Kings of Fate A Prequel Novella

by A. E. Rayne

  And yet, he would, Eirik knew.

  For him.

  ‘Yes,’ Eirik smiled, eyes meeting his son’s before he turned around to Hector. ‘Let us discuss the possibilities.’

  8

  Eydis had gone back to her chamber to escape the noise and had promptly fallen asleep. She had not been sleeping well for weeks. Her dreams teased her, and she woke up confused, trying to remember them, hoping to understand what they meant. Most were too confusing to piece together at all. But she was still eager to have them, hoping that, eventually, all the pieces of the puzzle she was being shown would start slotting together, making sense.

  As soon as her eyes closed, she saw the woman again.

  Eydis had been seeing her for weeks, but she was no closer to discovering who she was or why she kept appearing in her dreams.

  And then, suddenly, it all made sense.

  This time, the woman was in the square, sitting outside Ketil’s with Thorgils and Eadmund. Eadmund looked so different. Eydis couldn’t remember seeing him that way before, but, of course, he must have looked that lean and muscular when he was a warrior, before...

  The woman was scowling, but her eyes were full of laughter. And then she did laugh, pretending to punch Thorgils. He wrapped an arm around her throat, squeezing, and the woman wriggled away, laughing some more.

  Dogs barked around their feet, yapping at a cat who was rolling on its back in the mucky ground nearby, teasing them. Eadmund told them off, but they kept barking anyway, skipping around but never approaching the cat. Too scared by the looks of it.

  Eydis blinked, realising that she had drifted away, and when she looked back to the table, she saw that Thorgils had gone, and now Eadmund was leaning towards the woman, grabbing her hand. She snatched it away at first, eventually letting him hold it and he smiled, pleased.

  Happy.

  Eydis could feel it, like a glowing warmth inside her chest.

  Eadmund was happy.

  Aleksander was not happy.

  They’d waited for hours in the bushes, beginning to worry that they’d been tricked.

  ‘Perhaps he’s gone back to the fort?’ Jonas yawned, picking his nose. ‘Perhaps he never left? Maybe there was a problem?’

  Aleksander frowned, annoyed to have his fears uttered out loud. His confidence was starting to crumble, his worries multiplying like clouds in a threatening sky. If Gudrum had tricked them, what was he planning?

  They were hiding near the road, in a dense thicket that backed onto a wood, just before a river, which meant that Gudrum and his men would hesitate. They would have to. The summer had been a wet one, and the river was sitting unusually high. They would need to approach it carefully.

  And that would give Aleksander and his men an opening.

  If they weren’t being tricked.

  He started counting, knowing that soon it would be dusk, and a decision would have to be made before then. Aleksander reached out, patting his chestnut mare who was getting as impatient as he was. ‘Ssshhh,’ he murmured. ‘Just a little longer. Hold on now, just a little longer.’

  Despite barrels of his father’s best wine being rolled into the hall, Eadmund wanted to run.

  He eyed the curtain Eirik and Hector had disappeared behind some time before.

  ‘You can do it,’ Thorgils laughed, draping an arm over his friend’s shoulder. ‘Stay awhile longer. See it through. Won’t be so bad having a wife. Eirik might give you a new house. Better than that shit cottage you’ve been hiding out in for years. And Orla will certainly make a better wife than Evaine Gallas.’

  ‘Ssshhh,’ Eadmund hissed. ‘What are you doing bringing her name up here?’ He glanced around as Morac and Sevrin, the head of Eirik’s army, approached. ‘Evaine is...’

  ‘Yes?’ Thorgils dropped his arm, standing so his back was facing the approaching men, wanting to hear what Eadmund said before they arrived.

  ‘None of your business.’

  Thorgils looked disappointed, but he spun around with a grin. ‘They’re serving the swordfish! Swordfish and Kalmeran wine! Our king has saved the best till last, though I don’t know how I’ll get through it after the last few days.’ He patted his stomach, which felt ready to pop.

  Sevrin snorted. ‘You? You think you’ll have problems?’ He was as old as Eirik, as old as Morac, though Sevrin’s shoulder-length hair was still mostly black. He had a cheerful face, ruddy cheeks, long arms still powerful with muscle; the complete opposite of the gaunt, dour man who stood beside him, nibbling on his thin lips. ‘I’ve known you your whole life, Thorgils Svanter, and I’ve never seen a bowl of food you couldn’t down in the blink of an eye!’

