Pagan Princess

By Tracy Godden

An historical fantasy of lust, passion, sorcery and sacrifice, set in savage, Dark Age Britain.

Aelfwyn, a beautiful, headstrong, pagan princess, possessed of a rare and powerful gift, is plunged headlong into a terrifying fight for her life when a ruthless conquering marauder, Ghedred the Soul Taker, slaughters her father, then kidnaps and enslaves her.

Her unexpected salvation comes in the form of the mysterious Wulf, a huge bear of a man, sent by unknown forces to rescue her from the hostile camp. Who is he, what does he want and why has he saved her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tracy Godden
• Release date: Jan 10, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301290581

Tracy Godden

I was born at Eastchurch and have lived on the Isle of Sheppey in the south east of England for most of my life. I am married with 3 grown up children with six beautiful grandchildren with another one on the way. All my life, my family have wanted me to make use of the talent I have for painting and writing but I never felt I was good enough. I enjoyed my life working in a local supermarket and felt I was just an ordinary mum, but in 2011 my perfect world came crashing down when I was diagnosed with breast cancer. It was a terrible shock to me because the tumour came up almost overnight. I had to have a mastectomy, chemotherapy and radiotherapy. I have a wonderful husband and family who supported me throughout. During my gruelling treatment I became very depressed and like most people I thought I would probably die. My husband encouraged me to finish this book which I had begun several years earlier and it really helped me to focus on something other than my illness. I find it very hard to talk about myself or have faith in my own ability, but I decided, that if I survived, I would try and fulfil my potential and believe in myself. I have now published "Pagan Princess" and the next book in the Saga is almost complete and will be published on line in the next few months. I would like others who have suffered an illness or cancer to know that something good can come from such a terrible experience. Far from seeing this as being a death sentence, I now feel it spurred me on to achieve great things that I did not think could ever become possible. It has been a year since I finished the treatment and so far things are looking good. I also wanted to really make a difference for others who will have breast cancer and therefore 30 pence from every sale of the book will go to the UK charity Breast Cancer Care.

Book preview

Pagan Princess

Book One of the Blotstan Saga

Tracy Godden

Copyright 2012 Tracy Godden

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

The charity Breast Cancer Care will receive a donation of 30 Pence for every copy of this book that is sold

Foreword

In 1939 archaeologists unearthed an extraordinary Anglo-Saxon ship burial in Woodbridge Suffolk, England. Astonishing artefacts were uncovered including armour and a strange ornately carved whetstone. Who was buried at Sutton Hoo and so powerful in his lifetime as to be interred in a ship 90 feet in length and with such splendour?

Conjecture focuses on Raedwald who ruled East Anglia around 616.AD. Not much is known about him, but a few facts from Bede’s Anglo-Saxon chronicles suggest that he had at least two sons and was married to an unnamed Queen who already had a son and to whom Raedwald became stepfather. Who was she? How did she come to have a child and how did she meet a king? And of what significance was the magnificent whetstone?

I was so intrigued by all the possibilities presented by this fantastic discovery that I was inspired to write Pagan Princess centred on the characters of Raedwald and his unnamed Queen, set in a savage, mystical dark age Britain, poised on the brink of Christianity.

Chapter One

It was a dark and savage, era. Britain was divided into many lands, some ruled by Kings, others by tribal Chieftains and some were just wild, untamed, lawless territories. There was no unity amongst man but there were still a few who sought peace. In a time when men still believed in myth and magic, war had become a way of life and it had swept the earth like an evil plague.

Burn it! Burn everything! Leave nothing!

The command intensified in strength and fervour as it rippled along the column of riders, their lust for blood increasing with every breath. Monstrous steeds pawed at the ground, snorting, puffing and chafing at the bit with barely restrained impatience, their need for release as great as that of the horsemen astride them. The rough-hewn line of iron clad marauders surged forward, accompanied by bloodcurdling battle cries and the blaring of war trumpets. Waves of howling warriors, with painted and contorted features, swept down the hillside into the valley below and engulfed the tiny hamlet. Dense black smoke billowed upwards into the inky night sky as each and every dwelling was ransacked and set ablaze. The air was thick with the acrid stench of charring flesh.

