s men guided the two ships with long poles out into the Rhône. On the wooden loading dock at the base of the towering fortress, the royal family of Rhônehöll stood together to see them off.
The pair ofsnekkjaset sail from the Burgundian riverfront, the sound of the oars dipping into the water and the creak of wooden hulls filling the brisk air.
With a final wave to the distant bluff, Sigurd watched Burgundy fade behind him. Theouroborosblazed withdragonfireabove his pounding lupine heart.
Ahead layHeiðabýr, the Skagerrak, and the long-sought vengeance upon Lyngvi.
And beyond all, his beloved Sun Falcon, waiting for her Sea Wolf to return a Völsung king.
* * * *
The days on the Rhône flowed swiftly, the longships gliding through mist, fog, and midday heat, as the mountains and distant hills slowly gave way to the flat, winding lands along the Rhine. At night, the crews would draw the two ships ashore, anchoring them in shallow coves or along the riverbanks, where flames from campfires flickered in the moonlight under the silent stars. The men slept on bedrolls beneath furs and cloaks, their weapons always within reach, the hooting of owls or the howling of wolves from the forest the only sounds.
After several days, the Rhône carried them northward to the mighty Rhine, the crisp scent of pine and rich earth drifting from the banks as the crew pushed forward. At night, when they camped out under the moon, Sigurd longed for Brynhildr with a visceral, gnawing hunger. He was grateful that she was safe in Hlymdalir with Heimir. Gods willing, once his crown was reclaimed, he would soon return to her in the Camargue.
When at last they reached the familiar Danish port ofHeiðabýr, the bustling harbor greeted them with its familiar clamor—the sharp cry of gulls, the creak of heavily laden cargo ships, the sight of dozens ofdrakkarandsnekkjalining the wooden jetties which jutted from the sandy shore. Amidst the shout of merchants hawking their wares, the enticing aroma of sizzling meats and exotic spices, the scent of seaweed, smoldering tar, piney pitch, and freshly cut wood filled the crisp saline air. As he stood on the deck of Gunnar’ssnekkja, beneath the silver serpent sail of Burgundy flapping in the salty breeze, Sigurd scanned the rows of ships moored along the bustling quay.
Though their sails were furled, he quickly spotted his own fleet amidst the other vessels. His ninedrakkarwere unmistakable—the deep blue dragon prow ofÚlfdreki,the gleaming falcon prow ofÚlfalkr, the snarling wolf head ofÚlfhrafn, and the six ships gifted by Agnar—as well as the five vessels bestowed by his fosterfðdir, the Wolf King of Sjóborg.
He spotted Hródvarr on the deck ofSkollreiðr,his mentor’swarship. Long grey beard and hair streaked with silver— and braided with lapis beads like Sigurd’s—Ironfang’s familiar grey wolfskin cloak shimmered in the pale sun. Flashing a broad grin, the leader of theSjórúlfarleapt from the deck of his longship and strode down the jetty to greet Sigurd.
Sigurd disembarked with Gunnar, Kveld Nightwolf, and the crew ofGjálfrmarr,thesnekkjawhich had carried them from Rhônehöll to Denmark. Tryggvi and Hálfdan joined Högni and the crew ofDrepamarr,clambering off their ship and following Sigurd toward the Sea Wolves gathered on the dock to greet them.
“Sigurd Sea Wolf!” Hródvarr bellowed, pulling him into a bearhug and thumping his wolfskin-clad shoulders. “I’d recognizeBlárúlfranywhere, but Odin’s eye, with that dragon helm and golden armor—you look like a god!” He grinned at the gleaming blade sheathed at Sigurd’s hip. “You reforgedGramrwithÚlfblóðr’shilt—the wolf still snarls as it should.”
While Hródvarr greeted Kveld, Tryggvi, and Hálfdan next, Eyvindr Waverunner—theSjórúlfarcaptain who had taught Sigurd to sail a ship and fight at sea—wove through the cheering throng toward Sigurd. Dark eyes glinting with fierce lupine affection, Eyvindr threw his arms around Sigurd’s shoulders and nearly lifted him off the ground. “Welcome back,broðir! We’ve got the ships loaded, plenty of warriors, weapons, and armor—we’re ready to sail at your command.”
The captain of Sigurd’s shipÚlfhrafn,Strykar the Beast. strode forward. Copper wolfskin cloak bronze as his braided russet hair and thick red beard, he pulled Sigurd into a rough hug and slapped his back so hard, he knocked the wind from his lungs.
