Page 29 of Wolf of the Nordic Seas (Valiant Vikings #2)

A Trio of Daggers

Castle servants added pine scented juniper branches to the garlands of dark green ivy hanging over the enormous hearth. Under Oda’s watchful supervision, others strung the aromatic greenery along the wooden walls and tall windows, decorating the expansive Great Hall in preparation for the feast to welcome Ylva and Sk?rde. Sif and Inga scattered rosemary, thyme, and lavender into the fresh rushes covering the earthen floor, while Elfi tucked wild roses, meadowsweet blossoms, and chamomile blooms into the leafy vines. As she nestled a pink églantine among the glossy foliage, Elfi heard the sentinel holler from the north watchtower overlooking the cliff and the Narrow Sea. “Vessel sighted! Thor’s Roar approaches from the east.”

Njord, Bjarke, and Varg—training in the courtyard with áki and the Danish warriors from Ribe—dashed down to dock at the base of the cliff to greet the arriving ship. While the steward ordered attendants to prepare baths and serve refreshments in the guest quarters where Sk?rde, Ylva, and Vivi could relax and rest after the long voyage, Elfi and Oda hurried outside to watch the dragon ship sail into the harbor of étretat.

Gulls squawked and soared amidst the cloud-streaked sky. Waves slammed against the white chalk cliffs, the sea foam spraying high into the air, wafting on the crisp saline breeze. As the cold wind whipped her long hair and slapped her stinging cheeks, Elfi stood beside her amma in the wildflower-strewn meadow near the castle, gazing at the Narrow Sea two hundred feet below.

The curved cliff sheltered the inlet where Thorfinn’s ships and Njord’s fleet from Ribe were anchored in the shallow waters. Elfi spotted Njord and áki leading a group of Danish warriors down the grassy slope to join Bjarke and Varg’s men on the pebbled shore where Thor’s Roar disembarked onto the wooden dock. From her perspective at the top of the cliff, she recognized the dark green and silver heraldic banner and distinctly carved dragon prow of Sk?rde the Scourge, the bearded blond brute once known as the Dragon of Denmark , now the Dragon of Normandy and Count of the Pays de Caux . Beside the towering, tattooed Viking giant clad in the emerald and silver colors of his coat of arms, Elfi glimpsed his golden-haired wife Ylva. A skilled Celtic healer blessed with otherworldly sight , the lovely daughter of Jarl Rikard cured with Druidic herbs, Nordic galdr magic, and the Ljósálfar gift of nen glir.

While Njord greeted Sk?rde and helped Ylva disembark, Bjarke guided a young blonde girl down the wooden plank from the drakkar longship onto the bustling dock. That must be Vivi , Elfi mused. The child was tall and slim, with long blonde hair like both of her parents.

As men unloaded the drakkar longship, Njorde escorted Ylva, and Sk?rde led his daughter, up the narrow path from the rocky beach to join Elfi and Oda at the top of the craggy cliff.

“Greetings, Lord Sk?rde and Lady Ylva! It is a pleasure to see you again.” Oda smiled as Sk?rde gallantly kissed her gnarled hand. “Ylva--you remember my granddaughter Elfi. It has been several years since you’ve seen her.”

Ylva’s lovely smile lit up her pretty face. Although small lines now appeared around her bright blue eyes, and silver streaked her long blonde hair, at nearly forty winters, the Countess of the Pays de Caux still exuded the beauty of her youth. “Of course I remember her!” Ylva kissed Elfi’s cheek. “But now, you’re a full grown woman. And a very lovely one at that.” She gestured to the blonde girl at her side, who stared at her feet and wrung her hands. “This is our daughter Vivi. She is learning to become a healer, like me.” Ylva introduced the female servant of middle years standing patiently behind Vivi. “And this is Norhild. She will attend Vivi during our séjour at Chateau Blanc .”

“Welcome, Vivi. It is a pleasure to meet you.” Elfi smiled at the shy young girl whose dark blue eyes glimmered with keen intelligence. Perhaps like her brother Skjold, Vivi inherited her mother’s otherworldly gift of sight. She nodded to the pleasant attendant. “Welcome, Norhild. There is a bed set up for you in Vivi’s guest room. I’m sure you will be quite comfortable there.”

Norhild politely bowed her head. “ Merci beaucoup, Madame .”

With an affable smile, Oda welcomed the weary travelers. . “Please, everyone--come into the castle. Servants shall escort you to your guest chambers where you may bathe, enjoy the refreshments, and rest after your long voyage. Tonight, we shall feast in the Great Hall.”

