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

by A. E. Rayne

  ‘They will be here today.’

  Reinar felt both surprised and relieved. ‘No snow holding them up, then?’

  ‘No. They are marching quickly now. I see no snow. Maybe just frost.’

  Reinar blinked, irritated, wondering again if the gods favoured him at all.

  When Alys had woken, her dreams lingered just out of reach. She had barely been aware that she’d had any. But then she had seen the flashes of fire, heard the terrifying noises, seen visions of Tulia’s pained face.

  She’d seen everything.

  Including Lotta, trapped with that old dreamer.

  Gripping the arms of the chair, Alys tried to focus, sensing Reinar’s tension. ‘They have many men. Thousands, I would guess. Their rows stretched back as far as I could see. Speartips and banners, the red ones with the boar on it, just like on those ships. Their horses were armoured. The men riding them were heavily armoured too.’ She took a quick breath, closing her eyes, wanting to bring more images into her mind. Her eyes sprang open. ‘The dreamer is with them. She rides in a wagon...’ Alys stopped herself from going any further. ‘They have many catapults. I saw towers on wheels, pulled along by oxen. In my dream, the sun was shining, and they could see our walls.’

  If he’d had the men, Reinar would have set upon Hakon before now; ended it before he’d ever caught a glimpse of his walls. But he didn’t. So he’d had to sit and wait and hear about his conquests along the Eastern Shore. He’d had to wait like an animal stuck in a trap.

  He took a seat beside her. ‘What else?’

  ‘Fire. I saw a lot of fire across the sky. Inside the fort too.’

  Reinar nodded. ‘We’re prepared for that, don’t worry.’

  ‘People were dying.’

  Reinar stared at Alys, wanting to ask who. But he didn’t. He had to do his best to protect everyone. ‘I think you should come into the hall. Eddeth too. It’s best if you’re all together. Agnette and my father. My mother, as well. Bjarni will be in charge, but he could use some help from you.’

  ‘I think you’re right. We’ll gather our things.’ Alys stood to leave, but Reinar grabbed her hand.

  ‘Take care of yourself first, though. I’ve seen you, Alys de Sant. You look like you want to disappear, not be noticed by anyone. That you don’t matter. I saw what your husband did to you too.’ He stood, looking down at her, lifting a hand to her face. ‘But you do matter. And you can help a lot of people today. You can save lives.’ Reinar pulled his hand away, his eyes remaining on hers. ‘Don’t forget that. Take care of yourself, and when the times comes, don’t be afraid to fight.’

  Lotta had been moved onto the opposite seat of the wagon, next to Falla, though that meant she was forced to face Mother, who stared at her constantly, when she wasn’t chanting, eyes closed, swaying around.

  Falla peered at Mother, who had slumped slightly to one side, elbow on the raven’s cage, mouth ajar, snoring. She sighed. Bored. Hungry. Cold. Ready for it all to be over. The thought of her husband returning to her victorious was appealing, though the thought of being inside a house with a bed, table and chairs, walls and soft furnishings was far more desirous.

  She touched her belly, feeling annoyed. This was the wrong time and the wrong place to be with child. She glanced at the girl. ‘What do you see then, little dreamer? Is she right?’ Falla kept her voice low, leaning towards Lotta. ‘Is there a baby growing inside me?’ She knew Mother well enough to fear that her eyes would pop open at any moment.

  Lotta was surprised by the question. ‘I don’t know.’

  Falla sighed. ‘Well, what sort of dreamer are you, then?’

  ‘I don’t know if I’m a dreamer at all,’ Lotta admitted sadly. She wanted dreams of her mother and Magnus, but they didn’t come. She wanted to see a future where she was older, safe, with her family, back in Ullaberg again, but all she saw was Long Beard’s grinning face, and it frightened her.

  ‘Well, Mother thinks you are, and she would know. There aren’t many dreamers more powerful than Mother Arnesson.’

  ‘Is she your mother?’ Lotta wondered.

  Falla tried not to laugh. ‘No, she was my husband’s mother. My second husband. I don’t know her real name, though she had so many children once that everyone started calling her Mother.’

  Lotta’s eyes were wide with curiosity now. She liked to know things. ‘How many children did she have?’