Sigurd bellowed with laughter as he returned Strykar’s fierce embrace, then gripped Eyvindr’s forearms, grinning from ear to bearded ear. He presented his newly sworn blood brothers to theSjórúlfar.“Ironfang,” he called, drawing Hródvarr’s attention, “I’d like you to meet Gunnar and Högni, the two eldest sons of Gjúki, the Burgundian River King of Rhônehöll. Kveld, Tryggvi, Háldan, and I—along with Heimir’s crew from the Camargue— rescued them from the Franks. To repay their gratitude, they’ve joined our cause.”
Hródvarr, Eyvindr, and Strykar inclined their wolfskin-clad heads in respect. “Glad to have you with us,” Ironfang remarked with reverence. “And glad to have your two swiftsnekkjajoin our fleet.” He grinned at Sigurd, and the men gathered around. “Come into the tavern with us. We’ll share meat and mead, book lodging for you and your crews for the night, and plan for the sea battle in Sweden. Our men have been stocking supplies, gathering armor and weapons, and training for weeks. We’ll firm our battle strategy tonight…and depart tomorrow on the outgoing tide.”
Grey wolfskin glinting in the morning sunlight, Hródvarr led them all into the Gilded Dragon tavern, settling at a long table with Sigurd, Kveld, Tryggvi, Hálfdan, Gunnar, and Högni. The crews ofGjálfrmarrandDrepamarrclustered at side tables with theSjórúlfar,sharing the tale of how Sigurd Sea Wolf, Dragonslayer of Sjóbjorg, had freed the Burgundian princes from the enemy Franks.
While everyone tore into salted boar dripping with honey, fresh barley bread, hot from the hearth, and platters of steaminglobster, crab, and shrimp, Eyvindr Waverunner—seasoned ship commander and expert on sea battles—swigged a long pull of mead and swiped his sleeve across his bearded lips. He leaned forward and spoke to Sigurd across the table. “Lyngvi’s hall,Örnfjall, perches atop a cliff like an eagle’s nest overlooking the Skagerrak. Our best attack is theHammer and Fang.”
Strykar’s russet beard split into a wolfish grin as Eyvindr outlined the stratagem. “We sail east fromHeiðabýracross the Skagerrak. Sigurd—you, Gunnar, and Högni will lead a dozen ships straight at Lyngvi’s fleet anchored in the inlet below his fortress. You are the hammer. Strike from the west—burn his warships with flaming arrows, storm the shore, and draw his defenders down from the cliffs to battle you on the beach.”
“Meanwhile,” Hródvarr growled, his raspy voice rough as gravel, “Eyvindr, Stykar, and I will take five ships around the northern bend, snapping like a wolf’s fang at his rear flank, leaving Lyngvi no path of escape.”
The silver beads etched with serpents glinted in Gunnar’s dark beard. He raised his mug of mead high and proposed a toast. “To victory and vengeance in Sweden—or the glory of Valhalla!”
Amid riotous cheers of “Skál!” from the warriors who would sail with him at dawn, adrenaline surged in Sigurd’s Sea Wolf veins.
Tonight, he savored the honeyed mead.
Tomorrow, the sweet taste of revenge.
* * * *
The setting sun streaked the twilit sky with vivid shades of fire as Sigurd stood at the deep blue dragon prow ofÚlfdreki, the westerly wind whipping his wild hair, the salt spray stinging his bearded cheeks. The looming fortress of Örnfjall appeared like an eagle’s nest atop the jagged cliff over the curved shoreline where dozens of warships were anchored in the sheltered inlet.Drakkarwere moored along wooden jetties,snekkjaandskeidlongships beached upon the pebbled shore. While Sigurd sailed theHammerof a dozen ships straight at Lyngvi’s fleet, Eyvindr, Stykar, and Hródvarr circled north around the bend of the cliff with five ships to form theFang.
As Sigurd and his men approached the cliffs, the rhythmic slap of oars against the Skagerrak and the snap of wolf sails filled the salty air.
From twin watchtowers guarding either side of the inlet, sentinels blasted shrill horns. Armored warriors poured from longhouses, wielding weapons and wooden shields painted with Lyngvi’s black eagle sigil as they scrambled down the steep path to defend the harbor. At Sigurd’s command, the first volley of flaming arrows arced into the blood-streaked sky. Severalsnekkjacaught at once, fire licking wooden hulls as smoke curled upward like coiled serpents striking the jagged cliff.
