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.
He frowned down at her, impatient to get on with the killing. “Of course I did! Why would you think otherwise? Can you not see that I love you?”
She shrugged, her self-assuredness and worldly sophistication suddenly replaced by a maiden’s shyness. “I have noticed that men often say one thing and mean another — or they say something in the heat of the moment and take it back when their blood is cooled.”
“That may be the way with some men, but not me,” Halfdain said quietly. “I was drawn to you from the first. I’ve found you to be honest and brave — and I want you for my wife. Not my property, but as my partner. I’ll not press you for an answer now, but we will speak of it after we are away from here.”
“There is no need for more words between us, Halfdain, son of Halden,” she said formally, though her dark eyes were all aglow. “Nor any more waiting. My answer is yes, I will be your wife and partner! I came here to find a hero to wed. At first I believed that hero was Leif the Lucky — but I see now that I was wrong. It was you all along that I was destined to meet.” She half smiled at that. “It appears that the Three Weird Sisters do indeed weave an intricate pattern!”
“Well,” Halfdain said, slipping his arm around her waist and walking her towards the door. “Let’s hope that the ending of the weave shows us bound together as man and wife.”
“One way or another, it will — husband. Either in this life, or the next!”
***
ACT FOUR: ‘Till Death Do Us Part’
Lord Erlot Broadaxe, known also as Erlot the Cruel and Erlot One-Eye, took the time while his armor was being buckled on to drink not one more ‘cup of courage’, but three. Perhaps not the wisest course of action for a man in his situation — but then the one eyed killer had never been accused of being a man of wisdom. ‘Brawn over brains’ had always worked for him in the past, and he saw no reason at all to change things now.
‘I’ll chop the insolent puppy into pieces,’ his befuddle mind thought. ‘Then I’ll see to the dark-haired wench! Though perhaps not right away.’ He grinned slyly, showing large, yellow teeth. ‘Rest up a bit first. Have some good red meat and more ale! Regain my strength for the long night ahead!’
The last buckle done, a servant helped him on with his iron-backed mitts and handed him his great axe, Skull Splitter. Another servant handed him his battered but well-polished helmet. Touching the small, iron hammer that hung around his thick neck, he lumbered off toward the door — confident that when he next came into his hall, the insolent pup, Halfdain Softheart, would be dead, and that the raven haired beauty would be his for the taking.
On the way out the door, he passed the old crone Hagatha skulking as usual in the shadows. “Well, old witch? Any final words of wisdom from your dried-up lips? Or are you still playing your useless riddle games?!”
