by A. E. Rayne
Eddeth snorted. ‘He’s just sleeping, Gerda. Taking a rest! Though who can blame him, it’s been a long few days.’
Gerda looked insulted that Eddeth would suggest that her son, the Lord of Ottby, would sleep through a battle that threatened the lives of every person in the fort. And then even more horrified when Eddeth picked up a jug of ale and jerked it towards Reinar’s face.
Ale splashed all over Reinar, soaking his tunic and he sat up, gasping for air as the ale went up his nose, down his mouth. ‘What... happened?’ Everything started spinning, and he had to close his eyes quickly against the pain in his shoulder. ‘Aarrghh!’
‘Reinar!’ Gerda forgot all about being cross at Eddeth and simply threw her arms around her son, who yelped some more. ‘You’ve been injured, you need to stay here. I will find someone to look after you.’ She looked pointedly at Eddeth, not inviting her help, which Eddeth was grateful for as she didn’t want to give it.
Not now, at least.
Eddeth tugged Alys’ sleeve. ‘We must go! Sigurd’s in trouble out there.’
‘Sigurd?’ Reinar opened his eyes, trying to move his left arm. Unable to do much with it, though, he pushed himself off the bench with his right. ‘What’s happening?’
Gerda looked at her son in horror. ‘You can’t go anywhere, Reinar. You’re covered in blood!’
Reinar could barely hear her, aware that Eddeth was tearing his tunic. He took the wet cloth she handed him, holding it up to his face as she leaped onto a bench, tying it behind his head. ‘Mother, keep everyone safe,’ he mumbled, and turning after Alys and Eddeth, Reinar headed through the doors, right hand out in front of him, trying not to topple over.
The low wall was deserted now, and Hakon Vettel’s men were working hard to get the abandoned gates open. They had been strengthened over the years, but it was impossible to keep a battering ram out, especially as there was no one left on the low wall to douse those rammers with pitch and flame or pummel them with rocks.
Hakon’s catapults were flinging boulders further into the fort; the inner wall under furious assault now.
‘We need more arrows!’ Tulia cried. She had a snapped-off arrow sticking out of her forearm, another in her upper right arm. The smoke had made her slow, careless, and in quick succession, she’d been shot twice. Head back against the stone wall, she tried not to inhale, but that just made her light-headed.
Sigurd nodded. He glanced down into the square, knowing that they were running out of boulders too. All those men from the low wall who were still standing and able to use an arm had joined them on the inner wall. And now it was apparent that there were not enough arrows to go around.
‘I want more arrows up there!’
Sigurd saw his brother striding around the smoking tree, heading past the catapults towards a guard tower.
‘And my slingers! It’s time for you, boys! Everyone who isn’t on the catapults or collecting arrows, get up on the wall!’ Looking up, he saw Sigurd staring at him. ‘You’re facing the wrong way, Brother!’
Sigurd realised that he was lost in the smoke. He couldn’t stop staring. His body felt heavy, and there was no desire in him to move at all.
Tulia jabbed him with the tip of an arrow. ‘Wake up!’
And Sigurd shook his head, rubbing an eye. ‘Alright, alright.’ He shook his head again, turning as the gate cracked.
They all heard it.
That sound was the one they feared most of all.
The outer gates were splintering.
‘Push!’ Hakon was delighted with their progress.
Head clear and sitting astride his armoured horse, he watched as Lief urged the men wielding the battering ram to swing even harder. There was no one on the wall above them. Nothing to stop them getting inside at all.
And once inside the fort...
‘Push harder!’ Lief roared, encouraged by the damage. He spun around to Hakon. ‘Once we’re inside, we’ll be under attack right away from that inner wall! We’ll need to bring up the hide, keep the archers firing. You must stay back, my lord! They’ll throw everything they’ve got at us!’
Hakon kept nodding, but he was barely listening.
Once they were inside...
