Page 12 of Wolf of the Nordic Seas (Valiant Vikings #2)

Blood of the Wolf

In the gloaming of twilight, Bodo led Njord southeast, away from the castle, and into the dense forest of la Forêt du Loup . At the base of an enormous beech tree, four warriors clad in chain mail armor covered with wolfskins grinned at their approach. Njord recognized the men, for he’d seen them training in the castle courtyard among the warriors camping in tents near le Chateau Blanc . His pulse raced with a sudden spike of adrenaline.

“This is Njord ívarrsson, the Danish jarl of Ribe. Legendary Wolf of the Nordic Seas .” Bodo introduced Njord to the úlfhéenar pack.

A towering blond beast with broad shoulders and braided beard—cloaked in the fur of a great grey wolf—lumbered forward to shake Bodo’s hand. His nostrils flared, catching Njord’s scent, as his icy blue eyes narrowed in recognition. “I’m úlf,” he growled with a wolfish smirk, offering Njord an outstretched hand. “A fitting name, nei ?”

Njord clasped the mammoth grip, a shock of energy sizzling up his arm. “ Vel m?lt ,” he replied respectfully, meeting úlf’s challenging stare. With a confident but cautious grin, he shook and released the leader’s mammoth hand.

úlf gestured to an even taller warrior with lanky limbs, wiry torso, long black hair and beard, clad in a striking black wolfskin. “That’s Njáll, my second. He’s our tracker.”

As Njord shook Njáll’s hand and experienced a similar jolt of crackling energy, a Viking with a powerful, stocky build—a rare russet wolfskin draped over his long red hair and braided beard—approached to welcome him. “I’m Hrólf Redbeard,” he said with a firm handshake. “And this is Flóki, our fastest runner.”

The shortest and slightest of the úlfhéenar pack, Flóki greeted Njord, sending another current sizzling up his arm with a gripping handshake. A wolfskin blend of grey, brown, and white covered his chainmail armor and dark brown hair. Fraternity and ferocity blazed in his dark brown eyes.

“Njord knows that his father Brokk was leader of the úlfhéenar in Norway. That Bluetooth sent the six of us to aid Haldor Falk in the Faroe Islands, where Brokk died in battle. I told him about the Dwarven sword úlfsongr, and how I must help him fulfill the prophecy.” Bodo nodded to úlf. “Now he needs to learn to fight as a wolf.”

“Your senses have always been extraordinary, haven’t they?” úlf’s pale blue eyes were as icy as the winter skies of Norway. “Exceptional hearing, sight, and smell. Superior strength and speed. Quicker reflexes, more stamina. No warrior could ever match your skill.” The bearded blond giant withdrew a leather-bound weapon from the sheath at his waist and held it in his outstretched, flattened palm.

Dread, death, and despair hovered in the heavy air.

“Like us, you have the blood of the Volsung warriors descended from Odin who can shift into wolves at will.” úlf’s piercing gaze blazed with ice blue fire. “In lupine form, we can kill the Dark Elves of the Dokkálfar . But their insidious weapons—like the unerring spear that impaled your father Brokk—are always fatal to the úlfhéenar. Unless we are quickly healed by Light Elven magic.”

The amber eyes of the black wolfskin glowed in the twilight above Njáll’s long, angular face. “The first time you are exposed to a Dokkálfar , a troll, or Dark Elven magic, instinct takes over—and you shift into a wolf.” Sharp canine teeth sparkled in the emerging starlight. “If the Norns have determined that you should prevail, you will kill the enemy and survive. But a Dark Elven blade can inflict a fatal wound, and a wolf cannot wield a weapon. That is why it’s essential that you learn to control your gift. And shift at will rather than on impulse or instinct.”

“Wear your wolfskin cloak and battle as a human—with supernatural senses and strength—to block, parry, and deliver blows. Once your Dokkálfar enemy is disarmed, shift into wolf form for the kill.” Hrólf Redbeard enhanced his rousing speech by demonstrating with shield and sword.

Senses stirring, muscles twitching, Njord stared uneasily at the wrapped object in úlf’s enormous palm. Revulsion and rage rippled through him, raising the hackles on the back of his neck.

