Chapter 21
Prophecy Fulfilled
úlvhild awoke to the squawking of sea gulls, the streaming of sunlight, and an insistent hardness poking the back of her bare bottom.
Haldor kissed her neck and moaned into her ear. “Let me in.”
She parted her legs and gladly complied.
He slipped a hand between her thighs and rubbed her sensitive bud in rhythm with his relentless thrusts until she convulsed and quivered, clamping onto him as they both shuddered in a shared, blissful release. “Mmm,” he nuzzled her cheek and hummed. “My favorite way to start the morning.”
She rolled back to face him and smiled. “Mine, too.”
As he got up and washed in the basin on the table, she told him about her vision. “Lothaire will attack in the spring. When you and Skjold return to the Pays de Caux, you must alert Sk?rde and Jarl Rikard, so they can warn Hugh Capet.”
“You speak as if you do not plan to sail with us.” The morning sun glistened on his gloriously naked body as he shot her a fierce gaze, his dark brows furrowed in concern.
“What are you not telling me, úlvhild?” Long, muscular legs strode briskly across the stone floor as he plopped onto the bed and grasped her hand. “What else did your vision reveal?”
She quickly recovered, forcing reassurance into her voice to dissuade his intuitive doubts.
“That Skjold will shield the cape and defend the future crown.” She brushed a lock of dark hair from his tender but dubious face.
“Capet will become the first of a new dynasty of kings that will reign for a thousand years.” úlvhild leaned forward and kissed him, grateful that the love they shared last night and this morning had strengthened his magic through the seierfjáer which bound them.
And when I succumb to the crimson-eyed witch, I will give him every last drop I have left.
Rising from the bed, she quickly washed and donned her golden gown.
I shall wear this color to wield the magic of sólrún, gift of the Goddess Sól.
When she swept her long black hair aside and fastened the amber necklace of Freyja, a comforting thought crossed her mind.
Perhaps the goddess will help me save Haldor, as she did once before.
When he was critically wounded as a falcon in the bloody battle to reclaim Jarl Rikard’s fortress of Fécamp.
She strapped on her belt, with its pouches of herbs, berries, and bones.
And sheathed her garnet embellished, rune inscribed dagger, Freyja’s Whisper, into the leather scabbard at her waist.
As úlvhild finished securing the leather straps on Haldor’s striking falcon armor, a knock at the door announced the royal sentinels who had come to retrieve their trunks and transport them down to the ships being loaded at the dock.
Haldor strapped on his sword Seiervindr, and secured his ísfalkr spear in the Dwarven harness across his back.
Tucking his plumed helmet under the falcon feather vambrace of his forearm, he took hold of úlvhild’s hand and led her to the Moonstone Hall where sunlight streaming through the narrow windows made the walls glisten like glittering gems.
They joined Elfi and Njord, Luna and Njáll, Bodo and Sif, and Queen íssla at the table for a quick meal. úlvhild leaned her moonstone staff against the wall behind her chair and shared her vision about the springtime battle near the mountaintop castle of King Lothaire.
“’The Son of the Dragon will shield the cape and defend the future crown.’ Hugh Capet is the cape,” she explained to Skjold, “and the future king you must protect and see crowned. For Hugh Capet will found a new dynasty that will unite the kingdom of Francia and endure for a thousand years.”
While everyone digested the enormity of úlvhild’s vision amidst the heightened tension of the impending battle, Njord arose from the table.
“Let’s go down to the docks and speak with the ship captains.
See how soon we set sail.” He kissed Elf on the lips and his mother on the cheek.
“I’ll come back when I have more information.
. Enjoy the rest of your meal.” With a nod, he led Njáll and Bodo out of the castle and down the stone stairs.
As Elfi, Luna, Sif, and úlvhild lingered over the fresh fruit and grilled fish, Queen íssla was called away to meet with a messenger from ólaf One Eye.
A few moments later, Bodo appeared in the doorway, his eyes wide with panic.
“Elfi,” he gasped, struggling to catch his breath.
“Njord’s hurt—in wolf form. He shifted, then fell.
” A shadow of foreboding slithered up úlvhild’s spine.
“Come quickly, I’ll take you to him. He’s by the hot springs under the black cliff. ”
She grasped her moonstone staff, and they scrambled down the steps behind Bodo.
He led them around the base of the mountain, away from the village.
