Eye of the Wolf: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (The Lords of Alekka Book 1)

by A. E. Rayne

  Reinar was afraid to speak, not wanting the moment to end. And lifting his head, he stared into his father’s blue eyes, which looked oddly sharp.

  ‘Hold,’ Stellan rasped, right side of his mouth twitching with effort. ‘The... bridge.’ His hand dropped away, and his head tilted to the side, the light in his eyes extinguished.

  Reinar sat back, staring, mouth open.

  Shivering all over.

  ‘Once we take Ottby, we must hold it,’ Hakon told his cousin, who appeared to be paying no attention to him at all. ‘Ivan,’ he grumbled, slapping his cousin’s head.

  Ivan swung around, taking his attention away from the pretty servant girl, who had the juiciest looking lips he’d ever seen. She was young, always smiling as she worked. She seemed innocent, pure. Not like Falla Gundersen, who strutted around Slussfall with clear intent and purpose.

  He wasn’t a fool. He could see through her.

  He knew where her ambitions lay.

  It didn’t make it any easier to stop thinking about her, though, so he was trying to distract himself with a different kind of woman. One who was not married to his cousin’s champion warrior.

  He blinked at the map table Hakon was pointing to. ‘We have enough men to do so. More than enough to man Ottby’s walls.’

  Hakon nodded, pleased to hear his cousin sound so authoritative. His attention snapped to Lief, who was nodding.

  ‘Yes, we do, though your choice of commander in Ottby will be crucial, my lord.’ Lief was becoming irritated by Ivan’s inability to keep his attention on the map. He fidgeted endlessly, eyes jumping around the hall. It was like standing next to a man-sized chicken. ‘That commander will have to keep a lid on trouble, which is bound to flare. Ake’s allies won’t be happy when the bridge falls.’

  Hakon was pleased to hear it. ‘No, they won’t.’ He smiled at Ivan, eyes narrowed. ‘But I have plans for them, don’t worry, Lief Gundersen.’

  Lief was annoyed to hear it. Annoyed not to be part of whatever discussions Hakon was having with his fidgety cousin. Those discussions were obviously occurring behind his back. He thought of Mother, wondering if she could shed any light on what they were planning. ‘I won’t, my lord. As long as I know what role you wish me to take, I shall happily do my part.’

  It was the right thing to say, and Hakon was pleased by Lief’s deference.

  Ivan scowled at Lief, eager to stick him with the tip of his blade, right through his mauled right eye; disfigure him so much that Falla would never want to look at him again. ‘Perhaps Lief should remain in Ottby? A man of his experience would be just the person we need in command.’

  Hakon looked surprised, but he considered it. ‘It’s one thought, but to fight Ake without Lief by my side?’ He dragged a hand down his pointed beard, thinking. ‘No, there are others who would do a fair enough job, but no one like Lief to fight beside us, Cousin.’

  Lief was pleased to hear it, resisting the urge to glare triumphantly at Ivan and his big mouth. ‘As you wish, my lord. My wife will be happy. She is very much looking forward to reaching Stornas.’

  ‘As is mine!’ Hakon grinned, watching Karolina talking to the cook. She wore a dark-green velvet gown, with a white fur wrap tucked around her shoulders, secured with jewelled brooches, making her look like a snow queen.

  His queen.

  And soon, Alekka’s.

  ‘Well, the quicker we get on the road, the quicker we can begin,’ Ivan said, eager to be in Stornas before the first snow. Though by the feel of his frozen toes, he doubted that would be possible.

  ‘Exactly,’ Hakon agreed. ‘And who knows, after Mother’s fun, we may end up walking into an abandoned fort. I can’t imagine those Vilanders will be brave enough to think they can withstand Vasa and her mighty wolf!’

  Reinar stood at the map table, thoughts wandering to Alys. He hadn’t wanted to stop her shooting arrows.

  It had been quite a sight to see her in that beautiful dress, firing arrow after arrow at the target. She had a good eye, and eventually, she’d started hitting the centre of the shield.

  Though he wasn’t about to risk her on the ramparts.

