by A. E. Rayne
Somehow, he would find a way to escape.
A way out of here to find Lotta.
‘What are you standing there for?’ the farmer’s wife snapped. ‘Move!’
Lotta was starving, and she gratefully took the pieces of piping-hot trout Long Beard handed her. They had camped by a stream, which, as the sun rose and the day began, remained mist-touched. The two men had fished with spears, each of them keeping an eye on her as she stood on the bank, petting her white pony.
But Lotta wasn’t going anywhere.
She knew that Magnus would find her, or her mother.
Perhaps even her great-grandfather.
If she stayed with the men, and let them take her to Slussfall, they would know how to find her.
And Long Beard, though he disturbed her with his habit of keeping her close and touching her hair, wanted to care for her. She didn’t feel safe, but she felt certain that he would do everything in his power to get her to his wife. Silver Tooth was no threat. He had become sicker, his face turning as sallow as Eye Patch’s had before he died.
That was now Lotta’s biggest fear: that both men would die before they got her to Slussfall. For Slussfall was where she needed to be if she wanted to be found.
‘Willow bark,’ Lotta suggested nervously, swallowing her last mouthful of trout. She shook her head as Long Beard offered her his waterskin, not wanting to share anything he’d been drinking from. Both men had a habit of spitting and snotting all over everything, especially as the sickness took hold, and she didn’t want to touch anything they’d been using. It was a memory she held on to from her mother, when a terrible sickness had ravaged Ullaberg. Scores of men and women, and some of her friends had died. Her mother had scolded them whenever they went near the sick; whenever they touched, ate, or drank anything the sick had been near. Lotta was determined to learn that lesson, and she edged away from Silver Tooth, who was spluttering nearby. ‘Willow bark helps fever. That’s a willow tree.’ And she pointed to the drooping tree Clover was tied to.
Long Beard blinked in surprise. ‘A healer are you, little miss?’ He grinned at Silver Tooth, who felt too ill to look interested at all. ‘Well, how about that.’ And turning, he stripped off some of the bark. ‘What do we do with it, then? Chew it?’
Lotta nodded. ‘It may help. Elderberries are good too.’
‘Was your mother a healer, then?’ Long Beard wondered, walking over to Silver Tooth, who took the piece of willow bark with some hesitation.
Lotta didn’t want to think about her mother because she didn’t want to cry. ‘No, an old lady in our village.’ She thought of hunch-backed Ria, who would come to their cottage often with little pots of salve for her mother, to help heal all her bruises.
Lotta frowned, hoping her mother was safe; that no one was hurting her, wherever she was.
It felt good to escape the fort for a while, but Alys could not escape the noise in her head. It followed her as she rode beside Reinar on his wife’s horse, wearing his wife’s cloak and dress. And suddenly her drifting mind was right back in the forest they rode through, snow flurries sweeping all around them, the sun struggling to break through the thick canopy of clouds.
‘Tell me what you dreamed of last night,’ Reinar said, slowing down his horse. He felt impatient to know everything, though his experience with dreamers had taught him that it was rarely as simple as that.
Alys froze, gripping the reins tightly, realising that she hadn’t even attempted to dream of anything for him, though she had seen a glimpse of something as she dressed. ‘I saw an army, leaving in the snow. They were heading through gates in a fortress. It was made of stone. Set in the mountains, I think. There were a lot of men. Rows and rows of them.’
Reinar pulled his horse to a complete halt. ‘What?’ He turned in the saddle, glaring at her, mouth open. ‘What? Alys! Why didn’t you tell me? I needed to know this. I need to be back at the fort, organising everyone.’ He was cross, but not really at her. ‘I thought we had more time.’
Alys was quickly flustered. ‘I... I... I’m sorry. I forgot.’
Reinar was still annoyed as he spun his horse around, heading back to the fort, barely waiting for her to catch up. Alys enjoyed riding, and she was skilled at it, so it didn’t take long for her to be matching his horse’s stride again, though she kept the mare slightly back, not wanting to talk to Reinar.
He didn’t notice. His mind was whirring, wondering what they could achieve in the time they had left. He’d been talking over ideas with Sigurd, and he hoped there was still time to put them in place.
