The Burning Sea (The Furyck Saga: Book Two)

by A. E. Rayne

  ‘Axl!’ one of the Brekkans yelled.

  Haaron turned around sharply, in time to see a young man stumble near the edge of the cliff. Karsten stood nearby, looking guilty as others raced to grab the man before he tipped over the side.

  Axl?

  Haaron blinked, staring at the young man with fresh eyes.

  Happy.

  They strode into the smoke.

  Jael signalled with her hand for Eadmund and Torstan to lead their men to the left, Thorgils and Ivaar to the right. She ignored the roll of Thorgils’ eyes and stayed with Fyn in the middle as they all slowly filled the entrance to the fort, silently, apart from a few coughs that were impossible to repress. The smoke was overpowering. It tickled the back of their throats, stinging their eyes as they bent, crouching behind shields, searching for their enemy, the archers behind them, arrows nocked, bows drawn in anticipation.

  ‘Arrrhhh!’

  They heard the whistle, then the sudden, dull thudding against shields. One man fell to the ground.

  Arrows.

  ‘Shield wall!’ Jael yelled, slapping hers over Fyn’s as the Islanders rushed into a line across the smoky fort, forming opposite their enemy. ‘Archers! Find your targets!’ That was an impossible request, she knew; they couldn’t see anything.

  The archers released volley after volley of arrows into the smoke. There were a few cries, then a quick return.

  A gust of wind blew through at last, and there they were, perhaps a hundred men, lined up, shield to shield, archers standing in behind, aiming straight at them.

  ‘Archers! Aim and loose!’ Jael bellowed, ducking out of the shield wall, the men on opposite sides of her coming together to fill her space. She hurried over to Eadmund, who came out of his place in the wall, crouching beside her. ‘They have nowhere near as many men as we do!’ she called over the noise. ‘I say we leave the archers here behind a row of shields, get the Hestians to focus on them, and the rest of us go around the flanks. We can break their walls easily, finish it quickly.’

  Eadmund nodded. ‘I’ll send half of my men to wait with the archers until they run out of arrows, which won’t be long.’

  Jael nodded and hurried back to Fyn, flinching as another wave of arrows thudded into the Islander’s shields. ‘Let’s go,’ she whispered to him. ‘Follow me. And whatever you do, don’t let go of your sword!’

  ‘Your sister can’t think much of you, can she?’ Haaron mused as Axl trotted to keep up with him and his horse. ‘After all, your father left you what was supposed to be her throne, before your uncle then stole it away from you.’ He enjoyed the indignant scowl on Lothar’s sweaty, red face as he struggled along beside Axl.

  Axl didn’t know what to say, having just become an unwilling pawn in this game of kings, this battle of kingdoms. But, he surmised, Haaron was right about one thing: if Lothar hadn’t stolen the throne, he would be the one negotiating with him now. It was time he figured out just how to do that and quickly. ‘My sister,’ Axl said, imagining Jael’s furious face. ‘My sister burned your ships and your island. And soon she will come for you and your sons. The ones that still live, that is.’

  Lothar looked horrified. He glanced around at Osbert who was leaning on Gant, limping, struggling to keep up. That was no way to get around Haaron Dragos.

  But Haaron laughed, slapping his leg. The Furyck fire. Perhaps this one was not so limp as was loudly rumoured, he thought to himself, staring at the stubborn frown on the young man’s face. ‘You think she will try to take Hest?’ he asked sharply. ‘And how do you know she’s even taken my island? That it is not her ships that are burning? Her men that are sinking into Ran’s evil arms?’ he sneered. ‘You may know your sister, Axl Furyck, but you do not know the runt of my litter. He would rather die than allow that bitch to take anything of his. Of ours. So, do not be so quick in your assumptions, pup. Who knows what we may have to discuss when we return to my castle.’

  Haegen, who was riding behind Haaron, blinked. There was almost a hint of pride in his father’s voice. That would have had Jaeger choking in surprise.

  ‘They’re coming!’ Jaeger called to his men as the Islander’s battle cries grew louder, rumbling towards them from both flanks. He nodded to Berard who stood, singed and nervous next to him, his shield up to his nose, his sword shaking in his hand. ‘Shields to the flanks! Hold your line! Dig your feet in!’ His voice was barely there, smoke dry and weary, after a night spent hidden in the kitchen, grateful that his father had thought to protect it with thick stone walls; the only thing that had kept his men safe from the flames which had tortured and toasted them all night long.

