by A. E. Rayne
And Reinar Vilander had become a desperate man.
‘Understood,’ Torvig said, jaw clenched. ‘No hands shall be laid upon their pretty heads. Not mine at least,’ he added, eyes drifting to Rutger’s men, some of whom had their heads together, muttering, eyes furtive. ‘Though, you might have a few problems if you’re not careful, after what happened to Rutger.’
Reinar swayed away from Torvig towards Sigurd and Alys. ‘Add them to the pile!’ he called, shaking his head. The stench of blood remained strong, wounds everywhere he looked.
Three of them on his own brother.
Crouching down, he tried to catch Alys’ eye, though she seemed intent on looking anywhere but at him. ‘How is he?’
‘He?’ Sigurd mumbled irritably. ‘He is ready to get up.’
‘You tried that and almost passed out,’ Ludo reminded him.
Sigurd growled nothing anyone could understand.
Reinar smiled, pleased to hear his brother sounding like his usual irritable self. ‘Well, we’ll be home soon. I’m sure Mother will be beside herself with worry. Ready to stick you in bed. Care for you day and night!’
Bolli, who knew Gerda better than he’d ever wish to, burst out laughing. ‘I’d like to see that!’
Sigurd closed his eyes, thinking about Tulia. She was going to be cross.
He was cross.
If Rutger hadn’t been dead, he would have killed him himself.
The pain bit, though it was hard to tell where it was coming from. Mostly all over. He felt oddly weak, his ears ringing every time he moved. And that dreamer kept hovering around him, not knowing what to do with herself.
He wondered what Reinar was going to do with her.
Fearing the answer.
6
When Magnus led Lotta out of the barn, he wanted to cover her eyes, but he knew it would be pointless, remembering what a wriggler she was.
She screamed when she saw the bodies littered around the square, forcing him to shove a hand over her mouth, dragging her behind the tanner’s hut. The stink made his eyes water, and then Lotta bit his hand, and he cursed. ‘Fuck!’
‘Mama says you’re not allowed to say that,’ Lotta scolded, turning to her brother. Her eyes were bigger, just as blue, just as terrified.
‘Well, Mama isn’t here,’ Magnus reminded her, wringing his hand. ‘And you need to be quiet if we’re going to escape.’
‘Escape from who?’
‘Anyone who wants to hurt us. Anyone who wants to find us.’
Lotta remembered the bodies. The heads.
She’d recognised Sketil, the fisherman. He hadn’t been a bad man.
Not like their father.
‘But why can’t we stay here, Magnus? In Ullaberg? It’s our home.’
Magnus wasn’t sure of that himself. The raiders were gone, and it appeared that they’d left some villagers behind. Men, at least. Though the ones they had seen looked wounded. In shock. Walking around, aimless. ‘Mother said we had to go. That I had to take you and run, just like we’d been planning to. That we needed to get to safety. To where we could be taken care of. There’s no one to care for us now. Not here.’
Lotta’s eyes filled with tears, and she closed them, wanting to see her mother, but all she saw was darkness. And opening them, she blinked, sniffing. ‘But where will we go, Magnus? Who will care for us now?’
‘We’re going to find Jonas, remember? He’ll look after us, that’s what Mother promised. He’ll look after us. If only we can find our way to him.’ And swallowing at the sudden weight Magnus felt on his narrow shoulders, he gripped his sister’s hand, pulling her down the path that led to the paddocks.
The day had dawned with a fresh breeze, though that had quickly dispersed, leaving the sea calm, which frustrated everyone. So the men were at the oars, many injured, grimacing and scowling as they rowed the ships along the coast towards Ottby.
Alys knew of Ottby. Everyone in Alekka had heard of the great fortress guarding the bridge to Stornas, though she had never been herself. Once they had arrived in Ullaberg, Arnon had never let her go on a ship again. He had barely let her out of his sight in the eleven years they were together.
Reinar stood next to her, eyes on the women in the bow, who were mostly quiet now. They looked defeated. Scared and confused. He quickly felt uncomfortable, annoyed that it had come to this; knowing how his father would feel about what they were doing. But what choice did they have? Hakon Vettel and his ever-growing army were breathing down their necks, and their fort was quickly emptying of every useful hand. ‘You’ve helped my brother,’ he said quietly, bending to Alys’ ear, ‘so I shall reward you, Alys de Sant. I will make you my dreamer. Let you stay in Ottby.’
