Chapter 19

Interpreting the Visions

úlvhild’s haggard face peered up from the pile of furs on the bed. Although the v?lva had lived less than thirty winters, the harsh effects of the herbs and potions used for s eiedr visions now gave her the appearance of a ravaged, wrinkled crone.

Ylva rose from the table and fetched a clean cup from the wooden shelves, straining the chamomile flowers and herbs she’d steeped for the tisane. She brought the herbal infusion to úlvhild, who had propped herself up on one elbow in the bed. “Drink this first. It will restore you.”

úlvhild accepted the cup and sniffed the contents. “Chamomile… nettles…basil. A good combination of cleansing herbs.” She downed the brew and returned the empty cup to Ylva, sitting upright to pet Kól, who was still curled up at her side. The v?lva inhaled deeply and smiled. “Something smells wonderful. What is it?”

“It’s me fine rabbit stew, simmerin’ away on the hearth. Just what you need to restore you.” Maeve rose from the table and strode across the room to the fur-laden bed. She gently brushed a few wayward strands of wiry black hair from úlvhild’s flushed face. "The stew's ready now. Would you like to come join us at the table?"

“I would indeed.” Gratitude shining in her amber eyes, úlvhild accepted Maeve’s proffered arm and rose slowly from the bed. On unsteady legs, she scanned her surroundings, taking in the pot simmering on the hearth, the basket of bread and the plum tart on the counter, the two cups of ale on the table. “You stopped by to make me a stew.” Emotion thickened her voice as she smiled warmly at Maeve. “Thank you for thinking of me.”

“It’s the least I could do, after all the lessons you’ve taught me. Come, Ylva and I will help you to the table. We’ve a fine rabbit stew, barley bread with fresh butter, and a tarte aux mirabelles for dessert!”

Once they’d settled úlvhild into a chair, Ylva poured her a cup of ale and refilled the two others while Maeve fetched three ceramic bowls from the shelves and ladled the stew. Ylva brought over the barley bread, butter, and three wooden spoons, and Maeve set the steaming bowls upon the table.

“Delicious,” úlvhild crooned, ravenously gobbling every bite.

While Ylva wondered how to broach the subject of the disturbing seier vision, úlvhild saved her the trouble. “A trio of evil will betray the Danish king,” she announced, sopping up the remains of the rich broth in her bowl with a hunk of barley bread slathered in butter. She popped it into her mouth and washed the bread down with ale. “Three men are conspiring against Harald. I couldn’t see their faces, but one was wearing a crown. Undoubtedly the Frankish king Lothaire.”

Ylva’s pulse quickened.

King Lothaire of West Francia was anxious to drive the Vikings from Normandy and seize her father’s dukedom. Several years ago, in a bloody battle against the invading Franks, Richard had allied with Harald, and Sk?rde had fought at his father’s side. As a result of that powerful Viking alliance and resounding victory, Lothaire had been forced to recognize Richard the Fearless as the reigning Duke of Normandy. And yet, despite the treaty which granted her father the dukedom, Richard had nevertheless suppressed several recent skirmishes against the Franks. One of the main reasons he’d married his Christian bride had been to align himself with Hugh the Great, the powerful Count of Paris—to keep the Frankish king Lothaire in check.

úlvhild’s voice interrupted Ylva’s reverie. “I glimpsed an attack on a Viking port. But the dragon ships were docked in the harbor, so it was an ambush rather than a battle. Two ships were burning—as a diversion, to draw attention away from the abduction of the boy.” Golden light from the setting sun gilded her amber eyes. “They’ve captured Harald’s heir. Imprisoned him in a fortress in Paris. With the boy held hostage, they control the Danish king.”

Ylva’s heart dropped. “You said the Falcon could find the boy. And the Dragon must free him. Sk?rde must free his brother to save his father. But who is the Falcon you summoned?” Ylva’s stomach clenched and her throat constricted. Despite the appetizing aroma of the rich rabbit stew, she couldn’t eat. Worry gnawed at her gut.

