Loveweaver

by Tracy Ann Miller

  “Very well, then, priest,” concluded StoneHeart. “Accompany me in one hour to the gates of hell.”

  “It cannot be borne how I have been betrayed!”

  Broder arose to again pace in circles near his pallet in Haesten’s crowded hall, did not care who heard or saw him cry. Forced indoors by morning rain, the inhabitants had observed him for hours alternate between silence and rampage. Kare and Lang, the old advisers, conversed nearby. Broder’s band of comrades hung about, seemed ready to prove their loyalty to Haesten. Lorna kept her distance. Treacherous sister, Llyrica watched from the corner, her guilt and shame not punishment enough. Good, she cowered each time he approached her with Ravenwing upraised.

  “The wasted years, Llyrica, when I might have known him! You knew of him and kept it from me!” Again he marched up to her, held his sword’s blade inches from her face. Her flinch made his stomach churn, yet he felt helpless to control his rage.

  She licked her dry lips. "I was bound by the promise to Mother. She …”

  A scant remnant of self-control stayed him from striking her. “Tell me not that tired tale of a deathbed promise again! Nor ever speak an ill word of Haesten! For I am now bound to our father!” Father. Broder’s sword arm collapsed to his side as the word weakened him with sorrow. He heard himself mumbling aloud his thoughts of a different upbringing … learning to hunt with Father, sailing, traveling the world, raiding. Instead, he had lived a life of running wild without purpose. He had been coddled by a mother, an aunt and a sister who had withheld manhood from him.

  “If you are bound to him, then how would you honor him? Tell me what he taught you, pup.” Llyrica’s words and voice reminded him of the countless times she had counseled him, soothed him after a gentle reprimand.

  Exhaustion immobilized him, left him standing with his head heavy. But he would not fall for her ploy. “You think me defenseless against my old habit of confiding in you. Those days are past, Llyrica. I am a man, now. Whatever our father has taught me was his gift to me.”

  “Confide not in me, then. Only prove other than he taught you to think with fist, sword and anger, that he acted with reason and rational mind.”

  “He was a warrior and acted as the moment called for! You think me unreasonable to despise you for lying to me?”

  Llyrica shook her head, her eyes wide with trepidation “Nay, your reaction is as I dreaded, though I had thought to spare you from ever knowing the truth. ’Twould have been better if neither of us had learned of him! I am ashamed that he is our father!”

  “You tempt my anger when I have warned you!”

  “And what, Broder, do you plan to do? Beat me as he did our mother?”

  Broder stayed himself from lunging at her as anguish assailed him. He fell to his knees and thought of the man near death at the far side of the hall. “That is not the man I know.”

  Observers nearby exchanged comments unheard. After a moment of silence, Llyrica drew a breath. “In time the pain will lessen and you may tell me what you know of him.” Her voice was melodic. “The memories I carry of him are mostly Mother’s and Aunt Soso’s. And I know of him through his infamous deeds. I should like to know him as you do.”

  Broder looked up, could barely see through eyes that burned from crying. “The pain will never lessen. And all I hear from your lips are lies meant to sway me. I shall never forgive you. Prepare to pay for your deceit.” He stood and turned to Ragmar, one of the two who had found Llyrica at the earthwork’s hidden entrance. “Watch my sister and see that she does not leave. Be wary of her disguises and know that she will hide from you if your back is turned.” Broder now leapt upon a table to address the hall. Bitter anger fueled his intent and would carry his voice to the farthest ear. “Hear me, comrades! No longer shall we be captives in wait while StoneHeart thinks to starve us into surrender! I have now the prize with which to bargain. I vow before this day is done, StoneHeart will be drawn to take the bait, which we now hold.” He pointed back at Llyrica, who stood still and grim in the corner. Though she was in shadow, her bright hair shone like a beacon. “StoneHeart will come for her, his wife! And when he comes with gold and food, thinking to trade for her and leave us in peace, we will kill him and all of his troops. This is the will of our lord Haesten!”

  Broder’s band of youngbloods cheered. Their shouting seemed contagious as soon most in the hall joined in. Kare and Lang below, at his feet, called up to him in a protest that he would not heed. The throng was behind him, ready to take up arms. The fire of a warrior burned in his chest at this tribute to his father.

