Page 11 of Wolf of the Nordic Seas (Valiant Vikings #2)
Bodo le Bo?teux
A thick plume of smoke arose from the massive stone furnace where an apprentice manned the bellows, pumping air onto the raging fire. A metalworker smelted iron ore, gathering the molten liquid and pouring it into molds. Over a nearby open hearth, a blacksmith removed a white hot metal ingot with enormous tongs, holding it in place while a mammoth brute with a sledgehammer shaped it with precisely controlled blows. When the armorer plunged the blazing sword into cooling water, billows of sizzling steam spluttered loudly in the sweltering heat. Workers crafted daggers, chain mail armor, arrowheads, lances, and shields. And assistants created tools, nails, hinges, locks, and keys. Amidst the deafening din of loud hammering and gusty grunts, Njord entered the clamorous castle armory.
And recognized Bodo immediately.
Just as he’d felt the instant bond with the white wolf in the forest, Njord knew at once that the stocky, shaggy stone cutter with the piercing gaze was the man he sought.
And that Bodo le Bo?teux had the spirit of a wolf.
As he stared at the mason who was sculpting an intricate design into a smooth block of white limestone, a violent shiver rippled up Njord’s spine. The hairs on the back of his neck bristled— not in warning, as if sensing an enemy—but in recognition of a lupine brother.
A wolf warrior, like himself.
The castle armorer, Tóki, stopped hammering, wiped his blackened hands on the dingy apron covering his clothing, and approached Njord with a cordial grin. “Good day, my lord. How may I help you?”
Njord shook the proffered hand and indicated the craftsman seated at a wooden table in a back corner of the immense workshop. “I’m looking for a stone cutter named Bodo. Is that him?”
Tóki followed the direction of Njord’s gaze and nodded. “ Já, that’s Bodo. A newcomer in town. Got a bad limp, but he’s the best stone cutter I’ve ever met. Glad to have him working for me. Come, I’ll introduce you.”
Weaving through the tables where workers riveted handles on shields, shaped scrap metal into tools and nails, and carved embellishments onto the hilts of daggers and swords, the master blacksmith led Njord to the heavily bearded stonecutter with wily, lupine eyes.
“Jarl Njord, this is Bodo Svendsen, a stone cutter from the Lofoten Islands in Norway. He just recently arrived in étretat, and I’m grateful to have him.” Tóki grinned as Bodo rose stiffly from his seat and shook Njord’s extended hand. “Bodo—this is Njord ívarrsson, the Danish Jarl of Ribe. He’ll be the new Count of étretat, once he marries Lady Elfi during the Nordic Yule.”
A fiery current sizzled up Njord’s arm when he shook Bodo’s calloused hand. Recognition and acknowledgement glinted in the stone cutter’s astute, perceptive gaze. “ Góean dag , Jarl Njord. It is an honor to meet the highly revered Wolf of the Nordic Seas .” Bodo turned toward Tóki, who seemed enormously pleased to have presented the future Lord of étretat to one of his workers. “I need to speak at length with Jarl Njord. Would it be all right if I left now? I’ll catch up on my work tomorrow—and stay longer, to compensate for the lost time today.”
The castle armorer appeared amenable to the idea. “Of course. It is my privilege to serve our new jarl.” Tóki inclined his head respectfully to Njord. “If you’ll excuse me, I must return to my work. Fareu vel , my lord.” He grinned at Bodo and headed back toward the forge. “See you tomorrow. ”
A feral fervor gleamed in Bodo’s dark eyes. “I’m glad you found me. I intended to come to you—and introduce myself at the mass wedding celebration this Frigg’s Day. But this is even better. It gives us more time to plan.” He cleaned and stored his tools, wiping off his worktable as he spoke to Njord. “I have a great deal to tell you about your past. And I must prepare you for the future. There is something I want to show you. My cabin is not far from here. Come, it’s this way.”
The brown leather boot on Bodo’s misshapen right foot was much larger than the other and was strapped with a belt above the ankle to hold it in place. Turned outward at an awkward, impossible angle, the obviously mangled foot made walking difficult for the stout, solidly built stonemason. Yet, as he hobbled out the door of the armory, back into the crowded street of étretat, he led Njord at a good pace to a wattle and daub hut near the edge of the thick beech forest just beyond the outer curtain wall surrounding the castle.