As they rounded the bend and dashed across a field scattered with wildflowers, úlvhild spotted a bubbling spring whose wispy curls of white steam rose on the salty breeze from the sea.
In the midst of a patch of green grass sprinkled with tiny purple blooms of wild thyme, an obviously injured white wolf lay panting in pain on its right side.
“Njord—no! Freyja, help me!” Elfi raced across the grass and knelt at his side. She stroked the white fur, inconsolable with grief.
When the wolf lifted its head and licked her face, úlvhild nearly fell to her knees.
Because Elfi, in a single swooping motion, withdrew the úlfblad dagger from her waist and slashed the wolf’s throat!
When Elfi jumped back, away from the writhing form, a guttural, unnatural howl tore from the beast as it spasmed in agony amongst the flowers. Its thick white fur was slick with red as dark blood pulsed from the fatal wound.
For a breathless moment, it still looked like a wolf, but the convulsing creature transformed into the Varangian warrior óttar Skov.
And then into a repulsive mass of dark reptilian hide that reeked of rot and decay.
The foul, fetid stench of a troll.
Elfi staggered away from the hulking corpse and rinsed the blood from her blade in the steaming spring.
As Sif and úlvhild rushed to her side, she showed them the Ljósálfar dagger with intricate swirls and a trio of runes etched into the silvery blade.
Embedded in the ivory hilt, a dazzling gildir starstone blazed in the October sun.
“úlfblad,” she murmured, sheathing it in the dragonscale scabbard at her waist. “Crafted by Lugh with the bones of the sacred white wolf that Njord wears as his úlfhéenar cloak.”
“How did you know it was not Njord?” Sif’s voice shook as much as her limbs.
“Because I have met Njord’s wolf before. And those eyes were not his.” She reached inside the bodice of her gown and lifted the iron talisman as her warrior gaze fixed on úlvhild. “And the trollkors burned hot against my skin.”
Bodo hobbled across the grass, urgency threading his husky voice.
“We must hurry — this was a trap.” He tore the bloodstone ring from his finger and showed it to Elfi, úlvhild, Luna, and Sif.
“The troll Narglok used this to control me. I was forced to betray you.” He threw the cursed ring onto the putrid corpse and cast a fearful glance southward.
His voice dropped to a rasp. “They’re coming. From both sides.”
In the harbor below, the shrill blast of a war horn split the air as four stealthy snekkja—their white sails marked with soaring black ravens and a slash of blood red—and two larger Frankish vessels with blue sails emblazoned with a silver chalice blocked the mouth of the sheltered inlet.
Frantic shouts echoed up the hillside from the black beach as Njord’s warriors scrambled to defend ships and shore.
Some vaulted over rails to man the decks, taking up bows, spears, axes, and swords. Others rushed to the water’s edge, forming a shieldwall with a thunder of iron and wood.
And from the southern cliffs, shadows spilled over the ridge like a dark wave of doom as Dokkálfar, Rus raiders, and Frankish warriors descended upon them with drawn steel.
Elfi spun to úlvhild. “I must summon the wolves.” Lifting to her lips the carved bone whistle which hung from a black leather cord around her neck, she furiously blew úlftiri, her cheeks billowing with the effort.
Although no audible sound emerged, within moments, the úlfhéenar—including ólaf One Eye—thundered up from the beach, lupine eyes wild with the call to war.
Behind the wolves raced Haldor, falcon armor gleaming, feather vambraces glistening, and Skjold, the Hrímsúl gem in his Dwarven shield ablaze with ice blue fire.
They were flanked by a wedge of Ljosálfar warriors in frosted dragonscale, armor, the gildir starstones in their Light Elven weapons shimmering in the pale sun.
Elfi surveyed the harbor, her sharp eyes calculating.
She gripped úlvhild’s arm and indicated a nearby ledge that jutted out over the sea.
“I’ll hurl waves at the enemy ships. And wield sjósongr to summon the Mélusines.
” She raced off and met Njord, exchanged a few words in haste.
and pressed a kiss to his cheek before dashing to the edge of the bluff.
From the glowing gem of his Dwarven shield, Skjold projected a plume of frostfire, the ice blue flames roaring up in a protective circle around Sif and Luna, huddled close to the base of the mountain beneath the black cliff.
With Sif now safe, Bodo joined Njord and their wolf brothers, barreling across the field toward the approaching Dokkálfar.