  Tulia had sent Ludo and Amir to take the women back to the barn while she joined Reinar, Bjarni, Sigurd and Torvig at the map table.

  Reinar blinked at her frowning face, realising that he needed to focus. ‘I’ve sent word to Hovring and Vika. There’s no other choice. I know Ake’s away, and his garrison will be enough to hold Stornas, but he may have no men free to help us. Erlan and Alef should be able to send reinforcements. They’re close enough.’

  Bjarni frowned. ‘That still won’t be enough, Reinar. Torfinn said he thought Hakon had two thousand men. Siege towers too.’

  ‘The siege towers will be a problem,’ Reinar agreed. ‘But we can burn them. And with our new archers, we can shoot their crews.’ He grinned at Tulia, who appeared to be biting her tongue.

  ‘As long as they’re not here too quickly. I’m going to need some time. Only your dreamer is much use so far.’ Tulia said it reluctantly, not liking the dreamer at all.

  ‘What a surprise,’ Torvig mocked. ‘Women being entirely useless. Who would have thought it?’

  Sigurd was the only one of their group sitting, and he was tempted to punch Torvig in the balls which were far too close to his face. ‘That’s hardly helpful. We need help. And they’re useless to us unless we can train them to do something. Even if it’s tipping oil onto Hakon’s men or helping to collect arrows.’

  Reinar nodded. ‘And there’ll be some who’ll pick up archery quickly, won’t there?’

  ‘More than some,’ Tulia insisted, trying to sound optimistic. She glared at Torvig. ‘We have armies of women in Kalmera. What do you think they’re fighting with? Loom weights and wooden spoons?’

  Torvig loved to irritate Tulia, and he welcomed her anger.

  Reinar didn’t. It was a distraction. ‘Keep training them, Tulia. Pull aside the most promising and work with those. Send the rest to Ludo, and he’ll get them working on other ways to help.’

  ‘And when it’s all over? If they help us defend the fort?’ Tulia wondered. ‘Will you still sell them?’

  Sigurd looked up at his brother, interested in Reinar’s answer.

  ‘If they help us hold the fort, I’ll reward them with silver,’ Reinar smiled. ‘Silver and freedom.’

  Tulia was pleased to hear it. ‘Well, then, I’d better get back to work.’

  Alys had remained behind when everyone else left the training ring.

  It was as though she wasn’t in Ottby anymore.

  In her mind, she was in Ullaberg, and the target was Arnon, and she was firing arrows into his bare chest, straight through the eye of his wolf tattoo. The centre of the target was the eye, and she kept trying to hit it, over and over again.

  ‘Getting better,’ Ludo grinned, arms on the railings. ‘We should send you out hunting!’

  ‘I don’t like hunting,’ Alys admitted, broken out of her trance, at last, dropping her arm, realising that it was aching now. She walked towards the railings, ready to stick her frozen feet in front of a fire. Winter was watching, sitting by a table, licking a paw, and it reminded her of the dreamer’s cottage and the book. Slipping through the railings, she held the bow out to Ludo. ‘I don’t know what to do with it.’

  Ludo smiled. ‘I think you should keep it, don’t you? Who knows what creatures will come for us tonight?’

  That was a good point, and Alys was pleased when Ludo followed her towards the white cat.

  ‘I don’t imagine Hakon Vettel’s dreamer would be happy having her trick exposed like that. She’s bound to do something else, isn’t she?’

  Alys frowned. ‘Well, it depends on what she was trying to achieve.’ Her eyes drifted to the latest horse and cart heading for the gates. ‘If she was trying to drive more warriors away, I think she’d be happy.’

  Ludo looked worried. He lowered his voice as the cat followed after them. ‘But
what if you’re wrong, Alys? What if it really was Ulura?’ The thought had kept him awake all night. ‘Because if that’s the case, what will come next is the Goddess of Death stalking us all.’

  Alys shook her head. ‘No, it was a trick. I saw that, and so did Reinar. I don’t know what this dreamer wants, but she certainly may try something else. Maybe tonight?’

  ‘And can you stop her?’ Ludo loped along, determined to walk Alys to her door, though he could hear Bjarni bellowing for him in the distance.