“He’s a vitki . A powerful wizard. A shapeshifting sorcerer who can assume the form of a falcon. He’ll be able to fly to the rooftop of the fortress in Paris, peer into the windows, and find the boy. Then report back to us, for Sk?rde to find a way to free him.” úlvhild rose from her chair, gripping the table and grimacing with effort. Urgency laced her voice. “We must go up to the castle and inform Sk?rde.”

“Are you able to walk?” Ylva stood, bolstering her hand under úlvhild’s elbow for support.

“Yes, but slowly.” The v?lva straightened her back and stretched her lanky limbs.

“I’ll have Dagny set up a bed in Gyda’s room. You’ll sleep at the castle tonight. That way, you won’t have to walk all the way back here to the hut.” Ylva smiled reassuringly at úlvhild. She was glad they’d speak to Sk?rde right away. Not only did he need to hear about the seier vision, she also wanted to tell him about the raven warrior ships she’d seen in the waterfall pool.

“Take the rest of the stew home to Ingi and Gillie,” úlvhild said to Maeve. “It’s absolutely delicious, and I don’t want it to go to waste. Nor do I wish to leave it simmering overnight on the fire.”

“Of course. They’re certain to appreciate a fine pot of me rabbit stew. They’ll both be thrilled, they will.” Maeve rose from the table and strode across the room to the hearth. “Seein’ as how you’ll be sleepin’ at the castle, I’ll put out the fire.” With the shovel standing next to the hearth, she covered the embers with ashes to smother them. Turning back toward úlvhild, she added, “Ylva mentioned she wanted to make a talisman—like me amber pendant—for her husband, Lord Sk?rde. I thought perhaps—that is, o’ course, if you’re willin’—that we might help her craft one. With the three of us chantin’ our galdr magic, it will triple the wards o’ protection. And three’s a holy number, isn’t it now?”

“That’s a very good idea. Yes, tomorrow morning, we’ll return here and you can join us. And bring back the empty pot.” úlvhild chuckled and watched as Maeve scooped some of the rabbit meat from the stew into a small dish, which she placed on the floor for Kól.

The cat leapt off the bed, raced to the small wooden bowl, and devoured his delicious meal.

“He’ll jump through the window when he’s finished. He likes to prowl outside at night. And come back here to sleep on the bed.” úlvhild’s golden eyes twinkled as she beheld her beloved cat.

Maeve covered the stew, wrapped her hand in a swath of linen, and grasped the handle of the iron pot. She kissed úlvhild’s cheek, then Ylva’s, as she said goodbye. “It was such a pleasure to meet you, Ylva. Goodnight, now. See you both tomorrow morn.” Carefully lugging the kettle, she smiled and headed out the door.

Ylva offered her arm to úlvhild. “Ready?”

The v?lva nodded and hooked her elbow through Ylva’s, stopping to latch the lock as they exited the hut.

Ylva inclined her head to summon her guards and led úlvhild up the hill to the castle.

****

“They’ve imprisoned Sweyn in a fortress. On l’ ?le de la Cité in Paris.” Sk?rde seethed as he turned to face Bj?rn, his highest-ranking Viking warrior and most trusted friend.

Bj?rn scowled as he spat out the bitter truth. “The royal palace of King Lothaire of West Francia. He’s the one who ordered the abduction. And now he has Sweyn.”

Sk?rde eyed the four valiant knights seated with him at the oak table in the solar .

Ylva, seated at Sk?rde’s side, recognized Bj?rn, the First Knight of Chateaufort and leader of their men. Gunni, the red-haired warrior who’d been eager for the mock battles at the wedding feast. Kallez, her own personal guard. And Viggo, a fierce warrior from Denmark who was also a highly skilled craftsman, boatbuilder, and expert navigator.