Flóki stepped forward to caution Njord with an outstretched arm. “Your lupine senses detect the Dokkalfar dark magic, even though the blade is completely concealed. Be careful it does not break your skin, for any wound is always fatal, unless treated by a Ljósálfar healer within three days.” He indicated the ominous weapon in úlf’s hand. “We keep this broken dagger—that Brokk acquired in a victorious battle against a Dark Elf —to train new members like you. To expose you to the dark magic, triggering your shift for the first time.” Flóki grinned wolfishly. “Then we teach you to control your power and shift on command.” With a deferential nod to úlf as leader, Flóki stepped back beside the trunk of the enormous beech.

In the still moonlight, an owl hooted as it took flight with a whoosh of wings and a rustling of leaves amongst the dense trees. A summer breeze caressed Njord’s bearded cheek, the clean scent of pine and the tangy brine of the nearby sea calming his shaking limbs.

Now I understand the innate bond I felt with the white wolf. With Bodo, úlf, Njáll, Flóki, and Hrólf. Like my father Brokk and all of these men, I’m one of the úlfhéenar. A Volsung descendant of Odin. At long last, I know the truth. I have the blood of the wolf!

“When you shift, so will we—to teach you how to hunt with the pack. As a wolf, you’ll follow my lead, running with us through the forest while you learn to use your sharpened senses.” úlf nodded to the enormous warrior wrapped in the black wolfskin. “Njáll will track our prey. Flóki will herd it. And Hrólf will take it down with his powerful jaws.” Sharp white canine teeth glimmered as he grinned at Bodo. “Although Bodo limps badly as a man, his injury hinders him much less so as a wolf. He and I will aid Hrólf in taking down the prey—while you go in for the kill.” úlf mesmerized Njord with his piercing úlfhéenar stare. “Tonight, we’ll begin by hunting deer or boar so you develop control and learn to shift at will. Every evening, we’ll continue to train until you are able to hunt with the pack and kill as a wolf. Only then will you be ready to battle the Dokkalfar .”

Njord’s heart hammered against his ribs as úlf painstakingly unfolded the leather parcel and laid the broken dagger on the ground in front of the beech tree.

Intricate swirls in the sinister blade slithered like snakes in the twilight.

Waves of shimmering heat arose, as if from a searing flame, while a noxious odor assailed his flared nostrils. Crackling energy and fury surged through his every pore as violent convulsions wracked his entire body.

When the uncontrollable spasms ended, an incomparable strength pulsed in his veins. His heightened senses were sharp as steel. Thick white fur covered his powerful limbs, and four pointed, retractable claws jutted from each of his massive paws. Stretching his sinewy back and long hind legs, a vicious snarl tore from his ravaged throat.

Ears tucked, he raised his elongated, shaggy snout.

And howled at the opalescent moon.

In human form, his sense of smell had always been keen, but now, Njord caught the scent of a hare nestled in a nearby underground burrow. A hart—an adult male red deer—foraged two miles north in the dense forest. And the acrid odor of urine possessively marked the territory of a pack of eight wolves to the south.

Rotating each of his ears in different directions, he heard a snake slithering in the leaves, the high-pitched chirp of a nightingale’s song, and the waves of the Narrow Sea lapping the sandy shore several miles away.

Each of the five úlfhéenar warriors had assumed the shape of wolves, the color of their fur the same as the lupine cloaks they had worn.

Njord memorized the distinct, unique scent of each member of his pack.

When Njáll growled softly and darted north through the trees, Njord instinctively understood that he was tracking the hart.

úlf barked, and the remaining wolves—including Njord—bounded after him into the thick, dark woods.

The decaying scent of rich, earthy loam mingled with the crisp green aroma of pine, beech, and ash as leaves and twigs snapped under the thick pads of his paws, with claws retracted to increase speed. Despite the dim moonlight slicing through the dense trees, Njord’s vision was superb—he could discern the slightest movement as he loped through the forest behind úlf.

Between Hrólf and Flóki.

In front of Bodo.

His position in the úlfhéenar pack.

