Winter's Fury

by A. E. Rayne

  ‘Eydis thinks a storm is on its way, and by the look of the clouds gathering up there, I think she may be right,’ Eirik frowned as he walked up to his son.

  ‘So, what do you want to do?’ Eadmund wondered, trying not to look at Ivaar as he joined their discussion.

  ‘I say we keep going to the end,’ Ivaar suggested.

  ‘No,’ Eadmund said firmly, turning to his brother. ‘There won’t be enough light. The last two will be fighting in the dark, which won’t make for much of a spectacle, will it?’

  Eirik sighed. ‘We shall have to see how we go, but we can’t hold the last battle if we’re reaching the end of the light, Eadmund’s right. Things might have moved along quickly, but now we’re getting down to the better fighters, so I anticipate longer battles. Let’s just take a breath, and see how things unfold after the break.’

  Eadmund glared at Ivaar, and Eirik could feel the hate between his two sons. It saddened and worried him. His father had killed his mother. He had killed his father.

  Surely that was enough murder for one family?

  ‘What is it that you wish to know?’ Alaric sighed as he sat down beside his cold, grim fireplace. He had not wanted to be overheard discussing anything in the street and had led Aleksander back to his bare cottage.

  ‘I want to know what Edela has found out,’ Aleksander began.

  ‘You mean about your grandmother?’

  ‘My grandmother?’ Aleksander shook his head, confused. ‘No, my mother.’ He paused, noticing the look of horror on Alaric’s face at the slip of his tongue. ‘What do I need to know about my grandmother?’

  Alaric’s mouth hung open while he thought of what to say. In the end, he knew, Aleksander was not a man about to be brushed aside with flimsy lies. ‘I found a scribe who worked for the elderman at the time your grandmother and Edela entered the temple as dreamers.’

  ‘My mother’s mother?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘She was a dreamer?’

  ‘She was, yes,’ he muttered impatiently. ‘Though she was removed from the temple when she had barely begun to learn about her dreams. This scribe knew the reason why, which is why I sought her out... for Edela.’ Alaric puffed out his sunken chest, feeling the pride of his success.

  Aleksander frowned and sat down on Alaric’s solitary stool. ‘Do I want to know the reason why?’

  ‘I suspect not, but you cannot run from what has happened in your family,’ Alaric warned. ‘Only be informed.’

  ‘And?’ Aleksander leaned forward reluctantly. ‘What had she done?’

  ‘She had visited the Widow,’ Alaric breathed, almost silently, his breath freezing in the air. ‘She bragged about it, about how her mother had taken her, how she had consulted with her, learned from her.’

  Aleksander’s face froze in horror. ‘The Widow? And she was banished from the temple for that?’

  ‘Of course!’ Alaric’s eyes popped open. ‘The Widow was a woman of such true evil. Blessed with greater gifts than almost anyone, but she used them all as weapons. She hurt, maimed, injured, killed for gold. She was merciless. A true mercenary of dark magic.’ He shook his head. ‘But how she was still alive when your grandmother was a child, I do not know. The Widow’s name is one from history, from hundreds of years ago. How could she still have been alive? I suppose dark magic has many secrets...’

  ‘If it was the Widow at all,’ Aleksander suggested carefully. ‘Maybe it was just a woman pretending to be her? Or perhaps it was that my grandmother was a girl filled with stories?’ He felt a desperate need to defend his family, to still cling to the belief that there was goodness there, that their connections to the Widow did not mark them as evil, did not link them back to trying to harm Jael.

  ‘A possibility, of course,’ Alaric murmured, rubbing his chapped hands together. ‘But according to Merya, the dreamers saw the truth in her tale, which was the reason she was banished.’

  Aleksander thought back to his own visit to the Widow. Why had she helped him in the end? If she was so dangerous, so old, so full of dark magic, why had she said nothing to him about his mother or his grandmother? He shuddered, and not just from the frigid chill in Alaric’s cottage. Nothing good was going to come from following this path, he realised, but somehow, there had to be a way to show Edela that his mother had done nothing wrong; nothing to try and hurt Jael. There had to be.

  57

  Round three.

  ‘I can’t wait to feel those tits of yours when you’re lying on the ground beneath my giant cock,’ Reinar called to her, to the amusement of the returning crowd.