Spinning around, he peered at Alys. ‘Was it today? Did they leave today?’
The fort’s gates were in view now, and Reinar’s eyes were quickly back on the two walls, checking how many men were manning those ramparts, wishing there were more.
Alys nodded. ‘I think so.’
‘Think?’ Reinar frowned, peering at her. ‘Why don’t you know?’
Now Alys couldn’t think at all. His raised voice had unsettled her; his narrowed eyes, the twist of his lips. Her heart beat faster, and she panicked, memories of Arnon raising his hand in anger surging back.
She shrugged, unable to speak.
Reinar turned back around, spurring his horse on.
Alys followed after him, heart pounding. She didn’t notice the hole in the path, and nor did her horse, who stuck a hoof into it, tipping forward, throwing Alys out of the saddle as she stumbled down to the ground.
Alys yelped, flying through the air, the look of fear in Reinar’s eyes as he spun around, the last thing she saw before she hit the tree.
Tulia was pleased to see Sigurd hobbling around the training ring. She needed all the help she could get. A few of the women had progressed – those with strong arms, broad shoulders, and a certain determination about themselves – others couldn’t shoot an arrow further than their own boots. But there were eleven potential archers that Sigurd was now helping her to train. And eleven potential archers could do plenty of damage from the walls.
And then there was the mad beast Ilene, who seemed able and determined to rise to every challenge Tulia set her. She had so much potential that Tulia couldn’t decide how best to utilise her, and as she was intimidating all the other women, she’d sent Ilene to train with Amir, who seemed to be enjoying himself as he wrestled her to the ground.
Ludo had been given the gentler task of teaching a small group of women how to support the ramparts. These women were less confident, quieter, mostly smaller. They would be the oil runners. The brazier lighters. The arrow collectors. They would be his extra pairs of hands.
Ludo saw Amir grappling with Ilene, and he grinned, but turning to Stina, who he knew was Alys’ friend, he frowned. ‘Are you alright?’ he wondered, touching her arm.
Stina flinched, jerking around, horror in her eyes.
‘I’m sorry,’ Ludo mumbled, stepping back.
Stina shook, wrapping her arms around her new blue dress. It did not fit her. She hadn’t fought hard enough for the grey dress she’d actually wanted, that appeared to be her size. Ilene had taken that one. Still, it was well made and warm. Though a cloak would have been welcome. The Lord of Ottby’s mother had insisted there were few cloaks going spare, promising to hunt for some furs. Though she’d never returned to the square, and the Ullaberg women continued to freeze, despite their new dresses.
Stina couldn’t meet Ludo’s eye. ‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening.’
‘No, but you’re cold. It’s hard to concentrate when you’re cold. Why don’t we stop for a while? I’ll go to the hall, find you all something warm to eat. Might help us think!’
Ludo Moller had a kind face, and Stina blinked, bringing herself back into the moment. ‘Thank you,’ she said, trying to smile.
‘Would you come with me? I might need some help.’
Stina swallowed, wanting to say no, but she saw a glimpse of Torvig walking into the fort, spade in hand, eyes immediately scanning the w
omen. He saw her and grinned broadly.
Stina shuddered.
Ludo followed her gaze to Torvig. ‘Come on, maybe we can find something warm to drink in the hall as well. Sometimes, Agnette makes spiced wine. When Gerda has her back turned! Stellan likes it, you see. Always has. Even now. You can see his face light up when he smells that wine heating.’
Hearing the warmth in his voice, Stina nodded, following after Ludo, head down, not wanting another glimpse of Torvig Aleksen and his mocking eyes. Hearing a shout, she looked up as Reinar rode into the fort, Alys slumped over his horse, golden hair hanging down. ‘Alys!’ And all thoughts of Torvig gone, Stina hoisted up her long dress, running towards the inner gates.
Ludo followed after her. ‘What happened?’
Sigurd, who was moving the archery targets back a few paces, quickly left them behind, slipping out of the training ring, hobbling towards Reinar.
‘Milka threw her. A hole in the path, I think. She went down hard, and Alys hit a tree.’ Alys was unconscious, limp in Reinar’s arms as he gently lifted her off his horse. ‘Ludo, go back for Milka. Check on her. She might be injured. Agnette!’ he called to his cousin, who was moving towards him as quickly as her pendulous belly would allow. ‘Go tell Eddeth I’m coming!’
