by A. E. Rayne
Both men had swarthy-looking complexions, or perhaps they just didn’t like washing, Magnus thought distractedly. Their swordbelts, which they exposed as they moved their long cloaks around, were stacked just as plentifully as their leader’s.
Magnus felt ill. All three men were obviously hardened warriors.
‘Well, where does he live, then?’ Long Beard wondered, his eyes on Lotta, who seemed fearless as she glared up at him.
‘In Torborg,’ Lotta said. ‘I thought we were on the wrong road, but my brother wouldn’t listen to me. He thinks he knows everything.’
Magnus was horrified to hear her blabber on, revealing all their plans.
‘Well, if you’re heading for Torborg, you can take this road. It’s a little longer, but easier, I’d say. Your brother has the right of it there. Those two beasts don’t look up for much, though.’ He inclined his head to Daisy and Clover, who did appear ready for a long rest. ‘You can come along with us, if you like? We can show you the way?’
Long Beard’s young companion smiled, showing off a few silver teeth.
That made Magnus even more anxious. His father had warned him never to do business with a man with silver teeth, for a man willing to put silver into his mouth like that was surely a madman. ‘Thank you,’ Magnus croaked, almost losing the ability to speak. ‘But our ponies would only slow you down. We’re not in a hurry, so we’ll go our own way.’ He stared at Long Beard, who didn’t blink as he continued to watch Lotta. Magnus tried to think quickly, but his mind was blank, and terror had frozen his limbs.
Their ponies were slow.
He had two knives. One was blunt.
And there was Lotta. And Lotta was a dreamer.
And armed men with eye patches and silver teeth didn’t need to know that his sister was a dreamer.
But Long Beard narrowed his eyes; one dark brown, one almost green.
And he grabbed Lotta from her pony before Magnus could even blink.
15
Reinar’s talk with Agnette had not gone well.
His cousin had always been feisty, strong-willed, and capable. But since falling pregnant, she had become increasingly emotional, and as soon as she’d explained how she had helped Elin escape the fort, she’d burst into tears.
After that, it was impossible to get mad at her, though he was.
He truly was.
Agnette had finally left his chamber, nose blocked from crying, wanting to find Bjarni, and Reinar had remained behind, stunned by the blow. He had always dreamed of marrying Elin, from the moment she’d arrived in Ottby with Torvig and their father. She was ten-years-old, eyes filled with sadness because her mother had died. Agnette had taken her under her wing in a flash, and since Agnette spent all her time with Sigurd and Reinar, Elin did too.
Reinar had spent eighteen years of his life with her. Eighteen years of hearing her voice and seeing her smile.
And now he had lost her.
There were so many things he had to attend to, but Reinar couldn’t move. He sat before the fire which had died down to little more than a single flame now. The chamber was so cold his breath puffed out in white whispers.
He didn’t notice.
Elin was gone, and she didn’t want to come back.
The knock on the door was loud, and Sigurd didn’t wait before pushing it open, popping his head inside. He was with Tulia, leaning on her. ‘We have problems, Brother. You need to come to the square.’
Reinar shook his head, standing. ‘I’m sure we do.’ And turning around with a sigh, he left the flame to die, grabbed his cloak, and followed them outside.
The men kept the ponies, tying them onto their own horses.
Long Beard threw Lotta onto his horse, sitting her just before the saddle’s pommel. Eye Patch had Magnus in front of him, one arm firmly across his chest.
‘What are your plans?’ Silver Tooth asked from Long Beard’s left. ‘Shall we eat them?’ He poked his tongue out at Lotta, who didn’t even look his way. She felt too scared to do anything but stare straight ahead. There was no sign of her dreams now. She couldn’t stop shaking.
Magnus kept glancing at his sister, hoping she was alright, but she remained silent, hiding beneath her ice-blonde hair. It worried him.
The way Long Beard kept stroking Lotta’s hair worried him too. The man looked filthy, especially his hands, which were almost black. His face didn’t look much better. Magnus wondered if it wasn’t just dirt, but dried blood staining his skin, and the thought of that made him tremble.
