by A. E. Rayne
But she didn’t plan to defeat him with hers.
Turning to face him as he came at her again, Jael stepped back, just out of reach as Garren slashed his right sword towards her throat. She jumped back again, making him come after her, watching the frustration spark in his eyes. Garren swung his left sword, quickly following with his right and Jael stepped back, swaying out of reach, listening to Garren’s horse moaning in agony.
She blinked away the distraction, bringing Toothpick up to block a blow, drawing him quickly away as she edged back again, feeling the ground sloping towards the stream now, trying not to lose her balance.
The stream was rushing, its water high after the recent deluge of rain.
Jael could hear her father’s voice urging her on.
‘What were you going to do?’ she asked. ‘Kill Raymon? Kill Getta? And then what? Take the throne and hide behind your walls? Try to defeat Brekka?’ She wanted to distract him now, her feet in constant motion, her eyes watching his swords.
‘Getta?’ Garren’s face changed. ‘You think I’d kill Getta? It was our plan, together! She doesn’t love that boy! She never wanted him!’
That surprised Jael, though she didn’t doubt his words, and she didn’t stop looking at his swords as he twirled them impatiently now, lunging for her.
Skirting the tips of the blades, Jael turned him around.
Now she was facing the stream, lashing out with Toothpick. Four quick blows from side to side. Garren was downhill, working to keep from sliding as he bellowed, swinging powerfully with both swords.
The soggy carpet of leaves covering the bank of the stream was slippery.
Taking a quick breath, Jael jumped back, dropping her weight onto her left leg, and slamming her right into his chest. Garren’s arms flailed uselessly as the ground gave way and he tumbled backwards, into the rushing water.
Jael waded in after him, Toothpick in both hands as he struggled back to his feet. The blow to Garren’s chest had winded him, and the fall into the stream had knocked his swords out of his hands. Quickly realising that, he threw himself at Jael, but she jumped back, out of reach and he fell into the water again. Jael was over him in a heartbeat, her boot on his back, pushing him under the water, stabbing Toothpick straight through his neck.
‘Getta!’ Raymon ran for his wife as she emerged from a tent, clutching their son to her chest. Her eyes were wide with terror, and now confusion. She didn’t know what would happen next, but while she was the mother of Raymon’s son, she was not going to let anything happen to herself.
Raymon checked them over before pulling them both into his arms. Lothar was screaming, red-faced with anger. Hungry. Frightened. ‘Are you alright?’ he breathed, feeling Getta tremble against him.
She could only nod, not knowing what he knew.
‘What did he do to you? Garren? What did he do?’ Raymon stood back, looking her over again. His eyes were sharp, searching hers.
‘Nothing,’ Getta insisted. ‘I am unharmed. Nothing.’ She shook her head, tears flooding her eyes. ‘I want to go home, Raymon. Please!’
Raymon looked up to see Getta’s equally terrified servant standing by the entrance to the tent. ‘Hilda, take my wife. Keep her safe until I return.’ And turning away, he headed for the rebel prisoners who were waiting to hear his judgement.
He didn’t want to walk towards them at all; he wanted to run to his mother because she was dead and he didn’t want her to be. He wanted to cry and throw himself on her body and never let her go. But instead, gritting his teeth, Raymon strode towards Gant, not knowing what to do. His mother was dead. Some of his men were dead and dying. He could hear them.
He couldn’t think.
Gant could tell. He drew Raymon away from the eyes that were all fixed on him.
‘Where’s Garren?’ Raymon asked blankly. ‘He did this.’
‘Jael went after him. I’d say he won’t be coming back.’
Raymon thought he might vomit. Or sob. ‘My mother,’ he began, his tears coming quickly now. He knew that Gant was a man to trust. He had come to Ollsvik with Ranuf Furyck many times.
Ranuf Furyck. He couldn’t even begin to understand that.
Trying to see through his tears, Raymon turned to Gant. ‘If I kill them all, what message does that send?’
