Chapter 22
Dragon’s Leap Cave
After nine arduous days at sea, Freyja’s Falcon and Dragonfire finally docked at the Norse village of V?gan, where they had just met the Blóesmier crew less than a month ago, before sailing to the Faroe Islands at úlvhild’s urgent summons.
Now, here they were again—returning to the same port where the crew would pass the winter, because the seas would be too icy for travel to Normandy until the spring.
Haldor was physically, emotionally, and magically depleted, having sustained úlvhild through the seiefjáer bond during the voyage. Although she was able to drink sips of water when she stirred, she had not fully awakened since the battle in ísland.
While Haldor remained with úlvhild—he dared not leave her side, since he was keeping her alive through the seierfjáer bond— the crews unloaded supplies and procured lodging and work to last throughout the winter.
Haldor stood on the deck of Freyja’s Falcon, úlvhild securely wrapped in warm blankets and thick furs by his side.
The frigid sea breeze tugged at his heavy woolen cloak as he watched Skjold and Gr?skegg enter the longhouse to speak with Knút Eiriksson, chieftain of the Norse village.
From inside the vast timbered hall, the inviting aroma of herbed woodsmoke, roasted meats, and freshly baked bread promised a welcome respite from autumn’s cold, briny bite.
Inside úlvhild’s trunk on the deck of the ship, he fetched the items he would need for the ritual.
Her silver chalice, embedded with gems and etched with runes.
Freyja’s Whisper, her sacred dagger. Her leather belt, with its pouches of herbs, bones, and runes.
And—wrapped in sealskin leather and furs for the sea voyage—her carved moonstone staff.
He secured the smaller items inside his own satchel, and laid it near the staff at her side.
When the three men emerged from the thatched roof hall, Haldor recognized the tall, broad-shouldered Knút, whose majestic reindeer cloak and finely embroidered woolen tunic reminded him of his foster father Jaskka.
From where he now stood near the prow, Haldor overheard Skjold negotiating with Knút for a sled to transport úlvhild and supplies to the Dragon’s Leap cave.
Knút gestured to two brawny men, who brought forth an empty sled from inside a storage shed near the longhouse.
The runners scraped lightly against the rough stone under the light layer of snow as they pulled it forward with strong leather straps looped over their shoulders, carefully setting it down before Skojld and Gr?skegg.
As Skjold ran a hand along the frame, Knút said, “Made of fine ash, slicked with reindeer fat. It’s sound and sturdy. This will carry her through the mountain snow. With supplies tucked in around her.”
When Skjold nodded in approval, Knút sent his men to fetch cargo from a storehouse near the large hall. He motioned for two other men to fetch a pair of reindeer from the stable.
Gr?skegg made a move to follow, but Knút lifted a hand. “My hall, my burden,” the chieftain said simply. “Let my men see to it.”
Haldor’s captain gave a respectful nod and stepped back beside Skjold, watching as the preparations unfolded.
Two burly stags with wide antlers were led from the paddocks, their breath steaming in the chill, hooves crunching over the frost-laced ground.
Knút’s men hitched them to the sled with practiced ease, then returned with bundles of firewood, smoked meats and fish, dried berries, fresh water, flatbread, and nuts, which they loaded into the sides and rear of the sled.
Herbs wrapped in linens were tucked alongside soft furs in the nest they created for úlvhild.
Skjold checked each bundle, making sure everything was secure and balanced. He went inside with Knút and returned with Bjarni and Yrjar, who would help them transport úlvhild and the supplies up the mountain to the Dragon’s Leap cave.
As they gathered near the sled, four of Knút’s men led sturdy ponies from the stables, saddled and ready for the journey.
Skjold crossed the snow-covered ground and strode down the wooden dock where the two ships were moored. He hopped onto the deck of Freyja’s Falcon and spoke to Haldor. “The price was fair. I paid for the use of the sled, the ponies, and a pair of skis—for me to deliver supplies to you and úlvhild.”
Haldor grasped Skjold’s forearms in gratitude.
A silent bond passed between them—eight winters of battle and brotherhood bound into a single, compelling look.
“You’ve stood by me through fire and frost, Skjold.
” He glanced down at úlvhild’s pale face, remembering how Skjold had shielded her during the battle in ísland. “She lives because of you.”
Loyalty, pride, and fierce love blazed in Skjold’s warrior gaze.