‘Can’t imagine they’d make much of a meal!’ Eye Patch laughed. ‘A little bony for my taste. Better to chop up the ponies. Cook them over a fire! Haven’t eaten a pony in many a month, and those two are the plumpest I’ve seen by far.’
Lotta spun around in terror, and Magnus was relieved that she appeared to be alright, though she looked scared. As he was. Yet he’d insisted that he was the leader. And so far, he hadn’t come up with any ideas for how to get them out of this mess.
The men had ridden them back down the road to Torborg and then turned abruptly into the forest, taking them down an old track, far away from Jonas’ cottage.
Magnus didn’t know where they were going now.
‘Well, that’s one option for sure,’ Long Beard smiled. The little girl was like a faerie, he thought, her hair shimmering in the sun before him. Trees bent over their path from either side, creating a tunnel, but the leaves had long since fallen from their spindly branches, and the sun beamed down on them, almost warm.
He felt Lotta still before him.
‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll keep your pony.’
Magnus wanted to leap down and pull his sister away from that man, but he couldn’t move at all. He stared at Lotta, wondering if she could read his thoughts like she’d said. Hoping she’d been telling the truth.
‘Don’t imagine Hakon will be pleased about the delay.’ Silver Tooth was the only one of the three who looked uncomfortable with the situation, besides Magnus and Lotta. ‘We’re to report on what we’ve seen. Doubt he wants to wait till first snow. He’s too much like his father to sit still.’
Long Beard kept his sleepy-looking eyes focused ahead, watching a doe skip across their path, disappearing into the forest. ‘Why don’t you go after that beast and stop fretting. Be useful for once!’ But they both knew there was no chance of catching such an agile creature when it had a head start. ‘Besides, Hakon made me the leader of our little crew. He trusts me. I served his father. He knows I’ll get back to him when I can. He wouldn’t expect us to destroy another set of horses. We’ll have none of his silver left before long if we keep buying horses! We can afford to take our time.’
Silver Tooth sniffed, rubbing his nose on the back of his sleeve. His throat hurt and his head was pounding. That was certainly one of the things they’d be able to tell Hakon Vettel: how sickness was ravaging the Eastern Shore, from Orsund to Runvik and beyond. He’d never felt so ill. He glanced at Eye Patch, who was coughing, and at Long Beard whose eyes looked bloodshot.
Perhaps the children weren’t the only reason he’d decided to slow down?
‘We’ll ride till dusk, camp for the night and see how we feel come morning,’ Long Beard said, his rasping voice firm. ‘Perhaps we’ll cut loose for a while then? Make up some time? Be good to get to Akaby. Might find some takers for the boy.’
Magnus blinked, shivering all over, listening to the ragged breathing of the stinking man whose hand pushed against his chest, holding him in place.
Wishing he could hear his mother’s voice.
The square was noisier than it had been in months.
Though not with trade. Not with training. Not with games.
And certainly not with celebration.
Many were leaving.
‘But why?’ Reinar called to Hartvig, who he’d known since they were toddlers. Their fathers had been friends. Their brothers too. ‘Ottby is your home! I know it’s hard –’
> Hartvig spun around from where he was packing his saddlebags. He was newly married, and his morose-looking wife waited on her horse, lips set in a straight line as she tidied up her braids. ‘Hard? Reinar!’ Hartvig was a good man, useful with a spear. A bow too. ‘This is no longer just hard. And it’s no longer whispers either. The gods have spoken! You heard them last night! We all did!’ He turned back to his saddlebags, trying to stuff in another waterskin, which was proving difficult as his horse kept moving away from him, not liking the loud voices. ‘You should leave, Reinar! All of you should! You heard that warning last night. Vasa is coming!’
Alys watched from a distance, Agnette and Ludo beside her.
Agnette poked Ludo. ‘Why aren’t you over there? I think Reinar could use some help.’
‘He’s got Bjarni and Torvig. Sigurd too. And Tulia. I don’t want to get in the way.’
Agnette felt anxious, turning to Alys. ‘He didn’t take it well. About Elin.’
Ludo looked on curiously, eyebrows raised.