A howl from Njáll—informing them of the location of their prey— perked up Njord’s alert ears. As Hrólf loped off to the east, Flóki barked twice at Njord, telling him to follow as he headed west. Bodo guarded the rear.

Like warriors descending from dragon ships in a rapid Viking raid, the six úlfhéenar encircled the deer for a swift, lethal attack.

Avoiding sharp antlers and dangerous hooves, Hrólf launched himself at the side of the deer’s neck, sinking his teeth into the vulnerable flesh.

úlf, Njáll, and Flóki latched onto the back, rump, and opposite side of the hart’s throat, pulling the prey to the ground.

For Njord to go in for the kill.

When his pointed fangs tore into soft flesh, the coppery tang of blood satisfied a deep, primal hunger in his savage lupine soul. His inner wolf unleashed at last, Njord feasted and gorged on fresh venison with the five brothers of his úlfhéenar pack.

****

Back in the clearing at the base of the giant beech tree, the úlfhéenar resumed human form, adjusting their wolfskin pelts and belted swords. The rich taste of venison lingered on Njord’s tongue.

Tonight, I stalked prey and killed as a wolf. What will it be like to hunt the Dokkálfar?

As if reading his thoughts, Bodo said, as he buckled the boot around his maimed foot, “How we battle the Dark Elves depends upon the number we encounter. If it’s a single spy, we herd and attack him like we did tonight with the red deer.. But if there are several Dokkálfar together, we fight individually as men to disarm them. Then kill them as wolves.”

“Is that the only way they die? By the teeth and claws of the úlfhéenar?” Njord watched with a blend of revulsion and fascination as úlf meticulously wrapped the broken Dokkálfar dagger in leather and tucked it securely inside the wooden scabbard belted at his waist.

“Certain Light Elven weapons can kill them as well. But they must be imbued with Nordic runes and Ljósálfar magic, designed specifically to destroy the Dokkálfar .” Njáll withdrew a blade from a gem-encrusted sheath which was strapped beside his Viking sword. “Such as this Light Elven dagger . Forged by the Ljósálfar blacksmith Geralt. When Bodo and I brought your father to íssla, she had him forge each of us a dagger—as a gift of gratitude.” He handed over the otherworldly blade for Njord to examine.

In the elaborate pommel—encased in intricately wrought iron inlaid with silver and inscribed with Nordic runes— a clear, radiant gem glimmered and glistened like a star in the moonlight. Symbols and markings which Njord did not recognize—perhaps they were Ljósálfar emblems of protection—were etched into the ornate metal crossguard and along the central groove of the long, curved, dual-edged blade. The sublime Light Elven weapon thrummed with preternatural power.

“My dagger is infused with Ljósálfar magic, so the blade alone can kill a Dark Elf. But see this stone?” He pointed to the faceted oval gem which sparkled in the moonlight like transparent ice. “That’s a gildir starstone . It can reflect sunlight onto a Dokkálfar or a troll. They both reside in the dark, underground realm of Svartálfheim, so if they’re exposed to the sun, it kills them. By turning them instantly into stone. Although my blade can’t kill a troll—they’re much harder to kill than the Dark Elves— the gildir gemstone can. By reflecting the petrifying light of the sun.”

Njord returned the priceless weapon to Njáll, who sheathed it in the embellished scabbard at his waist. “Can the úflhéenar in wolf form kill a troll?”

“ Nei . Only a Ljósálfar weapon crafted specifically to kill a troll can defeat them. Or a Dwarven blade, like Brokk’s sword úlfsongr. The one we must retrieve from your mother, íssla.” Bodo, having strapped the boot to his injured right foot, hobbled across the clearing to join Njord and Njáll. He unsheathed a dagger from his belt and placed it in Njord’s palm. “This is the blade that she had Geralt forge for me. Like Njáll’s weapon, it can kill a Dokkálfar . And it has a gildir gem in the hilt, just like his.”

Njord twisted and turned the Light Elven blade in the moonlight, admiring how the starstone sparkled like white fire within the intricately wrought pommel. Unlike Njáll’s curved blade, this dagger was sleek, slim, and straight. But it, too, pulsed with palpable power. He returned the Ljósálfar dagger to Bodo, who sheathed it at his waist..