  “The wait is over. Each of you find a weapon and prepare! I shall send word to the demon StoneHeart this hour!” Broder scanned the sea of upturned faces and raised fists and found Egil. “Go to! Tell StoneHeart he must pay what we ask or he shall never see his wife again!”

  The crowd again reacted. But now a disturbance near the open double doors of Haesten’s hall began to steal the attention from Broder. He strained to see what caused each head, one by one, to turn. What induced the murmuring that grew with each passing moment? Impulse bade him fly to his father’s pallet, though he knew Haesten was well protected. But a sudden recognition immobilized him. Broder yet remained on the tabletop and tried to calculate, for good or for ill, this turn of events. He heard Llyrica stifle a gasp.

  StoneHeart had come. Without sword, he stood at the door, accompanied by a white-haired man. Viking guards surrounded the two, rendering them harmless. But StoneHeart towered above the others, his stony glare seeming to miss no detail. Broder froze involuntarily as StoneHeart’s eyes found him and named him a child and a fool. For the first time, Broder perceived this man as a formidable foe. It was also disturbing to see that he did not flick even the slightest glance toward Llyrica, though she could not be missed.

  “Listen well, young Broder. I make one demand of you.” StoneHeart’s steady voice thundered unto the four walls of the hall. “If you will not give it, then kill me now and my prepared troops will fall upon this fort until each timber is reduced to splinters. The waiting is over.” He gave no time for a response. “Take me to Haesten, the only man with whom I will state the terms of our truce.”

  The place smelled foul and its inhabitants looked half starved. But Slayde took little note. For there Llyrica leaned against the wall, a bright place in a dark hall. An inward response, some of the pain in Slayde’s chest eased to see her safe. He gained the report from the corner of his eye, but dared not look at her nor give any sign that she was of any concern to him. He must keep the upper hand with Broder, whose state of mind appeared as volatile as his own.

  “Indeed I shall kill you!” Broder shouted as he leapt from the table. He began a charge through the crowd. It parted to make way for him and his cohorts, swords raised. Llyrica’s scream sounded above the deafening roar.

  Unarmed, StoneHeart pulled Byrnstan behind him and prepared to pay the price of his gamble, death by his enemy’s blade. Regrets of a wasted life raced through him, coupled with the sorrow of his unfulfilled love for Llyrica. At least he would die as warrior… a final, bitter testament to Ceolmund. Would that Byrnstan could be spared.

  An unexpected reprieve, two Vikings suddenly placed themselves between Slayde and the onslaught. The men were elderly, yet giant warriors.

  “Hold to, Broder!” bellowed one. “You seek to invite our destruction?”

  “Step aside, Kare! You block my path to the devil!” Broder marched up and tried to pass the wiry-haired man to get at Slayde.

  The second warrior, who also exceeded Broder in height and breadth of stature, executed a blow with his fist, knocking the youth’s sword from his hand. “You will cool your head, lest your grief brings death on us all!”

  StoneHeart breathed again as he saw opportunity reappear. He redirected the blood surge from his brush with a quick, painful death toward the completion of his mission. But where is Haesten?

  Broder’s face glowed crimson while the youngbloods around h
im looked confused. “And you Lang? Are you too old to face what must be done?”

  “I am old enough, and loyal enough, to know that killing StoneHeart is not Haesten’s will. He would see this moment as a key to everything we have been waiting for. Think! Think as he would think and therefore earn your place as his second!”

  As Lang’s words seemed to find a mark, a myriad of emotions played across Broder’s face. He looked to his comrades, as though seeking an answer. Turning then to address Lang, Broder expanded his chest and raised his chin. Slayde recognized this posture well, but would exercise silent caution. Broder’s new composure might prove momentary.

  “I am indeed my lord’s second in command and choose to heed your advice.” Broder’s words came in gravelly tones, a sign of his hard won concession … and perhaps another emotion. Lang had spoken of Broder’s grief.

  But Slayde would not consider that the warlord might lie dead. The desire to wring the life from Haesten with his own hands yet burned hot.

  “The demon StoneHeart will soon learn,” Broder continued through clenched teeth, “that he must deal with me.”