Eddeth was lying on her freshly swept floorboards, eyes closed, inhaling the scents of her cottage, trying to decide which herbs she should pick for her morning libation. It was a daily practice, and, living alone, one that had never been interrupted.
The banging on the door gave her such a fright that she bit her tongue, launching herself off the floor in an irritable fluster. ‘What madness is this? Are we under attack?’ She glared at the door, making no move towards it. She was still in her nightdress, socks on her feet.
‘Eddeth!’ Agnette called. ‘Open the door! Alys needs your help!’
‘The dreamer? The dreamer needs my help?’ And eyes darting about, Eddeth started rubbing her fingers together.
‘Eddeth!’
Recognising Reinar’s booming voice, Eddeth woke herself up, striding towards the door with purpose now, unbolting it with speed. ‘What has... oh!’ And moving quickly out of the way, she let Reinar into the cottage, where he hurried to her bed, lying Alys down upon it, shooing away Eddeth’s old grey cat, who was too fat to get down on his own. Eddeth picked him up, stroking him distractedly as he growled. ‘What have you done to her?’ She eyed Reinar with suspicion.
‘She was thrown from a horse. She hit her head on a tree.’
‘Ooohhh!’ Eddeth winced, leaving the enormous cat on a stool. Bending over Alys, she touched her swelling head, running a hand down to her neck, feeling a pulse. It was strong. ‘Sleeping!’ she announced with some relief. And lowering her ear to Alys’ mouth, she listened. Jerking upright immediately, elbowing Reinar and Agnette out of the way, Eddeth moved down Alys’ body, hands rubbing her cloak in wriggling movements, like a worm, until she reached Alys’ muddy boots. And closing her eyes, Eddeth gripped the boots, inhaling a deep breath. ‘I shall care for her now,’ she said calmly, opening her eyes. ‘Agnette, you may stay and help me, if you can stand the smell. It won’t be pleasant, though, for I shall be using wild garlic, and I know how much you hate garlic!’
Reinar stepped back towards the door, eyes on Alys, who remained perfectly still. He could see her chest rising and falling, and he could feel his own chest, which felt tight and uncomfortable, remembering his anger at her; cross with himself for always making everything worse. ‘Come and see me when she wakes, Agnette,’ he said to his cousin, who barely nodded as he slipped out of the cottage.
‘Will she be alright?’ Agnette whispered, eyes on Alys.
‘How would I know?’ Eddeth snorted. ‘That’s the dreamer!’ And turning around, she considered her table, picking the wart under her eye, wondering where to begin.
They met in the hall, around the map table.
Reinar and Sigurd looked worried. Bjarni was trying to calm Gerda down. Torvig looked impatient, and Ludo, who had just returned from seeing to both horses, was wondering what he’d missed.
‘Before she fell...’ Reinar paused, remembering the sound of Alys shouting out as she flew through the air. He took a deep breath. ‘Before she fell, Alys said she’d seen an army on the march, leaving a fortress. A great stone fortress, in the snow.’
Sigurd’s eyes rounded. ‘Sounds like Slussfall.’ They had been waiting for so long that it felt as though the battle would never come. There had been skirmishes, the attack at sea, but now Hakon Vettel obviously felt confident enough to bring his army to their walls.
And though Ottby’s walls were stronger than most, their army was not. And that worried him.
‘It does,’ Reinar agreed.
Tulia stood on Sigurd’s right, closest to the fire, eyes wary. ‘How many days do we have?’
‘Six.’ Sigurd turned to her. ‘Depending on the weather. And it does appear to be closing in out there.’ Tulia didn’t look pleased to receive that information, and he grinned, turning back to his brother, who was frowning.
‘I need to speak to Alys.’ Reinar glanced at the door, hoping to see Agnette.
‘Reinar!’ Torvig was irritated. ‘We don’t need a dreamer to tell us what to do. We have days to finish the ditches. We can make new stakes, bring in wood. Braziers everywhere. Prepare our inner defenses. Finish the field and the forest. That’s how you win a siege. Not with a dreamer, even if she does live!’