  Many had died. Burned, choking, unable to breathe. Screams of agony still rang deep inside his sleep-deprived head. And as the smoke slowly cleared, he could see the truth of their situation. They did not have nearly enough men. The Islanders swarmed inside the fort, rushing towards them; hundreds more men than they had standing.

  But they would fight.

  ‘Run!’ Jael yelled. ‘Finish this!’ And with one last look at Fyn, she kicked out at the nearest shield, dropping down to the dirt to slice across the legs of the shield holder as he held his line. He screamed, faltering, tipping forward, pushed out of the way by the men in the wall as they hastily replaced him. Jael stuck her sword through his throat, sliding Toothpick out quickly, her eyes back on the wall of shields she needed to break.

  Fyn was beside her, striking out with his sword, still nervous but focused now, his grip firm. The arrows flew over their bobbing heads as each side’s archers battled to strike down the other.

  ‘Axes! Break the walls!’ Jael cried, and the men with great, hefting axes pushed forward, muscles taut, straining for every bit of strength as they swung, axe blades chopping into wooden shields, hooking their iron rims. The men of Skorro braced themselves, praying they would not shatter.

  Some did.

  ‘More shields!’ Jaeger croaked, but it was a hopeless request as many had been lost in the flames, destroyed by the thick, spreading, sparking liquid before there was any time to rescue them. He thrust his sword through the gap between his and Berard’s shields, fighting back against the surging invaders, his teeth clamped together, desperate to survive. He needed to get out of here alive.

  The wind was rising. Jael’s braids whipped around her head as the smoke continued to dissipate. ‘Push their walls down!’ she yelled along the line. ‘Everyone get in behind and push the walls down! We outnumber them! Let’s break these fucking walls!’

  The Islanders rushed up behind the men who had been trying to force their way through the shield walls, and leaned in, pushing with all their weight, shields against backs. Over and over, more men came into the line, heaving themselves forward.

  Jaeger screamed as his foot skidded helplessly, his arm shuddering with the effort of keeping his shield upright. ‘Arrrhhh!’ It was no use. He gritted his teeth, willing his feet to stop moving as his men slid and fell around him, overrun, scrambling for dropped swords, abandoning shattered shields.

  Jaeger stumbled, the tide of Islanders swarming straight past him, breaking the wall all around him. He spun, shieldless now, drawing out his second sword, roaring.

  Ready to fight.

  Lothar had abandoned trying to keep up with Haaron.

  Haaron had been too busy plying Axl for information to even notice that he had slipped back, panting and hobbling, only just managing to keep up with Osbert as he limped along with a stick Gant had found him. Despite having wounds all over his body, he was still more able than his suffering father.

  ‘Surely, he should rest soon?’ Lothar panted. Clouds were darkening above them, and despite a steady breeze, it was warm. Lothar had squeezed out of his mail, reluctantly leaving it behind at the Tower. There was no way he was going to be able to carry it for two days.

  ‘He doesn’t appear too bothered,’ Osbert sighed, the pain rendering him mostly silent. As much as he was desperate for a drink and a bed, he didn’t h
ave enough strength left for moaning.

  ‘Mmmm,’ Lothar agreed crossly, his shoulders curling in humiliation. ‘It should be us on horses, leading them back to Saala to negotiate.’

  Osbert’s eyebrow rose, and his voice dropped. ‘You really believe he will listen to you?’

  ‘Of course,’ Lothar huffed. ‘Our freedom for his island... if Jael has indeed taken it.’

  ‘And if she hasn’t?’

  Lothar grimaced, distracted. The hole in his right boot had grown so large that there was now gravel rolling around beneath his sweaty heel. ‘If she hasn’t, well as you said, there’s always your sister, isn’t there? As long as Jael hasn’t killed her prospective husbands!’

  Jael glanced over at the towering man who had everyone’s attention. Not as big as Tarak, but still... he wasn’t going down without a fight.

  Jaeger swung his long sword at an Islander, who jumped back, skidding on a slick patch of blood. Recovering his balance, he spun away, just managing to avoid Jaeger’s second sword as it came in behind.

