Summary
A semi-short historical/fantasy about a half-human, half goddess (A Halfenwraith) goes looking for a human hero to marry. Takes place in a mythical Viking-like world.
Hagatha’s arthritic hands moved again and my stomach lurched a second time. She peered at Swanhild, who returned the old witch’s stare with complete indifference.
“No harm directly, lord,” Hagatha said as she continued her inspection. “Though harm she will most certainly do if pressed!”
The old woman moved closer and sniffed like a hound — and her smile showed more missing teeth. “Ahhhh! She has ‘love’ on her mind, not hate — but not for you, Lord Erlot. Her thoughts are all of a small cottage with a big bed, a handsome, virile warrior and a litter of squalling brats!!”
“Oh?” the large man grunted while motioning for a servant to refill his horn. “Love is it? But if not with me, then with who?!?”
Hagatha took a sudden step back and frowned. “I see two men in her future, lord. One is clearly your foe, but the other claims to be your friend — yet isn’t. She seems to care for them both — though she doesn’t know that yet.”
Erlot banged down his horn, spilling ale over the old woman’s raggedy cloak. “I told you to speak plainly, woman! No more of you damnable riddles! The comely bitch loves two men — and knows it not?!”
“I can only tell you what my third eye sees, lord!” Hagatha hissed back. “Blame the gods, not me, if your one eye sees not the meaning of my words!”
Erlot ignored the old woman and looked to the younger one. “You claim to be the granddaughter of Skaig Coldheart?! Even an old, battle-scarred warrior such as I know the name of that foreign sorceress — though as you just heard, I am not overfond of riddles! I’m a plain man who likes plain things! A good dog, a good fight and a good hump! Ans as I have plenty of the first two —- you shall supply the third!”
“I think not — my lord,” a voice said quietly but firmly.
All there turned towards the man who had spoke, including the one-eyed tyrant. “Halfdain?!” Erlot grunted, surprised that the captain of his own personal guards would contradict him. “What is it that you say, lad? That you think that I should not hump this haughty, foreign witch?!” Erlot leaned forward in his wolf throne and bared his yellow teeth. “Why?!”
All there in the hall, including myself, seemed to hold our collective breath, waiting for the handsome young captain’s answer. After several drawn out heartbeats he did. “There are several reasons, Lord Erlot,” Halfdain said calmly. “Shall I list them for you?”
Taken back by his usually quiet captain, Erlot nodded agreement. “By all means, captain. List away!”
Halfdain drew a deep breath and began. “Firstly, lord, the Lady Swanhild of Cymru is a lady, and not one of your house-slaves or tavern doxies who you can mount whenever the urge strikes. Secondly, to my own great surprise, I find that I myself am strangely drawn to the lady, and that I would gladly make her my wife — if she were so gracious as to accept my humble offer.”
