Winter's Fury (The Furyck Saga: Book One)

by A. E. Rayne

  It was Tiras.

  ‘Are you lost, my lady?’ he asked in that hissing voice she found so repellent. He held his hood open just enough for her to see his snow-dusted, beady eyes. Locating the source of the growling noise, he stepped back, disconcerted.

  Jael was pleased to see that he didn’t like dogs. Naturally. And they didn’t appear to like him either. ‘Lost? Hopefully not. Why? Are you offering me your assistance?’

  ‘I assumed you would be looking for your husband, and I know for certain that he’s not in that direction,’ he sneered. She couldn’t see his smile, the snow was too thick, but she knew it would be there; he had a full set of brown-stained teeth that he liked to show off.

  ‘No, you’re right, he is in the hall, with his friends. Perhaps you should go and join them? It must be so lonely for you here without anyone to conspire with.’

  ‘Oh, I am keeping very busy,’ he assured her. ‘Very busy indeed.’ And with a curt bow, he dropped his hood back over his face and slid back into the storm.

  Jael stared after him. He was going to cause trouble. Eventually. He was definitely going to cause trouble.

  18

  Eadmund couldn’t feel his fingers. His hands were swollen from days of continuously holding a sword. He had almost convinced himself to give up after every fight, but somehow he kept going. Thorgils had reminded him that his fingers would harden soon; that the hilt would feel part of his hand again. But they were only using wooden swords, and he was struggling with their gentle contours, let alone the grip of an iron-heavy sword with no such sympathy.

  He sighed heavily, feeling his resolve to get up disappearing amongst the grim rays of light that were straining in through the smoke hole. Perhaps today he would rest? His body wasn’t used to this much physical punishment. Thorgils and Torstan had been making a fool of him for days; he’d been ignoring Evaine every night, and not paying much attention to his ale either. Perhaps today he would stay indoors, avoid a humiliating beating, and wrap himself up in Evaine’s warm body for a while? That would make her happy.

  The urge for a drink started pulsing through his veins. Eadmund realised he was going to have to move if he was to reach the jug of ale on his kitchen shelf; next time he must remember to leave it by the bed.

  Groaning loudly, he crawled out from under the furs and creaked his way quickly across the room. The fire was completely lifeless, and his breath smoke was thick. Not bothering to find a cup, he tipped the jug into his mouth and was completely devastated to find that it was empty; not even a drip would fall onto his parched tongue.

  Eadmund banged the jug onto the table in annoyance and looked around for his cloak. He’d need some supplies if he was going to spend the day in this icebox.

  ‘Eadmund!’

  Eadmund froze, his shoulders sagging at the sound of that voice.

  ‘Are you dead in there, or just dead drunk?’ Thorgils yelled through the door. ‘Come on, come on! My balls are shrivelling up out here! We need to get training quickly, or I will never be able to father a child!’

  Eadmund said nothing, still thinking he had a choice to make, but it was Thorgils, so there really was no choice. He sighed and reached for his cloak, cracking his neck from side to side and grimacing morbidly.

  It was a clear enough morning; the wind merely a stiff breeze. Jael leaned over the railings of the Pit, watching Torstan and Eadmund tiptoe around each other in the cleared enclosure. Thorgils stood next to her, barracking them with loud insults.

  ‘They’re taking it rather easy,’ Jael observed.

  Thorgils eyed her. ‘Oh says you, who isn’t doing any training for the contest at all.’

  ‘I’m doing some,’ Jael said slyly.

  ‘With who? Where?’ Thorgils wondered.

  ‘With Fyn, actually,’ Jael whispered. ‘I’ve been training with him every morning for a week or so.’

  ‘What?!’ Thorgils boomed in surprise, his voice so loud that both Torstan and Eadmund stopped, their swords in mid-air. Thorgils waved them on. ‘You have? Why?’

  ‘Because he should know how to fight. Because he’s all alone out there. Because I have nothing better to do. It helps keep me busy.’