As morning dawned, Eddeth and Alys made a circle in front of Valera’s Tree.
It was slow going as the cloud of smoke had sunk down into the square, suffocating them, addling their minds, and despite the cloths tied around their faces, they weren’t able to respond quickly or think clearly at all.
Eddeth kept shouting at Alys, who struggled to get her meaning.
‘What?’
Eddeth pulled down her mask. ‘We need the stones! I have nine of them. Nine symbols. They will complete the circle!’
‘Will it keep us safe?’
‘The circle? No idea!’ Eddeth snorted, laughing unexpectedly as she pulled the cloth back over her nose and mouth. ‘But if what you’ve seen is coming, we have to do it. We need to make it!’ She laughed again, exhilarated by the terror flooding her veins. She had always muddled about, going around in circles, and now, here before her, was the chance to make something happen. Something real.
She had the chance to make a difference.
‘What if I’m wrong?’ Alys panicked, finishing the circle, pleased that Eddeth looked satisfied with her efforts. A boulder landed nearby, screams echoing in her ears, flames rising in the square now.
‘Well, better to be wrong than dead!’ Eddeth grinned, shoving a small packet into Alys’ hand. ‘You need to take the flying powder! Take it now!’
Alys was confused, staring at the packet. ‘I did. I already did. You gave it to me before.’
‘What?’ Eddeth looked confused, ears ringing. ‘No, this is the flying powder. You haven’t had it. I’ve had this all along, waiting for the right moment!’
‘So what did I take, then?’
‘No idea, but it doesn’t matter, Alys! Take this!’ And shrieking as another flaming boulder grazed the tree, landing just behind them, Eddeth pushed the packet into Alys’ hand, eyeing her until she opened it up, swallowing the powder down. ‘Drink!’ Eddeth ordered, handing Alys a cup.
Alys had so much powder in her mouth that she couldn’t speak to ask what was in it, but fearing the answer, she drank from Eddeth’s cup anyway, nearly throwing it straight back up. Face contorting, gagging, Alys spun away to vomit.
‘Noooo!’ Eddeth grabbed her, pulling her upright, pinching Alys’ lips together. ‘You will swallow it, or Lotta will die!’
That woke Alys up, and she swallowed down the bloody mixture, shuddering all over. ‘Bah!’
‘Good girl! Now, let’s get to work!’
It was not the best place for them to be, Ludo thought nervously, eyeing the two women crouching beneath Valera’s Tree. He wanted to move them, but now that they’d sat down inside their circle, he knew he couldn’t. ‘Viggmir! Have your men surround Alys and Eddeth! Keep them safe! Move them if you have to!’
Alys heard Ludo’s familiar voice barking orders as though he was underwater. And then he started bellowing in panic, and turning, Alys saw wolves running through the fort. Spinning back around, she tried to clear her vision, certain she was imagining it, but when she looked back over her shoulder, the wolves were still there. Alys turned to Eddeth, who was crouching beside her, pointing to the chant in the book, mumbling in her ear. Everything started moving, and Alys felt as though she was drifting, the inner wall edging away from her, the early morning sky darkening as though a storm was descending upon them.
She could hear the low, threatening growls of the wolves as they approached, and she shook all over.
‘Close your eyes!’ Eddeth shouted, squeezing Alys’ shoulder, needing her to concentrate. ‘Close your eyes and start the chant!’ And dropping the book, Eddeth picked up her drum, sitting close to Alys, wanting to help her slip into the trance, doing everything she could to ignore the threat of those wolves. It was just a trick, she told herself, arms twitching.
&nb
sp; Just a dreamer’s trick.
Reinar watched them from the wall, turning quickly, eyes on Sigurd. ‘Get everyone down! Down! Now!’
But the intense growl of the wolves and the panic of those trapped in the square drowned out his voice.
Soon the only sound they could all hear was screaming.
