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planned the exploit, and after spreading the word around local villages, had obtained ships from various sources. They had hoped to become heroes by charging through the Gate of StoneHeart, and along the way, for added sport, they had pirated the merchant ship, the same on which Broder and Llyrica journeyed. 
    But a new venture now presented itself to Broder, one that would fill his insatiable need for excitement. One that would occupy him until Llyrica came ... as she always did.
     
    The sea tried to drown her again, yet did so by pouring hot, savory liquid down her throat. It also told a breeze to rush across her skin in drying warmth. Llyrica opened her eyes and to her left beheld dead animal heads protruding from the wall, floor to tall ceiling. Spears and shields of all lengths, colors and shapes were displayed in rows, and swords of antiquity and of ancient battles were hung beside rusted scramasaxes from centuries ago. Exhibited on pegs along high beams, she saw portions of leather armor stained black with old blood, byrnies whose metal mesh had been torn by blades, helmets bashed by hammers, and strung on strings were claws and teeth of unnamed beasts. And across from her, spanning the lengthwise wall, tapestries illustrated vicious hunting scenes and those of war at sea.
    “Holy Lord!”  Llyrica scrambled to her feet. “I have died and gone to Hell!”
    “Nay, you are alive, awakened from a faint,” a voice said. “And not in Hell, but in heaven, a man’s heaven. The StoneHeart’s lodge.”
    Llyrica found herself standing on a straw pallet, backed against an adjacent wall to the one of horror. Beside her knelt a woman, a thrall, plump and red-cheeked, framed by graying hair, her unadorned cyrtel of brown linen indicating a lowly station. She held a mug of broth.
    “ ‘Tis a dreadful sight,” Llyrica said, clutching her hand to her pounding heart.
    “Aye, ealdorman Ceolmund collected pieces of war.” The thrall’s eyes traveled the height and lengths of the walls. “But he is dead now, six moons worth of dead. Come sit, Viking lass, before you fall.”
    “I am yet light headed.” Llyrica lowered to sit on the pallet. The thrall nudged her with the mug, enticing her to take it.
    “You should be. They say the StoneHeart kissed you so hard you collapsed.”
    Oddly breathless, Llyrica brought her fingers to her lips at the thought of Slayde’s mouth pressed to hers. “Aye, he did at that, indeed.” 
    A kiss. The first of its kind. It made her aware of twenty years deprived of male attentions and the need to make up for lost time. Yet she had felt another need, not hers, but his, as he seemed desperate for something he might find within her. He drank from her lips as a thirsty man draws water from a spring.
    Another dizziness descended upon her. “But I have also been without food for two days and had quite lost my strength.”
    “Finish the broth then and later I will fetch you some bread.”
    Llyrica sipped from the welcome cup. She discovered she was yet dressed in her thin silk cemes, now dry with the rest of her. Small wonder. A warm breeze blew through the hall of this wealthy abode, an indication of a wisely situated dwelling. She sat close by to one of the open doors. 
    “Who shall I thank for the broth?”
    “I am Eadgyth. Kind Father Brynstan brought you in, bade me fix it, pour it into you and look after you.” She sat back on her heels, studied Llyrica. “I can see how you would d be suited to it, from your pretty looks. Your profession, I mean. Not that I fault you. A woman, especially a Dane, I suppose, needs to make a living when she is in the world alone.”
    Llyrica dismissed the thrall’s prejudice. “A woman does indeed, do what must be done.” She had been marked as a whore, but this would help conceal her true identity. “But I do have other talents other than ...”
    “I am sure you do, but who will know or care when you have got those for the world to see?” With