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

by A. E. Rayne

  Alys nodded, relieved. Relieved that he didn’t want her to join his band of Ullaberg warriors. She could fire an arrow at a target. She could hit a rabbit or a deer, but the idea of trying to kill a man...

  She had considered it. Many times.

  Lying in bed at night, face bleeding and swollen, worried about her children.

  She had considered trying to kill one man, but perfect strangers?

  ‘I will read the books. Try to dream. See what I can find.’

  She sounded determined, her voice more confident than Reinar had heard it before, her face lovelier. He blinked, shaking that thought away, trying to keep his mind on what he needed to do.

  The fort. He needed to protect the fort.

  ‘I’ll have Agnette organise some supper. You can remain here, in peace.’

  Alys smiled. ‘Thank you. It will help, I think.’

  ‘Good, and perhaps we can go riding again in the morning? Unless, of course, we’re in for more fun tonight?’ Reinar backed away, turning around, the taste of Alys’ unfamiliar lips still on his.

  21

  Night fell, and the farmer became merry.

  His wife ordered their daughter to bed early, leaving her husband to entertain the strangers. She felt uneasy around both of them. Her husband was weak around drink, she knew. Better to let him make a fool of himself without dragging her into anything.

  She took Magnus to the stables.

  They reeked, and Magnus gagged as she pointed him to a stack of hay bales, not even offering him a blanket. ‘You’ll not get far if you run,’ the farmer’s wife warned. ‘No one cares for children around here. No one will feed you. Likely you’d starve to death before you found your freedom. At least here you have a roof and a bed. Some useful work to put your mind to.’ He was a young boy, she thought, wondering what had happened to his mother.

  ‘My sister,’ Magnus tried, hearing a touch of sympathy in the thin-lipped woman’s voice. ‘Those men will take her. I don’t know what they’ll do to her. Hurt her probably.’

  The farmer’s wife seemed to consider that for a time. The girl was a pretty little thing, not like her own daughter, who could sour milk with her ugliness. But prettiness was more of a curse, she knew. Look at the trouble it had gotten the little girl into. ‘You’re better off worrying about your own prospects now, boy. Work hard, and I’m sure there’ll be some extra food for you. Maybe a blanket too. Winter is coming, and it will get cold out here. Work hard, and forget your sister now. Those men want her. What can you do to stop them?’

  It was true.

  What could he do?

  Magnus swallowed, watching the woman back up to the doors, slipping out quickly, locking them after her. He stood, staring at the doors for some time, aware of how dark it was inside the barn; listening to her muttering as she hurried back to the house.

  And biting his lip to stop himself crying, Magnus made his way to the hay bales, thinking about Lotta.

  Tulia leaned against Sigurd’s arm, sensing that his mind was elsewhere. ‘You seem better today,’ she whispered, enjoying her wine. It felt nice, warming her chest, loosening her tension. She hated how cold Ottby was. The whole of Alekka was like a block of ice; summer rushing by in a wet blur, barely lifting the temperature. But now, winter loomed, and they were about to be besieged. They could all sense that.

  Unless she took Amir and left.

  He would go with her. But Sigurd?

  ‘I am. Though I’m looking forward to my bed.’ Sigurd ran a hand up Tulia’s thigh.

  ‘Really? Not tired, though?’

  ‘After the last two nights?’ He grinned. ‘Not tired at all.’

  Tulia looked almost happy, kissing him.

  Torvig scowled from across the hall. ‘What does your brother see in that angry woman?’ he wondered to Reinar.

  Reinar looked surprised. ‘Tulia?’ He laughed at his friend’s face. ‘Ha! You’d give anything to be Sigurd, and you know it.’

  Torvig’s scowl deepened. ‘I know she’s trying to tempt him away from here. And then what will you do without both of them?’

  ‘I know my brother well enough to know he’s not going anywhere,’ Reinar insisted.

  Torvig studied his ale, unsettled. ‘He left once before, didn’t he?’