Hakon watched as the gates cracked open, slowly collapsing inward. ‘Forward!’ he yelled, sword in the air, on the ground now. His steward had taken his horse away to the back of the line, awaiting the signal from his lord to return him.
Shield up, sword in hand, Hakon’s eyes were on the tall inner wall, surprised to see no one even turn their way.
The screams coming from the fort were deafening.
Panicked. Chaotic.
He smiled, thinking of Mother.
‘Quick!’ Lief yelled. ‘Ram the next gates! Bring the hide! Hurry! Archers!’
The courtyard between the inner and outer walls of the fortress was not wide, and it took little time for their men to filter in. They did so in droves, archers first, arrows nocked, ready to both attack and defend.
‘Ladders!’ Lief yelled, desperate to make as much progress as possible while Mother kept their enemy busy.
‘There are no wolves!’ Reinar yelled, trying to get everyone’s attention, though there very much appeared to be wolves running amok down in the square. ‘Ludo!’ But no one was turning his way or showing any sign that they could hear him. ‘Sigurd!’ His brother was nearby, and when he turned around, Reinar grabbed his arm. ‘Get down there! To the square! Show them the wolves aren’t real!’ And then something caught Reinar’s eye, and his attention shifted to the outer gates, which he was horrified to see had been breached. ‘Ring the bell!’ he screamed to Amir, who stood near the signal bell, frozen, wide eyes on the panic enveloping the square.
And suddenly the bell was peeling through the fort. Though the worry that Hakon Vettel had breached the outer gates was not nearly as terrifying as the enormous wolves stalking the square, threatening to devour them all.
‘Archers! Turn!’ Reinar implored, trying to cut through the panic. ‘Fire on the courtyard!’ But barely anyone moved. Their eyes remained fixed on the wolves, the smoke weaving terrifying thoughts through their weary, fear-filled minds.
Alys spun through the air, the sound of her chanting ringing in her ears, Eddeth’s drumming like a storm murmuring in the distance.
It was dark, and the sounds were disorienting.
And then wet grass beneath her feet as she stumbled, barely keeping her balance. She glanced down, surprised to be barefoot.
‘We have waited for you to come, Alys,’ came the soothing voice from behind her. ‘And now here you are. But hurry, my child, for there is no time to waste.’
49
‘Boom!’
The battering ram hit the gates with force, and Reinar screamed until his throat was raw, trying to get someone’s attention. Arrows flew up from the courtyard, and he spun out of their arc, sheltering behind the rampart wall. Then ducking low, he hurried to his brother, who looked just as trapped in the illusion as everyone else. ‘Sigurd! Help me!’ But Sigurd had frozen, eyes on the square and the wolves, so, gritting his teeth against the agony of his left shoulder, Reinar pulled him along; leading him to the cauldrons of pitch; freezing as another wave of arrows assaulted the fort; waiting for them to pass. ‘Quick!’ And urging a very confused-looking Sigurd to lift up one side, Reinar used his right hand to lift the other, and together they tipped the pitch over the wall, down onto those men gathered around the inner gates, swinging the battering ram.
Tulia had followed them, and she nocked her last fire-arrow, holding it in the brazier as the screams of Hakon’s men rose from the courtyard. Slipping back behind the rampart wall, she drew the arrow past her ear, waiting for the next wave of arrows to pass, before spinning back and shooting down at the pitch-covered men, and their pitch-covered hide.
She jumped back, grabbing Sigurd, who appeared unsteady on his feet. ‘More!’ she urged, pain clenching her jaw. ‘We need more arrows!’
Reinar nodded. ‘Go! Find them!’
Tulia glanced down at the square, as men and women ran through the smoke, trying to escape the wolves. Her eyes drifted to the hall, where Bjarni was banging on the doors, wanting to get inside. She looked back to Amir, who was running for the stairs after Ilene. ‘Amir! Wait!’
But just as she yelled it, an arrow took Amir in the neck. He jerked, knocked off his feet, eyes fixed on his sister as he fell onto the rampart walk.