****

Ethereal notes of harps, flutes, and lyres floated in the festive air as castle musicians entertained guests feasting in the Great Hall. Steaming platters of clams, scallops, and oysters were followed by succulent boar dripping with honey, baked cod with fresh thyme, garlic, and butter, and frumenty porridge with venison, barley, and leeks. After the final dessert course of wild plum tartes aux mirabelles, apple pastries, honey cakes with cinnamon and cloves, and rolled dates stuffed with sweet almond filling, Norhild escorted Vivi to bed. The weary girl kissed her parents, said goodnight to the adults at the table, and departed with her dutiful attendant. Bustling servants quickly cleared the tables and refilled mugs of mead for the much-anticipated competition of skalds.

Thorfinn’s poet Egil played his lute to accompany The Stolen Sword and the Sacred Grove , his skaldic rendition of Elfi’s vow to reclaim Galadir and bury it honorably beside her fallen brother Dag. The skald Bragi—Ylva’s poet from Chateaufort— performed The Dragon’s Roar, an epic tale of how Sk?rde the Scourge, son of King Harald Bluetooth, allied with Richard the Fearless to defeat the Franks in the valiant victory at Fécamp. The Danish skald Stig—Njord’s poet from Ribe--enhanced his song with the haunting melodies of lyre and flute. He entertained the enthralled audience with The Sea Wolf and the Dwarven Sword, the saga of the Wolf of the Nordic Seas and the fateful prophecy to be fulfilled in the upcoming voyage to ísland .

At the table of honor upon the elevated wooden dais, Elfi sat between Oda and Njord, across from Ylva and Sk?rde, who were flanked by Luna and Lugh. Elfi had never met the beautiful Ljósálfar healer, whose pale blonde hair, long limbs, and emerald eyes were very much like her brother’s. At the base of Luna’s slender throat, a trio of moonstone gems glowed with iridescent light.

The úlfhéenar were also seated at the head table, along with úlvhild, Varg, and Bjarke. áki, at Njord’s other side, leaned forward to address Njáll. Although he spoke to the dark haired wolf warrior, áki’s booming voice seemed directed at Bodo instead. “Njord’s skald Stig sang of ísland…” he bellowed, catching the attention of all at the table. “Where you and Bodo le Bo?teux,” he jeered the insulting name, “received Light Elven daggers, crafted by the famed Ljósálfar Geralt.” A sly grin stretched across his bearded face, and challenge glinted in his dark, cunning eyes.

“Indeed we did.” Njáll leaned back on the wooden bench and withdrew an intricate dagger from the sheath at his waist. The curved blade, etched with Elven scrolls, ended in a sharp, lethal point. Nordic runes were engraved into the silver crossguard, and a gildir starstone—like the one in Lugh’s radiant brooch which gleamed upon his broad shoulder— glittered like an otherworldly eye in the elaborate pommel. “ Veldir .” Veneration laced Njáll’s deep, vibrant voice. “ Bladestone . Named for the gildir gem in the hilt cap.” He handed the dagger to áki, who admired the Ljósálfar blade before returning it to Njáll.

The burly blond Dane reached for the dagger sheathed at his own sinewy waist .

Embedded in the black snakeskin leather of an intriguing scabbard were three dark gems that glistened in the incandescent light. áki unsheathed the blade, the black obsidian stone in the elaborate hilt glowing, as if pulsing with radiant power.

“ Hrafnaugr. Eye of the Raven. A Rus fur trader from Novgorod sold it to me in the village. He’d bought it in a Byzantine market on the Black Sea.” áki displayed the magnificent dagger, turning it in his hand so the faceted black gem sparkled like a midnight star. When he returned the blade to its snakeskin scabbard, he sneered at the úlfhéeinn warrior seated beside Njáll. “Where is your Ljósálfar dagger, Bodo le Bo?teux ?”

Seething at the scathing name, Bodo clenched his jaw to repress his rage. He withdrew his dagger, but did not hand it to áki. Instead, he displayed it for all to see, obviously pleased at Elfi’s exclamations of delight.

“It’s magnificent! Like Njáll’s, it’s engraved with Nordic runes and Elven scrolls. With a gildir starstone in the hilt.” But unlike Njáll’s curved blade, Bodo’s dagger was sleek and straight, tapering to a needle-like point.

“ Rúnvarg ,” he proudly proclaimed. “Wolfrune. Crafted by the Ljósálfar Geralt in ísland, where Njáll and I brought Njord’s wounded father Brokk to be healed.”