Reinar’s breath smelled like ale. It was sour, and Alys wanted to turn away. But Ottby was not Goslund, so she forced herself to look at him. ‘And my friends? The women? What will you do with them?’
Reinar inhaled. He felt tired, impatient for his chair and his hall. ‘The women? I wasn’t looking for more mouths to feed, so I’ll have no use for them in Ottby.’ He scratched his bearded chin, listening to his belly rumble. ‘I’ll think on it. You may go and be with them if you wish, for now, you are free.’ Reinar opened his hands, smiling at her.
Alys eyed him suspiciously. ‘I don’t think I’m free.’
‘Perhaps not as free as I am, or Bolli over there, but freer than those women whose destiny will be woven by these two hands.’ And he held his big, dirty hands out to Alys, grabbing hers, eyes sharp now. ‘You will be useful, so I’ll keep you until you no longer are.’ And squeezing her hands, Reinar stared into Alys’ eyes until she shivered.
He let her go, watching her stagger backwards before turning around, one hand out to balance herself as she walked unsteadily down the deck, in between the sea chests the oarsmen were sitting on.
Alys, barely able to breathe, kept her attention on the women. A few she felt warmly towards, others she barely knew, some she disliked. But every one of them reminded her of home, and of her children, and she wanted to fall down to the deck and sob.
Stina reached out her bound hands as Alys approached. ‘What have they told you? What is happening?’ she croaked desperately, eyes on her friend. The taste of seawater in her mouth made her want to spit.
‘We are not going to Goslund,’ Alys said, sensing all eyes focus on her, mouths slightly open in desperation. ‘It’s not safe after the ambush. We’re going to Ottby. They’re from Ottby.’
‘And what will they do to us there?’ Jorunn asked. She was a skilled weaver with many children; grandchildren too.
‘Rape us!’ said another.
Nodding heads; anxious eyes focused on the crew.
‘Ssshhh,’ Stina hissed. ‘Don’t give them any ideas, Isla.’
‘You don’t think they have ideas? Look at what happened to poor Magda!’
Alys glanced over her shoulder as the women became more restless. She saw Reinar staring at her, his men too. Spinning around, she lowered her voice. ‘I don’t know what will happen, but if you want them to keep you, make yourselves useful. The lord will not want to keep problems. He will look to get rid of you.’
‘And what about you?’ Ilene asked. ‘What will he do with you, Alys the dreamer?’
Alys didn’t like Ilene. Not many did. Ilene Gislar had a reputation in Ullaberg as a husband-thief, though, unfortunately for Alys, she had not been successful in her attempts to steal Arnon away.
Eyes sharpened with curiosity, bodies banging into each other as the wind picked up again, the ship dipping into the waves.
‘I... I’m not sure. I think he wants to keep me as his dreamer.’ Alys didn’t like saying that out loud. She tried not to think of Magnus and Lotta.
‘But when were you ever a dreamer, Alys?’ Jorunn wondered. ‘We never knew this about you.’
Alys swallowed, more uncomfortable as she wobbled about on the deck, looking for something to hold on to. Her secrets were her own. Pri
vate. She didn’t want to reveal them to anyone, especially not someone like Ilene, who was looking on with eager eyes.
Reinar stopped all conversation, though, as he appeared behind Alys, a hand on her shoulder. ‘My brother needs you. His wounds are bleeding again.’
Alys felt relieved, briefly meeting Stina’s eyes before turning around.
Hakon’s fingers twitched as he walked the pier, inspecting his remaining ships. His army was growing by the day. He was a wealthy man, thanks to his father’s savvy managing of his gold, his stores, and his men. And now, just as he needed to procure more hands, more ships, and more weapons, he had enough gold and silver to meet all his needs. And more.
Hakon smiled, though he felt tense, because what he did not have was time.
