Kings of Fate A Prequel Novella

by A. E. Rayne

  Eadmund straightened up, pleased to have another reason to get back to the hall quickly. He blinked at Evaine, hurrying Orla away from her, not thinking about ale for a moment.

  Entorp stood watching them from across the square, Eydis beside him. ‘It’s Evaine,’ he whispered, answering her unspoken question. ‘Causing trouble again, no doubt. That girl will not take her claws out of Eadmund without a fight. She seems to believe that he belongs to her.’

  Eydis could feel the warm fur of one of Entorp’s white cats as it curled itself around her stockinged legs. Entorp’s cats acted like loyal dogs, always following him on his errands, and they were especially fond of Eydis. ‘Well, if my father has his way, she won’t think that for long. Not if he marries Eadmund to Orla Berras.’

  Entorp lifted a boot out of the mud, shaking it before continuing their journey to the gardens which he had planted on the more sheltered side of the fort. They were going to pick herbs to make a tea, if any had survived the wild night. Entorp had taught Eydis’ mother everything she knew about herbs and symbols, and he knew that Rada would have wanted her daughter to have the same knowledge, despite what Eirik thought about Tuuran dreamers.

  ‘And you don’t like the idea of that?’ Entorp wondered lightly, not surprised that Eydis had reservations too. ‘She seems like a lovely girl from all appearances. Always smiling.’

  ‘But she’s not the right one, is she?’ Eydis asked softly. It was something she felt deep inside. ‘She’s not the right one, Entorp.’

  ‘No, she isn’t,’ Entorp agreed. ‘But I doubt anyone will listen to us, will they?’ He hurried Eydis along, not wanting to get stopped by Evaine who always made a habit of trying to befriend Eydis, hoping it would help her in her quest to claim Eadmund’s heart.

  But Evaine Gallas was not the right woman either.

  Entorp knew that for certain.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Osbert wondered, gnawing on a toothpick. He eyed Aleksander suspiciously. Aleksander Lehr, his rival for Jael’s affections.

  He frowned, knowing that wasn’t true.

  His cousin hated everything about him. There was no competition for her affections at all; Aleksander had won that battle years ago.

  But still, he didn’t like the man.

  One of Brekka’s finest warriors, or so he’d been told since the day they’d arrived.

  And his father had not wanted to part with a warrior of that skill and reputation, not with the battles he had planned.

  Osbert was under orders to leave Aleksander alone.

  Aleksander felt an odd flutter of panic stir in his limbs, sensing Osbert’s eyes trying to seek out everything he was trying to conceal. Gripping the reins of his horse loosely in one hand, he indicated with his chin to the bow slung over his back, and to his two heavily armed companions on horses behind him. ‘Hunting. What does it look like?’

  Osbert wasn’t easily convinced. ‘Why now?’

  Aleksander tried to look bored, though his entire body was humming with urgency. ‘What do you mean, why now? I go hunting all the time. The weather’s fine, so we’re going hunting.’

  Osbert frowned. ‘Without Jael?’

  ‘Jael’s saying goodbye to Tig. And the rest is none of your damn business,’ Aleksander growled. ‘What we talk about is not yours to know, Osbert.’ He quickly latched onto the only idea that would appeal to Jael’s slimy cousin: that they’d had a fight.

  And right on cue, Osbert’s snivelly face brightened. ‘Well, fair enough,’ he said, stepping away from Aleksander’s horse. ‘Go hunt. I’m sure Jael will find someone else to comfort her.’ And smiling at Aleksander, he turned away, wondering how long Gudrum was going to be.

  Aleksander’s shoulders dropped in relief as he nodded to Jonas and Isaak, both of whom looked pleased to see the back of Osbert who was quickly striding off in the opposite direction. And nudging their horses forward, the three men made for the main gates, hoping the rain would hold off.

  It was going to be a long day.

  7

  After her run-in with Gudrum in the stables, Jael had hoped to disappear until he left Andala, but Osbert found her in Edela’s garden, and he was only too happy to inform her that Lothar wanted her to come and say goodbye to her horse.

  Jael wanted to scream as she usually did when faced with her cousin, but Gisila and Edela were there, and she felt her mother’s panic rise as the silence lengthened.