‘Well, some maybe went along with Garren out of fear. Small minded people tend to flock to men like him. Men who feed into their fears, burnish their egos, gild their dreams of gold and glory,’ Gant muttered. ‘You kill all of them, you send the message that you won’t tolerate disloyalty. But perhaps you set yourself up for another rebellion? If you come down too hard, you’ll crush any respect they may have for you.’ He looked at the men on their knees before the fire. ‘You may as well hand their sons a sword. One day they’ll find a way to come for you again.’
Raymon frowned, and he looked just like Ranuf.
Gant blinked to see it.
They looked up as Jael and Tig entered the clearing. Alone.
Gant nodded, his shoulders easing away from his ears. ‘Ask your sister over there,’ he said, smiling at the horror on Raymon’s face. ‘She’s the one who saved your life.’
36
Edela stayed in bed while Biddy rushed in and out of the cottage. Breaking the soul spell had taken a lot out of her. She felt slightly displaced, as though not all of her had returned. And she couldn’t stop looking at her hand; the one she had pushed inside Eadmund’s soul.
It felt so cold; tingling when she touched it.
It had been an unsettling experience. Edela had felt so much pain and sadness inside Eadmund, and it was still affecting her as she struggled to find her way out of the darkness.
Ayla came to visit her. Entorp too. Eydis brought Amma who brought a big slice of apple cake. And then Marcus came with news of Hanna, which made Edela smile as she ate her cake, and explained what they had done the night before.
‘Another rope?’ Marcus was stunned by that; amazed by what Edela had managed to do. ‘A binding rope?’
Edela nodded. ‘It was different, but I fear it is the same. And it must be Draguta’s or Morana’s, which means that poor Eadmund must be Draguta’s or Morana’s to control.’
‘But perhaps no longer Evaine’s?’ Marcus suggested.
‘Well, I hope not. I wouldn’t like to go through that again!’ Edela gave her plate to Biddy who handed her a cup of chamomile tea. ‘Though we will have to do something to cut that rope.’
Marcus frowned. ‘I don’t imagine that stopping Draguta will be as straightforward, though. Not if she has changed.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I thought about it last night. I kept trying to imagine what Dara Teros saw as a girl. What she recorded as the prophecy. She saw her sister turning into a monster. She saw the threat of Raemus and the Darkness. But what if she missed something? She was a young girl. Not a trained dreamer. What if she missed something important? If she didn’t understand what she was seeing?’
‘But she would have revisited it over the years, wouldn’t she?’ Edela murmured. ‘Seen it through more experienced eyes?’
‘I’m sure she did. But if she did miss something, or if something has changed, we need to be prepared, Edela. You and Eydis and Ayla are important. The only dreamers we have here, so we need to get Ayla tattooed. I’ve had Entorp work on me, and he will tattoo Hanna as soon as she is well enough,’ Marcus said, his arms still aching with the reminder of Entorp’s tapping. ‘You three, and the Book of Aurea are our only insight into what will come next. Your dreams are the only way we have of helping Jael and Eadmund. Of getting them to where they need to be. In Hest, ready to defeat Draguta. Ready to take her book.’
Eadmund had barely spoken since he’d crawled out of bed. He had smiled at Evaine, dressed quickly, ignored his breakfast, and wrapped his swordbelt around his shrinking waist before heading out to the training ring, knowing that he needed to find someone new to practice with. He still fel
t disappointed that Rollo was gone, but less curious about where he was now.
He was completely lost in his dreams.
Morana’s cottage kept rushing towards him as though he was being thrown in through the door, the trees blowing violently around it. And inside were Morana and her brother.
His father’s best friend.
‘Eadmund!’ Draguta’s smile widened as she saw him walking towards her. ‘Off to train?’ She quickly frowned, seeing that he was wearing his old tunic again, which made him look less like a king and more like a man who worked for the king. ‘Perhaps we should take you to the tailor’s when you’re done? Find you something new to wear? Something befitting a man of your status. There’s no need to wear that old rag or Haegen’s hand-me-downs.’
Eadmund nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’
He looked odd, Draguta thought. Distracted. Compliant, yes, but something was off. Her attention was immediately diverted to Jaeger who walked towards them with his master shipbuilder. Just the men she wanted to see. ‘You have come with good news?’ she wondered.