“I live alone,” Bodo explained, unlocking the heavy wooden door and ushering Njord into the small cabin. “And I’m a terrible cook. So I take my meals in the Great Hall of the castle,” he quipped with a sly grin. “But my neighbor’s wife sells me some of the ale she makes, and it’s very good. Please sit, and I’ll fetch us two drinking horns.”
While Bodo lumbered over to a row of shelves affixed to the wooden wall, Njord sat down at the table and perused his surroundings.
At the back of the spacious rectangular room, there was a small bed piled with furs and a carved oak trunk on the herb-scented, rush-covered floor. In the opposite corner, he noted carving tools, chisels, saws, and hammers on a workbench beside stone figurines, decorations, and trinkets that Bodo was apparently creating to sell in the local market.
When Njord spotted a stunning limestone sculpture, his breath hitched in his throat and a violent shiver rippled up his spine.
For there—on a pinewood table nestled against a side wall—stood an intricately carved stone statue featuring the lifelike head, neck, and shoulders of a Viking warrior, draped with a wolfskin over a chainmail coif headpiece.
Just like the armor and white wolf fur that Njord himself always wore into battle.
The rugged features and braided beard of the scarred, savage stone face were very much like his own, for Njord had often glimpsed his reflection in the still, smooth waters of the fjords in Norway when he’d sailed the Nordic Seas.
While Bodo watched with an amused wolflike grin, Njord rose from his seat and strode over for a closer look.
The resemblance was uncanny.
Njord’s limbs shook at the sudden surge of adrenaline. Mouth agape, stunned speechless, he spun toward Bodo for an explanation.
“That’s your father. Brokk Sigurdsson. My mentor. My trainer. My friend. When he died in my arms, I swore that I would find you. And tell you all about him. The white wolf he sent to protect you. And the prophecy I must help you fulfill.” Bodo approached an astounded, awestruck Njord, offering him a white elkhorn wrapped with inlaid silver and engraved with Nordic runes. “Come, sit at the table and drink this. While I honor my sacred oath to Brokk.”
His mouth parched, his throat clenched, Njord downed the contents of the ale. He plopped down onto the bench, his arm twitching as Bodo refilled the drinking horn, set the pitcher and two wooden stands on top of the table, and settled onto the seat across from his astonished guest.
Taking a long pull from his own elkhorn, Bodo placed the vessel in the wooden stand before him and began the tale that Njord was desperate to hear.
“Your father and I were members of the úlfhéenar —an elite band of wolfskin warriors who served Harald Bluetooth, the Viking King of Denmark and Norway. When Brokk led us to victory in a gruesome battle despite overwhelming odds, our immensely grateful king bestowed the Dwarven sword úlfsongr —Wolfsong—to your father as a reward for his exceptional valor and extraordinary skill.” Bodo leaned back, folded brawny arms across his broad chest, and fixed Njord with a riveting stare. “Bluetooth sent six of his úlfhéenar, including Brokk and myself, with a Viking army and a fleet of drakkar warships to aid his ally Haldor Falk. A chieftain in the Faroe Islands who was under attack by an enemy aided by the Dokkálfar Dark Elves.”
Revulsion and rage blazed across Bodo’s bearded face. “In wolf form, the úlfhéenar can kill the Dokkálfar . But if we are wounded by a Dark Elven weapon, we will die within three days unless treated by a Light Elven healer.” Bodo averted his eyes, unable to meet Njord’s direct gaze. “Although we defeated the Dark Elves and saved Bluetooth’s ally, Haldor Falk, Brokk was mortally injured in the Battle of Tórshavn, on the Faroe Island of Streymoy, by the deadly spear of a Dokkalfár .” Grief ravaging his scarred face, Bodo choked and spluttered as he drained his elkhorn. He refilled both drinking vessels, his hand visibly shaking as he poured.
Njord’s pulse hammered against his ribs. Equally torn between desire and dread to hear the rest of the harrowing account, he forced down a gulp of ale to quench his scorched throat. “But you couldn’t get him to a Ljósálfar healer in time.”