  Edela stepped in. ‘She can’t.’ She knew that Jael had already said her goodbyes to Tig, and she didn’t want Lothar to torture her any further for his own sick pleasure. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to tell your father that Jael can’t. She is unwell.’

  ‘Unwell?’ Osbert looked both concerned and suspicious. He stared at Jael who stood in the garden in her faded blue tunic, dark, mud-splattered trousers, swordbelt slung low, scowl on her face. She was quite a sight to behold, he thought. Such a powerful looking woman. So in need of a strong man who could... He blinked, trying to stay focused. ‘She doesn’t look unwell to me. Perhaps you would like to come and explain to my father exactly what she is unwell with, Edela?’

  ‘Of course, I would be happy to,’ Edela announced cheerfully. ‘Once I have tended to my granddaughter, of course.’ She shooed Jael up the path to her tiny cottage, which sat up a small rise that appeared to be steepening as Edela got older. ‘Woman’s troubles,’ she whispered to Osbert. ‘Jael suffers badly. I’d be happy to come and tell your father and his guest all about it if you like, once I give Jael this tea I’m preparing. It will help with the pain, and all that blood.’ Edela shook her head, looking worried. ‘If you’d like to wait there, I won’t be long. You can escort me.’

  Osbert cringed. ‘I... no, no, no need to do that, I’m sure. My father will... he’ll understand!’ And stepping back, Osbert turned and scurried away from Edela Saeveld and her keen blue eyes.

  Edela spun around and winked at her daughter, who stood beside her looking just as confused as Osbert, but happy to see him go. ‘Come along, Gisila,’ she smiled. ‘I’ve a feeling Jael is going to need this tea to calm her down. Though, we may need to lock the door!’

  The news that Jael wasn’t coming disappointed Lothar, but Osbert appeared quite convinced that she was indisposed, so he didn’t pry further. He didn’t want to give Gudrum the idea that he had no control over his niece, though he was well aware that he was quickly losing his grip on her and that family of hers. Blinking away his irritation, he turned to Gudrum with a genuine smile. ‘I look forward to hearing of your exploits,’ he said, watching with concern as Gudrum tried to steady Jael’s enormous horse, who skittered angrily, big eyes rolling, black tail flicking with displeasure. He didn’t look as though he was about to behave, much like his previous owner. ‘And an invitation. We can become allies!’

  ‘Are we not already allies, Lothar Furyck?’ Gudrum grinned, his voice booming around the square. He was not surprised that Jael wasn’t there, but no doubt she was around somewhere, watching as he rode away with her horse, fretting about what he was going to do to the wild beast.

  Making a small loop from the end of the reins, Gudrum slapped Tig on the cheek.

  Gant, who was standing beside Oleg, another of Lothar’s men who had once been Ranuf’s men, cringed, closing his eyes. He knew Tig better than most, and he knew that moody horse would not take it well.

  And he didn’t.

  Rearing up with a roar, Tig flicked his hooves in the air, trying to bring them down on Gudrum’s head. But Gudrum was quicker. He knew horses well enough to anticipate what would happen next – especially with a horse that temperamental – and in a battle of wills, it was always better to lay down a marker early. There could be only one winner, one master. And if this horse was going to live and be useful, he was going to have to bend to his new master’s will.

  And quickly.

  Lothar stumbled backwards, flicking a jewelled finger in the direction of Tig, who wasn’t about to be slapped again as he danced
around, kicking and stomping in a real fury. ‘Do something!’ he growled at Gant. ‘You know the animal! Do something!’

  But Gudrum didn’t need Gant’s help. He threw himself forward, grabbing the reins as they flapped through the air, digging his boots into the ground, holding on as Tig threw himself around, trying to escape his hold. Gudrum was even stronger than he looked, though, and, eventually, Tig ran out of steam, keeping his hooves on the ground long enough for Gudrum to get a boot in a stirrup and haul himself up into his saddle.

  Muted cheers reverberated around the square, but there was little interest in what was going on without Jael there.

  ‘Well, now that you’ve finished showing off, you should get on your way before you end up on your hairy arse!’ Lothar laughed as Gudrum’s men mounted their horses behind their lord, waiting while he fought to get control of Tig, who was even angrier now that the slapper was sitting on top of him.

