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.
Halfdain’s head swivelled towards Swanhild and he was immediately struck by her beauty and grace, so much so that he swayed slightly in his saddle! His elaborate helmet and even more elaborate beard masked his face, and his eyes were black pits of midnight, but his voice was surprisingly soft and respectful. It was clear from the start that no ‘spell’ or ‘glamour’ was needed to bewitch this warrior — other than Swanhild’s natural beauty.
“Your pardon, lady, for my poor manners. I did not see you there amidst all these armed strangers. I will gladly escort you to Lord Erlot’s hall. I’m sure he will be pleased that you have graced us with your visit to our wave-tossed shores.”
Swanhild smiled sweetly.“You are very kind, Halfdain — son of Halden the Strong, grandson of Hailgar the Just.”
Halfdain quickly dismounted and, removing his helmet, surprised us all by going down on one knee. “You’ve heard of my father and grandfather, lady?!”
Swanhild’s smile was like water to a man wandering a burning desert. “Not only heard of them, good Halfdain, but met and feasted with them as well.”
Halfdain’s beaming face clouded. “But — they have both been dead now for many a year, lady?! My grandfather over a score or more!”
“Indeed,” she smiled. “And they were both very honourable men. You have your father’s eyes and your grandsire’s hair. Gone now, as you say — gone but not forgotten.”
“No, my lady, never forgotten!” he said, rising quickly to his feet. “But come, please, ride my horse. I’ll send word on ahead to Lord Erlot that you are coming.” Then the clouds once again seemed to move across his handsome face. “Ahhh, and just who shall I tell him to expect?”
Swanhild took the horse’s reins and accepted the offer of his cupped hands to help her mount. “Shield Maiden Swanhild Ravenhair of Cymru, daughter of Brunhild Fairhair and granddaughter of Skaig Coldheart.”
“Strange names, lady,” Halfdain said, the awe clear in his voice. “Names out of legend!”
“Speaking of which, here are two more names you will undoubtedly know.” She then turned to me and nodded her head. “This aged greybeard is Master Scald Thorgi Odenson, my good friend and travelling companion. He also will require the use of a horse, for though his brain and tongue are still sharp and nimble, his old bones are not, and your master’s hall is a goodly distance away.”
“Of course, lady,” Halfdain beamed. “Horses will be provided for all your party. As for the famous scald Thorgi Odinson, I had the pleasure of hearing him perform the last time he was here.” Reluctantly he tore his eyes off Swanhild and faced me. “You recited your latest saga, ‘Leif the Lucky and the Scraylings’. It is still one of my favorites!”
“Then perhaps, Captain,” Swanhild put in sweetly, “the gods have fated us to meet?”
“How so, fair lady?!” Halfdain asked, her last words making his heart pound.