  ‘Eleven, I believe,’ Falla whispered, almost enjoying talking to someone who wasn’t a sharp-tongued old witch. ‘Though by the time they got through childhood, there were only three boys left, and one of them was my husband.’

  ‘What happened to him?’

  Falla was quiet for a moment. ‘He was killed.’ Her nostrils flared, and she felt the absence of her son again. ‘Murdered by a woman who will one day pay for it. That’s why we’re heading south. To see that she does.’

  Lotta wasn’t sure what she thought. She didn’t mind Falla, who was pretty, though she had a mean look in her eyes sometimes. But she was preferable to any of her other captors, so Lotta sat back on the seat, closing her eyes, trying to find a dream.

  ‘On the gates?’ Ludo and Amir glanced at each other, confused. ‘You want us to paint this symbol on all of the gates?’

  ‘Of course all of the gates!’ Eddeth was getting cross, which was most unlike her. ‘Big. Make them big! Paint them in blood!’

  Ludo peered at Alys, who nodded in support of Eddeth’s idea. ‘Alright, but you’ll have to come with us, Eddeth. We need to know we’re doing it right. I’ve never painted symbols before.’

  Eddeth was instantly cheerful again. ‘Yes, yes, I would be delighted to! I’ll go and kill something. We’ll need a lot of blood. You’d best come with me, Alys. Bring that miserable friend of yours. She can help.’

  Stina was standing near Ludo, arms crossed, too anxious to notice how cold she felt; how hungry and tired too. Alys touched her arm, and she jumped. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Come with us,’ Alys smiled. ‘If you’d like? We need to go –’

  ‘We need a goose!’ Eddeth shouted over her. ‘We’ll kill it before the tree. Make a proper offering. It’s what we should do!’

  Stina looked sick at the thought of it, but she nodded, traipsing after Alys, and Eddeth, who was already bounding ahead like a cat.

  Ludo turned to Amir. ‘We’d better find some tools. Amir!’ But Amir was heading towards Ilene, who had come down from the ramparts, eager to catch a moment alone with him.

  Tulia rolled her eyes as she strode towards Ludo. ‘You might try to keep an eye on him,’ she grumbled, heading for Sigurd. ‘And whatever you do, keep him away from those ramparts when Hakon’s men come! He’ll be too busy drooling over that girl to see anything coming!’ She reached Sigurd, her eyes searching his face. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Alys sees them coming today.’

  ‘Good.’ Tulia shut away any tremors of worry. They weren’t as prepared as she wanted them to be, but it was better to get on with things. There would be no ending without a beginning, and she was eager for it all to be over. ‘We’re ready on the walls. Well, ours, at least. With that idiot Torvig running things on the low wall, who knows what a mess he’s made.’

  Sigurd grabbed her arm, trying to get her attention. ‘Reinar will be there. He’ll be in charge of that wall.’ The thought of that made him anxious. The low wall had been Stellan’s. He had always kept his sons behind him on the inner wall, knowing it was the safer place to be.

  ‘Hmmm.’ Tulia wanted to go. She needed to find her helmet.

  ‘Now’s not the time to grumble about Torvig. This might be our last day. We shouldn’t waste time on him.’

  Tulia couldn’t agree more. ‘Well, how about we go into the ring, then? I’ll beat you with my sword until you beg for mercy. Or we could go back to the chamber? Get naked?’

  Sigurd laughed, kissing her. ‘You look too happy about this possibly being our last day together. Maybe you’re thinking you’
ll slip away while all the fighting’s going on? Run down to the ships?’

  ‘Might do. Depends how things are going.’ Tulia smiled, pushing him away, quickly frowning again. ‘And did the dreamer say anything about that? About how it would go?’ Not one part of her wanted to acknowledge that she very much wanted some clue herself. She felt anxious about Amir and Sigurd, wanting some assurance that they’d be alright.

  ‘Ha! You really want to know, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes. You’re desperate to know but too stubborn to ask!’

  Tulia had quickly had enough of Sigurd, and she headed to the nearest table, helping herself to a jug of – she poured it into a cup, sniffing – ale. The taste was not to her taste, but Tulia tipped it down her throat anyway, eager to get on. ‘So, what you’re saying, Sigurd Vilander, is that you believe the dreamer now? You believe the gods? You believe in the visions they send to these chosen women?’