  Jael frowned, ignoring the cheers and jeers, wishing she hadn’t eaten anything; she felt sick now. And... was there any man on this island who wasn’t a complete arse? She didn’t respond to his posturing, except to tighten the line of her lips and sharpen the focus of her eyes. Reinar was the next nothing in line, and she needed him gone, fast.

  Eirik blew his horn, and Reinar lunged. He came at her with an axe and a shield, and she could tell that he was very good with both. Jael didn’t move her feet; she just swayed to one side as he sailed past. There was a loud cheer. When Jael was fighting the crowd tended to be much larger than anywhere else. She hadn’t noticed; her attention was only on her opponent.

  He turned around, and so did she. Shields up, they came together. Jael lashed out angrily, Toothpick glinting as he flew through a burst of sunlight. She clenched her teeth and stretched forwards, bringing her blade towards Reinar’s arm, away from his shield. He spun out of her reach, his axe high in the air, his shield pushing towards her, his mouth empty of insults now as he grimaced, ready to go again.

  Jael had to think. Let him defeat himself or get it done? Get it done sounded better. Defeating Tarak would require a lot of strength and energy; there was no point wasting it now. She turned, exposing her back to Reinar, much to the surprise of the gasping crowd; much to the surprise of Eadmund, who stood up.

  ‘What is it?’ Eydis asked anxiously.

  ‘It’s alright,’ he muttered unconvincingly, his eyes fixed on Jael, his stomach tightening into a knot.

  Eirik turned to follow his gaze, frowning. What was she doing?

  Jael listened. The noise around her hushed as everyone held their breath. She could hear Reinar’s footsteps. He was coming for her but slowly. He was uncertain, not sure how to attack, not sure what she had planned. She waited. One heartbeat, two, three, and then she spun, quickly, snapping around, her right leg slicing through the air like a blade, straight into the side of Reinar’s face. She heard the crack of his jaw as it hit the knife she had strapped to her ankle, inside her boot. He went down and didn’t move.

  She was on him quickly, whipping her short knife out of its scabbard, bringing it up to his bleeding jaw, her chest over his face. ‘How do you like my tits now?’ she growled.

  ‘Over!’ Otto called. ‘Jael wins!’

  There was no sound from the crowd as she lifted herself off Reinar’s motionless body and walked back to the line. No one said a thing. They were too stunned by what she had done. Watching from two groups away, Thorgils smiled wryly; he knew how Reinar was feeling.

  ‘Well, into the fourth round go my two,’ Eirik smiled at Ivaar. ‘My coin is looking in good shape.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Ivaar admitted grudgingly. ‘Although, now it will start to get much harder. This is where Jael will struggle, I promise you.’

  ‘If you say so,’ Eirik said confidently. ‘But she seems to know what she’s doing, I think.’ He smiled, turning towards Eadmund. ‘A good wife you have there, my son.’

  ‘Well, if you’re looking for someone to protect you, yes, I suppose so. Though, I haven’t tried her cooking.’

  Tarak looked up, pleased to see that both Thorgils and Jael were still standing. He puffed out his chest, flexing his fist, eager to get through this last round before the four groups became two, and then one. He had no doubt he would be in that final battle, not one single doubt, as he looke
d around at the faces of the two men who were waiting for the signal to begin; both stunk of fear and loose bowels. He had no concerns as he glanced at Ivaar and smiled.

  Jael didn’t look Torstan’s way as she stood, gripping Toothpick’s cold hilt. She was left with Torstan and a man named Yari, who looked as though he had drunk too much in the break. He stood, swaying gently next to Torstan. Despite that, she didn’t discount him entirely; he had made it this far. She would have to defeat both of them at once to get through to the next round.

  Jael closed her eyes and took a deep breath, hoping for her father’s voice but instead she heard Gant’s. ‘Two opponents,’ came his soft rasping tones in her ear. ‘Easier than you would think. Keep your back clear and get one down to the ground as quickly as possible. No time for dancing about like a lady. Finish it fast.’

  She had seen everything Torstan had. It would be easier to take him first. Yari could wait.

  Eirik blew his horn and Jael pounced on Torstan. He was in the middle of nervously readjusting his shield grip when she ran at him, lunging with her foot, smashing it into his shield with every bit of strength she had. He lost his balance and stumbled over backwards, falling onto the ground. Through the cheers of the crowd, Jael could hear Yari coming up behind her. She threw herself down onto Torstan, who was busy trying to grab his sword which had slipped out of his grip. She landed on his shield, rested on her forearms, and whipped her right leg around sharply, taking Yari’s legs out from under him. The cheer was booming now but Yari, despite his shock, didn’t stay down long.

