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

by A. E. Rayne

  ‘True.’ Eadmund still couldn’t believe that she had convinced Eirik to change his mind. ‘You may as well put it on if you’re going out.’

  ‘I am,’ she grimaced, easing herself onto the floor. ‘I’m going riding.’

  ‘Not without me, you’re not,’ Eadmund said, glaring sternly at her.

  ‘Yes, without you. Go and say goodbye to Isaura and the children or something. I need a ride.’ She patted him on the shoulder. ‘Alone.’

  Eydis woke with a start. There was so much noise in her head. She tried to silence it but still keep hold of the dream. It had been so very clear just then, but now? Now... it was gone. She sighed, feeling annoyed as she sat up. It had felt like an important dream to remember, of that she was certain.

  ‘Aleksander! Wake up,’ Hanna hissed in his ear, her hand clamped over his mouth. ‘I have your clothes. You must get dressed and get out of here now. Soldiers are coming!’

  Aleksander’s head was rolling with ale as he blinked himself awake. He looked down at his clothes, frowning. Soldiers?

  ‘Quickly!’ she whispered again, her eyes terrified as she stared at him. ‘Get dressed. Your cousin is waiting outside.’ She took her hand away from his mouth and pointed to his clothes.

  Aleksander hurried to put them on, his eyes barely open. It was freezing in the room, and his fingers were so numb that he fumbled endlessly. Eventually, he managed to wrap his cloak around himself, grabbing his weapons and moving quietly to the door. He turned to look at Hanna, feeling an unexpected pang of loss, and, smiling quickly, opened the door and slipped out.

  Jael yawned as she wandered towards the gates, smiling at the warmth of her new cloak, then grimacing at the pain in her elbow, certain that something was broken in there. She wanted to check for ice before heading off. The blizzard had been fierce, but she hadn’t heard any rain. Still, she didn’t want to take any risks with Tig.

  The snow looked fresh and soft, the clouds pale and non-threatening as she wandered back to the stables, imagining Fyn’s face when she told him what had happened to Tarak.

  Jael saw something out of the corner of her eye, and she spun around, the hairs on her arms prickling.

  Tiras.

  She lunged and caught the flap of his cloak as it trailed behind his escaping body. He knew she’d seen him and he’d run. Why? Jael yanked him towards her and threw him against the wall of the closest cottage. ‘Hello, worm,’ she spat in his face, then frowned. He was smiling at her so confidently that a shiver ran the length of her spine. ‘What have you done?’ she demanded, her face close to his. He didn’t stop smiling. ‘What have you done! She whipped her short knife out of its scabbard and held it to his throat. ‘Tell me, you fucking bastard!’

  ‘You won’t kill me, Jael,’ he rasped. ‘You won’t kill me. You’ve shown that already.’

  Jael pricked his neck, making him bleed just enough to terrify him, to show him her intent. ‘Tell me or don’t but either way, I’ll find out, and you’ll be too dead to worry. I won’t make the same mistake twice.’

  He did look worried suddenly, yelping at the pain, so she pressed the point of the knife in again, harder, twisting it. He screamed this time, feeling his warm blood as it trickled down his cold neck. ‘Wait! No! Jael, wait!’ he hissed desperately.

  ‘What. Did. You. Do?!’ she screamed at him, leaning on the knife some more.

  ‘Tarak...’ Tiras managed to get out. ‘I... told him... about your... friend. He’s gone... find him.’

  Jael frowned, momentarily confused, then her face fell. Her entire body froze. She brought the knife screaming across Tiras’ throat, dropped his spurting, dying body to the ground, and ran.

  ‘Where are we going?’ Aleksander asked quickly as he raced to keep up with Aedan. They were taking the back streets, trying not to be seen.

  ‘Ssshhh, keep your voice down,’ Aedan whispered, turning around, his eyes only just visible. ‘We have to get you out of here before the alarm is raised. We’re going to get your horse.’ He was wrapped in a thick, black cloak. His hood was up, as was Aleksander’s; they looked almost identical.

  ‘If we are seen,’ Aedan said hoarsely. ‘I’ll lead them away. It should confuse them. You find your horse.’

  ‘Is she still in the stables?’ Aleksander tried to keep up but his head was so muddled, he kept stumbling.

