by A. E. Rayne
‘I don’t know,’ Arnon shrugged. ‘Do you know the woman? The lord’s dreamer?’
Borr shook his head. ‘But she’s got the lord’s ear, from what I hear. Another reason not to get on the wrong side of her.’ He ran his eyes over the busy piers, still crowded with ships, realising that he might struggle to find a shed. ‘She’s brought him more luck and success than his father could have dreamed of.’
Arnon frowned, feeling unhappier by the moment.
‘You won’t have much luck getting the lord’s support. If the dreamer’s warned you off, you’d better stay well away.’
Ice beneath his boots had Arnon slipping, and he grumbled, hand on a frozen mooring post. ‘And where is this lord? This Tarl Brava everyone’s talking about?’
‘Left with his army. Likely gone to rip off another rival’s head. He’s taking them all off, one by one, until he’ll be the only one standing, just as his dreamer wants.’ Borr shook his own head, eyeing Arnon. ‘There’s no hope for you while the dreamer is in favour, my friend. No hope for you at all.’
25
It was always useful having a dreamer, Jonas realised with a sigh, missing Eida. She had often popped into his dreams, trying to help him when he was away with Ake. Most of the time, she had, though dreamers didn’t see everything that was coming.
He knew that better than most.
Blinking, Jonas brought his attention back to Eddeth, who was starting to feel the pressure. Everyone wanted an answer, some insight, a path to follow.
‘We have to go back!’ Ludo insisted, running out of patience. They’d hurried the bodies of the two riders into the trees, buried them beneath mounds of snow and kept their horses, though it was unlikely that those bodies would remain hidden for long.
‘It’s an army,’ Vik said for what felt like the tenth time. ‘There are fifteen of us. And I don’t think Eddeth and Stina are up for much, so that leaves thirteen men. Against what?’ He tried to pick a number. ‘A thousand?’
Ollo’s eyes rounded. ‘A thousand? You sure?’ He glanced around at their starved horses and the two shaking women.
‘Course I’m not sure, but it’s no small band of men. It’s an army camping out.’
‘And you think they’re from The Murk?’ Jonas wondered.
‘They’re dressed like they are. Grey furs. Lots of tattoos. Blue. All over their faces.’
Ollo was getting more anxious by the moment, and he turned away, heading back to Destroyer. ‘We have to get moving! Plenty of daylight left, so we need to make up some ground. If they start to wonder where their riders have gone, who knows how many they’ll send after us next!’
Ollo wasn’t wrong to be worried, Vik knew, but they couldn’t just abandon Sigurd.
‘We’ve enough experience between us to keep out of their way!’ Jonas bellowed. Ollo didn’t even glance over his shoulder, and sighing, he turned back to Vik. ‘Do you think they’ll keep him alive?’
Vik shrugged, not feeling confident. ‘Men from The Murk? Not sure they’ll care who he is. They’ve more of a reputation for asking questions after they’ve taken off your head.’
Ludo looked even more disturbed, but Eddeth grabbed his sleeve, trying to get his attention. ‘Don’t worry now, we just need a plan, don’t we? A way to help. Maybe we could disguise Vik? He could slip into the camp, get Sigurd out under the cover of night?’ Eddeth started muttering all sorts of ideas to Ludo as they walked back to the horses, sinking further down into the snow.
Eventually needing to be pulled out.
Stina walked behind them with Aldo, growing increasingly concerned.
If they were going to be delayed trying to rescue Sigurd Vilander, what would happen to Alys?
The wailing in the distance was becoming a distraction, and eventually, Alys had to ask. ‘Who is that?’
Mirella had gotten so used to Solveigh’s noise that she barely heard it anymore. She frowned, listening more closely, and sighing, she turned to her daughter. ‘The Lady of Orvala. She’s taking some time to... accept her new role.’
The children clung to Alys, one on either side of her.
‘Can we leave?’ Lotta pleaded. ‘Now?’ She didn’t know where home was anymore, but she wanted to get away from Mirella.
Alys swallowed, eyes on her mother, who stood before her like a statue. She was an attractive woman, graceful and refined, though there was no joy in her eyes, no sense that she cared for anyone’s opinion but her own. ‘We will,’ Alys tried. ‘Soon.’