‘I helped her to leave,’ Agnette admitted, glancing up at him, guilt in her eyes. ‘She wanted to, desperately, so I helped her. And now,’ she sighed, ‘now they do too. Everyone wants to leave Ottby, it seems. Maybe we’re the fools? Maybe everyone sees something we don’t?’
Gerda strode up to them, eyes blazing with irritation. ‘Agnette! Stellan is sitting at the table, waiting for you. I thought you were taking him for a walk before the rain comes down again?’ She felt tense, eyes on the departing warriors. She had just as many problems in the hall, with some of her servants packing their chests and joining the exodus, leaving with their husbands and children, desperate to get away before Vasa or Hakon Vettel came to claim them.
Agnette turned back to the hall. ‘Don’t panic, Aunty, I’m on my way.’ And glancing at Bjarni whose cheeks were redder than usual, she sighed, bunching up her dress and trekking away through the mud.
‘And you,’ Gerda snapped, peering at Alys. ‘What use are you to my son when you can’t help him keep his people? For without those people, we may as well open the gates and invite the monsters in!’ And yanking Ludo’s arm, she dragged him towards Reinar. ‘Not to mention you, Ludo Moller. We must help Reinar. We must!’
Alys watched them go, gasping, sharp pains assaulting her chest. The sun had abandoned the fort, and she felt cold, sensing rain coming.
It wasn’t that.
She turned around slowly, her skin prickling, as though someone was there.
As though something was wrong.
Tulia’s brother was walking towards her with a man she didn’t know.
It wasn’t that.
And then she felt it.
Magnus.
When Vik returned from his fishing expedition, shimmering catch strung over his back, Jonas was outside readying his old chestnut stallion, Klippr.
‘You looking to leave?’ Vik didn’t speak much. He was used to living alone. Though, he supposed, he’d never spoken much when he was married either.
His wives had always brought that up.
And though Vik had loved both of them, he found it impossible to change. Women were attracted to his stoicism. To his stone-like certainty and strength. He said what he meant, and left it at that. Though once things had progressed to marriage, his wives had wanted more, not realising that he had already shown them precisely who he was.
A loner. A warrior. A man so skilled in killing that he felt uncomfortable without a sword in his hand. It was what he knew. What felt right.
And yet, it had been many years now since he’d last drawn blood.
Each one of them more uncomfortable than the last.
‘That I am,’ Jonas sighed, turning to his friend, amazed by the amount of fish he’d managed to attach to his string. ‘You’re going to be smoking for days!’ he laughed, feeling wistful, hungry as he was. Vik was an excellent fisherman, and he knew how to smoke a fish to perfection. If only one of them could make a decent flatbread, but they either ended up charred or sticky, never something useful in between. ‘I’m going to head back to my cottage, stay there a while.’
Vik dropped his string of fish to the ground with a frown. ‘You do remember your cottage, don’t you? That great pile of ash? I think the fire pit was still standing, having done all that damage, but I’m sure you won’t fit in it if you’re looking for a bed.’
‘I remember, and no, I’m taking your tent, if you don’t mind? Since you’ll be so busy smoking and drying, you won’t miss it for a while.’
‘Why are you heading back there, then?’ Vik dumped the rest of his load on the grass, slipping off his damp cloak, looking around for something to drink.
Jonas didn’t want to say. ‘Just a hunch I’ve a mind to do something about.’
‘A hunch?’ Vik sat down at a moss-covered table, sniffing the contents of the jug, which happily smelled like ale. There being no cups about, he tipped it into his mouth, taking a long drink. ‘Could that hunch have been a dream, then?’
Jonas shrugged.
‘Thought you didn’t believe in dreams. Or dreamers. Not anymore.’
‘Well, what I believe or don’t believe seems irrelevant these days. Especially when it’s my grandchildren I’ve got to think about.’
Vik wiped his bearded mouth. ‘What’s happened?’
Jonas shrugged again. He felt silly as he left his horse and joined Vik at the table. ‘Alys came to me in a dream.’ He eyed Vik, but his friend hadn’t even moved an eyelid. ‘Eida used to do that. My daughter too. Dreamers, all of them. They have a way of making you know something’s wrong.’