  Eadmund laughed, reminded of how true that was. Good memories came flooding back, which surprised him. He tried not to think about the past these days. Not his past at least. ‘You do have a reputation to protect,’ he insisted, trying to look serious as he eyed Thorgils. ‘You don’t want those Alekkans to go back home and tell the tale of mealy-mouthed Thorgils Svanter, appetite of a gnat.’

  Thorgils’ bushy red eyebrows met in the middle of his broad forehead. ‘Appetite of a gnat?’ he snorted loudly, causing a few Alekkan heads to spin in his direction. ‘Well, only one way to silence talk like that!’ And he strode off towards the nearest table, looking for somewhere to begin.

  Sevrin eyed Eadmund with concern, noting the sweat dampening his curly hair. ‘Having second thoughts, are we?’

  Eadmund looked cross. ‘About?’

  ‘Marriage,’ Sevrin grinned. ‘It’s not for everyone, is it?’ He nudged Morac, trying to coax a smile out of that insipid face.

  ‘Don’t look at me,’ Morac said indignantly, nose in the air. ‘I’ve always been very happy with Runa, and she with me.’

  Sevrin could see Runa in the distance, trying to keep Evaine under control. She appeared to be fading away, more miserable than ever, and who could blame her with Morac for company? ‘Well, here’s hoping Eadmund is just as lucky with his new bride,’ he said diplomatically, raising his cup.

  Eadmund felt odd, heat rushing up his body. He tugged on his collar. ‘Think I might get some air,’ he mumbled, turning for the doors.

  ‘Eadmund!’

  Eadmund spun in surprise as his sister made her way through the Alekkans and Osslanders who were eyeing the plentiful trays of swordfish and smoked gull eggs being squeezed onto the already heaving tables. ‘Thought you were asleep,’ he grinned as she grabbed his arm, thinking that his little sister did, in fact, still look half asleep.

  Eydis pulled him towards her. ‘I need to go outside with you, Eadmund. I need to talk to you. I’ve had a dream!’

  The sun was likely going down. It was hard to tell because the clouds had turned a threatening shade of grey, clumping together, making it impossible to tell where the sun actually was.

  Aleksander and his friends had hidden in the bushes all afternoon, waiting. And now dusk was likely on its way, and despite Gudrum being a man brimming with confidence, he would surely see the wisdom in not crossing a river you risked getting stranded in as darkness fell.

  He would surely have stopped to make camp for the night.

  ‘He’s not coming.’ Jonas was the more twitchy of Aleksander’s two friends. There was barely any fat on his long frame, or any nails on the fingers he was constantly nibbling. He could throw a spear further than any man Aleksander knew of, though. Those lanky arms were surprisingly powerful.

  But in the deep gloom of the afternoon, there was no one to throw a spear at.

  No one at all.

  It was so oddly quiet. The birds could obviously sense that a storm was coming. And then a boom of thunder sounded in the distance.

  Aleksander’s horse skittered noisily in the leaf litter, not liking the sound of that.

  ‘It doesn’t hurt to wait a while longer,’ Isaak muttered. He did his talking with an axe, rarely smiling, but he was the perfect man beside you in a fight. Quick and small, with sharp eyes, his speed and skil
l making him a constant threat. ‘Though I could do with a piss.’

  Then a sound.

  Aleksander put a dirty finger to his lips, head swivelling as he tried to determine what it was.

  All three of them froze, shoulders rising, backs stiffening, hands hovering near weapons.

  Aleksander blinked at Isaak who nodded back at him.

  Horses.

  They could definitely hear horses.

  Jael had left Edela behind in an oddly fretful state. Aleksander had been raised by her parents, her grandmother, and Biddy since he was ten-years-old, and they all worried about him as though he was one of the family. Which he was.

  And her fretting had now started to gnaw away at Jael.

  Her grandmother was a Tuuran dreamer, and she should have felt that Aleksander was safe. The fact that she didn’t was as worrying as the smell of smoke in a dry forest.