  ‘He left for adventure, to explore the Fire Lands. He didn’t leave me. He came home when Stellan took ill.’ Reinar sat back, studying Torvig. ‘Why do you have it in for everyone tonight? We need to come together now, not pull each other apart.’ Bjarni sat on Reinar’s other side, looking ready for his bed, worried and sleepy all at the same time. Reinar nudged him. ‘You’re more use to Agnette than me right now, so go to bed. She’s probably lying there biting her nails, worrying about what will come for us in the night.’

  Bjarni swung around with a belch, waking himself up. ‘And you’re not? After last night? I would’ve shat myself doing what you did!’

  Reinar laughed. ‘I am wearing a new pair of trousers today.’ He banged his cup into Bjarni’s. ‘Go to bed before Agnette’s out here in her nightdress, telling you off.’

  Bjarni smiled at the thought of it, struggling to his feet with a yawn. ‘That’s enough to get me moving!’ And finishing his ale, he left his cup on the table, clapped Reinar on the back, lifted a hand to Sigurd, ignored Torvig, and headed for the bedchambers.

  Torvig looked even more irritated, eyes on Tulia who was laughing with her brother and Sigurd.

  ‘Maybe you should go to bed too?’ Reinar grinned. ‘Might put you in a better mood for tomorrow.’

  ‘And why are you in such a good mood? After the shit we’ve been through lately? After the last two nights? Terrorised by Ulura. Hakon Vettel breathing down our necks. Warriors breaking for the hills.’ Torvig shook his head, leaning towards Reinar. ‘Not to mention Elin leaving. So why are you in such a good mood, then?’

  Reinar wasn’t sure. And then he thought of his father, and he smiled. ‘I just feel different. As though I know what to do now. Before it was a mess, everything falling apart, but now I know what I’m supposed to do.’

  ‘Because of the dreamer?’

  ‘Alys?’ Reinar blinked, seeing her in the green dress, golden flowers across her breasts, her gentle eyes so full of fear and worry. ‘She’s helped, of course, but no... I just feel more certain now. Today I decided on the path to take. And now we’ll see where it leads.’

  ‘Mmmm.’ Torvig was ready for his bed. The thought of going to it alone did not appeal, though there were few women left in the hall, and none he’d consider inviting to join him. ‘As long as that path doesn’t lead us off a cliff.’ And grumbling, he pushed himself away from the table. ‘I wish you a long sleep, Reinar. I’ll check on the men before I head for bed. Those who are left, that is!’

  Reinar nodded, ignoring Torvig’s grumbling. That wasn’t new.

  The feeling of optimism bubbling inside his body was.

  Though he couldn’t help but wonder what would come for them in the night.

  Hakon was enjoying himself.

  The feast had been a success, his guests delighted with their host’s generosity.

  ‘My lord!’ Erlan Stari called out from his place down the table where he sat between Lief and Falla Gundersen, his bloated stomach straining his richly-embroidered tunic. He was a lump of a man in his late thirties, recently risen to the lordship of Hovring; a man who enjoyed the title, the reputation and the trappings that came with it. Having suffered under the thumb of an overbearing father and a mocking mother for much of his life, he was enjoying the attention and encouragement he was receiving from his hosts. His face was a florid red, his bloodshot eyes bright. ‘This wine is exquisite, my lord! I have never tasted such depth of flavour. My senses are exploding! Where did you find it?’

  Hakon was pleased with the compliment. ‘My wine merchant in Varis. He is a find, I must say. I have a great store of it in Orbo, though I brought enough with me to see us through a few more months yet. I shall
send word to have some delivered to Stornas so we can celebrate when I take the throne!’ And lifting his goblet in the air, he winked at his cousin, whose face he could just see poking through the hair of a rather plain girl he couldn’t remember the name of.

  Ivan didn’t appear to either hear or see him, and Hakon frowned, irritated that his cousin wasn’t sitting with him, entertaining their guests. Noticing Lief watching him intently, Hakon quickly removed any hint of frustration from his face. Ivan was family, his choice to lead their men. He didn’t want Lief thinking otherwise.

  Erlan Stari was impressed. ‘I’ve never been to Kalmera. Never visited the Fire Lands at all. Hovring has kept me far too busy since my father died!’