Mirella put a hand out to Lotta. ‘Your mother may go if she chooses, but you will remain here, Lotta. You will stay with me.’
Lotta burst into tears, deciding that that was definitely not how things should go.
Magnus started protesting loudly, one arm around his sobbing sister.
And Alys couldn’t think. ‘They’re my children. Both of them. I came all this way...’ She shook her head, feeling Mirella stiffen. ‘I won’t leave Lotta behind. I won’t!’
Mirella pulled Lotta to her side. ‘Then you will have to stay, Alys, for Lotta won’t be leaving. When Tarl Brava sits on Alekka’s throne with the Sun Torc around his neck, you may have your daughter back, but until then...’
‘What? But how long will that take? What are you talking about?’ Alys wished the children weren’t there. She didn’t want to upset them further. She didn’t want them seeing how powerless their own mother was.
Again.
‘How long? Well, that depends on whether you want to help me,’ Mirella said, seeing an unexpected opportunity emerge from the tangle Alari had made. ‘Help me, Alys, and you will have Lotta back. I promise.’
Sigurd thought of Reinar, wondering if he was still in Slussfall.
Wondering if he would ever see him again.
The big-eyed girl had worked quickly on his arm, removing the trap, cleaning the wound. She had stitched it, slathered on some eye-watering salve and wrapped leaves around it, and now he sat in a corner resting it on his leg. It pounded, and he hoped her fast work had saved it. He couldn’t imagine living with one arm.
For the first time since Tulia had died, Sigurd felt a hunger to live. To live and be whole. And eyes moving around the tent, he tried to think of how to escape. He didn’t know where he was or who had captured him, but he knew the gods had abandoned him, for he was just stumbling from one catastrophe to the next now, likely heading straight for Vasa’s Cave.
At this rate?
He wasn’t going to last long.
Sigurd shook his head, trying to clear the buzzing in his ears, wanting to hear what was happening outside. The girl had gone. She was strange; oddly beautiful. He hoped she’d come back with some ale. He needed something to drink, wanting to dull the pain.
Would they kill him?
Sigurd didn’t know, but the girl had gone to a lot of trouble to save his arm, which would have been pointless if they were just planning to take off his head.
Closing his eyes, Sigurd tried to will away the pain, hearing the cry of the raven.
Seeing Tulia’s face.
‘What point is there in keeping him?’ Ilmar grumbled, sharpening his knife on a small whetstone.
He was a loyal man, though not the most strategic thinker, Gudrum thought with a snort. ‘If I listened to you, we’d still have twenty men! Still be on that ship, looking for opportunities. You want to kill everyone, but that’s not how we’ve grown. Not how we’ve expanded our army. We’ve made allies, we’ve combined resources, we’ve shared knowledge.’ He was moving around Ilmar, who sat hunched over on a log, bare feet by the fire, wet boots drying nearby. ‘Think back two years ago, and look how far we’ve come!’ Gudrum smiled, though no one could tell. His face was torn apart by so many scars that it resembled a ghoulish mask; like a doll pulled apart and stitched back together, though Raf didn’t seem to mind. He slipped an arm around the girl as she hurried to the fire, pulling her close. ‘How is our prisoner, then? Awake?’
Raf nodded, holdi
ng her hands to the flames, her thoughts scattered. Gudrum had given her a home, and she was loyal to him, though she knew how brightly his ambitions burned, and she worried what he would do to the blue-eyed man.
‘Awake?’ Ilmar grumbled. ‘We should kill him!’
Gudrum laughed. ‘We’ll kill him if there’s no reason to keep him. We don’t need another mouth to feed. But first, I’ll talk to him, find out what he wants.’ He turned towards Raf’s tent, sweeping his fur cloak away from the fire.
‘Wait!’ Raf bounded after Gudrum, slipping a dirty hand into his. ‘I’ll come. ‘
Gudrum frowned at her.
‘To check his arm. I have to watch it closely. The wound is vicious. He could lose it.’
‘Well, when he’s headless, he won’t be too worried about his arm,’ Gudrum winked, pushing her away. ‘Stay here, Raf. I’ll let you know if you’re to do anything more to help him.’
Raf jiggled on the spot, biting her lip, wanting to go with him.