“I must inform my father.” Sk?rde’s voice was ragged. “Denmark is vulnerable. Weakened by his overly generous wedding gift.” He rocked in his chair, visibly struggling to repress his rage. “Five thousand men,” he scoffed, lips tightening in a grimace under the thick blond bristles. “And a fleet of drakkar ships. The extravagant bride price he offered to Richard. And to me as Count of the Pays de Caux.” Elbows on the table, Sk?rde leaned into his hands, massaging his tensely furrowed brow with strong, calloused fingers. He lifted his head, fixing a resolute gaze on Bj?rn. “I need to set sail right away. Speak to him before Lothaire forces his hand.”

“He is already docked in Heieabyr by now.” Gunni crossed brawny arms over his mail clad chest. “And the Frankish forces who recently attacked—set those Viking ships on fire—they could still be there, waiting for Harald’s return. If you sailed to Heieabyr , you could be ambushed or captured. And then who would lead the Pays de Caux ?”

“I’m the Dragon of Denmark! It’s my duty to defend my country and my king!” Spittle flew from Sk?rde’s bearded lips.

“You are the Dragon of Normandy now. And your people need you here to defend them. Lothaire is likely to attack us, and we need to prepare. We have not finished fortifying the ports.” Viggo, charged with construction of the garrison to defend the harbor, urged Sk?rde to remain at Chateaufort.

“Denmark is severely compromised. Weakened by my father’s foolish generosity. And now, with Sweyn imprisoned, and Heieabyr likely to fall into Frankish hands, I must reach him. If I tell him we plan to save Sweyn, I can thwart Lothaire. Save my brother, my kingdom, and my king.”

Ylva decided that now was the right time to tell Sk?rde of her vision. If he set sail for Denmark, and the raven warriors arrived during his absence, then Normandy would be vulnerable to attack. Perhaps that was exactly what King Lothaire had planned all along.

“I, too, had a vision.” She placed a trembling hand on Sk?rde’s thick forearm, which was resting on the table. “I saw a fleet of ships—with the emblem of a huge black raven upon white sails.” Recognition dawned in Sk?rde’s fierce eyes as his intense gaze held hers. “In the sighting, hundreds of warriors—wearing chain mail armor, wielding axes and swords—poured off the raven ships onto a beach. I witnessed a bloody battle, but since it was nighttime in the sighting, I couldn’t identify the port. Nor determine if they were friend or foe.”

Sk?rde spun toward Gunni. “Anvarr. The raven—symbol of Odin—has always been his emblem. He has one painted on his shield. And a raven tattooed on his sword arm.”

Gunni pulled pensively on a tight braid in his thick red beard. “If Viking warriors are pouring off the raven ships, wielding axes and swords, then he’s not defending Heieabyr. He’s attacking us!” Fury flashed in his fiery gaze. “Anvarr must have allied with Lothaire.”

Sk?rde leaned forward to address úlvhild, seated at Ylva’s other side. “Did your seier vision reveal the raven warriors as well?”

“No, but it did show that a trio of evil will betray your father. And I cast the runes. Naudiz —for struggle. Raido —for voyage. And Kaun —for injury, disease, and doom. We must prepare for an impending battle.” úlvhild’s ominous voice was as weary as her haggard face.

“I need to warn my father of the betrayal. And inform him of our plan to rescue Sweyn. I must sail for Heieabyr at once. ” Sk?rde rose from his chair and strode across the room to the open window where the briny scent of the sea wafted on the soft summer breeze. As shades of lavender and rose streaked the twilight sky, he stared at the glimmering waves beyond the glistening white chalk cliffs.

“You cannot sail with an army, leaving us defenseless against a potential attack. Nor can you sail alone, lest you be ambushed and captured.” Bj?rn glanced around the table, seeking visual affirmation from the other Viking warriors who had sworn allegiance to Sk?rde.

All nodded in agreement with the First Knight of Chateaufort .

A wolfish grin stretched across Sk?rde’s bearded face. “Not if I am disguised as a Frisian shipping merchant. Selling wool at the Danish trade center of Heieabyr.” He rushed back to the table, seemingly eager to expound upon his strategy. “We’ll take the two Frisian ships we seized in the recent battle at Dorestad,” he said to Gunni. “Where I won the Frankish sword from Lothaire’s royal knight. And Thor marked me with his thunder.” A wicked gleam in his eye, Sk?rde yanked the neck of his tunic down to expose the jagged scar. Momentum building, his voice animated and eager, he unfolded the details of his plan. “We sail to Denmark, dock at the port, obtain lodging for the night. As a Frisian textile merchant, I’ll insist upon showing my finest wool to the king—as a ruse for me to speak with my father. Once he’s forewarned, we’ll depart the following day at first light. And be back in Normandy in two weeks.”