Together, Skjold and Haldor carried Ulvhild from the ship and lowered her carefully onto the sled, securing her with soft furs and blankets.
Skjold returned to the ship and fetched her moonstone staff, laying it beside her, while Bjarni and Yrjar hauled the trunks and settled them at the back of the sleigh.
With a firm nod from Knút, the men who had harnessed the reindeer handed the leather reins to Skjold as Haldor sat down in the sled beside úlvhild. He would keep her stable during the journey through the forest until they reached the foot of the V?gakallen mountain.
We’ll carry her up to the cave and settle her with furs and blankets. I’ll start a fire… and remain at her side, to sustain her through the seiefjáer. Skjold and the Blóesmier can carry the supplies up from the sled.
They would leave the ponies, the reindeer, and the sleigh at the base of the mountain, since the ascent was too steep for the animals to climb.
With Gr?skegg and Bjarni riding on either side of the sled, and Yrjar bringing up the rear, Skjold, atop his pony, held the reins in his gloved hands and thanked Knút. “Takk, Knút. For everything.”
Knút raised a hand in farewell. “May the mountain spirits guide your path. Fareu vel!”
His men echoed the blessing with low murmurs as the sled slowly creaked into motion.
Skjold led them toward the snow-capped mountain and shouted, rallying the Blóesmier and Haldor alike. “To the Dragon’s Leap cave. Gods willing, we’ll be there by midmorning.”
* * * *
When they arrived at the base of the V?gakallen mountain, where the ísstjarna waterfall cascaded from a high cliff, the morning light was pale, the biting wind crisp and sharp, with light snow swirling in slow spirals.
Jagged black peaks of the Dragon’s Spine, as it was called by local traders and trappers, sloped upward in a steep, narrow climb.
Dusted with the first white hint of winter, the rugged crests cut through the low clouds like sharp spikes of a massive beast. High above, barely visible through the icy mist, the rocky ledge of Dragon’s Leap jutted out into the frosty shroud.
The men dismounted and hitched the ponies to stout trunks of pine trees near a narrow stream which trickled from the waterfall nearby, half-hidden beneath moss and tangled roots.
The animals lowered their heads and drank, breath steaming in the cold air.
Bjarni unhitched the two reindeer from the sled, murmuring softly as he guided them to the trickling brook beside the pines.
Their hooves crunched over the frosted ground as they joined the ponies, dipping their muzzles into the icy water.
Since the grass was sparse and brittle, Bjarni pulled a small sack of oats mixed with dried moss from his pack and scattered handfuls for the animals to eat.
Haldor rose from the sled and adjusted the sword, axe, and knife strapped to his hip.
As he secured úlvhild’s moonstone staff on his back, alongside his Dwarven spear, he glanced up at the Dragon’s Leap ledge high above in the shrouded mist. “Skjold and I will carry Ulvhild,” he said.
“Be cautious. The path is narrow, and the stones are slick with moss and ice.”
Gr?skegg grunted in agreement and secured a bundle of firewood onto his back, along with wooden bowls, cups, and a pot for cooking. “I’ll follow your lead.”
Yrjar strapped the water skins and a wrapped parcel containing smoked fish, dried meat, flatbread, nuts, and berries, leaving his arms free for the treacherous climb. He shifted the weight and settled in behind them. “And I’ll watch our backs.”
The brisk wind whisked through the jagged peaks, carrying the cold scent of frost and pine. Bjarni stood with the reindeer and ponies, scarred hand resting on his sheathed sword. “I’ll watch the beasts and keep them safe. Can’t have them wander off or fall prey to wolves.”
Skjold’s Dwarven shield was strapped tightly to his back, the worn leather bindings creaking slightly as he shifted. Beneath it, bundles of blankets and furs were tucked in securely, soft against the hard metal handle.
As they began the arduous ascent, a falcon’s cry pierced the sky. The tattooed feathers of Freyja’s Mark burned warm across Haldor’s chest and back. A gust of wind caressed his bristled cheek like the brush of wings.
Haldor inhaled deeply. A faint trace of juniper—remnant of the berries úlvhild had burned in her last seier vision in ísland—still clung to the folds of his woolen cloak.
The wind shifted, carrying the crisp scent of snow-kissed heather and old lichen from the craggy rocks.
He looked up the path to the craggy ledge overhead.
And carried his beloved volva to the Drekafjall cave.