Chapter 31

Royal Request

“Guldur has arrived, Your Majesty.” The royal valet Ragno bowed before Lothaire, who was seated in his carved gilded chair in the Frankish castle of Laon.

“Send him in.” The King of West Francia arranged his ermine-edged blue velvet cloak and straightened the golden crown embedded with sapphires proudly perched atop his regal head.

Like the heirloom that I bequeathed to Guldur’s tavern. Let the sight of the sapphires upon my royal head remind him that I control Frisia and the port of Dorestad where his Sapphire Chalice Tavern flourishes under my Frankish crown.

Lothaire motioned for a servant to bring forth the ornate silver pitcher of rich red wine and matching embellished goblets which he had ordered to welcome his anticipated guest. As the efficient attendant placed the silver service platter on the table before him, Lothaire observed Ragno escort Guldur into the lavishly appointed reception room. From his gilded throne, Lothaire noted that the dark wizened face and wiry black hair of the D?kkálfar were concealed under a bulky hood and voluminous cloak which sheltered him from sunlight.

Ragno seated Guldur at the polished walnut table and poured two goblets of wine, serving first Lothaire as king and then the D?kkálfar as his honored royal guest. When the valet glanced up to silently inquire if his services were further needed, Lothaire dismissed him and the royal guards along the wall with a subtle toss of his head .

When they were alone, Lothaire took a pensive sip of wine, eyeing Guldur over the rim of his silver chalice. “Greetings, Guldur. Explain why you have requested this royal audience. What is wrong?”

“Thank you for granting my royal request, Your Majesty.” Seated far from the sunny window of the royal antechamber, the D?kkálfar pushed back his hood to sip from his goblet. He raised his thick black eyebrows, nodding in approval of the fine Frankish wine. When he placed the ornate chalice down upon the table, he met Lothaire’s gaze. Anger blazed in his beady black eyes. “My brother Nithrak never returned from Heieabyr . I took a carriage from Dorestad and went to investigate. Witnesses reported seeing a brilliant flash of sunlight, followed by dark, mysterious shadows near the covered entrance of an inn at the Danish port. When I examined the scorched ground, I found traces of solar radiance and remnants of petrification. Irrefutable evidence that a Ljósálfar turned Nithrak to stone.” He leaned forward ominously in his chair, obsidian eyes sparking with malevolent malice. “I also discovered that four Frisian shipping merchants—bearing a formal letter of introduction from the wealthy Count of Lisieux in Normandy—had been granted a private audience with King Harald Bluetooth to display their finest woolen fleece. Yet, there was no record of the transaction, nor was any tariff or tax paid. It appears the ship departed immediately after the inexplicable solar radiance.”

The hackles on the back of Lothaire’s neck raised in warning. Harald had departed for Normandy two weeks ago. Although it was indeed possible that the Frisian wool merchants had simply hoped to obtain a lucrative royal trade agreement by presenting their wares to the Danish king, the fact that they had a letter from the Norman Count of Lisieux was suspicious. And a hasty departure—with no record of the transaction or taxes paid—after a mysterious flash of brilliant light made Lothaire shudder with a premonition of dread. He stared at the hideous, dangerous creature seated before him and arrived at the obvious conclusion. “They killed Nithrak so that he could not report to me that they had met with Harald. But why did they visit him? What could they have told him?” Rising from his gilded throne, Lothaire crossed the room and stared out the window at the dense forest of oak, beech, ash, and pine trees surrounding his mountaintop castle.

Could the Frisian wool merchants have discovered where he was keeping the boy? But how could they have learned that Sweyn was being held in the royal palace of Paris? The stark realization stabbed him like a knife.

Hugh Capet. The Count of Paris who covets my crown.

Hugh must have learned that Lothaire had imprisoned Sweyn in the Palais de la Cité and informed Richard the Fearless. If they somehow managed to free the boy, Lothaire would lose the leverage he held over Harald. And if Harald now knew of Sweyn’s location, then Lothaire needed to move the child immediately.

And reinforce Badelbert at Fécamp.

Guldur’s gravelly voice interrupted Lothaire’s disturbing reverie. “I must avenge my brother’s death by taking the life of the Ljósálfar who killed him . But only a Dwarven weapon can kill a Light Elf . That is why I have come. I have another royal request, Your Majesty. I need two Frisian ships—with a full crew and four dozen armored knights—to sail northwest to the Faroe Islands . I must retrieve a Dwarven sword from the Viking settlement of Tórshavn, on the island of Streymoy. Home of the famed Falcon, Haldor Falk.”

As Lothaire composed himself and returned to sit upon his throne, the D?kkálfar fetched a large leather pouch from his belt and flamboyantly flopped it upon the walnut table. His sinister grin revealed a revolting array of jagged yellow teeth. “Silver, for the ships and wages for your knights.” He retrieved a small black silk bag from the leather belt at his waist and placed it carefully beside the large pouch. “A dozen priceless sapphires from the Far East. Flawless gems for the fastidious Frankish king.” Guldur resumed his seat and stared expectantly and menacingly at Lothaire.