Anguished screams reverberated through the clearing as heavy sharp iron swords sliced through victim after victim, till there was an unnatural deathly quiet. Those who weren’t burnt alive in their homes were left where they fell. Dismembered bodies littered the ground, men and women, young and old, children and babies. The earth was red and soft underfoot, soaked with the blood of the innocent.

Four battered women huddled together on their knees, desperate, terrified, sobbing but still alive.

Aelfwyn stood apart, her stance defiant. She was shackled to the other survivors by a heavy chain that was looped through a manacle round her ankle and then staked to the ground at her bare feet. She was filthy and spattered with blood. A dark green mantle, held at her throat with a large gold brooch in the shape of a dagger, swirled around her to reveal her woollen gown beneath. It had been torn, revealing the bruised, grazed skin of her shoulder. A large purple welt covered her cheek and her lower lip was split and swollen. Her life hung motionless. She was in purgatory. She could not go back nor could she go forward. All that had been her life had been ripped from her. She stood erect, her back straight and head held high, boldly staring, looking neither left nor right but focused on one man, the man with red hair that billowed around his head like a flaming wild mane. Her eyes bore into his back as she watched him lean down from his destrier, spear a severed head onto the point of his standard and raised it into the air. She saw his face, his expression savage and exultant, as he rode upon the sea of his bloody victory.

He brandished the gruesome trophy while all around him, his men cheered and roared and hailed their glorious triumphant leader, Ghedred the Soul Taker.

Her whole being brimmed with hatred as she registered his every obscene strutting movement till eventually he turned and he filled her vision completely. His eyes dark as coal glittered like shards of ice as he pinned her with his gaze. She stood transfixed.

Her insolent posture and bold unflinching gaze angered him. She did not weep nor cow before him. He spurred his horse forward, forcing his way between the throng of warriors to confront the daring bitch. His smile was malevolent as he drove the standard into the ground at her feet so close that the garish, scarlet emblazoned cloth whipped her bare, tender shoulder.

Her heart lurched. The splintered skull with frozen features and sightless sockets, barely an inch from her face, was that of her father.

Ghedred laughed, as he saw the flicker of recognition cross her calm facade.

Through her horror and despair, the laughter and shouting she heard him speak.

King Seaxtmon is dead!

Ghedred’s army howled their victory. A thousand wretched voices cheered and rejoiced in the death of a noble King.

You are mine now Aelfwyn! He roared

She bit back the bile that rose in her throat and forced herself to quash the image and suppress the feelings that flooded her brain and threatened her sanity. Once again her pale drawn face found his. Her eyes never left his, as she remained stalwart and silent.

Ghedred’s smile faded and he cursed her under his breath. You would do well to fear me woman. I hold your life in my hands.

She condemned him with her eyes but said nothing.

I will cow you, you insolent bitch! Ghedred cursed and loosed the destrier with awesome ferocity. It reared up on its hind legs then sped backward and drew to an abrupt halt. In one fluid movement he dismounted. The stallion’s slick black body glistened with sweat as it stomped the ground behind him. He raised his arm and the great beast stood silently, its nostrils flaring and its head hung in compliance.

Ghedred removed his horned helmet and tossed it aside as he trod with slow deliberate steps, certain that his powerful gait would yet intimidate the girl into terrified submission.

But once again her eyes found his, locked onto him defying him to take her. With every pounding stride he advanced upon her, closer and closer until he was blinkered and all he could see was her, standing alone, in a sea of crimson. His dark hooded lids covered beady black orbs that bored into her flesh. Flesh he would soon enjoy. His blood ran hot for this woman, this woman who had dared to refuse him.

Her mind was alert and every muscle taught, she knew he was fearsome, knew he possessed terrible power, foulness she could not comprehend like an inhuman, all encompassing, evil shroud.

Ghedred laughed, and then threw out his arms, See what you have done. Your father is dead and his kingdom destroyed. His men begged for mercy but you still stand against me. Yield to me or die, like the rest.

Still she said nothing but held his gaze with unflinching bravery.

You are nothing but a whore, Ghedred uttered between clenched teeth. Don’t test my patience. The thought of breaking her spirit and bending her to his will suddenly made him swell with a feral urge, a savage need to take her, feel her tender flesh beneath him, dominate her, humiliate her, use her in amongst all the savage carnage. To prove he had absolute power over her, body and soul.