Ilmar reached up, tugging her cloak. ‘You do as you’re told, girl,’ he muttered. ‘Sit down and wait.’
Raf hated Ilmar, who was big and rough and liked to touch her when Gudrum wasn’t looking. She crept away from him, sitting on the opposite side of the fire, eyes fixed on her tent, watching as Gudrum disappeared inside.
After Alys agreed to stay the night in the hall, Mirella had disappeared to organise a chamber for her and Magnus, taking a reluctant Lotta and her yapping puppy with her. And wanting to talk privately to Magnus, Alys had taken him outside, surprised to see that it was already dark.
So was Magnus. ‘But...’ he spluttered, looking around, wondering how long they’d been in the hall.
‘The days are short up here,’ Alys said, unable to smile. The air was bitter, thick with sleet, and she lifted her hood over her hair, wishing she was wearing a bed fur. ‘Here, Magnus.’ And pulling her son close, Alys wrapped an arm around his shivering body. ‘We can’t stay out for long. It’s too cold.’
Magnus’ teeth chattered in agreement.
‘You need to know that Mirella is a powerful dreamer. She will hear everything we say, everything we think. We’ll have no secrets from now on, no way to say anything private to each other.’
Magnus nodded, eyes on the dark figures hurrying down the street. It was still busy, and he could hear the droning noise from the market in the distance. The sun may have called an end to its day, but the Orvalans were carrying on regardless. ‘So we can’t talk about anything?’
‘We can’t talk about anything,’ Alys agreed, mind whirring, thinking of Eddeth and her symbols. She still had Eddeth’s symbol stone in her pouch. And though both books were lost now, the memories of their pages were in her mind somewhere, Alys knew. Her cloak twirled around her, and she remembered running after Winter as he led her through Ottby’s back alleys.
The cloak was covered in symbols.
But what did they mean?
Gudrum swept into the tent with a grunt, eyes on his prisoner, who slumped on Raf’s bed of furs, pain etched into his face. ‘And you are?’
‘Sigurd Vilander.’ Sigurd wanted to live. He stared up at the man who stooped over him, his face so ruined that Sigurd couldn’t tell if he was angry or happy.
Gudrum dragged a stool towards him, sitting down. ‘As in Sigurd Vilander of Ottby? The lord’s brother?’ He spoke with a gravelly rasp, scratching a bristly beard, streaked with grey. He was the leader of a thousand men now, confident and comfortable in the company of lords and thieves alike.
Sigurd nodded, gasping as waves of pain shot up his arm. Burning. He hunched over further, closing his eyes.
Gudrum felt a flash of panic. ‘Last I heard, you were battling the Vettels. South.’ He leaned forward, tension creeping up his back. ‘What are you doing up here?’
Opening his eyes, Sigurd sighed. ‘We did. They’re dead.’
‘And now... you’re coming to claim the North for Ake?’
Sigurd shook his head. ‘No, my brother’s gone back to Ottby. Slussfall is Ake’s now. We have no interest in the North.’
‘Yet, you appear to be in the North.’
‘I’m looking for someone.’
‘Just you?’
Sigurd nodded. ‘A woman. She was stolen from Slussfall. Kidnapped. I’m trying to find her.’
‘Here?’ Gudrum’s thoughts jumped about, trying to piece everything together. Trying to decide what to do with his prisoner, who suddenly appeared more valuable than he’d imagined possible.
‘I was shipwrecked. So no, not here. I’ve no idea where here even is. I lost my ship, my crew. I’m trying to reach Orvala. Last I heard, she was being taken there.’
‘Orvala?’ Gudrum heard a woman’s cry, and he frowned, hoping Ilmar was keeping a close eye on things. ‘You thought you could just sail into Orvala, get your woman and go home? That Tarl Brava would let a Vilander walk away? That he’d welcome you in, then just let you go?’
It was a good point, Sigurd realised, feeling foolish. ‘Doesn’t matter now,’ he decided. ‘Looks like I’m nowhere near Orvala.’
‘And the rest of your crew?’ Gudrum wondered, studying him closely. ‘Think carefully, for the girl’s a dreamer. My dreamer. My girl. You lie to me, she’ll find out.’