  ‘No, Aron took her nearer the gates. She’s saddled and waiting. You just have to get on her and ride. Don’t let them catch you.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Ssshhh,’ Aedan whispered, putting his hand up as a group of soldiers ran past the buildings they were slipping between. ‘It may be too late.’ He paused, ducking his head out into the street. The soldiers were running in the opposite direction.

  ‘Come on! Quick!’ Aedan called and ran, keeping as far to the left of the street as possible, ducking under porches, trying to stay out of sight.

  ‘There!’ yelled a voice. ‘Those men! Grab them!’

  Aleksander looked to see that the soldiers had turned around and were now chasing them.

  ‘Go!’ Aedan yelled as he peeled away, running down a side street, leading half the soldiers in the opposite direction.

  Half stayed to follow Aleksander. And they were running fast, screaming at him to stop. The shadowy streets of Tuura all started to look the same. He glanced around himself desperately.

  Which way to the gates?

  ‘Tarak’s gone after Fyn!’ Jael yelled as she threw open the door, then instantly disappeared back outside, rushing to the stables. There was no one around, only Biddy. ‘Find Eadmund and Thorgils! Hurry!’

  Tig was waiting, saddled and eager, as she threw herself up onto his back; he could sense the tension in her. She knocked her heels into him, hard, and he whinnied, his head flying around angrily. They burst out of the stables together, already galloping by the time they reached the gates. How much of a head start did Tarak have? She had her sword but no shield. She should’ve grabbed a shield.

  Biddy didn’t even stop for her cloak as she raced across the square. Ketil was setting up his stall, but there was no sign of Eadmund or Thorgils anywhere. Surely Thorgils couldn’t have walked too far in his condition? She ran up the steps to the hall and pulled on one of the heavy doors, ignoring the surprised faces that turned in her direction.

  Eadmund was already on his way to her. ‘What’s happened?’ he called, his jaw clenching tightly. Something was wrong.

  Biddy gasped for breath. ‘Jael... Tarak has gone after Fyn,’ she breathed heavily. ‘Jael said to get you, quickly.’

  Eadmund looked confused and turned to Thorgils, who had more understanding, but almost as much confusion.

  ‘I’ll get Vili,’ Thorgils grimaced and moved as quickly as he could, leaving Eadmund to follow him. ‘You get Leada. Have you got your sword?’

  ‘Thorgils, you’re in no state –’

  ‘Eadmund!!’ Eydis raced down the middle of the hall, still in her nightgown. ‘Eadmund! My dream!’ Her face was horror stricken. ‘I had it again. Tarak will kill Jael! It’s not over! It was the same dream. He will kill her!’

  Eadmund turned and ran towards the doors, Thorgils hurrying to keep up with him.

  Fyn had heard her coming.

  He’d been waiting. His fire was ready, water was heating in the cauldron. But when he’d rushed outside, his face full of hope for Jael, he’d seen Tarak riding down the hill towards him instead. He’d frozen in terror, then raced back inside to grab his sword.

  His sword lay broken beside him now, and in his bleeding hand, he held his eating knife, small in comparison to Tarak’s giant sword as he circled him, taunting him, licking his swollen lips, cursing him. Fyn tried to think, but he was 11-years-old again, shuddering in his boots, unable to move. He tried to remember what Jael had trained him to do. Everything was a weapon. Everything. His eyes darted around, and he could see a rock peering up out of the snow, not far from where Tarak stood. If he could get him near it, p
erhaps there was a chance it could do more damage than his small knife.

  Tarak laughed as he watched Fyn’s calculating face. ‘You put that bitch up to it? It was your revenge that she was carrying out? Ha!’ His smile disappeared, and he lurched forwards, baring his large, broken teeth. ‘You. My special, special friend. How I have missed our time together.’ He reached out with his sword, poking it into Fyn’s heaving chest. ‘Don’t say you haven’t missed me? I can see it in your eyes.’ He ran the sword lightly down Fyn’s chest, down to the top of his belt, his eyes narrowing with something more than anger now.

  Fyn’s arm was cut in three places. He could only see out of one eye. He was numb everywhere. But he knew those eyes and what that look meant. He turned his head away, gagging. That was not going to happen again. Never. He could get him to the ground, he was certain of it. He kept the rock in one corner of his eye and lunged, trying to push Tarak over, towards the rock, his knife in his hand.