  Lothar didn’t care, though, his attention had already returned to the hall, inclining his head for Gant and Oleg to accompany him. There was an attack to plan, and this time, Lothar was not prepared to be repelled so easily by Haaron Dragos and his sons. He smiled, lifted his fine cloak out of the mud, and headed for the hall, knowing that wherever Jael was and whatever she was doing, she was going to be utterly miserable.

  Eadmund should have been in the hall.

  He should have stopped after two cups.

  Now he couldn’t count how many cups of ale he’d had, but Thorgils could.

  ‘Too many!’ he grumbled, taking a seat opposite Eadmund, a piping hot meat-stick in one hand, a big chunk already missing from it. ‘If your father comes out and sees you, he’s going to send the lovely Orla straight back to Alekka, isn’t he? And then how will you ever get a tribe of orange-haired babies to chase around?’

  Eadmund wasn’t drunk enough to think that that sounded like a welcome prospect.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing, then?’ Thorgils wondered, helping himself to Eadmund’s cup, getting a grumble in return. ‘Turning away every good thing that comes your way? Every chance to climb out of that dark hole of yours? Orla seems like the perfect woman. Imagine what will happen if you spurn her? Mess this up? Eirik won’t give up, will he? He needs heirs for his throne. You might end up with a wife like Odda!’ Thorgils laughed, though just the thought of his mother made him shiver, and he glanced around the square, hoping she wasn’t within earshot. Odda Svanter was a dried-up shrew of a woman who had given birth to a generous giant of a son. It made little sense to either of them, but there it was. You couldn’t pick your family, but you could pick your wife, and Eadmund looked ready to ruin another chance to make himself happy. Thorgils gobbled down the last of his hot meat which burned his throat and had him reaching for Eadmund’s cup again, though this time Eadmund was faster and he snatched it away.

  ‘My father’s dead,’ Thorgils said. ‘And Odda doesn’t want me to find a wife. Who would chop her wood and light her fires and bring her ale? She has no interest in me being happy, or anyone else for that matter, but you?’ He grinned, though his eyes were sad. ‘You do. Take the chance. Two kings and one lord are trying to help a shit like you. Let them, Eadmund. Take the chance!’

  Eadmund threw back the last drop of ale, ready to raise his hand to Ketil to bring him some more.

  But he didn’t.

  ‘Alright,’ he grumbled reluctantly. ‘Alright.’ And pushing himself up from the bench, Eadmund stumbled, turning towards the hall.

  Thorgils jumped to his feet. ‘Perhaps we should throw you into the sea first? Wake you up a bit? You don’t want to fall on the poor girl. She’ll never marry you then!’

  But Eadmund was already well on his way to the hall, determined to stop himself thinking about anything, past, present, or future. He was just going to do what they all wanted. All of them. His father, his friends. They’d all tried to change him, to help him. He needed to stop being a burden to them, a waste of their time. He would do what they wanted.

  He would go along with all of it.

  He would marry Orla Berras.

  ‘I had a dream about you,’ Edela smiled, enjoying the comfort of her fur-lined chair. It felt warm and soft against her aching back. She eyed her granddaughter, who stood by the door, wanting to leave. Gisila had already left, worried that Lothar would be suspicious of where they all were; as if they were plotting against him.

  Jael rolled her eyes and remained where she was. ‘What dream?’ she wondered dully, her mind on Tig.

  If Gudrum hurt him...

  Turning around with a sigh, she came to take the small stool before her grandmother, enjoying the waves of heat from the flames Edela held her hands to. Her grandmother’s hands were always so cold, almost black and blue, as though no blood flowed through them. She often wore gloves, even in the summer. And though it was summer, Jael found herself shivering, worrying about Tig again.

  And Aleksander.

  ‘You were riding Tig into battle,’ Edela began. ‘I’ve not often seen you in battle before.’

  Jael was alert, listening.

  ‘You had a bow slung across your back, I remember. You lifted it over your head and shot an arrow into a group of warriors. There was a whole mess of fighting. Gant was there. I saw him. Others I didn’t recognise. Some I did.’ Edela wrinkled her nose, trying to bring the vision to life again, but it faded, and she slumped further back, tired.