Sigurd stared into his bloodshot eyes, barely blinking. ‘They’re dead. Drowned.’ He didn’t have to make much of an effort to feel upset about that. He could still taste the saltwater in his mouth. His body still moved as though he was at sea, desperately trying to keep his head above the water while his frozen, heavy limbs tried to drag him down to his death.
‘But you survived?’ Gudrum laughed, rocking back on the creaking stool. ‘Just you? You think I should believe that?’
Sigurd shrugged. ‘I can’t make you believe anything, but the gods have always watched over me, so it makes sense. I was left out in the forest as a baby, found by Stellan Vilander, nearly frozen to death, so my brother would tell you that it’s no surprise the gods plucked me out of the sea. That they saved my life over every other.’ Sigurd showed such indifference to what he was saying that he could see the man second-guessing himself.
‘Is that so?’ Gudrum had only been in Alekka for a few years, yet he was already steeped in knowledge about the Alekkan gods. ‘And your brother is going back to Ottby, you say?’
‘He is. He has to get the ships back before The Freeze. Though the way that water felt, it’s likely already here.’ Sigurd shivered uncontrollably, thinking again about ale.
‘And what will he think about losing you, I wonder? If you’re not really his brother at all, just some outcast, abandoned by parents who didn’t want him. Why would he care to get you back?’
That was an old wound, and Sigurd saw an image of Gerda’s sour face, quickly blinking it away. ‘Reinar will look for me. He’ll want my return. We’re as close as any brothers joined by blood.’
Gudrum scratched his stubbly beard. Nothing he’d heard about the Vilanders suggested that Sigurd was lying. His scouts gave him regular updates of what was happening in the South, and he’d never heard a hint of trouble between the brothers. ‘So, he’ll look for you, but will he pay for you? I expect he has a lot of gold in his coffers now, if he’s killed the Vettels. They were sitting on a mountain of it, from what I hear.’
Sigurd shrugged, not caring about gold. He was working hard not to pass out. The pain slammed down on him, and he gritted his teeth, forcing his eyes open. ‘He’ll pay for me, of course, as I would pay for him. That’s what brothers do, blood or not. We were... raised together. He will... come for me.’
Gudrum stood, nodding. ‘If he’s not already out there somewhere, watching.’
‘You? Why? I don’t even know who you are or where you’re from. I don’t know why you’re here or where you’re going.’
‘No, you don’t.’ Gudrum turned to the tent flap, hearing a grunt of pain behind him. ‘I’ll send Raf back to look at that wound. We want you in one piece,
don’t we? If you’re missing an arm, perhaps your brother won’t be so generous with his gold?’ He laughed, shaking his head, glancing over his shoulder. ‘And remember, the girl’s a dreamer. A good one too. You tell her a lie, and I’ll find out.’ He pulled back the tent flap, disappearing outside.
Sigurd’s shoulders slumped forward, and he groaned freely, the pain too demanding for him to even think about what the man had said. Too overwhelming to care about Reinar or gold or what was going to happen to him now.
And closing his eyes, he tried to find some respite in the darkness.
‘Do you trust Berger?’ Bjarni wondered, leaning on his forearms, watching the sea churning in their wake.
Dusk had fallen, and Fury had gone quiet as everyone dug into their chests and pouches, looking for something to eat. Bolli watched them enviously, muttering to himself, hoping someone would relieve him soon.
Reinar frowned, swallowing a lump of cheese. ‘Why? Berger? What are you thinking about Berger for?’ He saw Ilene talking to Elin, who was handing around a trencher of cheese and mostly-frozen pork.
‘Just haven’t seen Victory in a while,’ Bjarni murmured, lifting his eyes higher, squinting at the shadowy ships strung out across the sea.
Reinar turned, following his gaze. ‘No, but there’s plenty we haven’t seen. And what do you think he’s done anyway? We’ve got Ilene and most of the gold. What’s he going to run away for?’
Bjarni slid closer to his friend, lowering his voice, aware that Ilene was heading their way. ‘Maybe he went back to Slussfall? You did leave a few chests there. Maybe he’s decided that’s his best chance for getting some gold himself?’
Reinar knew Bjarni better than most, and he laughed, knowing how much his friend liked to dig for problems. ‘He’ll get some gold, and he knows it. Gold and a king who’ll look favourably on him from now on. A king who’ll know his name.’