Loveweaver

by Tracy Ann Miller

  “I have promised my allegiance and am his to the death.”

  Broder’s newfound, if misplaced, sense of purpose was unexpected, shocking. But Llyrica would not back down. “If you must return to him then do so with the message that StoneHeart has already given. Tell Haesten that his sixteen-year search is over. We have what he seeks.”

  Slayde’s body jolted against hers. “Llyrica! Do not say another word. Not yet!”

  “I will not be silenced.” She must disregard that Broder bristled with new rancor, seeing her in StoneHeart’s tightened grip. “Go, Broder! Report to Haesten that when he agrees to quit this fortress, we will let him see what was taken from him so long ago. He will know the price he paid for his cruelty. And so will you.”

  Broder scowled. “You think to provoke him with empty, worthless words? He knows it is a lame trick and shrugs at them, hears them without concern.”

  Llyrica scrambled for her mental footing. Broder seemed to know something of Haesten’s search. And if the warlord no longer cared for the loss of his children then her vengeance would be naught. Perhaps he needed another prod. “Then tell him this. From within the flames, the Songweaver has come.”

  Confusion knitted Broder’s brow. He did not know their grandmother’s sobriquet or that Lyrica now claimed it, too. Again, he looked close to tears. “Flames? Songweaver? Of what do you speak? More schemes of the StoneHeart, no doubt. What has become of you, sister? You are changed. Changed!”

  Llyrica wanted to scream to him that Haesten had broken Mother’s ribs, caused her slow death. But not here, in this dark mood, with this division between them. First she must make Broder see the foul man that Haesten was before she exposed her own deceit. She must keep her promise to Mother, pray that Broder would forgive her.

  “I am not so changed as you! I still seek to save you from yourself. I pray you do as I heed.”

  Broder straightened, thrust up his chin. “You are no longer my keeper, Llyrica. And you, StoneHeart. Know this is not finished.”

  Slayde replied with vehement stare. “Indeed, not in the least! Go cool your head, boy, lest you lose it.”

  Broder spun on his heel, an abrupt departure. Twenty Vikings, ripe for trouble, followed him.

  “Tell him, Broder!” Frustration wove through Llyrica, intensified her need to see an end to this. Desperation told her she would sacrifice Broder’s love to see it done. “Tell Haesten the Songweaver has come to find him!”

  The heat of the sun and men’s tempers exacted its toll. Sweat soaked StoneHeart’s tunica, trickled down his throbbing temples. He dispersed the warriors from the disastrous meeting with Llyrica’s brother, but Ailwin, Byrnstan and Eadwulf stayed close. His long legs led them toward camp while his mind roiled in conflict. Llyrica, flushed and silent, kept up beside him.

  Overwhelming, untimely, the impulse to pull her into his arms nearly choked him. Indeed, he rubbed his breastbone, fought to suck in air. She needed comforting and assurances, things he could not offer her here on a battlefield, witnessed by Ailwin and hundreds of others. This sweet weakness for her was as real as Ceolmund had warned. It was a feeling that Slayde wanted to relish, tuck away for later when he could be alone with her. But now he thrust it aside, shrugged off his inability to remedy her trembling, calm her worry. Another emotion took its place, its seed planted last night when he arose from Llyrica’s soft embrace. Violence burgeoned in StoneHeart, a raw need to strike a man down, aggravated by Broder’s hate, Haesten’s indifference, and his mad dream to run off with a Viking in silk. Spit blood, but he deserved the life beyond this place, demanded a swift and simple end to Haesten after years under Ceolmund’s heel. God forgive these thoughts that father had fostered, that were so encouraged in a man. Put a sword through your enemy’s heart, a tidy and final solution. God forgive him, but it made sense. StoneHeart had killed before, for much less.

  Byrnstan spoke first. “I have not understood a thing since yesterday, when Llyrica’s brother appeared at the fortress gate.”

  “And odd that Haesten has yet to appear,” said Ailwin.

  Slayde’s thumb stroked the pommel of his sword. “He bides his time, makes us wait. He thinks to humble us as if we are not worth dealing with.”

  Eadwulf kept stride with Slayde. “Indeed, StoneHeart. But tell us why your wife has come here with the same offer to Haesten as the one you announced? What does it all mean?”

  “Why would Haesten care if the Songweaver comes or not?” added Ailwin.