He needed to move through Ottby quickly, while Ake Bluefinn was away fighting enemies in the West. That old stone fortress blocked his path to Stornas. And so did Reinar and Sigurd Vilander. He twitched, irritated that they had defeated his men, halved his tiny fleet, embarrassed him. The shame was one thing – hard to bear – but the setback of losing two ships was like a fire under his skin, burning hot, searching for an outlet.
‘Cousin!’ He turned away from his men with a forced grin. ‘Awake at last!’
Ivan peered at Hakon with one open eye, hearing the tension in his voice. ‘I’d rather be asleep, though it was a good night, Hakon. A very good night!’ His head hurt as he smiled, but he felt happy. The gods were guiding them towards glory. And though his cousin was not the best lord he could wish for, Ivan was hungry for success, determined to go along for the ride, though not quite as impatient as Hakon.
‘It was, I agree, but today is not such a good day, I’m afraid. Not for our hopes, at least.’
Ivan opened his other eye, both of them brown and usually full of mischief, but he took in the sight of the men clearing out the battered ship with a growing sense of horror. ‘They returned with one ship? One?’ He looked around at the men, not surprised when Hakon’s helmsman dropped his eyes. ‘Where’s Dagfinn?’
‘On the midden heap, I expect,’ Hakon growled. ‘Though I’ve no idea. I imagine the dogs would have enjoyed a good meal if not.’
Ivan stared at his cousin, who was the same age as him, the same height. Their bodies resembled each other, both of them with strong, wiry frames, corded with muscle. Even their hair was similar: shoulder-length, brown, and braided, though Hakon took great care over his appearance, whereas Ivan looked like he slept in a barn.
Which, he often did.
‘And what will you do now? The Vilanders appear to have no intention of rolling over and dying. Must we wait on them? We can go around Ottby, surely? If we build more ships. Wait winter out.’
‘Wait? Of course they want us to wait! Why do you think they burned our fleet? Because they knew we were coming. Because they thought they could stop us!’ Hakon spun around with a snarl. ‘No, Cousin, I want Ottby now!’
Ivan blinked, unhappy to be showered in his cousin’s spittle. ‘You do. We all know you do, Hakon. But don’t you want Ake’s throne more? You must choose which hill to die on, and if you’re not careful, Ottby will defeat you before you even sniff Stornas.’
Hakon’s lips curled venomously, but Ivan barely blinked. He was frustratingly laid-back. Casual. About everything. There was little fire in his cousin unless there was a sword in his hand and a battle song in his heart. Which made him the perfect commander of his army, Hakon realised. Ivan knew how to fight, though he had no appetite for power.
Or so it had always seemed.
‘We need more ships,’ Ivan said with a yawn, looking bored. ‘You need to think about ships, not Reinar Vilander. As soon as we have a fleet big enough to carry our men, we can plan our attack.’
Hakon turned to him with a dismissive smile. He had no intention of waiting at all. ‘Why don’t we walk back up to the fort, and get you some ale before you twitch yourself off the pier, Cousin, and I’ll tell you exactly what I have in mind.’
Alys watched Stina from Dagger’s stern, where Reinar had made her remain, wanting to ensure that she was near his brother.
Ludo kept bending over, offering her slivers of salt fish, something that looked like a hard biscuit, and crumbles of dried pork too. The smell made her want to vomit, and eventually, she hurried to her feet, leaning over the stern, but having barely eaten in days, she did little more than retch uncomfortably.
‘Are you alright?’ Ludo wondered with an awkward smile when Alys returned, taking a seat beside her.
He had kind eyes, Alys thought, tucking damp strands of hair behind her ears, wiping her mouth with the back of a hand. They were moving at pace now, under sail, and she was glad for it, eager to get off the ship, but her heart sank heavily every time she realised how much further she was getting away from her children. Though, at least they were not going to Goslund, which meant that she still had an opportunity to find her way back to them. ‘I am. The ship... it is... I feel unwell.’
Ludo wondered if he might vomit himself. He nodded, eyes on Sigurd, who appeared asleep, and Reinar, who had his head together with Torvig as they walked down the ship towards the women. ‘It’s not been an easy time for you.’
Alys blinked. ‘For me?’
Ludo pointed to her face, covered in bruises. ‘Perhaps they happened before we came and stole you away?’ His voice was barely a breath, his words quickly torn away by the wind.