Bodo nodded, struggling to regain his voice. “While the rest of Bluetooth’s army remained in Tórshavn to bury our fallen and treat the injured, I sailed west with a crew of thirty men to take Brokk to ísland. Home of the greatest Light Elven healer of all. Brokk’s wife and fated mate. Your mother. The Ljósálfar Queen íssla.”
Too stunned to speak, Njord’s head spun as he grappled with the implausible, impossible revelation. My mother’s name was Hlíf. She died when I was a babe. Bodo’s tale cannot be true.
Like a whisper from the distant past, the volva’s voice from Norway floated across the Nordic Seas. “ You will discover the truth. And fulfill the prophecy. For you are destined to wield the Dwarven sword .”
Njord, having just come from úlvhild’s eerie hut, recalled her otherworldly sighting through seier magic. “Find the stonecutter with the maimed foot. He holds the knowledge you seek.” While Njord reeled with voices and visions, Bodo continued his extraordinary tale.
“Aboard ship, Brokk realized he would die before we reached ísland . He made me swear to bring the Dwarven sword to his Ljósálfar wife, who would guard it until I brought you to her one day to reclaim it.” A nostalgic smile mellowed Bodo’s rugged features. “He told me all about you. The son his otherworldly mate had born and shielded from Dokkálfar spies with a cloak of Light Elven magic. How she had taken you as a babe to Norway, shrouding you with wards of protection, rendering you invisible to the Dark Elves determined to thwart the prophecy.” He took a long pull of ale, wiping his mouth with the back of a hardened hand. “In Norway, íssla cast a spell on a young woman named Hlíf, so that she would believe you were her own son. Brokk told me how the old fisherman ívarr raised you after Hlíf died. He also told me he’d sent his hámr— the essence of his spirit — as a white wolf to serve as your guardian, to watch over you until you reached manhood. With his dying breath, Brokk asked me to find you, in the Land of the White Chalk Cliffs. Where destiny would lead you to your fated mate. The siren with the sea goddess eyes.”
A violent shudder shook Njord’s limbs. Astrid—the volva in Norway—used those exact words to describe Elfi. “ Your fate… and your mate… the siren with sea goddess eyes…lie on distant shores, across the Nordic Seas .” The hairs on his arms rose as the fateful vision enveloped him, like the protective pelt of the white wolfskin cloak.
“We must bring your mate with us when we sail to ísland. Brokk did not know how she would help you fulfill the prophecy, but that she was essential to our success.” Bodo finished his horn of ale and watched Njord warily, waiting for him to respond .
Njord rose from his chair and began pacing the room, adrenaline surging in his veins. “You say we must sail to ísland, for me to reclaim my father’s Dwarven sword. But for what purpose? And that Elfi must come with us. Yet we cannot possibly leave now, with her father still imprisoned and his release uncertain.” He stared incredulously at Bodo. “I have just arrived from Denmark—with an army of a thousand Viking warriors to rebuild étretat and defend the Pays de Caux against the constant threat of another attack by the Count of Soissons and the Frankish King Lothaire.”
Stymied by conflicting and seemingly contradictory information, Njord approached the table where Bodo sat and withdrew the leather parcel from his belt. He unfolded it upon the table, revealing the bones of the white wolf and the trollkors talisman that úlvhild had just given him. “In Norway, when the white wolf died, I found his body in the forest. A male voice—that I heard inside my head —told me to save these two bones. That I would need them for weapons to protect my future mate. He also told me to remove the white wolfskin fur, and to wear it as a cloak each time I went into battle, so that the wolf could protect me from the afterlife. Today, I brought these bones to the volva úlvhild. She foresaw that a Ljósálfar would craft weapons with them—for my betrothed Elfi to wield. That he would come to meet Elfi and me in the sacred grove where we train with swords. And that the man who hunts her—the treacherous Count of Soissons—has allied with Dokkálfar Dark Elves and a shapeshifting troll.”
Njord pointed to the enchanted trollkors amulet. “úlvhild imbued this talisman with galdr magic, etching my blood as Elfi’s fated mate into the runes for her protection. The volva said that if the troll or the Dark Elves try to touch Elfi, they’ll burn from the inside out.” Njord’s heart hammered in his chest as he held Bodo’s scrutinizing gaze. “I will give this trollkors to Elfi tomorrow. And pray to Odin that the Ljósálfar comes to the sacred grove very soon.”