  Tarak’s legs were weak after his fight with Jael, and he fell easily, pulling Fyn with him, rolling with him, avoiding Fyn’s knife as it came towards his neck. He bellowed in agony at the pain in his legs as he hit the ground, his giant sword lost in the snow. Tarak was up on his knees quickly, though, smashing his fist into Fyn’s face. Fyn tried to roll away, towards the rock but Tarak grabbed him by the hair and pulled him back.

  ‘It didn’t have to be this way,’ he hissed into Fyn’s ear, one thick hand stroking his cheek, while the other held him down. ‘But now you’ve made me so angry... I’m going to have to punish you.’

  Jael’s heart thudded in time to Tig’s hooves as he ploughed through the snow. She dug her knees into his sides, urging him to go faster. She saw tracks in the fresh, white powder. Tarak had come this way, but how long ago? Then she heard it, a terrified scream echoing around the silent valley.

  Fyn.

  Jael swallowed and bent lower. ‘Come on, Tig! Ha! Ha!’

  She drove Tig down the slope as fast as she dared. Before he had stopped, Jael slipped out of the saddle, slid Toothpick out of his scabbard and ran. She could hear Fyn shrieking, sobbing, as he lay in the snow, Tarak’s hand on his back. ‘Get off him!’ she screamed, her voice breaking with anger, her teeth clenched. She couldn’t look to Fyn to see if he was alright; there was no time. She went straight for Tarak, lunging at him with her sword.

  Tarak ducked and scooped up his own sword, turning to face her.

  ‘Fyn! Go! Take Tig and go!’

  Fyn rolled away, groaning, groggy, sniffing. ‘Jael, no!’ He wanted to stay and help. She couldn’t do it; he needed to help her.

  ‘Fyn, I need you to save Tig. Take him back to the fort. Now!’

  There was nothing else to say. He stumbled to his feet and ran for Tig who was whinnying and dancing about anxiously, the smell of blood in his nostrils. Fyn grabbed hold of the reins and tried to soothe him enough to hop up into the saddle.

  Tarak moved to go after them, but Jael blocked his path. ‘No. Not him. Me again, you fucking bastard!’ And she threw her sword at him.

  He was thick with cuts and wounds, a broken nose, swollen eyes, and limping, but he looked as capable and menacing as ever as he brought his sword down to meet hers. The vibration of their swords meeting nearly had Toothpick out of Jael’s hand. She shuddered backwards, her foot slipping and sinking into the snow. This was no even dirt surface, carefully cleared and prepared for battle; this was a thick mess of trouble that promised death for someone.

  Fyn urged Tig up the slope as fast as he could, turning back as they reached the rise in time to see Tarak lunging for Jael, his face stretched into a maniacal grin. Fyn gritted his teeth, shook his head and rode away.

  ‘Where’s the gate? Where’s the gate?’ Aleksander repeated to himself as he raced away from the soldiers.

  Then he saw the tower. At last. But where was Aron? Where was he waiting with Sky? His head spun wildly as he ran, but there was barely anyone about and certainly no horses.

  Aleksander was running out of breath. The soldiers were getting closer. He shuddered, fearing they would catch him. He imagined what they would do to Aedan and Aron if they did. Aleksander didn’t want to put them in danger; he didn’t want anything to happen to Sky. He ran harder then, harder than he believed he could.

  The gates were shut.

  He pulled up sharply, his eyes darting around. Where was Aron? What did he do?

  ‘Here!’ came the hoarse whisper from behind him.

  Aleksander turned to see Aron sitting on a horse, holding onto Sky’s reins. Somehow he had squeezed them all into the tight little space between two houses. He was dressed like Aedan. Like Aleksander. He put his hood up.

  ‘Get ready.’ He handed Sky’s reins to Aleksander.

  ‘But the gates!’ Aleksander squeezed between Sky and the cottage and somehow managed to get a foot in the stirrup and his leg over the saddle.

  ‘Wait,’ Aron said calmly, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

  The soldiers that had chased Aleksander ran past.

  ‘Wait.’

  Aron watched the gates. Aleksander held the reins tightly in his numb hands, his stomach twisting nervously.

  The guards on the tower were talking to someone over the wall. Aleksander held his breath and looked towards Aron, who pulled on his reins.

  ‘When I go, follow me as fast as you can. Don’t stop.’