‘We have!’ Jaeger grinned, pleased to see her. Not at all pleased to see Eadmund who squared his shoulders, enjoying the sight of Jaeger’s battered face; barely feeling the discomfort of his own. ‘More carpenters have arrived, so we have a good chance of seeing a harbour full of ships come winter.’
‘Winter?’ Draguta was horrified. ‘You’re telling me that I need to wait until winter?’ She glared at Jaeger whose triumphant smile retreated into a confused frown. Winter was an ambitious time frame for replacing an entire fleet of warships. He had imagined that she would be pleased. ‘And in the meantime?’
Jaeger took a deep breath. ‘It takes months to build a ship, especially here. Timber must be brought in from Tuura and Alekka. Some comes down from Kroll, but mostly we need to import the materials.’
Draguta didn’t care. She wanted ships.
Her vision of a mighty fleet and a formidable army was not a new one. She had been dreaming of it since her son, Valder, had ruled the dragon throne all those years ago. Once power was claimed it needed to be protected. Kingdoms that were conquered needed to be ruled. Draguta had never subscribed to the ravings of The Following, whose salivating lunatics wished to scorch the earth and block the sun. She wanted to rule. To be the only ruler in the land.
‘We need men, as much as we need ships,’ Jaeger added. ‘We lost many in the battle with the Islanders. Ships need crews.’
Draguta narrowed her eyes, looking from Eadmund to Jaeger. ‘And I know just where to find them. Ships too.’ And biting her lip, she turned away from them both, heading for the castle.
There was one more seeing circle she needed to draw.
Jael kept eyeing Getta. She could almost see the guilt etched onto her face.
Her cousin barely spoke, keeping her eyes low, focusing on caring for her baby; fussing over him constantly when he appeared perfectly settled and content.
Raymon didn’t notice. He had ordered Garren’s accomplices killed. Beheaded. The rest were pardoned after taking an oath of loyalty to support him as king but not before he had been forced to address his parentage; revealing his lack of knowledge of it before that moment when Garren had announced it. He looked so shell-shocked that most appeared to believe him. They believed him too when he said that he was no more Brekkan than Hugo Vandaal had been. That he wanted to protect Iskavall from what was coming; to lead them to a great victory in Hest. Raymon’s voice shook, and he had to stop himself from looking to where his mother’s body lay, covered in a cloak. In the end, his voice had broken as he proclaimed his own oath to protect Iskavall and its people, and his men, who he asked to fight with him and for him.
Jael thought it had gone well. He was a boy, untested, and now a bastard, and that didn’t inspire confidence, but he was what they had, and she got the sense that with the support of his senior men, Raymon had enough to see him through their attack on Hest.
She hoped so. They couldn’t afford to lose men now.
Raymon found her as she stood by Tig, adjusting his bridle. There was nothing more they could do, except head back to Rissna and prepare to leave for Andala.
‘How did you know?’ Raymon asked quietly. ‘What Garren would do?’
Jael stared at him. She didn’t want him to look like Ranuf, but sometimes, she realised, the way he frowned reminded her of her father. Their father. ‘I had a dream about you. I heard Ranuf’s voice, then my raven led me here.’
Raymon looked surprised. ‘You have a raven?’
‘Seems that I do,’ Jael smiled, but it faded quickly. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t save your mother. I wanted to. My father would have wanted me to.’
‘I didn’t know,’ Raymon tried, tears in his eyes as he felt the sharp pain of loss again. It was like a wave that would crest, then draw itself out to sea before crashing over him again with renewed force. He felt sick. ‘I didn’t know about Ranuf.’
‘No, nor did I,’ Jael said quietly, still not ready to feel alright about any of it. ‘But now you do, which will make things both harder and easier for you, I suppose. But at least you know the truth.’
‘I’m not sure how Getta will take it,’ Raymon admitted, turning to look at his wife, relieved that she was unharmed; both her and Lothar.
Jael peered at Getta who stood by her servant, hiding her face from them. She held her tongue, not wanting to touch that thorny subject; not when she looked in Raymon’s eyes and saw the pain and confusion lurking there. He needed to put his feet on solid ground, even if it was with a traitorous bitch like Getta. ‘Just focus on getting back to Ollsvik, preparing your men. Listen to your advisors. They will help you. Now that the Maas’ are dead, you have a better chance of holding the throne.’