  ‘I expect it will take you some time to find a new horse,’ Lothar smirked, walking towards her with Gisila who quickly wiped the smile off her face, dropping her eyes, not wanting to see the disapproval in her daughter’s.

  Jael glared at her anyway, ignoring her uncle.

  ‘And you will need to, Niece. We will be launching another assault on Hest within weeks. I want to keep those Dragos’ on their toes!’

  Jael blinked in surprise. ‘Another assault?’ She looked confused. The Kingdom of Hest was carved out of rocks, hidden behind heart-stopping sheer cliffs, accessible only by narrow paths. It was not a kingdom vulnerable to attack. ‘Hest?’

  ‘Oh yes, Hest! Haaron’s jewel of the South! Soon to be mine!’ Lothar grinned at Gisila who smiled back encouragingly, irritating her daughter even further. ‘You and Aleksander can come to the hall tonight and hear our plans.’ Lothar’s grin stretched across his bloated face. He never tired of rubbing in the fact that Jael was no longer one of the leaders of the Brekkan army. That her opinion was not required by him, though he knew it should be.

  He just couldn’t bring himself to ask.

  ‘Ahhh, Aleksander’s gone hunting,’ Jael said, trying to sound casual. ‘I will come, though, if you wish.’

  ‘Hunting?’ Gisila’s smile was gone, replaced by a look of worry. Happily, Lothar seemed oblivious, though, as he slipped her hand through his arm and squeezed. Gisila tried not to flinch, the sour smell of his sweat suddenly strong.

  ‘Well, do see that you are there,’ Lothar huffed, turning Gisila away. ‘I must show you the latest addition to our fleet, my dear. A fine warship. The biggest in Osterland, I’m sure. One of the many I’m building to conquer the South. Perhaps you can help me name her?’

  Jael watched them go, too distracted to feel irritated by her uncle or her mother’s pandering for long. The sun was sinking in the sky, heading for the rampart wall, and Jael swallowed, wondering if it had happened yet.

  Hoping that Aleksander and Tig were safe.

  The four men rode past them at a steady pace, heading for the river.

  Aleksander, Jonas, and Isaak had chosen new horses, and helmets with full cheek plates and long nose guards. Their cloaks were hooded and plain. They carried no symbols or banners. There was nothing to distinguish them from any other bandit out looking to steal himself some booty, Aleksander hoped, as his spear took the lead rider down.

  Isaak’s spear hissed straight past his intended victim, jabbing into the muddy path, but Jonas’ spear impaled the rider third from the front through his mail-protected back. Surprisingly, despite the force of the blow and the severity of the injury, the man stayed on his horse, tipping forward initially as the long ash spear unbalanced him. Righting himself, he rode on towards the river.

  They all did.

  Gudrum’s four remaining men.

  None of them wore helmets, and it quickly became apparent that Gudrum wasn’t with them, though Tig certainly was. Aleksander could see one of Gudrum’s largest warriors kicking him sharply. He drew his sword, urging his horse out of the tree cover. ‘Kill them!’ he yelled to his friends, knowing that with one man dead and one well on his way, they could wrap things up quickly and find Gudrum.

  Aleksander kicked his boots into his horse’s flanks, feeling the first drops of rain. ‘Ha! Ha!’ He turned at another sound behind him, and suddenly more men were there.

  At least another fifteen.

  Aleksander felt his heart thump in his chest as their hopes of success shattered.

  The breeze was freshening again as Eadmund led Eydis away from the warm hall out into the cool afternoon. It was getting darker earlier, he thought to himself, noticing for the first time in weeks how quickly another year was coming to a close.

  Another year lost.

  Another year alone.

  But smiling encouragingly at his sister, he tried not to give in to his gloomy feelings. He thought of Orla Berras and felt odd. ‘So tell me, and tell me quickly before Father comes looking for us. He won’t be happy I’ve dragged you out in the cold. You know how he gets.’

  Eydis felt warm enough but just as eager to avoid their father as Eadmund. ‘You can’t marry Orla Berras,’ she whispered when they were a few paces from the hall. Eydis could hear muffled voices, the whistle of the wind. Chickens were clucking nearby, the groan of a wagon being pulled through the mud. ‘You can’t.’