  Impatience near made him burst, yet Slayde worded a careful response. “Then I await, by your decision, when my meeting with Haesten will take place.”

  Broder narrowed his eyes at Slayde. “Aye, you will, demon. Just as it will be my decision how your truce will be made.” A pause indicated an inward debate. “See now the reasons why and by what means.”

  He took a few steps to the wall behind him, gripped Llyrica by the arm and began leading her away. Slayde involuntarily jerked at her startled cry, and yanked at the hold his guards had on him.

  Then Broder shouted over his shoulder as he pulled Llyrica along. “Bring the demon StoneHeart! And you, Kare and Lang! And all who would see what is to be done!”

  The ache in Slayde’s chest foretold of a violent event. His eye twitched uncontrollably. Sickened by worry for Llyrica, he let the guards lead him and Byrnstan after Broder. Holy Lord, keep Llyrica safe through this and what I will do.

  They passed through the restless, murmuring crowd, where at the far corner, Broder stopped at the head of a pallet. “Behold, StoneHeart, and know why your fate, and the fate of your wife, are left in my hands. Here is my father Haesten.”

  Candlelight lit a man’s body that lie there, surely a dead man, colorless, drawn. Nay, the man took a breath and stirred. Temptation reared, but Slayde would not venture a look to Llyrica. Byrnstan said something that Slayde would not heed.

  With one quick, unsuspecting move, StoneHeart would leap down, clamp his hands around Haesten’s neck and wring the remaining life from him. ’Twould mean a release and relief from Ceolmund’s influence rule, a last installment to earning father’s ideal of manhood.

  StoneHeart tensed and readied to fall upon his enemy in a death grip.

  “Slayde.” Llyrica whispered his name. But nay, he heard it deep inside his mind and it made his body jolt. Lured now, then caught by her voice within, he raised his sights to her.

  Pitiful to see, Llyrica’s eyes were red from crying. The light seemed to have left her face and hopelessness taken its place. Slayde’s heart felt heavy and burdensome in his chest. And in that singular instant, only Llyrica mattered. She was his test to be won, not the vanquishing of a withered, dying warlord. The fist so tightly knotted at his side released. If a sword had been in his hand, it would have fallen to his feet. So too, did fall away his concern for what anyone else might think of him. This decision came in this very moment in time. His life would be his own at last. And he would spend it with Llyrica.

  “’Tis over.” Slayde mouthed the words to her, to which she replied with a nod. He knew she understood and wished they were far away from this place to begin again.

  A sudden clamoring as of thunder sounded outside, a racket of shouting and pounding of trampling feet. The roar moved closer. Slayde turned to see chaos in the hall abound. People scattered, screaming, confused. A wall of StoneHeart’s own men pushed through, led by Ailwin, mowing any who got in the way. Those who did not fall under the Saxon sword fell back as Broder’s armed men swung their blades in unprepared panic. The noise of battle continued outside, as well. Ailwin, sword before him, drove on to Haesten’s pallet. He disregarded StoneHeart, yea, seemed intent on a mortal purpose. Broder, scrambled to gather his fallen sword, and might reach his father in time. Lang and Kare reached to draw knives tucked in their baldrics.

  Slayde shouted a command. But Ailwin hesitated for only an instant, eyed the situation, especially Haesten on the pallet, and surely finalized a decision.

  “I do what none else will do!” He yelled and plunged his sword toward the dying warlord.

  Llyrica and Broder’s united cry blotted out all other sound as StoneHeart yanked free of his guards and threw himself before Ailwin’s blade and fell atop Haesten. The sword ran through the flesh of Slayde’s right side. Fire hot agony seared him as he felt the iron blade hit his rib.

  His best effort to remain conscious failed.

  Llyrica knew that no weaver’s song would help. Not far from where Haesten remained unconscious, lay Slayde’s still body. She kneeled beside StoneHeart, searching his face for signs that he would awaken. The massive bleeding in his side had long stopped, and his breathing had eased, yet he had not stirred for hours. How lost he looked unshaven, with hair unclean and his body stripped to his brecs. Oh, she longed to lie beside him until he revived, then renew his spirit with a bath and loving words. Llyrica adjusted his blanket and touched his eye, its twitch now quieted. She cherished the understanding that had passed between them in that still moment before StoneHeart had taken Ailwin’s blade in her father’s stead. That silent exchange had been a definitive moment of recognition: It was the first time that the man she knew as the sleepwalker had looked upon her by day. Do not let him die, Lord.