‘And you think something’s wrong?’
‘I do. I really do, Vik.’
Vik saw the fear in Jonas’ eyes, and he glanced back at his shimmering pile of fish. ‘Well, help me get that lot ready, and I’ll come. You might need the help.’
Jonas shook his head. ‘No, no, that’ll take some time. Besides, it’s two children. Alys sent them to find me. That’s what she said. I don’t need help with two children.’ And standing up, Jonas headed back to his old horse, who was happily chomping into an apple he’d pulled off a tree. ‘It may just be my imagination. I hope it is,’ he said quickly. ‘I do. And if not, I’ll be back in a few days with two more hungry mouths, so you’ll need to have that fish ready!’ He grinned, trying to cover his growing fear that something truly was wrong.
‘But why would Alys have sent her children to you on their own? Aren’t they small?’
Jonas was tightening Klippr’s saddle, and he froze, shivers rushing up his spine. ‘Yes. They are.’
‘Is there nothing you can do?’ Gerda implored. ‘Nothing you can do to make them stay?’ Her hands were on her son’s fur-covered chest, her eyes imploring him to act.
‘I can lock the gates. I can imprison them. But what would be the point of that?’ Reinar didn’t want to deal with his mother. He looked around for Agnette, who was very good at placating Gerda when she was winding herself into a spitting frenzy. But there was no sign of her. He nudged Bjarni towards her instead. ‘Bjarni will take you back to the hall, Mother,’ he said distractedly, eyes on Alys. ‘I need to get things in order. Those who are gone are gone. Those who will leave will leave. I can’t stop them if that’s what’s already in their hearts. I will do what I can, but there are a lot of stubborn people in this fort, and not many of them seem interested in staying for the fight.’ And brushing Gerda aside, Reinar headed for Alys.
The dreamer was looking in the opposite direction, standing perfectly still, hair blowing to one side as though it was trying to pull her away.
She jumped when he touched her, spinning around.
‘Are you alright?’ The look on her face was one of pure horror, and Reinar felt concerned.
Alys tried to catch her breath. Her body was trembling, her mind tumbling. She could feel the children’s panic, certain that they were in trouble. ‘I am,’ she lied, clearing her throat. ‘Fine.’
‘C
an you ride?’ Reinar asked, noticing that she had boots on now, but no cloak. No wonder she was shaking.
Alys nodded distractedly.
‘Good. I’ll grab you a cloak, then let’s ride. I need to show everyone there’s nothing to be afraid of. That there’s nothing lurking in that forest at all.’ And he headed for the hall, hoping he was right.
Hakon and Lief rode after Ivan, who was leading them on a hunt with two of their men. Hakon was happy for Ivan to take the lead as it gave him a chance to talk to Lief, who had, until now, appeared happy to follow Ivan’s command. But Hakon had started to wonder how it was going to work in reality.
For that reality was coming at them like a storm cloud.
‘Mother says the first snow will come early this year,’ Hakon mused, his foul-tempered bay horse walking alongside Lief’s mighty black stallion, throwing his head around. ‘So we must accelerate our plans. Ivan is already doing so. We spoke this morning.’
Lief nodded, spots of pink on his flat cheeks, nose dripping. ‘It will not be easy, snow or not. Ottby is protected by two walls. There’s a reason it’s stood for so long, my lord.’
Lief never called him Hakon. He was a serious man with a dour tone.
Nothing like Ivan.
Hakon watched his cousin, riding up ahead, laughing with his companions, which would hardly allow them to creep up on their prey unannounced. But Ivan was effective, blessed with luck, and vicious in a fight, and more than anything, Hakon trusted him completely.
And despite his years of service to his father, he still wasn’t sure about Lief.
‘I agree. It won’t be easy, but no fight worth having is. I have no desire to claim my throne without tearing my way to victory. I want the songs of our conquest to ring through the kingdom like bells chiming after a slaughter. No one would sing of a battle won with words and handshakes.’
Now Lief did smile. ‘I’m pleased to hear it. That’s the sort of battle they carve onto saga stones, searing it into the memory of time.’