  ‘Me?’ Alys looked surprised.

  ‘Can’t the book help you? Tell you what to do?’ Ludo opened the door, shepherding her inside, quickly aware that it was almost colder in the cottage than outside. He set about making a fire.

  Alys frowned, eyes on the book lying open on her bed. She felt a tightness in her chest that would not ease. Her children were in danger. She was in danger. And she needed to find a way to save them all.

  ‘You don’t have to make a fire.’

  Ludo grinned, down on his haunches. ‘I think I do. Not sure you’ll have enough strength in those arms to even lift some tinder after all your practice.’ He saw Alys try to lift her arm and wince. ‘Ha! I remember how that goes. No, you sit with the book, see what you can find. I’ll get the flames going, then I’ll go chop some wood. Bjarni can wait.’ Ludo meant it. He wanted to help the dreamer find a way to help them.

  She had little confidence in herself, he could see.

  But perhaps she was their best chance for survival now?

  Mother Arnesson was in pain.

  She sat in the cottage, hunched over on a stool, frosty breath snaking around her. The fire had long since died, the door was locked.

  Two nights of casting the waking nightmares had worn her body.

  Taxed her spirit.

  And she was struggling to hold her focus.

  Her breathing was shallow. Rhythmic. Taking her into half a trance.

  Ivaar Skalleson had betrayed her sons. Betrayed them all.

  And Jael Furyck had killed them.

  Her heart ached for them. The loss never receded. It felt like a wave crashing against the shore, never retreating with the tide. It pounded the sand over and over again until Mother felt nothing but despair.

  The cry woke her out of her trance.

  The cry of her grandson. Borg’s son.

  Her blood and his.

  She staggered to her feet, heading for the door, pulling it open to see Falla squatting down beside the crying black-haired toddler, who looked up at his grandmother, tears in his eyes.

  And gritting her teeth, Mother felt her resolve harden.

  Determined to seek vengeance for them all.

  Magnus stood in the farmer’s house, still seeing the image of Eye Patch, dead on the ground, lips blue, slightly open, his body oddly stiff, the whetstone still in his hand.

  He wondered how long the man had been dead for, wishing he’d realised it sooner. Wishing he’d thought to try and escape earlier. Maybe there would have been a chance to get away?

  Lotta stood by Long Beard, who had a firm grip on her shoulder.

  Magnus was trying to wriggle away from Silver Tooth, who looked ready to whack him. He didn’t care; he couldn’t be left behind, sold as a slave. He couldn’t let those men take his sister to who knew where.

  Slussfall, that’s right. He wanted to remind himself.

  They were taking her to Slussfall.

  ‘He’s going to take some feeding,’ the woman grumbled, hands wedged into barely-there hips. And though they needed the help, she was not keen on the idea of feeding a growing boy.

  ‘He doesn’t have much of an appetite, do you, boy?’ Long Beard grinned, mismatched eyes full of threat.

  Magnus could feel Silver Tooth strengthen his hold on him. He wanted to scream, but he didn’t like the look of this man and woman any more than he liked the look of Long Beard and Silver Tooth. ‘No,’ he mumbled, ‘I don’t.’ It wasn’t true. His stomach ached with hunger, though he also felt nauseous with fear.

  Lotta closed her eyes, listening to the anger in Magnus’ voice. He had started getting angrier, she thought, trying to remember when he was younger and nicer to her. Now he didn’t want to play with her at all. He just wanted to go fishing. And when he’d caught his fish, he liked to smoke it himself. He was not very good at it, though, so their mother was always rubbing a salve on his burns and washing the smoke out of his hair and clothes. But he loved to eat the smoky fish, pulling it off the bone, kindly offering some to his sister.

  Lotta’s mind drifted to Ullaberg, shutting everyone else out.

  The farmer’s angry wife. The farmer. Long Beard and Eye Patch.

  Even Magnus.

  She smelled smoke from the fire, remembering the beach, her father and her mother. Her mother, who was lost in the smoke, hidden from her.

  But out there somewhere, Lotta was certain, and she closed her eyes.