  Llyrica raised her head to view the hall and listened to its sounds of murmuring and conversations half-discerned. In the corner, Broder sat with his knees pulled to his chest, his face knotted with confusion and grief. Lorna slept against his shoulder. Byrnstan remained solemn in his prayer vigil beside his godson.

  Only Ailwin seemed in command of himself. Aside from directing an occasional frown first to StoneHeart and then to her, he showed no remorse for what he had done to his ealdorman. He conferred now with Lang and Kare, making his demands as to the terms of surrender of Fortress Lea. He ordered Saxon soldiers to stand guard and oversee the clean up after the attack, with the dead removed and the injured attended. All of Haesten’s Vikings were stripped of weapons and knives and considered prisoners. Llyrica watched Ailwin hand a parchment to a young soldier, a dispatch, Brynstan told her. The news was bound for London announcing the taking of Fortress Lea. That same report told that Haesten would surely be dead within days. Inhabitants from here to there could rejoice that peace from the Vikings was at present secure.

  Amidst this business, Llyrica sat in a chaos of tattered emotions. She feared she would come undone and collapse into a worthless pool of tears. Lord, I pray thee help me bear this.

  Chapter XVII

  Glide on o’er the waves that carry your ship aloft,

  To rise and fall in gentle seas beneath the sky so soft.

  High tide calls you home to its beckoning shore.

  There to the one who loves you evermore.

  Her warm, low, melodic song washed over him. Slayde looked up to see Llyrica kneeling beside him, her aqua eyes brightly fixed on his. Her hair was wet, as was her lavender silk cyrtel. Her peach lips trembled into a tentative smile as a tear rolled down her cheek. “Praise God. You have awakened,” she whispered.

  Praise God, indeed, that the struggles in countless nightmares ended here, with the vision of Llyrica’s beauty and love. How many hours have I slept?

  He formed words with dry lips and throat. “I searched for you in my dreams, little fox.” Feeling her small hand beneath his, he tried to clasp it, but discovered his ow
n hand weak. “I have found you, at last.” He tried to rise, but his body, dressed only in brecs, felt stiff and slow to respond.

  Llyrica leaned closer and lifted his hand to her cool, damp cheek. “We will get you on your feet soon enough. You have been on this pallet for three days. It is nearing nightfall.”

  This seemed unimaginable. “Three days? Where am I?” He smelled rain as he now twisted a bit from his pallet to view his surroundings, a tiny sod dwelling, perhaps a storehouse. A dull ache radiated from his bandaged side, a reminder of the events that led to a sword in his flesh.

  “You are here in this hut not far from Haesten’s hall. Here, drink a bit of this.” She helped lift his head long enough for him to sip from a cup of mead. “We moved you here at Ailwin’s request.” Llyrica drew a breath and held it as if to hold back more tears.

  He felt the potent drink warm and saturate his insides. He drank again before Llyrica set the cup aside. “I tell you I will be well, so do not cry.” Slayde stroked her face, and fingered wet strands of her blond hair. “Were you caught in the rain?”

  She shrugged, seemed unable to speak for another moment. Thunder rumbled outside. “I have run between StoneHeart and Haesten’s pallets these past three days, wondering each time what would await me. Y-y-yesterday I found my father had died in his sleep.”

  Slayde felt the softening of his heart that began before he fell from the sword. Perhaps the time had come to foreswear the name StoneHeart. “Ah, Llyrica. Lie here beside me.”

  With one simple movement she was nestled fragrantly there against his uninjured side. She kissed his cheek, then laid her head in the hollow of his shoulder. With what strength he had, Slayde pulled her close, and knew the bliss of loving Llyrica. Would that this embrace be more than brief. But Llyrica’s tense body cautioned Slayde of more bad news. Damn it also, that his mind began to fill again of Viking battles, which would not so easily be washed away.