  ‘That’s Jaeger Dragos!’ Jael yelled, hoping that someone would hear. No one seemed to be listening, though. The fort was filled with a heady din of screaming men and clashing blades, reverberating around its stone walls.

  She had to get to him, but first, she had to escape a spitting, cursing Hestian, bleeding from a deep gash in his soot-covered head. He seemed oblivious to the pain, his eyes wide, mad, almost delirious. She kicked out at his chest. He stumbled, off balance, his ankle twisting. Shaking the pain away, he lunged at her, hacking his axe towards her neck, but Jael was too quick, ducking out of its arc, swinging her boot into the side of his head. He fell heavily to the ground and Jael jumped towards him, Toothpick through his throat.

  She was up again quickly, turning back to check on Fyn, who was still clinging to his sword, fighting off a man almost as big as Jaeger; a man who looked a little too much for him. ‘Thorgils!’ she called, nodding urgently towards Fyn.

  Thorgils headbutted the man before him, knocking him out cold and turned to Fyn, who didn’t have time to look as relieved as he felt. ‘Shall I show you how it’s done?’ he smiled, lashing out with his shield.

  Fyn stood there as the man charged at Thorgils, his axe swinging.

  ‘What?’ Thorgils bellowed at Fyn, never taking his eyes off their opponent as he stabbed him straight through the shoulder. ‘You’re not going to help? Come on, then! Show me you remember how to use that thing!’

  Fyn stuck his sword through the man’s boot, pinning him to the ground. He looked at them both, in shock, unable to move.

  ‘Good idea,’ Thorgils grinned, then frowned. ‘But you’ll be needing your sword back.’ He swung his own sword into the man’s neck, turning quickly away from the horror in his dying eyes. They had a job to do.

  Eadmund spotted a small man creeping away and threw his small knife at him. It missed, clattering onto the stones behind him. Eadmund shook his head. Still rusty. The man looked as though he’d just pissed himself, though, as he turned and ran. Eadmund, leaping over a heap of fallen bodies, hurried after him.

  ‘Berard!’ Jaeger yelled, shunting a dying Islander to the ground, retrieving his sword from his opened belly. ‘Berard!’ He turned to run after his brother.

  ‘Hello, Jaeger,’ Jael smiled as she stepped in front of him, her shield over her chest, Toothpick, blood red in her hand. ‘Not running away are you?’

  Jaeger didn’t wait to talk; he needed to end Jael Furyck and find Berard. He stood before the tall, dark-haired woman, with only one sword now, but that sword was significantly larger than hers, and he swung it at her with every bit of strength he had left.

  Jael skipped to the side, letting his sword hit the dirt as he stumbled after it. He reminded her of Tarak, but not as dumb. ‘You’ve lost, Jaeger,’ she taunted. ‘Can’t you see? Your men are dying. Needlessly. End it now. Surrender to me -’

  He didn’t wait for her to finish as he lunged and hacked his giant sword into her shield. Jael felt the shock of its weight reverberate up her arm.

  ‘Surrender?’ Jaeger laughed hoarsely, smashing her shield over and over again until she threw it away, spun and kicked him in the neck. Jumping back on one foot, Jael dropped to the ground and took out his legs. Rolling away as he fell, his sword clattering out of his hand, she whipped out her knife and stabbed it into his right ankle. He screamed. She sliced across the other ankle with her knife and was up and over him, Toothpick across his throat, shunting her knee into his ribs.

  ‘Kill me!’ he dared, spitting in her face.

  ‘Jaeger! No!’

  Jaeger blinked away his rage, jerking his head towards his brother’s voice. He could see him, standing there, captured, sword against his throat, just as he was.

  ‘Oh, look,’ Jael panted. ‘A family reunion. How wonderful.’ She leaned in closer, Toothpick’s blade nudging Jaeger’s pulsing neck. ‘As I was saying, surrender to me and my husband won’t slit your brother’s throat.’

  ‘Your husband?’ Jaeger glared at Eadmund who was breathing heavily after chasing a very wiry and fast Berard Dragos all around the fort. ‘Eadmund Skalleson?’ he laughed, sneering.

