When she’d received the notice, it nearly tore her in two. It was unfathomable. The words haunted her...

Dear Citizen,

We, the generals of the Conqueror’s army, are sorry to inform you that your spouse has died in the line of duty.

Oh Gods. Those words burned her. How those words burned deep inside.

We, the generals... we, the generals of the Conqueror’s army... We, the generals of the conqueror’s army, are sorry to inform you... They echoed with each breath. They were seared into her brain... and her heart.

Her soul screamed every moment that passed without her soothing presence. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. She wasn’t even a warrior. She was a gods-be-damned cook.

Rorick Odinsson had once been a feared and respected warlord in her homeland. She’d burned villages, killed thousands of men in her lifetime, sacrificed more lives in the name of Odin All-Father than most Vikings could stake claim to. The bloodlust ran strong, even now, after twenty summers of battle and thirty-five summers of life. There had been one redeeming factor.

Hannah. Oh sweet Hannah. Eyes as dark as the night, skin as creamy white as cow’s milk and hair as red as freshly drawn blood. Innocent as the day is long.

And they’d taken her away... taken away the only force strong enough to calm the raging tempest of the beast dwelling within Odin’s Chosen.

Now here she was, kneeling in supplication in the center of a clearing. She rested her forehead against the hilt of the broadsword buried in the ground in front of her. She wrapped one hand around the hilt and clutched at the grass with the other. She let her mind drift, searching for the space of silence that she desperately needed.

All she could hear was Hannah’s voice. It was bittersweet music to her ears and her heart swelled with longing. She could hear her love calling out in passion, calling out in anger, calling out in a voice full of laughter. And then the screams interrupted, as they had for the past fortnight.

Always, it was her name. Rory, Rory my love, Hannah would sometimes call. Rorick Odinsson, you overgrown imp! She would occasionally shout in irritation. And then it would change. Oh, Gods, Rory, please help me. The pain in a voice that had always held love cut her to the core.

Finally, it was silent in her head. Steel blue eyes, gone gray in the silver light of the moon, blinked open and Rory gazed at the blade in front of her for a moment. It gleamed brightly and her face, drawn and exhausted, shown back at her. She sighed, tired of this life, and turned her gaze to the star-strewn sky above.

Her eyes searched the sky for a moment and then she spoke, “Odin, hear me.” She paused, startled at the hoarse plea she could hear in her voice. She shook her head and continued, “Father, hear me. I beg of you.

“I’ve always been your faithful servant. From birth, I was trained to serve you and to do as you bade. You’ve protected me and mine and guided my hand in battles past.” She clenched her jaw and ground out painfully, “Someone has violated me – Your Chosen, Odin All-Father.”

The air grew heavy with heat and expectation. All was silent. The heat rose and swirled as the first drops of the misting rain fell. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Rory swallowed hard and half-choked, half moaned, “They took what was mine and they destroyed half of my soul.” She closed her eyes and a tear trickled down her cheek as she said, “I’ve never asked anything of you, father. But I’m asking now. Guide my sword in the morn when I ride into battle to avenge my family.”

Lightning flashed and she opened her eyes again. She smiled. It was chilling and malicious, reflecting what she felt inside as she heard his answer.

Go with my blessing, daughter, Odin All-Father whispered into the wind. I’ll guide your hand as surely as I ever have.

Rory kissed the hilt of her sword and stood. She retrieved the broadsword from the ground and sheathed it as she left the clearing. There was a battle to prepare for.