  ‘Nothing better to do? Except train for a big fight or a lot of them, depending on how well you do,’ he insisted. ‘That is the whole point of the contest, for everyone to practice, to get as strong and sharp as possible. Any who aren’t will just make fools of themselves, at best. At worst, they’ll damage their reputation, especially if they end up in the muck, with Tarak on their back.’ He laughed, as Eadmund toppled over his own feet into the snow. ‘Ha! Like that one there!’ He gestured for Eadmund to come out. ‘I think your turn is over, my friend,’ he chortled, picking up his sword and shield. ‘Perhaps it’s that you just feel more comfortable playing swords with a simple boy who can’t fight back?’

  Thorgils slipped between the rails and into the Pit, beating his sword on his shield. Pointing it in Jael’s direction, he issued her a challenge with his bushy eyebrows.

  That big, cocky, red-headed tree, she thought to herself. And her desire to keep everything so tightly controlled was finally undone by a much stronger desire to wipe that stupid smile off Thorgils’ face. If he wanted a fight so badly, perhaps it was time she gave him one?

  Hanging her cloak and sword-belt over the rail, Jael climbed into the Pit. Eadmund looked surprised as he passed her on his way out. She reached out for his sword and shield, without even looking at him; her eyes were firmly fixed on Thorgils.

  ‘Good luck,’ he croaked, handing them over, almost too tired to speak. ‘He won’t take it easy on you.’

  Jael liked the sound of that.

  Gisila wrung her hands, over and over. She said nothing as she stared anxiously at her mother, but her expression told many tales.

  ‘I’m sorry that it is not what you wish to hear,’ Edela soothed. ‘But often my dreams reveal an unappealing truth. Just ask Jael.’

  Gisila couldn’t even offer a hint of a smile at that. ‘So, what do you suggest I say to Lothar then?’

  ‘Well, what can you say but yes,’ Edela offered. ‘He will not be satisfied with any other answer, will he? He wants you as his next wife, so unless he drops dead, it will certainly happen. You cannot turn down a king. And you won’t. Not if my dreams are any indication.’

  Edela felt sorry for Gisila, whose face paled, her swollen eyes blinking back tears. And who could blame her? Lothar was a vile lump of slime that she wouldn’t wish on an enemy, let alone her eldest daughter.

  Gisila sighed despairingly. ‘Well then, let’s not talk about it again, and certainly don’t mention it to Axl or Aleksander. Axl will be wild at me for even considering such a thing.’

  ‘Of course he will, he’s wild about everything these days,’ Edela said thoughtfully as she sipped on a warming cup of rosehip tea. ‘He wants what he thinks was his, and he’s going to wrap himself up in a lot of trouble trying to get it too.’

  ‘Will he?’

  ‘Of course. You don’t need to be a dreamer to see that in his future,’ she said smartly. ‘Besides, Aleksander told me about the boys Axl is friendly with, what sort of ideas they are putting into his head. Without Jael here to keep him in line, he is going to find himself in real danger soon.’

  ‘So, me marrying Lothar could actually help Axl?’ Gisila suggested, mostly to convince herself. ‘If he were to get into trouble, I would have much more influence over Lothar.’ She mulled that over, still wringing her hands.

  It was early in the afternoon, and the light was generous inside Edela’s cottage. Jael wouldn’t have recognised it, Edela thought to herself. It was bright and clean, well organised and fresh smelling. Aleksander had sorted through her shelves, moved her furniture, dusted and cleaned every surface, thrown out all the old floor reeds, and replaced them with freshly scented ones. He’d even taken out all her furs and given them a good beating. Edela was certainly grateful for it. She was feeling older by the
day, and the number of tasks she was able to complete on her own was diminishing.

  Aleksander had insisted upon moving his things in to take care of her while she recovered her strength. She was considerably weaker after the dream walk, and although she didn’t truly need that much help, his presence had become a real comfort. And she could see the direction and friendship that it was giving him in return. He had even started to eat regularly, which had been an easy habit to rediscover once he began cooking for Edela.

  ‘Mother?’

  Edela blinked. She hadn’t been listening at all.

  ‘Have you had any dreams about Jael? Any clues as to how things are on Oss with that feral husband of hers?’

  ‘I’ve had one or two,’ Edela said carefully. ‘But nothing of any significance that I can share.’