Raymon nodded as Jael mounted Tig.
She was suddenly starving, thinking that it was a long way back to Rissna; hoping Reinhard would have a hot fire and a plate of food waiting. ‘Up on your horses, ladies!’ she bellowed, turning Tig around, feeling his impatience to leave. They had lost two men, not had any sleep, and no one looked happy, but Jael felt relieved knowing that they had saved a king. And his men.
Not as happy about saving his scheming wife, Jael thought, glaring at Getta before kicking Tig off down the path back to Rissna.
Runa smiled, watching Tanja walk away with the young man she had taken a shine to since arriving in Andala. She had asked Runa to watch Sigmund while she took a break. Runa hadn’t wanted to ask what that break would entail, but it wasn’t so long ago that she had been young, she thought, remembering what taking a walk with Morac had meant. Smiling, she turned around, popping Sigmund over her shoulder, quickly frowning. ‘Bram!’ And she hurried towards him as he bent over, hammering nails into the arm of a new catapult. ‘Should you be doing that?’
Bram turned around, surprised to be asked. He felt the eyes of his men on him, and he looked embarrassed as he straightened up, trying not to grimace. ‘Doing what?’
‘Building,’ Runa said with an exasperated sigh. Bram appeared so eager to look in charge that she kept finding him doing all sorts of strenuous tasks. He was not ready to do much more than issue orders, she knew. Yet, try telling him that. ‘You’re supposed to rest. Your chest is fragile.’
Bram frowned, leading Runa away from the catapult, annoyed by her nagging but not wanting to say anything to hurt her feelings. She had moved herself into his cottage and was treating him like an old man who had lost control of his senses. It was the last thing he wanted to feel like, though he did not doubt that he looked and sounded the part. ‘It’s not too much work to bang in a few nails, Runa. I was just lending a hand. The more catapults we get finished, the more they can take to Hest,’ he grumbled. ‘You needn’t worry about me. If a dragon didn’t kill me, I doubt a little building will!’ And breathing out a raspy groan, Bram stomped away towards the harbour, deciding to check on Ulf.
Runa looked after him in surprise, her cheeks warm with embarrassment.
She turned away, almost bumping into Ayla who was walking with Eydis and Amma. ‘Oh! I’m sorry!’
Ayla held out her arms to stop Runa knocking her over, then smiled at the gurgling baby. ‘He’s grown so much. Either that or I was ill for longer than I realised!’
Amma’s eyes were on the blonde baby who appeared to be enjoying all the attention as he wriggled in Runa’s arms, his head wobbling about.
Runa was happy for the distraction, letting her worries about Bram drift away. ‘Oh no, I think he’s going to be a big boy. As big as his father maybe. He’d drink all day if we let him.’
‘Well, that does sound like Eadmund,’ Eydis joked. ‘The old Eadmund, at least.’ She remembered seeing her brother lying in that bed next to Evaine, watching Edela cut the rope. She wondered if it had worked.
If they had truly broken the soul spell.
Eadmund trained all morning. And then kept going.
The sun rose to its highest point, and he’d run out of water, and he could feel his skin burning and dust scratching his eyes, and his stomach rumbling, but he kept going.
He saw Morana, Morac, his mother.
Ivaar. Evaine.
All the pieces of the puzzle slotting together like a horrifying nightmare, and he couldn’t look away. And his anger heated to a boil and he slammed his opponent to the ground, jumping on top of him, his forearm pressing down on his throat, his weight on the man’s chest. Eadmund’s eyes were cold, unrelenting, as he increased the pressure of his arm, watching the man’s eyes pop and panic, and though he heard him tap the ground, yielding, Eadmund was reluctant to stop. He maintained the pressure, watching for a moment longer as the panic turned to terror, the hand tapping the ground more urgently now, and finally waking himself up, Eadmund eased away from the man who scrambled across the red dirt, grabbing his throat, glaring at him.
‘You’re in a fierce mood today,’ Morac grinned.