  Hakon barely heard him. His mind was encased in a thick, wine-fuelled haze, his body fizzing with anticipation for the great battle that loomed on the horizon like a glowing sun; one with Ake Bluefinn himself. Some thought Ake to be the greatest Alekkan warrior of all, but soon they would defeat him, tear his reputation to shreds.

  And then...

  Hakon frowned, his joy tarnished by regret, knowing that his father had died too soon to witness his victory.

  The hall was humming with excited voices. Mead girls navigated their way around swaying bodies holding half-empty buckets; slaves shuffled around silently, offering trays of rolled herring and fermented shark. Hakon caught his wife’s eye as she chatted to Falla. She had worked quickly but expertly to make the dark hall look magnificent, with centrepieces of candles, fir wreaths and pinecones dominating every table. There was such an abundance of candles that everyone appeared to be glowing as they squeezed together on fur-covered benches, laughing and drinking, enjoying the warmth and the company. Karolina smiled at her husband, pleased with the look of pride on his face. And content that he was satisfied, she turned back to Falla.

  Hakon, legs wobbling, head spinning, pushed his chair back and stood.

  The musicians paused, moving pipes away from moist lips, hands pressing against lyre strings, as one by one every man and woman in the hall turned to their lord with expectant faces.

  His goblet was nearly empty, but the moment had seized Hakon, and he did not plan to squander it, so raising his goblet, and steadying himself against the table, he began. ‘Many of us are young, but we are the future of this land! And soon, Alekka will be ours! Ake Bluefinn and his old lords threw our grandfathers, our fathers, and our uncles out of Stornas. Banished us North! Took the throne! Stripped us of our riches and our rights. Took away that which was ours!’ One fist curling now, Hakon’s joy quickly soured, hate tightening the knot inside his heart. ‘But they could never take our desire! And they could never break our spirit! Nor our determination to seek their heads and slake the land with their treacherous blood. Our land! With their blood!’

  Those not yet on their feet were scrambling off benches, cups in hand, roaring their approval. ‘My dreamer showed them the wolf! Ulura Blood Hunter! Seeker of the soon to be dead! And they may see it as a dream, or they may see it as an omen, but soon they will see me coming for them! A real wolf with real teeth! Soon they will see us all coming for them! And I promise you that it will be the last thing they ever see!’

  The applause was deafening.

  Lief joined in, though his eyes remained dead and his clapping was not enthusiastic. He was not a man comfortable with displays of emotion. Not even in battle. He killed with precision and skill. With purpose and intent. None of it was for show. All of it was to achieve whichever goal he had set himself.

  And Lief Gundersen had set himself the same goal as his father: to return the Vettels to Stornas, where it was the gods’ will for them to rule the people of Alekka. His father had been by Jorek Vettel’s side, killed with him as he was wrenched from the throne. Lief had been there too, as a young man, watching with Jesper Vettel as their fathers were murdered. They had fled North, stealing ships, sailing to Orbo, determined to start again. Determined that one day, Alekka would return to the hands of its rightful rulers.

  And now, here he stood, ready to help his son achieve what Jesper never could.

  Lief frowned, annoyed at himself for letting painful memories float up to the surface. He tried to bring himself back into the hall, turning his attention away from Hakon, towards his beautiful wife, who sat beside Karolina Vettel, occasionally leaning towards her, gossiping about their guests.

  Karolina was smiling, listening to Falla, though her eyes remained on her husband, who sought her adoration. And she tried to give it to him, though her face ached from making such an effort. She tried to remind herself that soon he would be gone. He would not take her with him. She would remain behind, free, alone, and praying to Vasa every night that she would take Hakon in battle. Not Thenor, Father of the Gods, who liked to roam the fields of the dead, searching for worthy heroes to take back to his fortress, wanting to honour them for their bravery.

  No, Karolina hoped that Hakon would be taken by the unforgiving Vasa, who liked to feed the weak and misbegotten to her ravenous ravens.

  Karolina’s eyes moved to Ivan, who had his hand up her servant’s dress. And now her smile widened, for if Hakon continued to place his faith in a feckless fool like his cousin, his death was almost certainly guaranteed.

  Steffan didn’t like Torvig Aleksen. Torvig had tried to rape his sister – his married sister – and she didn’t have a good word to say about him.