  Torstan had managed to get his fingers around his sword, but his grip was not strong. Jael raised herself up, smashing her shield into his face, getting up to kick his sword away, her sword tip at his throat.

  ‘Torstan is out!’ Sevrin yelled to the crowd.

  Yari came at her again, his axe slashing at her back as she rose. She spun out of his path, quickly darting around his side. Toothpick twitched in her hand, and she lunged at Yari, slashing his shield repeatedly, swaying back and forth, avoiding his oncoming blade. He had a wild look in his eye; the look of a man who had drunk enough to dull his fear, but killed his good sense at the same time. He was not going to make good decisions. He was just going to slash until he ran out of breath.

  Jael stepped back, dropping her head to one side. She smiled, and it was ice-bright; her eyes hard and focused. Yari didn’t wait for the show. He came at her again, his axe in the air, his shield flat to his chest. Jael turned away as he ran past her and slipped Toothpick into his scabbard. She turned back, both hands gripping her shield.

  ‘What is she doing?!’ Eadmund growled, standing up again, swallowing repeatedly.

  ‘Eadmund? What is it?’ Eydis was panicked beside him.

  ‘It’s alright, don’t worry,’ Eirik assured her, blinking furiously, his eyes not leaving the fight. ‘Jael is fine.’

  It was Yari’s turn to smile as he swayed slightly and came again, his axe cutting through the cold air, his breath in front of him. He bellowed as he swung the axe down towards Jael. She lifted her shield high and caught the blade next to the iron boss, her hands on the furthest edges of the rim, her head to one side.

  The blade stuck.

  Jael jerked her shield backwards, as hard and fast as she could, yanking the axe out of Yari’s hand. She threw the shield to the ground and slid Toothpick out of his scabbard before Yari had a chance to think; bringing the glinting, deadly tip towards his face, holding it just before his glazed eyes.

  ‘Over!’ Sevrin called. ‘Jael wins!’

  Eadmund let out a smoky sigh, but he couldn’t sit down; he was too tense. He tried to catch her eye. She was getting closer. He only hoped Thorgils would stop Tarak from getting anywhere near her. She was good, he couldn’t deny that, but he didn’t doubt Eydis’ dream, or the twist in Tarak’s face every time he looked Jael’s way.

  There was a short break before the start of the last two battles, which would determine who would face each other in the final.

  Thorgils’ dream had come true. Tarak was standing in the middle of the Pit, chest beating, frothing at the mouth, and waiting for him. Jael had a man called Mikkel, who looked like a challenge. He reminded her of her father: large and brooding, not at all showy, but full of quiet intent and experience. He was not about to be fooled by anything she had produced so far, she knew. But they were fighting after Tarak and Thorgils, and Jael’s focus, for now, was solely on her friend.

  ‘Are you hurt anywhere?’ Jael asked quickly. There was little time; she needed to get Thorgils ready in a hurry. As much as she wanted Tarak, she didn’t want Tarak to have his fun at Thorgils’ expense.

  ‘Just a cut on my elbow, that’s all,’ Thorgils grunted. ‘Nothing to trouble me. You?’

  ‘No, nothing,’ she said as they stood huddled to one side of the Pit. Ivaar and Tarak were talking in the distance and kept looking their way. Ivaar would be instructing Tarak to humiliate Thorgils, she knew. ‘Now listen, the best thing you can do is to get in charge of that bullish head of yours. He’s going to be caught up in trying to play with you, humiliate you, for Ivaar’s enjoyment. He wants to impress Ivaar, so he’ll lure you, and tease you, and taunt you. He’ll want to make it a game, but you can’t play it.’

  Thorgils didn’t speak or look at her. He was imagining the feeling of his hands around Tarak’s throat.

  ‘Don’t let his strength be a factor. Tire him out. Don’t move unless you need to. Let him run around. Don’t talk. Whatever you do, don’t talk! Watch his eyes. And don’t let him get you on the ground,’ she sighed, worried by the look on Thorgils’ face. ‘Eydis’ dream won’t come true if you finish him.’