Ghedred smiled and in one swift savage movement rent her gown from shoulder to waist to reveal her thin linen shift beneath. He could see her breasts outlined through the thin fabric and he ran a tongue over his wet lips. He could already taste her flawless pale flesh. His rough callused blood stained fingers closed over her breast. He expected an immediate reaction but got none.

She uttered no sound, nor did her expression change as he pinched her soft nipples through the fabric and molested her tender vulnerable body. She remained aloof, almost indifferent to the brutal assault. Her lack of supplication, and her continued act of belligerence angered him even further.

Inside she was not calm or unaffected; she clenched her jaw, the revulsion rising from her stomach, a bitter taste in her mouth. His foul odour of rancid food, sweaty animal and the sickly sweet stench of fresh blood assailed her nostrils. She did not let him see her anguish. She kept it hidden deep within. She knew she must. She had known the test would come. It was her fate. She had to swallow her grief, summon all of her strength and endure. She must face this monster and survive. She could hear his men still shouting and jeering, spurring him on to humiliate her more and bring her to her knees. His touch filled her very soul with despair yet she did not falter in her stance. She was wooden, unyielding and it served her purpose well.

Ghedred felt exhilarated. Loud raucous laughter and bawdy shouts filled his head. He was filled with a blinding need to assuage himself. He left her breast, bruised and defiled and grasped the nape of her neck. He yanked her head still further back, and with his other free arm lifted her clear of the floor. He ground his lips over her swollen mouth with a fierce need to tame her, to punish her, to bend her to his will and savour more of the delights her tender young body promised. In defiance she held her teeth tightly closed to deny him entry to the sweet warmth inside. He crushed her to him and chafed her delicate skin with the brutal assault, then loosed her with a terrifying roar that sent her sprawling backwards. He caught her arm and yanked her forward till she could feel his breath on her cheek as he hissed in her ear.

I will take your soul Aelfwyn. You’re mine now!

Never! She hissed bravely It is you who will die and my father will be avenged!

Aelfwyn’s fingers closed round the small knife brooch at her neck. Her mantle fluttered to the ground at her feet as she leapt forward, the small blade brandished in her hand. The full force of her body hit Ghedred hard as she jabbed fiercely at her captor. The sharp point pierced his shoulder as he roared in anger and yanked the weapon from her cold icy fingers twisting her arm viciously behind her back.

So you thought you’d try to kill me with this trinket. You stupid bitch! You thought to accomplish something your father and a hundred men before him failed to do.

He leaned close to her ear so only she could hear his fierce growl, But for your audacity I will make you pay a thousand fold for this, in my bed!

He released her then with a guffaw and sent her stumbling forward.

Aelfwyn straightened and turned to glower at her captor. She pulled her torn dress up over her body with slender bloodied fingers and then with what little strength she had left drew the back of her hands across her mouth to eradicate his touch. She stared at him still, his blackened face and flaming red hair burnt into her soul forever. Her defiance struck him like a bolt of lightning.

Ghedred’s mind raced, his blood was on fire, the vein at his temple throbbed, and his heart pounded in his ears like a drum. He wanted this woman, to take not only her body, but her soul. She challenged his authority inflamed his senses and incited such lust that he could not resist her. She was like none other he had met before. He fought for control but found only her eyes, deep and green and clear. Two brimming fathomless pools that held him locked in personal combat. In unbridled fury he struck her down. Only his vicious blow could close those eyes, eyes that condemned, eyes that hated. Eyes that belonged to a vision of beauty he had to possess.

Rathgar! Ghedred barked.

Standing close behind him, a short stout soldier with pock marked skin and long shaggy hair tied at the nape of his neck with a scarlet cord grunted between clenched teeth.

Make sure she stays alive, understand? The men can have any of the others, but she is not to be touched.

Rathgar acknowledged the command with a curt nod.

Ghedred strode purposefully away without a backward glance. He remounted his war-horse, a conqueror, and rode through the smouldering ashes of the vanquished stronghold.

Ghedred! Ghedred! The warriors howled as he passed, the chant echoing through the night as the red haired devil drank in the intoxicating brew of victory.