“When I was a boy in Norway,” Njord began, addressing all members of his new úlfhéenar pack , “a white wolf appeared to me in the forest where I lived. I sensed the same immediate bond with him that I did with each of you tonight. Bodo told me today that my father sent his hámr spirit in the wolf—as a guardian to protect me until I became a man. When the wolf died, a voice inside my head—which must have been my father’s—told me to wear the white wolfskin each time I went into battle.”

Njord removed the leather package from his waist and unwrapped the bones of the sacred white wolf. “The voice in the forest also told me to save these, for weapons which would protect my future mate.” He handed the bones to úlf, who examined and passed them along to the other wolf warriors. “Today, when I visited the volva to inquire about weapons with the white wolf bones, she foretold that a Ljósálfar would craft them.” Njord unwrapped the trollkors talisman. The trio of lapis lazuli gems sparkled like dark stars in the moonlight. “In a seier vision, úlvhild also foresaw that a troll threatens Elfi, my betrothed.” In his outstretched palm, Njord displayed the amulet to his úlfhéenar pack. “úlvhild gave me this talisman— imbued with my blood, Nordic runes, and enchanted gems. Bodo thinks the Ljósálfar named Lugh will be the one to craft the white wolf weapons for Elfi. Can he craft a weapon that will kill a troll?”

úlf returned the bones to Njord. “With these, yes. They exude Brokk’s úlfhéenar power. Combined with Ljósálfar magic, Lugh could craft a wolf weapon specifically designed to kill a troll. Pray to Odin that he does so very soon, for if the volva foresaw that a troll threatens Elfi, your mate needs it at once.” He gestured to the amulet in Njord’s palm. “Have her wear that at all times. Unlike the Dokkálfar, who raise our hackles and alert us to their deadly presence, trolls can shroud themselves in a veil which conceals them from our detection. At least, if Elfi wears the trollkors, she will be protected from harm.”

Golden eyes of his black wolfskin cloak glowing in the incandescent light, Njáll growled his displeasure. “Tell Lugh about the bloody troll. Because a troll can shift into any form. Even a human, like Jarl Rikard . Or one of us.” One side of his bearded lips curled up in smirk as he eyed Njord. “But the úlfhéenar would know immediately if he tried to appear as one of us. For we share an innate bond that is instantly recognizable to warriors with the blood of the wolf. Like our unique individual lupine scent. A troll could never replicate that. But to a human, he would appear as one of us.”

“I will give Elfi the trollkors tomorrow. I’ve promised to train her with weapons—she wants to hone her skills as a shieldmaiden and reclaim her brother’s stolen sword. She and I plan to practice every afternoon near Dag’s burial mound in the sacred grove, where úlvhild said the Ljósálfar would find us. I hope he comes there soon.” Njord carefully wrapped the talisman and the white wolf bones inside the leather, securing the parcel at his waist as the úlfhéenar prepared to depart la Forêt du Loup .

“You did very well tonight.” Hrólf Redbeard wrapped a swarthy arm around Njord’s neck in a fraternal embrace. “It’s good that we have three weeks before Lord Thorfinn’s return to Chateau Blanc . That gives us time to train with your Viking warriors from Denmark and Jarl Rikard’s knights of Normandy. So we’re prepared for battle against the Frankish army, if the Count of Soissons decides to attack again.”

“It also gives us time to train here every night as wolves of the úlfhéenar. For you to develop your strength and skills, and learn to control when you shift , in case we encounter any Dokkálfar here in étretat. Or when we sail to ísland and retrieve the Dwarven sword.” Bodo clasped Njord on the shoulder with a wolfish grin. “C’mon, let’s head back to the castle for the náttmál . Even though we all gorged on venison, I’m still starved. And I want to say goodnight to my new sweetheart. Elfi’s pretty thrall, Sif.”

Senses reeling, spirit soaring, Njord followed his pack back home.

He couldn’t wait to see Elfi.

His siren with the sea goddess eyes.