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.
The one-eyed man on the wolfskin throne leaned forward and bared his yellow teeth. “I will be the judge of that, boy — not you! All I see is a grey bearded old man and a dark and foreign looking shield maiden!”
Halfdain then surprised me by sucking in a lungful of air and stepping boldly forward. “Perhaps, lord, the smoke from the fire has obscured your vision? Perhaps you did not recognise the ‘scald’ as the famous Thorgi Odinson —or the heart-wrenching beauty of the Lady Swanhild from far off Cymru?”
Erlot’s one eyed seemed to bore into the younger warrior, yet Halfdain only stood the taller for it! After a long, drawn-out moment, the shaggy old wolf growled out something akin to a laugh. “Perhaps Halfdain, son of Halden, you are right. The smoke from the fire might have clouded my one good eye — for I now see the wench more clearly! And a fine-looking dark-haired mare she is indeed!”
He then turned to the lady herself. “You have titles to go with your name, woman? Though in truth I’m more interested in your body than your lineage!”
Swanhild smiled back, yet there was no laughter in her dark eyes. “Captain Halfdain warned me that you were a bold and direct man. A ‘man of great passions’, he said. I see now that he spoke the truth.”
That one eye swept from her over to the young warrior. Both Dalguard and I were utterly ignored. “Did he now? Well, ‘captain’ Halfdain should mind his bloody tongue — if he wants to bloody well keep it!”
“He also told me,” Swanhild went on, overlooking Erlot’s threat, “that I should mind my tongue when talking with you.” She smiled at that, then glanced quickly to the worried-looking Halfdain. “But that is a skill that I have never mastered, lord. It appears I take after my grandmother in that — the wicca woman, Skaig Coldheart.”
At the mention of the famous sorceress, a high pitched cry was heard from the shadows behind the wolf throne. A moment later a black clad old hag came forward, her claw-like hand pointing twisted fingers at Swanhild. “Heed not the honeyed words of this one, Lord Erlot, for she is both more and less than she seems!”
The old woman’s voice was like nails scratched over a slate, striking the ears and sending sharp pain through my head! “I smell an ‘otherness’ about her, lord, for she seems both in and out of this world!” The old crone stepped into the flickering light and grinned evilly.
She then made a sudden hand gesture in the air and I felt my stomach churn and my buttocks shrink!
‘Here is a foul witch indeed!’ I thought, and my hand went to Thor’s hammer hung round my neck!
“Beware, mighty lord!” the old woman warned, “For I sense that she is indeed an offshoot of the sorceress, Skaig Coldheart! If so, her powers could well be potent — if not fatal!”
Erlot, his mind clearly befuddled with drink, frowned at the black-robed crone. “Speak plainly, Hagatha! None of your foolish riddles! You say this pretty bitch means me harm?!”