Rathgar glanced at Aelfwyn in irritation. She was only a slip of a girl yet he knew she would be trouble from the moment Ghedred had sought her out. King Seaxtmon’s refusal to bargain with his daughter’s hand had enraged the Soul Taker beyond all reason. Rathgar smiled, a few days at the mercy of Ghedred and he would silently dispose of her, princess or no, she would be gone.

Aelfwyn moaned softly and her eyes flickered open for a second.

Rathgar hesitated. Her willowy frame and regal posture made her stand out among the other prisoners. She exuded an air of strength, of sinewy power even though she was of slight stature. He noted her long raven hair matted with blood and dirt. Soft tendrils curled seductively across her shoulders and down past her waist. He stretched out his blood stained fingers to feel its soft silky texture, and then snatched back his hand in mid-air. Rathgar shook his head, aware that he too had been mesmerised by the sight, smell and touch of her. He would have to make sure that Ghedred tired of her quickly but, till then, Rathgar would carry out his orders.

The command came to withdraw as the grey light of dawn filtered through the clouds. Watery sunshine warmed her face as the girl stirred from a fitful slumber. The captives, still shackled, huddled together for protection and warmth. The men prepared to leave, many of the warriors restless to be gone from the settlement, the aftermath of destruction still thick in the air.

The procession of riders snaked into the distance as the prisoners were roused and dragged to their feet. The chain that linked them was tied to one of the pack horses laden with trophies of their victory and the long trek back to the stronghold began.

Rathgar rode behind the prisoners, cursing under his breath that it should fall to him to single out the girl for special treatment. He knew it would cause trouble. He swore in irritation. Damn the little bitch, Rathgar sighed. He scanned the horizon ahead. He could see little through the dense forest but his natural instinct told him they were being followed by a large pack of wolves. No doubt they’d already devoured the remains at the settlement and now they were eager for a fresh kill. He rode forward to the head of the column where he matched his stride to Ghedred’s horse and kept the leader informed.

The pace though slow was arduous and unrelenting. It was a long steep climb to the top of the ridge and the women were soon exhausted.

I can’t go on, I’d rather die here. They’re all dead. I might as well be dead too. One of the young girls sobbed and slumped forward. Desperate heart wrenching cries shook her body and huge tears streamed from her face as she was dragged several feet along the ground by her wrists till the pack horse eventually ground to a halt.

Get up, quickly before they see you. Aelfwyn urged. With gentle fingers she lifted the girl’s chin. Puffy, red, swollen eyes met clear emerald green pools. Aelfwyn recognised the bedraggled beaten girl as a theow from her father’s hall.

Quickly! Aelfwyn snapped Nelda, please she implored get up, the guard is coming!

For what seemed an eternity each studied the other. As they heard the rider approach, the young girl hauled herself up and began to walk again.

You know my name. Who are you? She asked tentatively.

Aelfwyn.

The young girl pulled away instantly. Aelfwyn! King Seaxtmon’s daughter! Because of you, my family is dead!

The girl’s hand whipped out striking Aelfwyn’s cheek, This is all your fault. You made this happen. You think you are so special, but you are nothing now! You’re just a slave like the rest of us!

Nelda’s hysterical voice grated in her ears. Aelfwyn sucked in air as if she’d been punched in the stomach. She yanked the girls arm and pulled her along roughly. You think I wanted this? To have the blood of my father of all his people on my hands? You are wrong. I would have done anything to prevent this. Aelfwyn lowered her head and spoke. Her voice filled with anguish and despair. I could not stop it, believe me, I tried.

The girl spat in her face. "Haegtesse! I do not believe you! I hope the red haired monster kills you for what you have done!"

Shocked at Nelda’s vehement words, Aelfwyn drew back. Was this girl right? Was she a Haegtesse? If she had been a witch as the girl had screamed at her, could she have done more to prevent this? A tight band constricted her heart and her body felt leaden. She had to go on but her mind raced and her soul cried out for freedom and forgiveness. Aelfwyn caught her breath and trudged on. She had to just concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. She had to survive this terror or all that had happened would be for nought. Only survival mattered.

The gruelling journey sapped her strength and tested her will. In the distance the howl of a wolf made the pack horses bolt sending the women hurtling forward. The hard ground skinned their knees and prickly gorse scratched their arms and legs as they were dragged through the undergrowth. Finally the horse ran out of steam and the women lay stunned and bleeding. Aelfwyn barely had a chance to regain her breath when she was hauled up by her hair.