A ripple of foreboding shivered down Lothaire’s steely spine. He swallowed a large gulp of wine to cover his sudden unease. Bolstered by the bracing burgundy, he assumed his most authoritative royal tone. “You may have two of the Frisian ships—Windrunner and Wavecrest—that are currently docked in the harbor of Dorestad. I’ll have the crews prepare for a voyage to the Faroe Islands, with departure in five days. In the meantime, I’ll assign four dozen Frankish knights with experience at sea. And send them to you at the Sapphire Chalice Tavern. They will accompany you to the Faroe Islands and fight on your behalf.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty. I am grateful that you have granted my royal request.” He withdrew an unusual silver coin engraved with haunting scrolls and handed it to Lothaire. “Please accept this as a token of my gratitude.” As Lothaire examined the sinister swirls etched in blood which seemed to slither like shadows, the deep voice of the D?kkálfar echoed in his ears. “Should you ever need an exceedingly rare royal favor, present this enchanted coin to me in the Sapphire Chalice Tavern.” With a clawlike, curved fingernail, Guldur traced the strange symbols on the silver talisman laying in Lothaire’s outstretched palm. “I shall recognize it at once. And grant your royal request to the bearer of this coin.” Rising to his full diminutive height, the Dark Elf formally bowed at the waist before Lothaire. “Again, I express my gratitude, Your Majesty. I shall prepare the two Frisian ships in the port of Dorestad for departure. And expect the arrival of your four dozen Frankish knights at the Sapphire Chalice Tavern within five days. I bid you good day, King Lothaire.” Guldur pulled the hood of his cloak forward to cover his wizened skin and wiry hair as he slithered across the royal antechamber and out the elegantly carved oaken door.

Two days later, the Frankish Count Alberic of Soissons sat at the polished walnut table in the royal antechamber across from Lothaire.

“We must relocate the boy at once. Remove him from the north tower in the royal palace. And bring him to me here in Laon.” Lothaire sipped from his chalice of fine Frankish wine and set the sapphire encrusted silver goblet down with a long, elegant hand. “I also suspect that Harald Bluetooth will betray us and attack Fécamp rather than Chateaufort. I want you to position a squadron of one hundred armored knights at each point to the south, east, and west of the castle. If Richard the Fearless or the Dragon of Normandy are planning to retake the fortress, we’ll intercept their army before they can organize an attack.”

Alberic swallowed a mouthful of wine and scowled as he set down his silver goblet. “If Harald attacks Fécamp by sea, it will be difficult to defend the port. His Viking longships can sail right up onto the beach. We need to block off the harbor to prevent his dragon ships from entering. And triple the number of archers defending the wall.”

“See to it immediately. And fortify the watchtowers, ramparts, and gatehouses as well. Stock ammunition, fresh water, and supplies, in the event Richard plans a siege. Assemble plenty of flammable materials for fire arrows and incendiary projectiles.” He took another pensive sip of wine. “Fécamp is a well-fortified castle. But Richard knows it weak points. Fortify those positions well, for it’s there that he’ll plan to attack.”

Alberic rose to his feet and adjusted the silver coronet with sapphires and the silk mantle of honor, both of which Lothaire had bestowed upon him with the title of the Count of Soissons. Upon the royal blue background of the prestigious cape he proudly wore, the three golden fleur-de-lys symbols—emblem of the Frankish monarchy—covered the count’s black woolen cloak, clasped with a silver brooch embedded with sparkling sapphires. Elegant and efficient, reliable and regal, Alberic of Soissons was Lothaire’s most trusted Frankish noble. “I shall execute your orders at once, my king. As always, I am at your command and honored to be of royal service.” Alberic gallantly bowed at the waist.

Lothaire inclined his head in a modicum of royal respect. “Thank you, Alberic. I trust that you shall not fail. For you will become the next Frankish count in the Pays de Caux . The castle of Chateaufort will soon be yours.”

A greedy, gloating grin stretched across Alberic’s clean shaven face. “I am honored and humbled by your generosity, Your Highness. I shall not fail you, my magnanimous king.” With a final formal bow, the Count of Soissons, flanked by his armed Frankish guards, exited the royal throne room.

Lothaire savored the rich, earthy flavor of ripe cherry and the subtle hint of spice in his fine burgundy wine, confident that Alberic would prevail .

The Count of Soissons would bring the boy here to Laon. And if Harald Bluetooth did indeed attack Fécamp instead of Chateaufort, then his young son would pay the ultimate price and be sacrificed for his father’s betrayal.

Lothaire would ally with his distant cousin, Otto the Red.

The Holy Roman Empire would invade Harald’s most prized Danish port.

And Heieabyr —the heart and hub of all Viking trade on the North and Baltic Seas—would fall to the formidable Franks.