  Sigurd followed her, frowning. He didn’t know the answer.

  He had always hewn to a path where the only things that were real were what he could see before him, or touch with his own two hands. But after the wolf, and the bruises on Alys’ neck, he’d felt a subtle shift, a change stirring inside of him, though he wasn’t ready to leave behind a lifetime of mistrust and cynicism just yet. ‘I believe only what I’ve seen. And Alys didn’t make those bruises herself. She didn’t make that wolf either, so... I believe some things. Just some.’

  ‘And has she seen anything about you?’ Tulia wondered, softening slightly.

  ‘Not that I’m aware of.’ Sigurd moved closer, eyes narrowed. ‘But I’d rather talk about you and me than Alys. About your plan... the one that involved us getting naked.’

  Tulia laughed, spinning away from him. ‘Well, if we make it through the day, Sigurd Vilander, I shall come looking for you to celebrate!’

  Sigurd stared after her with a grin, watching as she walked past Torvig, who scowled at her. Shaking his head, he turned and walked towards the hall, wanting to see his father.

  Hakon felt his father riding with him.

  He remembered what it had felt like to accompany him into battle. Against his step-mother’s strenuous objections, Jesper Vettel had taken his son into battle from the age of ten. He’d insisted that the boy needed to experience the noise and the fear of war. Jesper wanted it to wash over him like water, until he was bathing in it. Until it became so familiar to Hakon that when it came time for him to pick up his own sword and join the fray, he would be thirsty for the blood-letting, craving it like wine. Jesper had seen too many boys who thought they were men shit their trousers and cry for their mothers as battle swallowed them whole. He had been determined that his son would never be so ill-prepared.

  So the thought of what was coming only excited Hakon. He did not feel either fearful or anxious. He had a dreamer, a powerful witch dreamer, who would alert him to any problems. He had an army bigger than his father had ever commanded behind him, men he could trust on either side of him, and an enemy he had weakened to the point where it was almost cruel to wage war against them.

  But the cruelty was the point, his father growled in his ear.

  To crush, rather than defeat. To twist the knife, rather than leave a clean wound.

  The point was to be so cruel and merciless that your enemies – those you let live to tell the tale – would warn others away from ever bringing their armies to your door. Those terrified men would share and spread the tales of your viciousness, and your reputation for cruelty would grow.

  Hakon sighed, thinking about his father. It was hard to be doing this without him. But the only thing that mattered, Hakon knew, was that he did it right.

  That he made his father and his son proud.

  Turning to Ulrick, who sat on his horse beside him, he smiled. ‘A good day for a battle!’

  Ulrick nodded, feeling well-rested. His faithful sword was sharp, sitting proudly in its sheepskin-lined scabbard. Any hint of the illness that had killed his friends was no more than a tickle in his throat now, and when he turned around, he felt heartened by the stream of warriors riding and marching behind them. ‘It will be, my lord, though it may not be true battle for some time. Ottby’s walls are a real bitch.’ He remembered how many times he’d been pushed back off those unforgiving walls over the years. He had the scars on his face, on his arms, and on his back to remind him.

  Hakon dropped his shoulders, lifting his head. ‘But a bitch dog can be tamed, Ulrick. And without men on those walls, what use are they but climbing practice for us?’ He was not about to have his confidence dented. Mother had seen a victory as decisive as any ever witnessed. Old hands like Ulrick were always harking back to the past; seeing every new challenge through their fading eyes; trying to invent reasons for why they might not be able to meet it.

  But Hakon was not an old man, and he saw perfectly.

  As did his dreamer.

  Victory lay ahead.

  Only victory.

  ‘Can you talk to her!’ Agnette sighed, her aching feet and her aching back not as painful as the continual high-pitched shriek of her panicking aunt. She glanced at Alys, who had extracted herself from Eddeth’s ritual, deciding instead to head to the hall with Salma’s books.

  Agnette had cleared out a spare chamber, sending Bjarni to help Alys bring the rest of hers and Eddeth’s things over. But even away from the main hall, Gerda’s voice still rang in her ears. ‘She seems to think I can be in three places at once. At least three! And in my condition?’ Agnette’s face was bright red, her hands wedged into her hips when she wasn’t trying to help Alys move something around.

