Viking's Woman

1 The first dragon's prow appeared upon the horizon at the same time that the first stroke of lightning sizzled across the sky and the first mighty crack of thunder drummed throughout the heavens. And then there was a sea of dragon prows, striking new terror into weary hearts. Tall and savage upon the water, like mythical beasts, they sailed in, raining devastation and slaughter. The fury of the Norseman was well-known along the Saxon coastlines of England. The Danes had wreaked havoc upon the land for years, and all Christendom had learned to stand and tremble at the sight of the swift dragon ships, the scourge of land and sea. The ships came from the east that day, but no man or woman viewing the host of Viking ships that caught a wind that threatened sails, dared pause to ponder that fact. They saw the endless shields that lined the ships, prow and aft, and they saw that the wind, not the oarsmen, advanced the ships like the wrath of God. Lightning sizzled and snapped and lit up the gray, swirling sky. The wind whistled and roared, and then screamed, as if to portend the blood and violence to come. Red and white, the Viking sails slashed across the dark and deadly gunmetal sky, defying the vicious wind. Rhiannon was in her chapel when the first alarm was shouted. She prayed for the men who would do battle against the Danes at Rochester. She prayed for Alfred, her cousin and king, and she prayed for Rowan, whom she loved. She had not expected danger to darken her coast. Most of her men were gone to serve with the king as the Danes were amassing to the south. She was without help. "My lady!" Egmund, her most loyal, aging warrior, long of service to her family, found her in the chapel upon her knees. "My lady! Dragon prows!" For a moment she thought he had lost his mind. "Dragon prows?" she repeated. "On the horizon. Coming for us!" "From the east?" "Aye, from the east!" Rhiannon leapt to her feet and raced from the chapel, finding the stairs to the wooden walls that surrounded her manor house. She hurried along the parapets, staring out to sea. They were coming. Just as Egmund had warned her. She felt sick to her stomach. She almost screamed in fear and agony. All of her life she had been fighting. The Danes had descended upon England like a swarm of locusts, and they had brought with them bloodshed and terror. They had killed her father. She would never forget holding him and willing him to breathe again. Alfred fought the Danes and defeated them often. Now they were descending upon her home, and she had no one left to defend it because her people had gone to Alfred. "My God," she breathed aloud. "Lady, run!" Egmund said. "Take a mount and ride hard to the king. You can reach him by tomorrow if you ride hard. Take your arrows and an escort, and I will surrender this fortress." She stared at him and then smiled slowly. "Egmund, I cannot run. You know that." "You cannot stay!" "We will not surrender. Surrender means nothing to themthey perform the same atrocities whether men give battle or not. I will stay and fight from here." "My lady" "I may kill or wound many of them, Egmund. You know that." He did; she could see it in his eyes. She was an amazing markswoman. But she knew, too, as he looked at her, that he was still seeing her as the little girl he had protected for years. Old Egmund wasn't seeing her as a child at all but as a woman, and he was afraid for her. Rhiannon was beautiful and striking, with a siren's silver-blue eyes and golden-sunset hair. She was Alfred's cousin as well as his godchild, and at his command she had been well educated. She could be softspoken and as gentle as aGraham, Heather is the author of 'Viking's Woman' with ISBN 9780440244738 and ISBN 0440244730.