  “You may ask it of me, Ailwin.” Llyrica stepped in front of him, her nose nearly to his chest, exhibiting the same foolish daring as pushing through to her brother’s side. “Cease talking of me as if I were elsewhere.”

  Slayde caught Eadwulf’s look of surprise and Byrnstan’s smirk. Few confronted Ailwin, even StoneHeart himself. It was a throwback to Ceolmund, a reminder of intimidation.

  Llyrica raised her chin. “I tire of your disdain for me and your opinion that I have no worth! Soon you will see that I have as much stake in this campaign as do you and perhaps more power.”

  Ailwin looked down his nose at her. “I do not deem you of no worth in the world, wife of StoneHeart, just none among fighting men. The loom is more your place and perhaps the pallet ...”

  Slayde clamped his hand on the back of Ailwin’s neck, the first time such a move was necessary. “Take care where your tongue treads lest you find it wrapped around my fist.”

  Ailwin jerked loose, anger evident. He seemed to express a rivalry, a heightened resentment toward Slayde’s regard for Llyrica. “She says she has a stake here, StoneHeart, yet I judge it has little to do with anything other than her misguided brother! We waste time with him. And with her!”

  “If he is misguided,” said Llyrica, livid, “’tis because he had no father, and as was pointed out to me, because I was too soft on him. But he has a father now, though he does not know it!”

  “Llyrica, not yet,” Slayde warned. “We need discuss ...”

  “Discuss what? That I have hidden from Haesten for sixteen years, defying the warlord’s efforts to find me? He would know my name, Ailwin, the Songweaver, since his wife, my mother, also wove spells into cloth. Yea, I am Haesten’s daughter and will lead you straight to him.”

  Ailwin’s mouth gaped. Eadwulf stroked his sweaty, bald head.

  Amusement borne of disbelief lightened Byrnstan’s face. “Good God, his daughter? Then Broder is his son. How has this come about?”

  “One might say the trickster Loki had a hand in it, but I deem it fate.” Llyrica turned to the priest, her eyes alight with entreaty. “But Broder does not know upon whose door he has landed. Or that our mother hid me from Haesten, a cruel and abusive man. My brother must not find out, save from me.”

  Slayde responded to her as she now glanced at him, a request for his help. “This announcement of Llyrica’s is to go no further than these ears, and I will consider it a treasonous act if it does. I must have your vows.” He awaited their assenting nods, used the time to form casual comments to hide his growing apprehension. “Our goal to give Haesten the boot has not changed, save Llyrica’s part in it. She claims he has sought her and her brother since she was a child.”

  “It is true, for certain,” said Llyrica. “Rewards were offered that we be found.”

  “This makes her of worth to us as Haesten’s weakness,” said Slayde.

  Eadwulf looked from man to man. “Just as he conceded defeat at Benfleet when Ceolmund and Alfred held his second wife and sons three years ago, so will he surrender if he thinks we keep his daughter. This sounds preferable to a long siege.”

  “But her safety must never come into question. In no moment will the warlord come within a rod of her.” She seemed ready to protest, but Slayde cut her off. “This negotiation will not proceed save by my design, according to my command. The first step is done. Llyrica has given Broder the message and we will wait to hear the answer. Now let us get to refreshments. I am to oversee how construction g
oes this day. Byrnstan, take Llyrica to the ship. Post guards and see she is well looked after.”

  Slayde met Llyrica’s glance, need not explain or excuse that he would captain this dealing with Haesten. The understanding between them did not override the ambition that now beset him. He had told her as much last night.

  He left her in the priest’s care, turned toward the sites of his forts. This undertaking would act as a balm on his stretched nerves, help him summon patience. StoneHeart must plot each moment with cold intent and without error.

  Soon, Llyrica would be granted one moment with her father, one opportunity to say her peace to him, one more plea to her brother. StoneHeart’s chance arrived next, one careful aim, one resolute lunge of a sword blade. One last tribute to Ceolmund, and Haesten would be dead.

  Chapter XV

  God grant tomorrow’s gifts be given, with sorrows far and few.

  Prevail ye first over trial and travail to clear love’s path for two.

  Late afternoon closed in, stifling the last of the fresh air from Haesten’s hall. Wealth hung heavily on the walls and overflowed from chests. Yet it was worthless to the hungry Vikings in this weary place. All awaited an end to the standoff.