  Eadmund’s breath caught in his throat. ‘Why?’

  Eydis stumbled now, not sure what she should say. She had woken from her dream with such a strong feeling, though now everything had started to blur, the dream slipping back into the darkness of her mind. ‘I just know that she’s not the woman you’re supposed to marry.’

  Eadmund laughed. ‘You must be the only one on the island who thinks so! Everyone else is busy trying to push me into her arms.’ He stopped himself, thinking of Evaine. ‘Well, not everyone.’ He felt cold, and thirsty, impatient with his sister, and then cross with himself for being impatient with his sister. He didn’t see much of her these days. She was growing so quickly; no longer a little girl. ‘Who am I supposed to marry, then?’ he wondered, trying to keep his voice light. Eydis saw with her ears, he knew, and he wanted her to hear that he wasn’t bothered.

  But something about Orla Berras was troubling him too. Though, after all these years, he doubted anything he thought.

  Eydis sighed, frustrated. ‘I don’t know.’ The feeling she had was strange. Her dreams were not even shapes sometimes, just emotions. She knew she had seen something, someone, but she didn’t know who or what it was. ‘I just know that it’s not Orla Berras.’

  ‘Well, that’s not especially helpful, Little Thing,’ Eadmund said gently, seeing how flustered she was becoming. He grabbed her elbow, trying to stop her swaying about in the wind. ‘I know you want to help, but I can’t imagine Father will be convinced by just a feeling.’ He felt bile rush into his mouth, and he swallowed, looking back to the hall doors. ‘Though if you dreamed of an actual reason? Had a real vision?’

  Eydis frowned, wanting to think that she had. ‘I... I... nothing clear enough yet. Not yet. You just need to trust me, Eadmund. Please, don’t marry her.’

  Eadmund heard the urgency in Eydis’ voice, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder. ‘I do trust you, but I’m not the one you have to convince. Still, if you can find a way to get me out of this marriage, I’ll owe you a debt for life!’

  Eydis could feel her brother’s anxiety rising. She knew that he wanted to break free from his prison, but no matter how much he tried, he was still trapped in there. And time was running out, as both she and Eirik knew too well.

  Time was running out for Eadmund to turn things around.

  Aleksander slammed the pommel of his sword into the chin of a black-bearded warrior riding a dirty white horse.

  Not Gudrum. There was still no sign of Gudrum.

  The man spat blood at him as he tried to regain his balance, one hand on the cantle. Aleksander reversed his sword, stabbing the tip of his blade into the exposed notch of black-beard’s throat. The man’s
eyes bulged, dark pupils exploding, and he toppled off his horse with a scream, boot still stuck in a stirrup. His horse charged up the riverbank, his fallen rider banging uselessly against the muddy ground like a cloth doll.

  Aleksander heard Jonas shout, struggling to keep in his own saddle as he fought off two of Gudrum’s men. Isaak was further behind, spinning his horse around, hacking his axe into a man’s shoulder, yanking it out, going back for more. Aleksander kept a firm hold of his sword as his horse slipped, jerking around as another of Gudrum’s men galloped towards him, winking blade suddenly disappearing in a furious downpour, lightning crackling through the sky.

  Aleksander spun again, sensing two more men approaching from his other side. Rain was quickly in his eyes, blurring his vision, running down his face. He shook his head, trying to see, ducking a blade scything towards him. Turning his horse, again and again, he could feel his grip loosen on his sword, his horse slipping in the mud.

  Then he was stabbing.

  One strike through the cheek of a one-eyed warrior. Deep. Aleksander pushed it in hard, not wanting further problems from that man, spinning around suddenly as the tip of a blade scraped down his arm guard. Pushing himself up, boots pressing down on the stirrups, he stabbed again, through the neck of a bellowing warrior, who gurgled, unable to bellow anymore, his sword dropping uselessly to the ground, hands reaching for his ruined throat.

  Aleksander shook dripping hair out of his eyes, trying to see. He heard Jonas crying out in pain. Or was it Isaak? The rain was louder than the clashing of weapons, and now thunder was booming above them, frightening the horses who quickly became even more skittish. He couldn’t hear a thing, but he could see that they had to leave. There were too many of Gudrum’s men swelling around them now.