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.
“For it is Leif Ericson that I have come all this way to see,” she continued. “Can you please tell me where I might find him? I have waited overlong to meet him.”
Halfdain’s handsome features darkened. “I’m sorry, my lady — I have no idea where Leif Ericson may be.”
“Then perhaps your Lord Erlot can help?” Swanhild asked, seemingly unaware that her words had broken his heart.
Halfdain frowned. “I — do not think — my lady —that Lord Erlot will be — ah, willing to help you find Ericson.”
“Oh? And why is that?” Swanhild asked, a frown of her own darkening her perfect features. “Is not Leif Ericson the original founder of this Norse colony? Your chosen leader? Are not all lords, including your own, honour bound to him?”
Halfdain shrugged. “Such things, lady, are beyond a simple soldier like myself.”
Swanhild’s dark eyes flashed, and her voice took on a sharper edge. “But surely you can tell us something about Eric. Where he lives? If he lives? Something!”
Halfdain was clearly in distress; his loyalty to Erlot pulling him one way and Swanhild’s beauty pulling him another. “Halfdain,” I asked; “how long have you commanded Lord Erlot’s personal guard?”
“For nearly four years now, lord.”
“And is there some sort of bad blood between your lord and Leif Erickson?”
The bearded warrior nervously chewed his bottom lip. “Even if there is, I gave my oath to Lord Erlot, not to Leif the Lucky!”
I decided to press the young man further. “Would it be breaking your oath to Lord Erlot to tell us what happened between the two of them?”
He glanced quickly at Swanhild, then back to me. “No, Lord Odinson, it would not. And the answer is yes, there is bad blood between them. Very bad. There has been several skirmishes, men were slain and there is now open warfare between them.”
“Could you tell us how it came about?” I asked.
With another glance at Swanhild, he nodded. “Four years ago they had a terrible argument. Things were said, insults were hurled and eventually they fought a duel. It was a bloody affair, lord, with both men taking grievous wounds, though Lord Ericson won in the end.”
“What wounds did Leif take?” Swanhild demanded, the concern clear in her voice.
“His right thigh was cut to the bone and it’s said that he still limps to this day.”
“And your master?” I asked, already guessing the answer.
Halfdain tore his gaze away from Swanhild long enough to answer. “Lord Erlot had several deep cuts to his body — and his right eye gouged out with a seax dagger.”
“And what was the reason for the fight?” Swanhild asked.
“It was dispute of sorts, my lady,” Halfdain said reluctantly.
“Over land or honour?” she pressed.
“Over a woman, my lady,” Halfdain answered. “Iseult the Fair, said to be the most beautiful woman in all Vineland.”
Swanhild’s dark eyes flashed and her voice hardened. “And as Lord Ericson won the match, he no doubt won the girl as well?”