  But Steffan was the younger of the two guards Reinar had tasked with watching the Ullaberg women, and he didn’t feel he could say anything when Torvig slipped Old Ebbert a silver coin and disappeared into the barn.

  Alys sat on the beach, waiting.

  She had found her way back into the dream where she’d heard the men who had taken her children. Her heart stuttered at just the thought of it, listening, wanting to hear more. But time passed, the sun sank into the sea, hiding its light and warmth from her, and the only noise Alys could hear was the sound of waves washing up the sand.

  And then Reinar’s voice, asking if she wanted to go back to Ullaberg.

  She found herself shaking her head, not wanting to be on the beach at all.

  Eventually, the sky became pitch black, and Alys stood, needing to disappear into another dream. And then a sweet voice she knew so well.

  ‘But you can’t leave my brother here. He’s not a slave!’

  ‘He is now I’ve sold him.’

  Alys squeezed her eyes closed, wanting to see something, not just hear voices.

  She needed to see!

  ‘Leave me with him, then. Please! I must stay with him.’

  ‘My pretty girl... but I won’t be apart from you now. You’re to come with me. I’m taking you to Slussfall. To my house. We will be together. You, me, and my wife. A real family, at last.’

  Alys stumbled in the sand, hands at her throat, body trembling.

  Slussfall.

  But where was Magnus? Where was Magnus?

  ‘Where are we?’ Lotta asked. ‘How far is it to Slussfall?’

  ‘You have a lot of questions for a tired little princess. Now, here, lie down. I stole a fur from that drunk old farmer. He won’t miss it. Lie down, and I’ll cover you up. It’s none too warm in here.’

  ‘But where are we?’

  ‘Sleep well, my princess.’

  And then nothing.

  Stina had been sound asleep when Torvig grabbed her, surprised on both counts. She felt the calloused hand over her mouth, heard the whispered threats in her ear. She saw the knife in his hand, glinting in the rays of moonlight beaming through the smoke hole, and shaking, she stumbled beside him as he took her out of the barn, dragging her across the square.

  Reinar lay on his side of the bed, tortured by desire and grief. He rolled over, hand on the empty space Elin had left behind, thinking about Alys wearing that green dress, listening for the howl of a wolf.

  Waiting.

  His wife had been gone for twenty-seven days, and he’d already kissed another woman.

/>   He felt guilt, then annoyance that he should feel guilt at all.

  Then frustration that his mind kept fixating on any of it.

  He had a fort to defend. There was no time to think about women.

  Or grief, or loneliness either.

  Sighing, Reinar closed his eyes, trying to imagine what would come next.

  Hoping to find the answer to why the gods had abandoned him.

  Wondering how he could earn back their favour...

  Alys rolled up into a sitting position, shaking.

  The cottage was dark and cold, the cat nowhere to be seen. She was surprised by that but too distracted to dwell on it for long. Her dreams floated just out of reach, teasing her as her breathing slowed and her heartbeat steadied itself.

  And then she remembered Lotta’s voice, and her eyes burst open.

  Magnus was sold, and a man was taking Lotta away.

  A man had her daughter. She remembered the voice. He sounded middle-aged, perhaps older. It was a gravelly sort of voice. Hard as rock. Sharp-edged and strange.

  Alys shivered, trying to shut it out, needing to focus on what else she had learned. Grabbing the bed fur, she wrapped it around her shoulders. It stunk of smoke, but she didn’t notice as she crept to the fire, reaching for the tinderbox which she’d left on a stool. She thought of Ludo, grateful that he’d brought her a big stack of wood. The night felt young, and she had to see what she could find in that book.

  Her mind wandered briefly to the wolf, dismissing it quickly, realising that she had spent far too long worrying about Reinar Vilander and his problems, and not nearly enough on her own.

  She had to think about what she could do to save her children.

  Jonas woke with a yelp, legs in a strange position, body twisted uncomfortably. He’d been trapped in a timeless dream, where his wife, Eida, had been young and ravishing and he had been a powerful warrior, battling in the shield wall with Vik. He grinned sadly as the images of youth and love faded, and his aches and pains grew more demanding, urging him to move.