  ‘Getting late,’ Long Beard muttered, eyeing Silver Tooth, stomach rumbling. They’d not been offered anything to eat, which had surprised both men, who could see the stew cooking over the fire pit in the centre of the old cottage.

  Smell it too.

  Hospitality around these parts appeared in short supply indeed.

  The farmer nodded, finally wilting under Long Beard’s stare. ‘We won’t have much, not with the boy to feed now, but you’re welcome to sup with us.’ He sensed his wife stiffen, knowing that she was a miserly woman at the best of times, even more so around strangers, but the farmer had a feeling that these men with their plentiful supply of weapons were not the sort of strangers to offend.

  Long Beard’s eyes opened as if surprised by the offer, but he accepted it without hesitation. ‘Thank you, yes. You don’t need to feed the boy, though,’ he added. ‘One meal a day will suffice.’

  The farmer looked pleased with the suggestion, though not as pleased as his wife, who scurried away to the back room to see how her daughter was faring with the dumplings.

  Magnus wasn’t listening, and he didn’t care either way. His eyes were on Lotta, who was swaying beside Long Beard, eyes closed. He couldn’t let her leave. He was supposed to be the leader.

  His mother had wanted him to save her.

  Alys curled up on the bed, Winter on her feet, warm and purring, eyes quickly closing. She felt herself drifting away, wondering how long it would be before someone was knocking on the door, dragging her back into the fort with all of its problems.

  She didn’t have to wonder for long.

  Sighing, Alys rolled over, disturbing Winter, who jumped off the bed, bounding to the door.

  Alys yawned, following him, opening it.

  To Reinar.

  ‘You were asleep?’ He looked surprised, then concerned. ‘Were you dreaming?’

  ‘Trying to.’

  ‘Well, I’ll go. Let you get back to it.’

  Alys felt guilty, knowing that she wasn’t trying to dream about anything to help him. ‘No, I’d struggle to fall asleep now, I imagine.’

  Reinar felt awkward, not sure what he was doing at her door. ‘My father says I should stay and fight.’

  Alys was surprised. ‘Does he?’

  Reinar nodded, still amazed to think that Stellan had emerged from his stupor for one brief moment. It had given him a lift. Some sense of hope. ‘I wanted you to know. Whatever comes now, we’re going to be staying, so I need you to do whatever you can, Alys. Your friends will have their freedom if they help us fight.’

  Alys was pleased, then she saw something else in his eyes. ‘But not me?’

  Reinar leaned against the door frame, distracted by the dress again. ‘You?’ His voice softened as he stared into her sleepy eyes, reminded of how good she was with a bow. ‘You really want to go back to that place? Your husband is dead. Do you really want to go back?’

  Alys sensed him moving closer, and she didn’t know what to do.

  The cat was miaowing around her legs, and she felt hot
all over, flustered and confused.

  ‘I...’ She couldn’t look away.

  And then Reinar leaned in and kissed her. ‘Do you really want to go back?’ he breathed, the question lingering in his eyes, his lips touching hers.

  Alys blinked. ‘No. Not to Ullaberg... no.’

  Reinar kissed her again, and Alys felt an odd mix of desire and terror course through her body. He was handsome and gentle and violent and kind and strong and... nothing like her husband at all. His lips were firm but not intrusive. He wanted her to kiss him back, but on her own terms; she sensed that.

  Then Reinar pulled away, feelings of guilt overwhelming him.

  Confused.

  It was Elin’s dress, but she was not Elin.

  ‘I have to be going,’ he mumbled, scratching his beard, avoiding Alys’ eyes. ‘I have to check on those friends of yours. See how many potential archers we have in our ranks.’ His smile came rushing back, but there was discomfort there now. An awkwardness between them. He backed away, sweeping his black fur cloak around his body. ‘But not you. As I said, I don’t want you up there, Alys de Sant. You’re too valuable as a dreamer. You need to stay in the cottage, with your cat and your books. See how you can help us from here.’ He stared at her, seeing the sadness in her eyes. ‘You will have your freedom too, I promise. If you help me, help us survive what is coming, I will free you too.’