Bodo reverently picked up the bones, sniffed them, and peered up at Njord with shrewd lupine eyes. “Lugh—the Lord of the Light Elves—will be the one who comes to you in the sacred grove. He’ll craft the wolf weapons for Elfi with these protective bones. Lugh is the leader of the Ljósálfar who defend the Land of the White Chalk Cliffs. He’s the one who crafted Jarl Rikard’s sword Aragil . And the Ljósálfar sword Duradrakk , for Count Sk?rde as the Dragon of Denmark. Both enchanted blades have defended Normandy against the Franks in several bloody battles.” Sorrow tempered Bodo’s savage tone. “Lugh was also the one who crafted Galadir —the Light Elven sword which the Count of Soissons stole when he killed Elfi’s brother Dag.”
Bodo carefully wrapped the white wolf bones and trollkors back inside the deerskin leather, returned the package to Njord, and rose from his seat. “Remember I said there was something I wanted to show you? Drink your ale while I fetch it. I’ll be right back.”
A few moments later, Bodo returned with a huge metal trap with sharp teeth and a thick iron chain. The sight of the hideous device raised the hackles on the back of Njord’s neck and sent a sudden jolt surging through his veins. Instantly and inexplicably, he was primed for battle and shot to his feet. “What in Odin’ name is that? It exudes raw, wretched evil.”
“This is why my foot is permanently mangled. It’s the wolf trap that a Dokkálfar set to snare me. So they could torture or enchant me into divulging the location of Brokk’s Dwarven sword.” Bodo seemed inordinately pleased at Njord’s revulsion to the vile trap. “Fortunately, Lugh found me first and brought me to álfheim —the land of the Ljósálfar Light Elves—where I was healed. But the damage to my foot could not be undone. Lugh nullified the dark magic in this trap so that I could show it you. Because you are the reason I came to the Pays de Caux . To train you. As your father once trained me.”
Njord’s pulse quickened at the feral gleam dancing in Bodo’s dark lupine eyes .
“Brokk told me that fate would lead you to your mate in the Land of the White Chalk Cliffs. So, after I rejoined the Viking warriors and úlfhéenar in the Faroe Islands and sailed back to Norway, I kept track of the son of the fisherman’s daughter from Bj?rgvin who became known as the infamous Wolf of the Nordic Seas . When I learned that Harald Bluetooth planned to send you—the Danish Jarl of Ribe—to the alabaster coast of Normandy, I came here to find you. That’s when the Dokkálfar trapped me and Lugh saved my life.”
Bodo hefted the heavy metal trap and lugged it back to the wooden chest at the foot of his bed. Storing it inside a burlap sack, he locked the latch and hobbled back to Njord’s side. “You— like your father and me—are one of the úlfhéenar. A wolf spirit warrior capable of killing the nearly invincible Dokkálfar Dark Elves. By shifting into the form of a wolf.” He flashed a wicked grin, revealing sharp canine teeth. “I will train you. And introduce you to the others. Because, like wolves, we úlfhéenar hunt and fight as a pack.” Exhaling in disgust, he gestured to his maimed foot. “Although I no longer run as quickly as I once did, I can still kill the Dokkálfar . And train you to be as fierce a wolf warrior as your father Brokk.”
Pulling a brynja shirt of chain mail over his woolen tunic, Bodo strapped on his sword. “The úlfhéenar train every evening in La Forêt du Loup —the Forest of the Wolf—a grove of dense beech trees that Lugh cloaked in Ljósálfar magic to hide us from the Dark Elves who hunt us. We’ve been training there, waiting for you to join us.”
From an elaborately carved oaken chest on the floor near the stone sculpture of Brokk, Bodo retrieved an enormous cloak with the massive head and thick fur of a huge brown wolf. He draped it over his chain mail armor and transfixed Njord with a mesmerizing, challenging stare.
Lupine senses awakened, wolf spirit alive, Njord shook as a powerful swell of energy flowed into him like pounding waves of the Nordic Seas.
“Come,” Bodo said, heading toward the exit door. “We’ll stop by your longhouse so you can fetch the white wolfskin. Then I’ll take you to La Forêt du Loup . To meet the úlfhéenar pack.”