While Bodo sheathed his Light Elven dagger, lively music filled the air. Couples swirled in the center of the Great Hall, and others filtered outdoors to dance around the roaring bonfire. Just as Njord grasped Elfi’s hand to lead her outside under the stars, áki challenged Bodo and Njáll. “I wager twenty pieces of silver that I can throw this dagger,” he taunted, waving it in front of their faces, “better than either of you can hurl your Ljósálfar blades. I challenge you both. One throw each at the target outside. Closest to the center wins. What say you, warrior wolves of the úlfhéenar? ”

Before either man could respond, Hrólf Redbeard—seated beside Bodo—shouted, “Side wagers over here!”

Bodo bolted to his feet, his feral gaze locked upon áki. “Challenge accepted.” He unfastened a leather pouch from his waist and placed twenty silver coins on the table. While Njáll ducked his bearded chin in consent and counted his pieces of silver, Bodo glanced at Sif, who watched him from a nearby table, a pewter pitcher of mead tightly clutched in her hands.

“Fifty silver pieces on Bodo.” Njord handed a leather pouch to Hrólf Redbeard as others rushed to place their wagers before dashing outside where the dagger competition would take place.

úlvhild guided Oda down the wooden steps of the dais, following Ylva, Sk?rde, Lugh, and Luna out the castle doors. While the musicians continued to play for a few oblivious guests who remained on the dance floor, most of the curious spectators flocked outdoors, anxious to see which of the warriors would win the exciting challenge.

A tangy saline breeze cooled the crisp night under a blanket of twinkling stars. The bonfire crackled, spewing golden sparks high into the moonlit sky. Spectators settled onto wooden benches, flat rocks, or the grassy meadow to watch the trio of competitors who would soon hurl their daggers at the wooden target with a red painted center affixed to the giant oak.

Tightly clutching Njord’s calloused hand, Elfi scanned the animated throng gathered on either side of the clearing. She spotted Sif with Inge and Vilde, pouring mugs of mead for raucous revelers on wooden benches under the canopy of trees.

Njáll, his dark head towering over everyone—even the giant áki—approached the target, aligned his sinewy, lupine body, and embedded his Veldir blade in the center of the painted circle.

The úlfhéenar pack howled with riotous, enthusiastic applause.

As Bodo positioned himself and prepared to throw, áki sauntered over to Sif, who attempted to ignore his overt advances and refill goblets of mead. The boorish brute lavished her with loud amorous attention in an obvious attempt to rattle Bodo and ruin his aim.

Rather than hurling his dagger at the target, Bodo flung himself at áki, his Ljósálfar blade poised for a potentially lethal blow .

With the preternatural speed of the úlfhéenar, úlf pounced on Bodo, spinning him away from áki, who had drawn his own dagger and lashed out in a defensive strike. The Byzantine blade sliced úlf’s forearm instead of Bodo’s throat, while Njord restrained the enraged Dane in a grappling hold around his bulging neck.

Livid with fury, áki struggled against the vicelike grip, his teeth bared in a snarl.

“ Stand down!” Njord bellowed in áki’s ear. When the Danish huscarl finally grunted in gruff acquiescence, Njord released him warily.

Without a word, still seething with fury, áki stomped across the clearing and—joined by a dozen warriors from Ribe—stormed off toward the Viking longhouse where Njord and his men resided.

Amidst murmurs of shock, outrage, and dissatisfaction with the unexpected turn of events, Hrólf Redbeard shouted above the clamorous din. “áki and Bodo are hereby disqualified for fighting. I declare Njáll the winner!” He gestured to the silver pieces on the table before him, representing the stakes placed on the contestants. “Those who wagered on Njáll—come collect your earnings!”

While the disgruntled crowd slowly accepted the dubious resolution, the musicians resumed their play, the frenetic beat perfect for inviting wild abandon. Warriors and widows flocked to the bonfire, swirling around the leaping flames. As the mead flowed freely, the throng was jubilant once more, the altercation soon forgotten.

Ylva, úlvhild, and Luna were tending úlf’s injured arm as Elfi joined them at the edge of the clearing. Surrounded by concerned onlookers, Sk?rde, Njord, Bodo, and Njáll watched the healers bandage the bloody wound.

“It’s not deep—just a narrow slice on the surface of the skin. I’ve cleansed it with mead and applied a garlic and honey salve.” Ylva, the Celtic healer with Druidic knowledge of herbs, wrapped úlf’s injured arm with strips of soft white linen, which úlvhild secured with a snug overhand knot. “It will heal quickly.”

“Odin be praised! We finish loading the three ships tomorrow— and depart at first light the following morn. úlf will sail on Drakkúlfr with us,” Njord announced to Elfi and úlvhild.

