Byrnies short cut,
Strong helms hammered,
Girt with good swords,
Red hair gleaming...

The song goes on in my head, the song that was sung in the hall of King Alf when so many gathered with good cheer. There was great feasting, rich gifts, praise poetry - and that song was sung over and over, as if the beautiful monotony of it could wear away my sorrow. I cannot stop hearing it and I cannot stop loving Sigurd, the hero of all men,

Now I am wed to Atli, a man I neither love nor desire, even if he be wise and mighty and lord over many men.

Last night the wolves howled until dawn. They woke me from my sleep. Then Atli came to me and told me of a dream he had, that I had wielded a sword and pierced him through.

I thought of Sigurd. I thought of what might happen if I had his sword in my hands. Atli went on, telling me more of his dreams from the long night of wolves. Saplings, hawks, hounds and a plot to slay him. I try to think of omens. These dreams are no omens. They are nothing but the bitter fruits of our marriage, dark and cold.

He takes my hand. I try to hide my smile. "Who will go with us to bring back what is rightfully ours? Who will go with us to bring back Sigurd's gold?"

His eyes shine with thoughts of those riches. I see the glimmer of gold glowing there, sweet and rare as sunlight in midwinter. At last his touch warms me. Now I let my smile show. "Vengeance be upon Hagan!" I whisper as Atli's strong arms go around me.