“We need to finish the fortifications at the port first. The watchtowers, gatehouses, and chain booms on each bank of the river are nearly complete. We must prepare for Anvarr’s impending attack. Delay your voyage three days. We need every available man.” Warning blazed in Viggo’s stark, steadfast gaze.

Reluctant and resistant, Sk?rde gritted his teeth, but conceded. “Two days, not three. We’ll work from dawn to dusk.”

“Viggo and I will sail with you, but Bj?rn stays here to defend Ylva and Chateaufort.” Gunni darted a glance at Bj?rn, who ducked his chin in agreement. “We must send word to Richard. We’ll need his advice on how to free Sweyn.”

A frail female voice was a startling counterpoint to the gruff grumbling of the men. “I have summoned Haldor Falk, the Falcon of the Faroe Islands. Staunch ally of King Harald Bluetooth.” úlvhild grinned at the stunned faces of the seasoned warriors seated around the table. “He’ll arrive in seven to ten days. And help you locate Sweyn.” Her haunting gaze fixed upon a fascinated Sk?rde. “He’s a sorcerer and shapeshifter. He can take the form of a falcon—and fly right into the royal palace in Paris. So you’ll know exactly where they’re keeping the boy.”

Adrenaline surged as an idea suddenly occurred to Ylva. Her clear, confident voice carried across the room. “My father is closely allied with Hugh Capet, the new Count of Paris. Richard was married to Hugh’s sister Emma. And Hugh Capet is married to my father’s cousin, Adelaide of Aquitaine.” Ylva grinned at her warrior husband. “What better way to infiltrate the royal palace than with the alliance of the Count of Paris?”

Sk?rde beamed through his blond beard and kissed Ylva’s hand. “We’ll send word to your father in the morning. Rouen is on the banks of the Seine River, which flows right into the heart of Paris. Once we know Sweyn’s precise location, we can sail from Rouen to the royal palace on l’ ?le de la Cité .”

Nodding in satisfaction at Gunni, Viggo, and Bj?rn, Sk?rde summarized their course of action. “It’s settled then. We finish the fortifications at the port. Load the two Frisian ships with wool and enough provisions for the voyage to Denmark. And set sail for Heieabyr in two days.” He rose to his full towering height, sighed in relief, and dismissed his weary men.

Ylva kissed Gyda and úlvhild goodnight, agreeing to meet them in the castle solar to break their fast together in the morning. As she watched Dagny and Gyda escort the exhausted v?lva from the private parlor—the three women heading off to bed—Ylva was glad she would be returning to the hut with úlvhild tomorrow. She wanted to make a talisman for Sk?rde, to protect him on the voyage to Denmark. And she was looking forward to seeing Maeve again. It was wonderful to finally have a friend. With a reassuring smile, she dismissed her attendants, Eydis and Norhild, who retired gratefully to the servants’ quarters.

Jofroi, the personal chamberlain, waited patiently nearby

Sk?rde released his faithful servant from duty. And, taking Ylva by the hand, led her down the hall to their private chambers.

Moonlight glimmered on the dancing waves which crashed against the white chalk cliffs. As she undid her braids and removed her gown, Ylva gazed through the open window to the thunderous, turbulent surf far below the castle.

She didn’t want him to go. Like Bj?rn, she was afraid Sk?rde would be ambushed or captured in Heieabyr. And after the terrifying vision of axe-wielding raven warriors descending from dragon ships, she feared for the Pays de Caux.

Warm lips nuzzled the nape of her neck. As always, a sizzling current rippled through her veins at his scorching touch. “Come to bed, Ylva. I want to worship my wife.”