Alys didn’t want to talk to him. She didn’t want to reveal anything about herself at all. Though, she realised with a frown, she had to find an ally. If she was going to make it back to Magnus and Lotta, she had to find an ally quickly. And this man, with those sympathetic eyes, who seemed very close to both the lord and his brother, might just be the ally she needed. ‘I... did not have a very gentle husband.’
‘No?’ Ludo edged towards her, overwhelmed with curiosity. Reinar had ordered him to watch over the dreamer and Sigurd, and he was eager to hear a story to pass the time.
‘He would beat me,’ Alys admitted, cheeks warm in the biting wind. She felt embarrassed to admit it. Weak. Pathetic. She saw the sympathy in Ludo’s rich brown eyes, and she wanted to insist that she was strong. That she had stood up for herself, but she knew it wasn’t true. She had taken Arnon’s punishment, his torture, like a beaten dog who kept coming back for more. But she’d never stopped planning when she might leave, hoping she would have the courage to do so.
‘I’m sorry,’ Ludo said, eyes shifting back to Sigurd, who was mumbling in his sleep now, writhing around on the deck. ‘There are men like that, I know. Some of them are in Ottby.’ He couldn’t help but stare at Torvig, then, who barely anyone apart from Reinar liked. ‘There is little to be done, though.’
‘Well, I think I would rather have been beaten by my husband than stolen away to be sold as a slave.’
Ludo looked mortified, his own cheeks reddening.
‘Though, I don’t blame you,’ Alys insisted, trying to smile. ‘I can tell you hate it.’
‘You can?’ Ludo sat up straighter. ‘Because you’re a dreamer?’ He was intrigued. Reinar’s last dreamer, Salma, had barely had a word to say to him, and certainly not a vision of anything he wanted to know about.
Alys nodded. ‘Dreamers sense things.’ It was either a lie, or it was the truth, she didn’t know. She didn’t remember her mother or her grandmother, both of them dreamers. And she didn’t know what dreamers really did or what they really felt, but she could see Ludo’s interest, and she was eager to foster it. ‘I can tell you have a hard time with it.’
Ludo swallowed. They were not alone, but Bolli appeared half asleep as he leaned over the tiller, beard blowing in the wind. Sigurd was snuffling at their feet, and no one else was within hearing distance. ‘It’s not who we were,’ he admitted. ‘Not who we want to be. But Reinar is desperate. If he can’t find the silver to pay for more men, we’ll have no hope of defending Ottby. They’re leaving, you see, his warriors. In droves.’
‘Why?’
Ludo sighed. ‘Everything has gone wrong for Reinar lately. His father, Stellan, was the Lord of Ottby for years. A good man. A kind lord. My father fostered me to him when I was ten, and Stellan cared for me as though I was his own. But then, a year ago, the crops began to fail, and things started going wrong. Something happened to Stellan’s mind. His body too. He had a seizure. Now he sits in a chair, dribbling all day.’
‘Oh.’ It was Alys’ turn to be intrigued.
‘Reinar became the lord, but the bad luck only worsened.’
‘How?’ The ship dipped low, and Alys almost slid off the chest. Ludo grabbed her, waiting until they’d crested the wave, before pushing her back.
‘Too many things, for sure.’ He lowered his voice, leaning down. ‘His sons were stillborn. He started to lose battles he would have won only a year ago. Just... everything Reinar touched, every decision he made, everything went against him, as though he was cursed. People started whispering that the gods had stolen away his luck, which is odd, I think, as he is the one fated to become the true King of Alekka.’
Reinar and Torvig had turned back after checking on the women, and Alys realised that she didn’t have much time before they were within earshot. ‘What does that mean, the true king?’
‘Ragnahild One Eye visited Ottby when Reinar was a baby. She told his mother that she’d had a vision of Reinar wearing the Sun Torc.’ Ludo could see Reinar and Torvig approaching too, and he pushed himself away from Alys, standing up, peering down at her. ‘And the legend of the Sun Torc says that the man who finds it will unite the two halves of Alekka again. Rule them both for the first time in two thousand years.’ Ludo smiled briefly, turning away, leaving her on the sea chest.