  Broder leaned over Haesten where the warlord lay on his pallet. A flicker of lucidity finally showed on the old face as Broder repeated Llyrica’s message.

  “Songweaver.” Haesten’s mouth formed around the word, roused him for the first time since his illness struck. His eyes darted in his head, a manic contrast to the sluggishness of his speech and the weakness of his body. “Bring her to me.”

  Broder helped him sit up on his pallet in the corner, handed him a mug of ale. Lang and Kare hung back while others crowded around.

  “I have told you this name. Do you know her?” asked Broder. “Who is she?” He ignored the unrest in the hall, the complaints passed from warrior to warrior. They needed word from Haesten or his advisors, someone, to either lead them to battle or to a settlement of Danegeld. StoneHeart’s army, entrenched outside, had turned Haesten’s fortress from stronghold to prison. The Saxon threat squelched former visions of conquest to a lowly aspiration of slipping up country with their lives and a little food.

  Haesten dribbled ale, gripped the neck of Broder’s tunica with a gnarled fist. “She comes from the flame. Bring her to me.”

  Why would the name Songweaver so move Haesten, awaken him from his stupor? “It is StoneHeart’s trick, lord Haesten, to put you at his mercy.”

  “They are found at last,” Haesten said and let go of Broder. The warlord lay back, his breathing easier.

  “’Tis good to see you regain your health.” Lang knelt beside the pallet. “Rest and grow stronger. But the time for negotiation is nigh and you must meet with StoneHeart. Tell him the price we demand in exchange for our departure. We will go, but not empty handed.”

  “StoneHeart will be convinced to pay great sums of geld,” said Kare, standing over the warlord. “Every one of our warriors will be armed to show we are yet a threat to be dealt with.”

  Broder shot to his feet. “Meet with StoneHeart and make a show for him? Nay! Meet with him, I say, and make him pay in blood!”

  “There are times to fight and times to collect gold.” Lang stood to face Broder. “Know the difference between them. Haesten always judged when to bloody his sword and when to stay, else he would not be the rich man he is, or yet living. A fortune he has made, collecting payments from men like StoneHeart.”

  “Not all of this was hard won.” Kare gestured to indicate the riches in the hall. “Nor that which he has hidden safely away. Much of what he owns was handed to him by kings. Learn this from Haesten since you want to serve him.”

  Broder knew a little of this business of Danegeld paid to Vikings, considered it less appealing than fighting. He had only just begun to know the thrill of wielding a sword. But Haesten embraced this method of conquest and he would also. “The blade holds more promise for a warrior, but if dealing with these Saxons is your wish, Lord Haesten, then so be it. I await a word from you.”

  The warlord’s reply came as a moan, spoken from one side of his mouth. “My search is through. If StoneHeart has them, then bring them to me.”

  It was a request that Broder would feign to honor, though he knew StoneHeart held nothing but treachery. “I bow to your command.” Haesten closed his eyes, appeared to drift into sleep. Broder turned to Lang and Kare. “If StoneHeart is to come, let him wait on us for two days, lest he think we are too eager. Haesten will also be more fit.”

  Kare and Lang took a moment, then nodded in agreement. “This is wise,” said Kare. “In two days then we will meet with StoneHeart and name our price.”

  Broder need be satisfied with this and let his discontent simmer. Intolerable, that StoneHeart had won entry into negotiations with a ploy, an empty offer to torment an old warrior’s memories. Doubtless, the Saxon demon will also use my sister against me. Oh, Llyrica, that we would be parted in this way is grievous, indeed.

  Though it would take me a lifetime, I will wrest you from StoneHeart’s grip.

  Thunder rumbled in the distance. The moonless night was cool, a reminder that summer waned, that circles around a campfire, such as this, bound men together. Flame light moved shadows on masculine faces, which were ruddy with drinking and the day’s labors. Deep voices took turns, talk of a good hunt, a good lay and a good game of morels. A man cloaked in the guise of mighty warrior, Slayde sat among them as he had since he was a toddler. He kept his mask in place as he sat on the ground, his forearm resting on one raised knee. A pretense of enjoyment, he nodded to bawdy jokes and gory tales with passive amusement, and tried to ignore that both Ailwin and Byrnstan seemed intent on observing his every move.