“The voyage will take two to three weeks, so he’ll be fully healed by the time we arrive in ísland. I’ll bring my satchel of herbs and ointments. With plenty of linen to change the bandages and keep the wound clean.” úlvhild tucked the jar of salve into her leather satchel and rose from the bench where she had been sitting beside úlf.

“Come, I’ll take you back to the longhouse.” Njáll glanced around at the dwindling crowd. Although some couples were still dancing, most of the guests had gone back to the village or had filtered into the castle to sleep on benches in the Great Hall. “The feast is over. Everyone has gone home. And you need to rest.” When Njáll turned to say goodnight to Luna, Elfi sensed a sizzling current spark between the luminous Lsósálfar healer and the dark úlfhéenar warrior as he took hold of her pale hand and lowered his bearded lips to bestow a respectful, grateful kiss. “Thank you for healing him, my lady.”

Luna’s dark green eyes glistened like deep emeralds. “You are most welcome.” She watched as Njáll rose back up to his full, towering height. A radiant smile illuminated her lovely face. “I shall also sail on Drakkúlfr to ísland--to help úlvhild keep an eye on our patient.” She grinned at úlf before returning her verdant gaze to Njáll. “Perhaps you can voyage with us as well.” Her expectant look conveyed just how much she would enjoy his company on the long sea voyage.

“I’ll make certain that I do.” Promise shining in his dark eyes as he held Luna’s gaze. Njáll slipped an arm under úlf’s shoulder and hoisted him to his feet. “Goodnight, everyone. See you in the morning.” With Hrólf Redbeard and Flóki close behind, Njáll helped úlf across the clearing, toward the longhouse near the castle that the úlfhéenar shared .

Ylva and Sk?rde, weary from the exhausting day, thanked Oda, Elfi, and Njord for the welcoming feast and retired to their guest chambers, escorted by castle servants. After Oda said goodnight and headed into the castle with Vilde, Sif joined Bodo, standing at Njord’s side.

“The tables are all wiped down, the dishes taken to the kitchen for cleaning. Everything’s done for the evening.” She grinned at Elfi. “I’ll escort you up to your chambers, as if I’m getting you ready for bed.” Her large brown eyes widened with excitement as she looked at Bodo. “You and Njord come into the castle through the tunnel. I’ll unlock the door at the bottom of the stairs.”

Elfi and Sif each kissed their men and watched their wolf warriors leave before heading into the castle. When they entered Elfi’s chamber, Sif stoked the flames in the hearth and descended the hidden stairwell to unlock the heavy door while Elfi unbraided her own hair. A few moments later, when the anticipated knock sounded behind the tapestry, Sif grabbed a torch from the hall and departed with Bodo while Njord entered Elfi’s room.

As slivers of moonlight streamed through the window on a crisp saline breeze, Elfi and Njord spent the delicious night in her sumptuous feather bed.

****

When Njord returned to his longhouse in the morning, áki and several Danes were finishing dagmál of baked cod, barley porridge, salted pork, and skyr. At the sight of their jarl coming through the open door, the men inclined their heads in respect and dispersed, leaving Njord and his second in command alone at the table.

“I’m leaving on the outgoing tide,” áki announced, deliberately avoiding Njord’s gaze. “Now that Sk?rde and his men have arrived from Chateaufort , you no longer need me here to defend étretat.” He downed the rest of his ale. “I’ll take two ships—with a crew of thirty warriors each—and return to Denmark .” When áki finally looked at Njord, anger blazed across his livid, bearded face. “We didn’t come to Normandy to repair castle walls, till farmlands, or harvest crops. Thor’s balls, Njord! We came here to fight the Franks!” He leapt to his feet, ready to depart. Indignation and resentment sharpened his steely tone. “I’ll take sixty men back to Heieabyr .” áki scoffed in disgust. “Sk?rde the Scourge is no longer the Dragon of Denmark . But his brother, Sweyn Forkbeard, is the new king. And he is raiding and conquering lands— in East Anglia, Northumbria, and Mercia. Battling Saxons, Christians, and Franks!” Spittle flew from áki’s furious lips. As he swiped the sleeve of his tunic across his beard, a frantic messenger appeared in the doorway.

“Jarl Njord…Lord áki!” The winded servant struggled to catch his breath. “Lady Elfi has summoned you both to the castle. Come at once to the Great Hall!” He pointed to the sheathed blade strapped upon áki’s hip. “My lord,” he stammered, “she requests that you bring your Byzantine dagger. Please hurry!”