  Thorgils nodded, barely listening. He glanced up at Isaura, not caring if Ivaar saw. He didn’t care if anyone saw. That was his woman up there, and he would look at her if he wanted.

  Isaura shivered. She held Thorgils’ stare for a moment, willing him on, wanting him to be alright. Ivaar was with Tarak, perhaps he was watching, but she would suffer any punishment for Thorgils to know that she was with him.

  Jael moved towards the railings. ‘If it starts to go wrong, look for me and you’ll remember the things we practised.’ She saw Tarak coming and gripped Thorgils’ arm, staring into his eyes. She saw uncertainty there, but also fire, and that gave her some confidence. ‘Go and shove that bastard’s ugly face into the dirt.’

  Thorgils nodded, breathing heavily, beating his sword against his shield, wishing he’d used the break to head for the latrines, then quickly shutting it all of out of his head.

  Tarak was coming.

  Ivaar took his seat next to Isaura. ‘Are you sure you want to watch this?’ he asked cheerfully. ‘It might get very messy for poor Thorgils.’

  ‘Well, that’s confident of you,’ Eirik grinned at his son, noticing the terror on Isaura’s face. He frowned. ‘Too confident, I fear. Thorgils has been training with Jael, you know. Everyday. And you’ve seen what she can do.’ He caught Isaura’s eye and smiled reassuringly.

  ‘Indeed, and I’ve seen what Thorgils has done,’ Ivaar said grudgingly. ‘But neither of them have faced anyone like Tarak. If Jael tried to kick him, he’d snap her leg in two.’

  Eadmund frowned, wishing he could snap his brother in two. He hoped more than anything that Thorgils could do it. He didn’t want Tarak anywhere near Jael. Next to him, Eydis shuddered. ‘Here, Little Thing,’ he smiled, handing her his fur. ‘Take this. Go on.’

  Eydis didn’t argue this time as he draped it over her shaking arms. ‘Thorgils won’t win,’ she whispered hoarsely, so their father couldn’t hear. ‘Tarak will defeat him. You know that.’

  Eadmund tried to smile as he shook his head. ‘I know what you’ve seen, but I know Thorgils, and he is not about to let Tarak get anywhere near Jael. He wants him all to himself.’

  They had removed the extra railings from the Pit. There was more room for the contestants now; more room for Tarak to run around and tire himself
out, Thorgils decided as he stood there waiting for Eirik’s signal.

  Tarak smiled as he strutted into the middle of the Pit, his scuffed, blue shield held firmly to his bare chest, his sword, which was the longest and heaviest on Oss, straight out in front of him. He didn’t wear a helmet and had no use for mail. The only armour he wore was a pair of boiled leather arm guards. His trousers, also leather, were slim fitting, tucked into a pair of long, black boots. He stopped just in front of Thorgils, his eyes barely blinking as he rolled his thick, corded shoulders, waiting to begin.

  Jael held her breath, wrapping her cloak tightly around her shoulders; she had suddenly noticed how cold it was. The wind was picking up, and the clouds had started rushing about overhead. She wondered if the gods were coming to watch.

  Eirik stood and with a quick smile at Thorgils, blew his horn.

  Thorgils panicked and attacked first. He rushed at his opponent, sword flashing, aiming for Tarak’s arms but Tarak was faster, hitting Thorgils back with his shield, meeting every slash of his sword, with double the power Thorgils could manage. Thorgils cursed his rashness and stepped away, imagining the look on Jael’s face. He stopped himself from shaking his head, though; Tarak didn’t need to know he was rattled. He took a deep breath to calm himself, to try and focus on what he was trying to achieve. Tire. Tarak. Out. He nodded to himself and snorted a burst of white smoke out his nostrils.

  Time to start again.

  Isaura wanted to leave, as much as she wanted to stay. It had not started well. Thorgils looked nervous, she thought, and who could blame him with that naked animal bearing down on him. She turned to Ayla, who had not said a word all day, desperate to ask what she saw, but Ayla’s face looked as terrified as her own; that was not a good sign.

  Tarak came hard at Thorgils. He led with his shield, banging it into Thorgils’ chest, slicing his sword towards his face. Tarak’s reach was much longer than Thorgils was used to, and he had to jump back to avoid the sword’s deadly tip as it approached his cheek. He stepped back, time and time again, as Tarak kept coming, focusing on his shield, on defending himself, letting Tarak do all the work.