  Jael pushed on Toothpick until Jaeger’s neck bled. ‘King Eadmund Skalleson,’ she said coolly. ‘Have some manners, runt. Now get up and order your men to throw down their weapons, or they can keep going, and while they take their last breaths they can watch me cutting out your brother’s eyes!’ she growled. ‘Perhaps I shall send them as a gift to Karsten? He could no doubt do with another eye.’

  Jaeger screamed to the gods, his head banging back against the ash-covered earth. He closed his eyes.

  It was done.

  V

  Hest

  27

  ‘You do stink, Brynna Halvor!’ Edela chuckled as they strolled towards the square, appreciating the noticeably warmer air and drier ground that greeted them.

  Biddy cringed, unused to the formal sound of her real name. She had been nicknamed Biddy by Jael when she was just a toddler, and it had stuck. No one ever called her Brynna anymore. ‘Blame Entorp, not me. It’s his salve!’

  ‘Well, there is no helping that then,’ Edela smiled cheerfully, ‘for Entorp’s salves work wonders!’ She felt well rested for the first time in days. Her body was freer, her step lighter. It had been a relief to sleep through the night without terror, without dreams of any kind. She frowned, pensive all of a sudden, reminded of Eirik Skalleson’s death. ‘It will all change, you know,’ Edela said solemnly, her mood darkening like a rush of clouds across a clear sky.

  Biddy shook her head, unable to keep up with her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Around here,’ Edela murmured, inclining her head towards the square which was much emptier now that most of the men, including Ketil, had left to fight the Hestians. There was no meat cooking in the fire pit anymore, no clanging blades in the Pit; barely a noise at all apart from the grunting and squawking of animals and children. ‘I saw Oss becoming such a bleak place after Eirik’s death.’

  ‘Bleak?’ Biddy looked confused. ‘You mean because everyone will feel so sad? Eydis and Eadmund, Jael too. She was very fond of the king, you know. He was well loved, much like Ranuf.’

  ‘No, not that,’ Edela said, shaking her head. ‘It is something more. As though what claimed Eirik will spread, like a worm in the wood, weakening everything inside before it collapses around itself.’

  Biddy stopped and stared at Edela, who had gone from sunshine to stormy in a few steps. ‘Edela!’ she said firmly, gripping her arm, staring into her eyes. ‘Are you alright? Are you here?’

  Edela shuddered and blinked. Disoriented. She often felt as though she existed somewhere between what was real and what was yet to come, and sometimes it was difficult to determine exactly what was what. ‘Yes,’ she sighed, trying to smile. ‘Yes, I just have gloomy feelings today, which is surprising, it being such a pleasant morning.’

  ‘Well, think yourself lu
cky,’ Biddy muttered quietly, glancing around. ‘Imagine if you were Runa, stuck in that house with Evaine all day and night. She looked terrified yesterday. I wouldn’t have wanted to go back there last night.’

  ‘I believe that she is right to be terrified,’ Edela murmured as they came to a stall selling fruit and vegetables newly delivered from Alekka. Edela’s eyes widened at the sight of wild plums. ‘That girl is growing powerful, I can feel it. She is so determined to take Eadmund, certain that she will. I doubt that she plans to let anyone stand in her way.’

  ‘Well, I’m sure she will have a fight on her hands when Jael returns,’ Biddy said defiantly. ‘Jael will stand in her way.’

  Edela smiled, relaxing away from her dark mood. ‘Yes, I should like to see what Jael does with Evaine Gallas now that she is Queen of Oss. Imagine poor Evaine’s face when she finds that out!’

  Sigmund had cried off and on all night. Despite Tanja’s best efforts to soothe him, Evaine had barely slept and was in a foul mood because of it.

  ‘Don’t hold him like that!’ she grumbled, sipping on a cup of milk. ‘You’ll make him sick, and Tanja’s only just changed him.’

  Runa frowned, wondering what Evaine was talking about. The baby was gurgling happily in her arms; the baby Evaine had barely noticed since Tanja had come to stay with them. She handed him to his mother. ‘Here, you take him, then, I’m going to visit the market,’ she said quickly, desperate to escape. ‘Another ship arrived from Alekka this morning. It will be nice to have something different to eat tonight.’

  Evaine frowned as she grabbed Sigmund under his arms and lifted him onto her knee. She instinctively looked up at the mezzanine to see where Tanja had gotten to. ‘Well, I shall be glad to be rid of that stink for a while. I’m not sure anything has ever smelled worse!’