Reinar stared at the map. ‘We’ll do all of that, of course.’ He didn’t say any more about Alys. ‘But we need to anticipate what Hakon will do, however we do it. We can’t afford to lose more men, but I’ll send out two scouts. Beggi and his son. They have fast horses, and they know how to ride them hard.’ He thought of his wife’s horse, hoping she was going to be alright.
Bjarni returned after sending Gerda to the kitchen, asking her to check how much oil they had to hand. ‘I only hope they make it back before the Vettels are here. We need to know what he’s bringing.’
‘Well, Alys could certainly tell you that, couldn’t she?’ Ludo didn’t care what Torvig thought. And he felt worried himself. ‘She’d be able to see how many men, how many siege towers they had with them.’
Reinar nodded. ‘We can’t rely on it, though, and we shouldn’t.’ The map table had been his father’s pride and joy. Stellan had carved the little wooden ships and men and horses himself. He would tinker with it nightly, placing his enemies where he’d last heard of their presence; moving his king back to Stornas, or out West, depending on what Ake’s last note had said. And now, Reinar picked up that painted king and placed him at Ennor. ‘This is where Ake was heading when he left here. He won’t return for this battle, though he’ll be forced to if Hakon gets through us.’ His voice was hushed, not wanting to consider such a fate possible. ‘I’ve asked Stornas for men, though I don’t know if Ake left a big enough garrison to spare any.’
‘How long will it take the Stornas men to get here?’ Tulia wondered. She wanted to know everything as she weighed up whether to leave. Amir was outside, still training the women in the snow. She had cared for him since he was a boy; ten years now of being both his mother and sister. She hadn’t wanted to leave him behind in Kalmera when she’d agreed to come to Ottby with Sigurd. And Amir appeared to have enjoyed the adventure, and the friends he’d made, especially Ludo, but she could not send him to slaughter. For what?
A bridge?
A king?
Tulia inhaled sharply, eyes on Sigurd, whose back was stiff, not turning around.
‘Three days. Three days of solid riding, if the weather’s fair.’
‘If whoever is in charge of that garrison wishes to help you.’
‘I’ve been sending warnings to our neighbours for months. They know Hakon is coming. I’ll send more notes now. If they can’t send men, it will be our fight. Ours alone. We can hold out. You know that, Sigurd, Bjarni. You know that.’
They had survived
sieges before, but Hakon Vettel had swallowed up many settlements since capturing Slussfall, and rumours about the size of his growing army kept their confidence ragged.
Sigurd nodded, wanting to support his brother. ‘Our walls have not been breached in years. All the strengthening work Father did? The new gates? Hakon hasn’t been here since we killed Jesper. He doesn’t know what he’ll be facing. And once his balls shrivel up, and he spends night after night in his flapping tent, missing his wife and his bed, he’ll start to wonder what he was even thinking.’
Reinar lifted his head, appreciating the reminder. ‘The snow will make it harder, that’s for sure. He’s an arrogant shit to think he can besiege us in the snow.’
‘Perhaps he’s not planning on besieging us?’ Torvig put in, ignoring everyone but Reinar. ‘Maybe he’s got enough men to crush us outright? Maybe he’s not planning on sleeping in tents outside our gates at all?’
And just like that, all the air went out of the hall.
Alys heard Reinar’s voice, sharp in her ears.
But no fear trembled her limbs now. No memories of her cruel husband terrorised her. She held out a hand, touching the tree. Its bark was gnarled, rough, silvery-grey, covered in patches of bright-green lichen.
Alys could hear someone else’s voice now.
More than one.
And spinning around, she expected to see Reinar with the horses, but she was staring into a cottage. It was dark, apart from the glowing fire that blazed away in the centre of it.
Voices echoed around her. Snatches of words. Someone pounding a drum.
Shivering, Alys turned back to the tree, heart thudding.
‘I will weaken our enemy!’ came a shrieking woman’s voice. ‘Send him to his knees! Break his spirit, his desire to fight!’
Spitting, snarling, the woman carried on shouting, and Alys spun around, trying to get away. She stumbled, falling, hearing the whinny of a horse.