  Jael frowned, not wanting to think about Gant. ‘What are you trying to say? I’ve done that before. Perhaps it’s not a vision of the future. Just a memory of the past?’

  ‘Axl was there. I saw him beside you.’

  Jael stilled. ‘Axl?’

  Edela smiled, happy to have raised a look of hope on that miserable face she knew so well. ‘Yes, Axl, so don’t be too worried yet. He’s never even been in a battle before, has he, so it was definitely a vision of the future.’

  ‘Did you see Aleksander?’ Jael wondered suddenly, edging forward, jumping as the fire popped. ‘Did you see Aleksander in your dream?’

  ‘Why?’ Edela asked, feeling a cold hand grip her throat. ‘Jael? What have you done?’

  There was one road to Orlstad, and Aleksander knew that Gudrum and his men would take it. Unless Gudrum had lied to Lothar? Unless the whole thing had been an act? It was impossible to know what was true, Aleksander realised as he rode alongside Jonas and Isaak, trying to decide where to stop. The three of them had been arguing about it since they’d left the fort behind. They had to stop somewhere far enough away from Andala not to draw any attention to themselves; far enough away so that Gudrum and his men would have started to relax, but close enough so they could get Tig back home without too much trouble.

  And for that, they were going to need to be near a village.

  There was one that might work, Aleksander thought, as he urged his horse on, knowing that they would need to get much further ahead to set up the ambush.

  They would have to hurry.

  Evaine had forced herself back to the house, wanting to be alone. Needing to think. Prospective brides had been brought to Oss for years. Young, not so young, odd-looking, attractive, small, plump. All sorts of girls had been ferried to Oss by fathers who wanted to marry their daughter to the next King of the Slave Islands, yet Evaine had not feared that any would claim Eadmund’s heart.

  Until now.

  An alliance with the King of Alekka and a marriage with the daughter of that king’s best friend was hardly something Eirik would let Eadmund walk away from. Not in the same way that he’d dismissed the daughters of merchants and traders and lords of insignificant settlements. Island lords too.

  But this girl?

  Evaine felt sick as she opened up the creaking lid of her wooden chest. No one was in the house, not even the servant who was outside milking the goats. But Evaine still felt the need to hurry as she dug about in the chest, looking for a box. It was small, wooden, symbols scrawled all over it, and finally finding it hidde
n beneath an old fur wrap, Evaine lifted it out of the chest, feeling her heart quicken.

  Eadmund had returned to the hall, and Eirik was almost stunned into silence. His son had obviously been drinking. He didn’t smell the best. He didn’t look the best either: stains on his tunic, straggly copper beard wet with ale.

  But he had turned up. Willingly.

  And that was something.

  Ake looked on encouragingly, and even Hector Berras beside him appeared pleased to see how well Orla and Eadmund were getting on as they stood around the fire with Thorgils and Torstan.

  Eirik frowned at Thorgils, hoping he wasn’t telling embarrassing stories about Eadmund, which, he realised, he likely was. Thorgils had a big mouth to match his big body and his big head, and Eirik was just about to stand up and try to get his attention when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

  Hector.

  ‘We will leave in the morning,’ Hector announced. ‘My king wishes to get back to his wife. And now that your alliance will be formalised at tonight’s feast, nothing is keeping us here.’ Hector felt nervous, his eyes meeting his wife’s. She looked just as anxious, but one glance at his beautiful daughter and he could see how comfortable she appeared. How easily she fit into the fort. She would make a good queen one day, he knew. And there was nowhere else she would have an opportunity to become one. Nowhere this close to Stornas at least. ‘So I would like to discuss our children,’ Hector went on. ‘Whether you think there is any chance to propose a... marriage? I’m sure such a marriage between our families will only help to strengthen the alliance between the islands and Alekka.’

  Eirik tried not to nod as eagerly as he wanted to. He felt like a child at Vesta, giddy with anticipation for that special day that only came once a year. He glanced nervously at Eadmund, hoping he was still half sober; at Orla who was looking at his son as though he was a prize, not a wreck of a once-great warrior. A man who had lost every ounce of respect for himself. Who had given up hope. Who had surrendered his heart to love, and never wanted to touch that hot flame again.