Chapter 11
Siguresholl
úlvhild was utterly miserable.
The biting winds whipped the strands of hair that had come loose from the long, thick braid down her back as she scrabbled again toward the gunwale, avoiding the oars which stabbed into the sea.
The pitching waves rose to jagged peaks, dropping the ship into the dark maw of the deep as if the world serpent coiled beneath the keel.
Each lurch of the hull summoned another wave of sickness, her belly churning like the tumultuous sea.
Clutching a rough knot of rope lashed to a shield bracket, the volva hurled the sour broth from her clenching gut, gripping the slick side of Njord’s Drakkúlfr ship as they plowed through the night storm toward Orkneyjar.
Weak as a kitten, she crawled back to her damp pile of furs under the waxed wool awning and curled into a ball midway along the ship’s creaking deck.
As the wind clawed at the rigging, icy water spilled from the edge of the oilcloth and dripped down her neck.
A violent shudder shivered down her spine, an ominous warning from the gods.
Elfi sat down at úlvhild’s side and stroked the wet hair from her face.
Although with child, Elfi—the sjóvaettir daughter of a billow maiden mermaid—was not ill in the least from the rough seas.
Her gentle touch was calming and soothing.
“The worst is over,” she murmured, her voice barely audible in the howling wind. “Dawn is breaking. Look at the sky.”
úlvhild lifted her heavy head from the soggy furs. Behind the ship, a soft pink light pierced the dark grey clouds. “Freyja’s light shines upon us. Praise the goddess, we are saved.”
The sentinel’s eager shout rose above the lashing wind and billowing sail. “Land sighted! The black cliffs of Byrgisey!”
Elfi and Sif, her personal attendant, helped úlvhild slowly sit up so she could peer over the dragon prow.
In the distance, the jagged silhouette of black cliffs rose sharply from the storm-darkened sea.
Mist curled around the craggy rocks like pale fingers clinging to stone.
At the top of the highest cliff, an enormous longhouse loomed, its sturdy timber blackened by the sea, its roof steeply pitched to defy the storms. As long as a dragon ship and as tall as five men, Siguresholl, the stalwart fortress of Sigurd Hlodvirsson, Jarl of Orkneyjar, stood like an unyielding warlord of the Western Sea.
“Let me tend your hair. It’s come wild with the wind.
” Elfi loosened the thick black braid and ran an antler comb through úlvhild’s wet, wiry mane, deftly replaiting it and tying it with a narrow leather cord.
She poured water into a small bowl and fetched a swathe of linen from among her supplies.
“Here’s a bit of fresh water and a clean cloth to wipe your face.
” Elfi gently washed the vomit from úlvhild’s cheeks, then retrieved the satchel of herbs and handed it to her with a reassuring smile.
“Perhaps mint leaves will cleanse the salt and sickness from your mouth.”
úlvhild accepted the satchel, rubbed a mint leaf over her teeth and tongue, then spat over the side of the ship, rinsing her mouth with a sip of fresh water. “Thank you, Elfi. I feel almost human again.”
As the three drakkar ships approached the rocky coast, úlvhild repressed a violent shudder.
Here, she would meet Svanhild, the beautiful daughter of Sigurd, Jarl of Orkneyjar.
The coveted bride whom Jarl Rikard, Count Sk?rde, and King Sweyn Forkbeard all wished to wed Haldor, thereby establishing a formidable Viking alliance between Norway, Denmark, and Normandy, with the Faroe and Orkneyjar islands.
úlvhild forced a swallow as her throat constricted in sorrow.
It is for the best. Now that Skjold’s training has come to an end, it is time for Haldor to wed.
Svanhild is young—less than twenty summers old.
The perfect bride to bear him many sons. Something I can never do.
Slipping her slender fingers inside her woolen gown, she traced the seierfjáer mark over her heart.
The soulbinding rune magically bound her to Haldor.
He would never marry another, so long as úlvhild lived.
But he would soon be free, for úlvhild did not expect to survive the upcoming battle in ísland.
She had foreseen the crimson-eyed witch wield the forces of Hel.
“There’s an inlet up ahead where Njord plans to bring the three ships ashore.” Elfi’s cheerful voice interrupted úlvhild’s despondent reverie.“He will beach the ships and meet Jarl Sigurd’s bryti to request hospitality and shelter. And request permission for us to restock supplies.”