I’ll have this bitch tonight after we make camp. Edric snarled, his sweat covered bearded face an inch from Aelfwyn’s. She could see his jagged yellowed teeth as he ran his eyes up and down her body resting on every smooth curve outlined beneath her ragged garment. Edric’s pitted bald head glistened as he bent to smother her mouth with his large protruding wet lips.

I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Rathgar warned. He towered above them from atop his huge destrier.

Aelfwyn’s scalp was on fire. She twisted her head to see Rathgar dismount and unsheathe his sword.

Abruptly Edric released her. He stepped back and withdrew his own sword to challenge his right to the girl.

You’re dicing with death. Our leader razed the place to the ground to claim her. Use one of the others. He indicated to the dishevelled bunch of female prisoners. There’s no need to lose your head over her.

Rathgar snatched Aelfwyn’s arm in a cruel hold then backhanded her sharply across her mouth.

Aelfwyn gasped as he threw her toward the other women.

She is poison, one to be avoided, choose another.

Edric glared at Aelfwyn noting, with some satisfaction, that yet another bruise stained her cheek and a small drop of fresh blood oozed from her cut lip. He laughed and slapped Rathgar on the back, You’re right. One ride is as good as another.

Rathgar hissed a sigh of relief. He had been prepared for a fight, an unwelcome one at that, but none the less he would do as he was commanded, damn it. He knew she’d bring trouble. Rathgar sheathed his sword, re-mounted and took up his position at the rear of the prisoners.

Aelfwyn gritted her teeth, the shackle had rubbed her ankle raw, the muscles in her legs ached from the heavy chain and as the order to move out echoed along the lines of Ghedred’s army she resigned herself to yet more hours of being marched north. The prisoners walked, or were dragged, hour after hour. They were hungry and thirsty, their throats parched and lips cracked. The crisp winter air chilled them to the bone. They were exhausted and beaten. Their feet bled, bright red specks that trailed behind them on the cold, hard, ground, and with each step they took their hope for survival dwindled but their hate for their captors grew.

Gradually the terrain changed from dense forest to open windswept moorland then back to forest. Great globules of snow drifted down from the heavy clouded sky and smothered the stark landscape in a thick white sheet. The marauders kept up a steady pace, stopping only for a few hours rest before they forged ahead again. The harsh, freezing weather slowed their progress even further, till eventually the men were forced to stop and make camp.

The prisoners were carelessly herded into a roped off area, while all around them was a hive of activity. The main work centred on the building of several makeshift shelters. The women were allowed no such luxury and were all but left alone, save the presence of one guard, as the army readied itself for its first full night of rest.

The piercing howl of a lone wolf permeated the darkness and the captives shuddered with fear and cold.

Aelfwyn scanned the dark horizon and saw the silhouette of the beast. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched the animal. The wolf that hunted them was huge and with its head thrown back toward the sky with great pointed jaw and fangs that glinted in the moonlight, it loosed a high pitched lament and then it was gone. She shook herself free from the terrifying image and sank to the ground exhausted.

Each woman was allowed a small piece of mouldy bread and three sips from a wooden ladle dipped into a pitcher of foul tasting water. The guard moved along the line of prisoners, licked his lips and studied each one in turn, every now and then furtively glancing over his shoulder to see if he was being watched. He had long greasy hair that hung round his shoulders in dirty clumps and a thick black unkempt beard that covered most of his face. An ugly, thick, fresh red scar crossed his forehead in a puckered, jagged line. When he was certain he wasn’t being observed, he bent over a woman with burnished copper hair.

The man’s fetid breath made her gasp, as he whispered lewd comments into her ear. She shook her head vehemently and he snickered nastily, thoroughly enjoying himself. With one hand he snatched back the ladle and threw it back into the pitcher and with the other he pulled the woman to her feet. He held her arm in a vice-like grip while he groped and squeezed her breast. The other women began crying and sobbing anew as he continued to molest the captive, unrelenting in his intimate fondling.

Aelfwyn knew she must help the woman now or watch her be assaulted in front of her eyes.

The guard moved his attentions lower and thrust a filthy hairy hand beneath the woman’s shift to clutch her buttocks in a vicious fist....