  He drank long and deep of a cup of bitter ale, his method of forgetfulness come eventide. By day, for these past two, Slayde had immersed himself in fort building. He instructed his warriors-turned-carpenters as to the depth of the ditches, the height of the towers, and the breadth of the gates. He took up the hammer himself, an implement more suited to his hand than sword, more welcome. This labor accomplished more than constructing a viable deterrent to Vikings. It quelled, in his wakeful hours, his gnawing anxiety and detested waiting. His goal, long pursued, had become an obsession. Once reached, Llyrica was his prize.

  Though his mind was dulled, a sound snared his attention from the fireside conversation. Slayde turned his head, cocked it to listen. He heard a clear, soft voice carried on a breeze from the river. Sweet notes rose and fell, distant, yet near as Slayde’s heart, the lyrics faint, yet woven in the braid of his tunica. Llyrica was singing.

  Spellbound, his vow to keep himself from her evaporated. He took to his feet, staggered a step, her haunting melody leading him in her direction. Away from the light of the fire, a torch on the OnyxFox beckoned him through the dark to Llyrica’s silken refuge. He neared, readied to dismiss the guards posted at the ship.

  “StoneHeart, you make a mistake if you go to her.” Ailwin’s sobering remark came from behind, stopped Slayde in mid stride. “Your men will know you are a lovesick fool.”

  What had given him away? These words could have been Ceolmund’s, contained the same ridicule, evoked the same immobilizing fear Slayde had known as a child. “I go to see to her safety, Ailwin,” Slayde said, without turning. “I remind you, she is the key to ending this standoff.”

  “And yet two days have passed, with no word from Haesten. Consider she is in league with her brother. Perhaps she has stalled us here while Danes amass from the north to join their warlord here.”

  Slayde now faced Ailwin, hated the doubt his second could so easily incite. “There are no such reports. And I remind you, we came here prepared to play a waiting game. Do you tire so soon?”

  “I tire of watching your eyes cloud over when you see the Viking woman. She will be your downfall. We all see it, where you do not.”

  “Who is we? I have not noted dissention that Llyrica
is among us. Nay, the opposite. By all I hear, my men judge her presence good luck”

  “It may well be. But that does not stop the other comments uttered behind your back. They think what Ceolmund said is true. You let a woman into your house and your life and now they watch for any change in you. And I know you are aware of what is said about her love spells. Men make bets that you will buckle in dealing with these Vikings because your wife is one of them.”

  Uncanny, Ailwin needled each of StoneHeart’s uncertainties with the same precision his arrows found their targets. Since they were children, Ailwin had done this, remained a constant threat that a mother’s boy would be exposed at any moment. Ailwin had laughed with the others when frail and fearful little Slayde wretched at the sickening sight of his own blood, spilled from fights in the yard. The hackles of StoneHeart’s old guard went up. He would not bow under the pressure to prove and prove again that he was a man and not that pitiable fairygirl.

  StoneHeart drew himself up taller, challenging. “If any questions my leadership, he may take it up with me. As for you, I think your time would be better spent than spreading rumors, gossiping like an ale wife.”

  That got him a fierce look from Ailwin and a warning that he would reveal a secret. “I only repeat what is true and remind you of your duty as Ceolmund’s son!”

  Slayde took a step forward and grabbed Ailwin by the neck of his tunica, drawing him up. “Yea, so you have done for years! Better would it have been had you been his son! But I doubt you would have been man enough to tolerate knowing he was a bent sword!”

  Ailwin growled, flinging Slayde’s hands away. “Lies told by his enemies! And now by his fairygirl of a son!”

  The insult was accompanied by Ailwin's fist to Slayde’s face.

  The word was finally out. Slayde recoiled from the blow that jarred his teeth and split his lip, then rebounded with a swift punch to Ailwin’s gut. From his doubled-over state, Ailwin rammed into Slayde, sending them both to the ground. This fight between them was long over due, and Slayde let loose all the violence that Ceolmund had hoped to nurture in him. So too, his need to conquer Haesten came to bear. He tasted blood and dirt as he battered Ailwin, also receiving as good as he gave. A crack rang in his ear, the sound of a punch to his nose. A thud traveled up his arm as his fist met Ailwin’s chest. StoneHeart fought not to defend his manhood, but to pummel his boyhood into dust.