  One guard walked up to the gates and lifted the wooden beam, grumbling away to himself. He called on his companion to help him, and together they lifted the heavy beam off completely and pulled on the doors.

  ‘Now!’ Aron called and kicked his heels into his horse’s flanks, urging him forwards.

  Aleksander followed on Sky, and together they burst across the street and out through the gates before the guards had a chance to move. Aron didn’t even glance at his mother and father who stood to one side of the gates, waiting to get in.

  ‘Aaarrrhhh!’ Jael screamed as Tarak’s sword ripped open the wound on her shoulder. She blinked, trying to focus. Her limbs felt as though they were made of rocks. She spun away from him, gulping in air, blood soaking her tunic. She was not wearing mail.

  Tarak ran at her, his sword above his head. She ducked sideways, turning and sweeping her sword across his back. She was slipping, and the cut she made was not as deep as it needed to be. Tarak grunted but barely broke stride as he turned on her again.

  Toothpick flew at Tarak’s sword, and the clanging of iron echoed all around Fyn’s tiny valley, as each stroke was met and defended. This was going to tire her out, Jael realised. There was nothing clever in fighting like this, not with an elbow that was barely working. She had to get him to the ground. Eydis’ dream flashed before her eyes, then. She shook it away. That arm of his was going to kill her if she didn’t weaken him somehow.

  Jael slipped Toothpick into his scabbard, grabbed her short knife and ran for him.

  They were coming.

  In the flat, white meadow there was nothing but the sound of their horse’s hooves, and then the sound of more, coming behind them.

  ‘We separate here!’ Aron called. ‘Go to your hiding place. Don’t let them follow you. They won’t find you there.’ And he tugged on his reins, turning his horse to the left. ‘Good luck!’

  Aleksander had ridden these pastures for weeks now, and he knew where he was. He turned behind him to count how many men had gone with Aron. Four. There were three still following him.

  He knew Sky now; she would ride for him. He tapped her firmly with his boots and bent down low over her neck, the wind biting at them both as they flew across the whiteness, three soldiers chasing them down.

  Fyn could tell Thorgils’ bright, red mop of hair anywhere. ‘Come on! Come on, Tig!’ he called, his aching body urging Jael’s horse onwards. The snow was so deep, and they had been riding at such a speed that he could feel the big horse tiring beneath him.

  Thorgils was struggling too. His stomach wound had opened, and he cou
ld feel the ooze of it as it seeped into his tunic. He looked up and saw a horse and rider coming towards them. He squinted; it looked like Tig, but not Jael. His eyes focused finally. ‘It’s Fyn!’ he called to Eadmund. ‘You go! Hurry! He’ll show you the way!’

  Eadmund stared at Thorgils’ pained face, saw the blood on his friend’s hands and nodded. He bent low and raced to reach Fyn, who almost fell off Tig in relief.

  ‘Jael,’ was all he could croak, his mouth thick with blood as he turned Tig around. ‘We have to help Jael!’

  Eadmund slapped the reins onto Leada’s back and followed Fyn. He hadn’t ridden in years, and Leada didn’t know him, but there was no time for any of it to matter now. He heard Eydis’ screams in his ears and clamped his teeth together, hoping he wasn’t too late.

  Aleksander pulled on Sky’s reins and jumped down into the cold snow. He couldn’t outride them, couldn’t lose them, and he couldn’t get to his hideout with them still following him. He slapped Sky on the rump. ‘Go on! You go! Go!’ Thankfully she whinnied loudly and ran off. He pulled out his neglected sword and stood waiting.

  It had been a long time. He hoped he still remembered how to use it.

  Jael kicked Tarak in the chest, spun, and smashed him in the groin with her boot. He yelled and stumbled, leaning forwards, the pain of all his wounds starting to take a toll now. Jael didn’t stop. She ran at him again, pulling the knife out of her mouth and stabbing him in the side. She yanked the knife back and ducked, missing his swinging sword, running away. He was wounded. Let him run.

  Breaths came in gasps as she stood there, her body heaving. He came lumbering towards her, sword raised, shoulders hunched, and she knew he was weak now. She slipped the knife between her teeth again and ran for him, launching herself up onto his chest, wrapping her arms around his thick neck. She pulled herself up as he bellowed, his sword flying uselessly, unable to reach her. He threw it away as Jael’s hands tightened around his throat, choking him.