When Drakkúlfr slid onto the pebbled beach, Elfi and Sif helped úlvhild stand and rearranged her woolen cape.
Her feathered volva cloak was stored inside the trunk containing her herbs, face paint, and potions.
And her moonstone staff was wrapped in protective leather casing, secured to the side of the ship near the pile of furs which had served as her bed.
Njord himself had promised to bring it to her, along with her wooden trunk, once they had been greeted by the jarl and invited into his Great Hall.
“Lugh and I will take six armed guards and meet Jarl Sigurd’s men.
They are undoubtedly wary to see our three drakkar ships arrive unexpectedly.
We’ll inform them that we come in peace and merely request shelter while we replenish supplies in the village.
I’ll be back to escort you off the ship as soon as the jarl extends an invitation.
” Njord motioned to six armored Danes among his crew.
The Viking warriors adjusted their brynjas and sheathed weapons, following Njord and Lugh from the ship onto the shore.
As commander of the Drakkúlfr warship, Njord was the first to disembark, followed by his Ljósálfar ally, then his most trusted, battle-hardened men.
At the highly unusual sight of an úlfhéenar commander, clad in a fearsome white wolfskin cloak over chain mail armor, accompanied by a towering Light Elven warrior and six armed Vikings, the Orkney guards exchanged uneasy glances, their gloved hands hovering near swords, axes, and spears.
úlvhild could not hear the discourse between Njord and the bryti, the jarl’s highest ranking man who would either grant or deny them access to Siguresholl.
His imposing chain mail armor glinted in the early morning light, braided blond hair and beard spilling from a conical helmet with metal noseguard, his deep blue woolen cloak flapping in the gusty breeze.
Close behind the blond brute were eight mail clad húskarlar, the elite warriors who defended the jarl with deadly weapons and lethal skill.
Armed sentinels lined the ledge of the cliff in front of the jarl’s fortress, their arrows nocked but not drawn as they vigilantly guarded the entrance to the enormous timbered hall.
On either side of the cliff, armed guards inside gated watchtowers defended the narrow, winding stairs carved into the stone cliff.
While úlvhild watched Njord and Lugh speak with the jarl’s men, two small boats glided into the nearby inlet, their dripping nets filled with fish.
As the fishermen efficiently cleaned and gutted their catch, squawking gulls swooped down to seize scraps tossed upon the beach, their guttural caws rising above the crashing waves, carried on the salty, stinging spray.
Njáll, clad in his striking black wolfskin cloak, left Luna’s side to join Bodo—garbed in his massive brown wolf fur over chain mail armor—and Ildris at the prow.
The úlfhéenar warriors and Ljósálfar lord were ready to leap onto the shore and draw swords, should the encounter turn hostile.
To úlvhild’s relief, the byrti and Njord grasped each other’s forearms in a friendly exchange while the archers lowered their bows and the swordsmen visibly relaxed, their demeanor shifting from tense and wary to cautiously welcoming.
Njord returned with Lugh to the ship, a relieved grin stretching across his bearded face as he climbed aboard and spoke to Elfi.
“Jarl Sigurd welcomes us to his fortress, offering hospitality while we restock supplies.” He gestured to the byrti and eight armed guards.
“They will escort us to lodging behind the jarl’s hall.
úlvhild shall have her own guest house and designated servant, out of respect for as a volva.
Elfi, Luna, and Sif will share the lodge adjacent to hers.
I shall reside with the úlfhéenar in the third guest house, with the Ljósálfar sheltered in the fourth.
The Danish warriors and Norman knights will be settled in the two communal longhouses behind Jarl Sigurd’s Great Hall. ”
Lugh boarded the ship to escort úlvhild, Njáll returned to Luna’s side, and Bodo offered Sif his mail-clad arm as the eight húskarlar placed a wooden plank along the side of the ship for the ladies to disembark without stepping into the cold, rough seawater or slipping on the kelp- strewn shore.
“I’ll return to the ship for your staff and wooden trunk and deliver them personally to your guest house,” Njord promised úlvhild.
“We’ll bring your belongings up to the lodge so you can rest and refresh,” he informed Elfi, Luna, and Sif.
“Jarl Sigurd will receive us at dagmál in his Great Hall, and he’s arranged a welcoming feast this evening in our honor. ”