  Gisila raised one eyebrow but knew better than to prod any further; her mother only ever revealed what she wanted to. ‘No doubt she has just hidden away from them all, waiting for Eadmund to drink himself to death,’ Gisila shuddered. ‘I think that’s what I’d do.’

  ‘I don’t think Jael’s ever been the type of person to hide from anything or anyone,’ Edela suggested with a smile. ‘Do you?’

  Eirik couldn’t help but laugh as Eydis struggled to tell him an awful joke. She’d whispered it into his ear, too shy to think someone would overhear. It had been passed on to her by Eadmund and was ridiculous, but her delight in it made his cheeks hurt with happiness. She giggled uncontrollably next to him, then stilled suddenly, hearing a commotion at the door.

  Eirik turned to follow her distracted gaze. One of his men, Eadon, had rushed into the hall, straight up to the dais.

  ‘What is it?’ Eirik stood up at once, concerned.

  ‘My lord, it’s Jael!’ Eadon announced loudly, slightly out of breath. ‘She’s in the Pit, fighting Thorgils!’

  Eirik turned to Eydis, excitement in his eyes, and grabbed her arm. ‘I’ll get your cloak, Eydis, we must see this!’ And he snatched his own cloak off the back of his chair.

  They were quickly joined by the rest of the hall, as everyone rushed to catch a glimpse of the fight.

  ‘So, before we begin, Jael,’ Thorgils bellowed, more to the gathering crowd than to her. ‘Are there any places on your womanly self that you would prefer me not to hit?’

  There were jeers and whistles at that, mostly from the men. Thorgils strutted about, smiling at his appreciative audience, basking in all their attention. The railings around the Pit were full with curious Osslanders now. All other groups had cleared out, and it was only Jael and Thorgils inside the whole enclosure.

  Jael’s face was impassive, stern even, as she considered his question. ‘Well yes, thank you for asking,’ she said, just as loudly and theatrically, walking up to Thorgils, her sword extended out in front of her. ‘I would very much appreciate it if you did not hit me here.’ She touched her sword to Thorgils’ left nipple. ‘And here.’ She moved the sword to his right nipple.

  There was much hollering then; the Pit ringing with raucous laughter at the look on Thorgils’ face. ‘And whatever you do, please don’t ever hit me here.’ Jael gritted her teeth, swung her leg back and kicked him as hard as she could, between the legs.

  Thorgils uttered a pitiful, high-pitched sound and plummeted headfirst into the muddy slush. The crowd sucked in its breath, teeth bared, as they shared in Thorgils’ discomfort. Then, as he started to groan and move gingerly about on the ground, the cheers started again, and laughter followed.

  Jael walked off to one corner of the Pit as she waited for Thorgils to recover. She remembered all the times she had trained with Aleksander; thousands of times. He knew her so well that it was almost impossible to surprise him, but Thorgils knew nothing of her or her fighting style. She was keen to sit back and learn about him, to see if she could draw him out.

  ‘So, that’s your game, is it?’ he coughed, finding his voice again, trying to shake off the aching in his balls, and the sick feeling in his stomach. She had a kick on her that he’d have to watch. ‘Kick a man in the balls, and the fight is done? Well, I’m afraid you haven’t met balls like these before, Jael Skalleson!’ he called. ‘They are iron-tough and super-smooth. Just ask any of these lovely ladies who’ve had the pleasure of sucking on them!’

  She didn’t even flinch as the crowd roared with laughter and Eirik covered Eydis’ ears. Jael stayed where she was, breathing quietly, and fixing Thorgils with a blank stare.

  He paced around in front of her, still playing up to the crowd.

  ‘Ahhh, so now that you’ve realised how strong my balls are, you’re going to stand back and let me run around you like a pecking chicken?’ He made to walk like a chicken, and the crowd laughed along with him.

  Jael said nothing. Her mouth was set in a straight line that betrayed no emotion. He’s right, she thought, I am going to make him run around me; he just doesn’t know it yet. She saw her father’s smile in that idea; it had been one of the first things he had ever taught her. So she waited. And watched.

  Thorgils could sense the crowd’s patience slowly wavering. They wanted to see some action now, not just listen to his witty barbs. Apart from his hammering in the balls, there had been nothing to watch, and Jael looked uninterested in even starting to fight. Was she worried he was going to humiliate her? Hurt her? His mind started whispering so loudly that he found himself unsettled, uncertain how to move forwards. He shook his head, walking from side to side, talking some hard sense to himself.