Suddenly he stopped and turned sensing someone behind him. Aelfwyn moved as close to him as she could, encumbered as she was by the manacle at her ankle. Her deep green eyes bored into him. He felt strange, confused and hot even though there was snow on the ground and their breath billowed out in great puffy clouds. He heard ringing in his ears and his heart pounded in his chest, yet not with the rush of ardour. He stood transfixed. All he could see was her. All he could smell was her, a languid sweet scent. All he could sense or feel was her, almost as if she had invaded his very soul. And yet he could not move or speak only look...

He smiled at Aelfwyn, released the woman and stumbled away, leaving the pitcher where it had fallen.

Aelfwyn slumped to the ground and filled her lungs with long heavy deep breaths, using her will to compose herself. The dark recesses of the guard’s deranged mind filled her with revulsion and an intense feeling of dirtiness and defilement. It took many hours for the disgust of what she felt to subside. She was roused out of her thoughts by a rough hand shaking her arm.

Why did you help her?

Aelfwyn breathed deeply and looked at Nelda. Because I could.

Weren’t you afraid he’d pick on you instead?

No. I knew he wouldn’t. I know these things, trust me.

"I do not trust you Haegtesse!" Nelda spat vehemently.

Aelfwyn managed a watery smile. Think what you will but I do not harm anything.

Nelda slumped down beside her.

Aelfwyn sighed Nelda we should not be enemies. We are both prisoners and we share the same fate. She smiled at the girl and offered her hand in friendship.

Nelda paused for a moment then placed her hand warily in Aelfwyn’s .She raised her red rimmed brown eyes to Aelfwyn but said nothing just stared at her.

Aelfwyn felt crushed by Nelda’s sadness and despair and bright tears trickled down her own cheeks. She felt what Nelda felt, saw too what she had seen, the horror, the slaughter, the death of her whole family, parents, brothers, and sisters.

Nelda turned away bereft and Aelfwyn did not blame her.

The prisoners huddled together and tried to sleep, but Aelfwyn lay apart shunned by the rest, even Nelda still eyed her with distrust.

She closed her eyes and almost of its own volition the sneering face of Ghedred leapt to her mind. She had failed miserably in his case. It had drained her very being just to get beyond those coal black orbs. But she’d confused him, angered him caught him off guard and thrown his emotions into turmoil. She could sense the evil, the utter ruthless raw sickness that pervaded every ounce of him. She could not influence him as she had done with the guard. She knew next time she confronted him it would probably be her last day on earth. She would not yield .She would die first.

The guard returned a short while later and slumped down against a nearby tree and tossed a ragged skin over his knees while he kept watch.

The women rubbed their chafed raw skin in an effort to bring back feeling to their limbs. They regarded Aelfwyn with suspicion and stayed well away from her. They knew she’d somehow bewitched the guard and they were afraid of her.

Aelfwyn didn’t mind, she was used to being alienated. Why should anything be different now?

Aelfwyn removed a small rabbit skin purse she kept hidden beneath her shift. It was tied round her waist with a thin cord. She untied the pouch and emptied the contents into the palm of her hand. She held a small handful of oval shaped pebbles, flat on one side with glyphs scratched into them. She rattled them in her fist, held them to her lips, then blew gently into her palm and threw them to the ground in front of her. She studied the signs intently. Aelfwyn’s brows knitted together. The omen was still there! She had warned her father of Ghedred’s betrayal yet he had not listened. He had dismissed her pleas to be cautious of the red haired Leader from the borderlands.

She closed her eyes and remembered that terrible day. Why had her father not listened to her? It had been a mistake to allow them entrance to his longhouse to offer friendship where none could ever exist. The red haired giant was evil and savage. She had known from the moment she saw him that he had death at his shoulder. Yet her father had been unwilling to trust her, a mere girl. He had wanted peace. If only she’d been born a man then perhaps all would not have been lost.

Aelfwyn sang low sweet notes and studied the pebbles. She knew the runes had warned of the coming battle but now it was over, she desperately needed to know what lay ahead, yet here the sign was again. Perhaps it wasn’t just about Ghedred, but if not him, then who? Aelfwyn had no answers. Usually the stones gave her insight, but this time she could not see their meaning and she was heartsick with not knowing