  ‘What should I say?’ Alys wondered, feeling intimidated by just the thought of speaking to Gerda Vilander.

  ‘I don’t think it matters.’ Agnette lowered her voice, glancing at the open chamber door. ‘It doesn’t need to be the truth. Just reassure her. She’ll believe you. Gerda is a great believer in dreamers. Just reassure her that we’ll be safe in here. That nothing will happen to Sigurd and Reinar.’ And nudging Alys towards the door, she pushed her into the corridor, quickly turning around, wondering what else they were going to need.

  Alys hesitated, before realising that it was probably useful to try and reassure Gerda. She wasn’t helping anyone to calm down. And as she walked back into the busy hall, she could see the panic was reaching a crescendo, Gerda in the middle of it all, flapping hands pointing in every direction. She saw Alys and didn’t even blink before heading towards her.

  ‘Well, now that my niece has seen fit to relieve you,’ she hissed irritably, ‘perhaps I may have a word with you myself?’ And without waiting for a reply, Gerda took Alys to the private chamber just before the kitchen that Reinar usually kept locked, filled with chests of his dwindling silver as it was. She inclined her head to the four chairs sitting around a disused brazier, and as Alys took a seat, Gerda took one opposite her. ‘I need to hear about Reinar. About Sigurd. About what will become of them.’

  Having heard what Gerda thought of Sigurd, Alys was surprised to hear him mentioned in the same breath as Reinar. ‘I’ve not seen anything about them,’ she admitted. ‘No more than flashes of battle.’ Gerda looked displeased, and Alys hurried on. ‘Which is encouraging,’ she insisted. ‘If something important had happened, I’m sure their faces would have come to mind.’ She thought of Tulia, whose face had definitely come to mind, wondering if she should warn her or Sigurd, but knowing that neither of them would welcome it.

  Gerda sighed, her body vibrating. She couldn’t stop it. She could barely sit still. ‘And the fort? What of it?’ Her mind wandered to Stellan. When he’d been in command of his wall, she’d felt secure. He had stood there with all his loyal men, sending every enemy on their way, many of them headless. But Reinar had few such loyal men now, and she worried what would happen to her husband if the Vettels breached the walls.

  Alys had no idea what to say. ‘The fort is strong,’ she tried. ‘And your sons have the advantage, don’t the
y? They have stone walls. Two of them.’

  Gerda was nodding, sensing how nervous the dreamer was. ‘My son, Reinar, he is fated to become a great man, you know. Ragnahild One Eye said he would become the high king himself.’ She eyed Alys, watching her carefully, but Alys didn’t appear to even flinch.

  ‘I’m not an experienced dreamer,’ Alys admitted. ‘I’ve not seen it myself, though nor have I seen your son dying. If Reinar is fated to become a king one day, he will certainly survive what is coming, won’t he?’

  Gerda leaned forward, hand extended across the empty brazier, touching Alys’ arm. ‘Not a king, the king, and you would do well to remember that if you want to remain by his side, Alys. You could become the dreamer to a great king if you take care of Reinar, watch over him, keep him safe.’ Her eyes grew desperate now, tear-filled. ‘You can’t understand, of course, what it is to be a mother. To stand by helplessly while your children walk towards the enemy, not knowing if they will live, or if you’ll ever feel their arms around you again.’

  Alys swallowed, trying not to feel anything, but Gerda’s fear and pain were palpable, and she could almost feel her children’s familiar arms squeezing her own waist.

  ‘With my husband like he is, I can’t have anything happen to them. I can’t!’ Gerda stood, wanting to get back to the hall.

  Alys did glimpse a vision of Reinar then, his face turned towards her, eyes aflame. And he was screaming.

  Then everything exploded in bright lights.

  Gerda tapped Alys’ arm. ‘Did you see something?’

  Alys shook her head. ‘No,’ she said, trying to stop shaking. ‘No, nothing at all.’

  39

  They stopped for a break. The sun was surprisingly warm, and the stream was too enticing to simply cross.

  Hakon felt impatient to move quickly, sensing the excitement in Mother’s eyes as she hopped around the bank, dragging the little girl after her, though he couldn’t deny that his horse and his men needed the water.