  Thorgils looked across and saw Eirik then, with Eydis, and realised what a difficult position his big mouth had gotten him into. If he were to hurt or humiliate Jael, Eirik would not be forgiving. But if he were to do nothing and have her humiliate him – he couldn’t help but glance at Tarak, who was watching on curiously – then it would be his reputation tarnished.

  And still, Jael did nothing.

  The air was bitter, but Thorgils was sweating now. The crowd were no longer tolerant; they called out for him to do something, to make her fight. His shoulder blades tightened, his groin jiggled moistly in his woollen trousers. He felt itchy all over as he continued to walk around, crossing in front of Jael, from one side to the other and back again. His face twisted anxiously, worried and cross. His palms felt sweaty, and he loosened his grip on his shield.

  And that was when Jael came.

  She flew at Thorgils with such pace that he managed to get his shield up on instinct alone. He staggered backwards, almost slipping over on a small patch of snow. Jael slashed quickly, taking him in the torso, on his right arm, down at his left hip. He chased her sword with his shield as swiftly as he could, always a step behind, feeling the sharp jab of her sword biting at his muscles. She lashed out with her shield, knocking the rim of his into his chin. Again, he almost lost his footing. It was all Jael; her eyes cold, hard, and fixed on him, her dark hair flying wildly behind her. Thorgils backed away, as quickly as he could, to recover.

  And she let him.

  There was silence around the Pit. A few mouths hung open. No one seemed to know what to say. Jael caught Eadmund’s eye, and he looked just as stunned as the rest of them. She could feel her ribs hurting, but didn’t cringe from that, or smile at her first victory. She walked left, then right, trying to let her breathing calm naturally. She was not in good shape, she realised; Aleksander would have had her on the ground by now.

  Thorgils spat a mouthful of blood onto the ground, rubbing his chin. There were a few cheers then. He frowned, not sure whether they were for or against him. His confidence was flapping in the wind, a tattered mess, but at least he had an idea about which way things were going to go if he didn’t get his head right. He lifted his shield up to the crowd, banging it with his sword in a bold show of intent. ‘I thought it only fair to let Jael have a turn. What sort of man would I be to deny a woman what she so desperately craves?’ He snuck a quick glance at Eirik and was happy to see him smiling. ‘Now, my lord, Eadmund, I’m sorry to say, but it�
��s time for me to show your wife what a true spanking looks like!’

  He smiled with such confidence that everyone forgot what they had just witnessed and started cheering for him again. There were notable exceptions, of course, like Tarak, who hated Thorgils, and Eirik, who was supporting Jael. Eadmund remained quiet; he was unsure who he wanted to win.

  ‘You talk a lot,’ Jael observed, her expression not wavering as she glanced at the condition of the ground in front of her.

  She turned her back on Thorgils and walked away. The crowd stilled, wondering what was coming now. Thorgils did too. This time he kept his grip firm on his shield, holding it high, just below his bruised chin, which was what Jael had been hoping he’d do.

  When she’d walked far enough she turned, and taking a deep breath of freezing air into her lungs, she started running at him. There were gasps of surprise as she kept up her pace. Thorgils lifted his shield to protect himself, leaning slightly backwards for stability, frowning; he had no idea what she was planning now. Just before she reached Thorgils, Jael jumped, up onto his shield, lunging at him with her sword, catching him on the side of the neck, knocking him down to the ground. As shocked as he was, Thorgils recovered quickly and rolled away from any attempt Jael might have made to finish the fight then. He scrambled for his sword and shield, which he had dropped in the fall, and hurried to his feet. Jael followed.

  They came together quickly, and there were no smiles anymore. Swords held in front, shields tight as they exchanged countless fast blows, blade to blade, meeting every challenge issued, shields banging and deflecting with ease and speed.

  Thorgils jabbed Jael in the waist, and she jumped back as the force of that bit at her uncomfortably. He didn’t smile or pause to enjoy the victory of it, though; she could see that he had focused now, desperate to beat her, ignoring, for the moment, the worry that he wouldn’t.