‘No!’ Tulia cried, charging at him. ‘Amir!’
Sigurd spun after her as more arrows flew. Boulders were still being launched into the fort too, and as Sigurd reached Tulia, he grabbed her arm, stopping her just as a boulder tore through the wall. ‘No!’
Reinar swallowed, eyes over the wall, down into the courtyard, seeing the burning mess of Hakon Vettel’s hide; watching those men, who were on fire, running about in agony. And then he saw Hakon himself. ‘You want to come in, Thumbless?’ he bellowed, his head almost clear, the smoke dispersing from the top of the wall now. Every part of Reinar throbbed with rage and pain. This was his home. His fort. He was not going to let them in.
The lives of his family depended on it.
The future of Alekka did too.
‘I do!’ Hakon laughed. ‘And I will! Say goodbye to your father while you can! While he still has a head!’
‘You think you can defeat us with some smoke and a dreamer? That you can take Ottby? Take the bridge?’ Reinar wanted to keep him talking while Alys worked down in the square. He had seen her kneeling beneath the tree with Eddeth. He didn’t know what they were doing, but whatever it was, it needed time to work. ‘You have to defeat us with magic? You couldn’t claim victory on your own? Ha! What would your father make of that? Your father, the famed warrior, raised a son so cowardly he needed a dreamer to help him!’
More arrows, and Reinar was quickly back behind the wall, glancing at Sigurd, who had dragged a shellshocked Tulia towards him. His brother’s eyes looked sharper now over his cloth mask. ‘We have to get more arrows!’ he hissed. ‘We can’t let them in! The catapults aren’t firing! The archers aren’t shooting! We have to get arrows!’
Tulia nodded, heart breaking, and dragging her eyes away from Amir’s body, she followed Sigurd to the stairs.
The Alekkan gods were at war with one another.
A war that had raged since the beginning of time itself. The power to rule the land see-sawed between dark and light forces. And with the fair-minded, big-hearted Ake Bluefinn on the throne these past twenty years, those gods on the dark side had been agitating for a change. Though they were not unopposed, for the battle to control Alekka through its kings was a fight both sides were determined to win.
‘You need my help?’ Valera wondered. She was exceptionally tall and elegant, with lavender-coloured eyes that appeared to sparkle like jewels and golden braids twisted around her head like a crown. She smiled as she spoke, her delicate hands clasped before the waist of a silken blue dress, embroidered with shimmering symbols, much like Alys’ new cloak. She was the Goddess of Fertility, the Goddess of Love. She was exquisite. Ethereal. Softly-spoken. ‘You need my help to stop the dreamer? Is that what you are asking, Alys?’
Alys wasn’t sure she could even speak the words she so desperately needed to say, but seeing Lotta’s face, she nodded. ‘Yes. I want you to kill her. You must do it. Please! Now!’
Falla was growing sleepy. Mother’s fire still belched a heady blend of herbs as she lay on the ground, eyes closed, muttering, mumbling, sometimes growling. Falla wondered if the old woman was asleep, though she had seen her work magic before, and she knew that it sometimes went that way.
She yawned, determined to keep drumming.
The drumming was just as important as the herbs. As important as the chant.
Mother had screeched that at her many times.
She couldn’t fall as
leep now.
‘Alys, I cannot kill a human. That is not our way,’ Valera said, almost regretfully, for Mother Arnesson was the sort of dreamer who deserved to die a miserable death.
Alys felt herself panic.
They stood in the most beautiful field of wildflowers that swayed gently in a warm breeze. The sky was clear overhead, but the sounds of Ottby crept towards her now, clawing at her, a constant reminder of the threat they faced if Hakon Vettel’s dreamer remained alive.
‘But... I....’ Alys had an urge to touch the goddess. To grab hold of her hands and squeeze until she did what she wanted.
‘I cannot kill her, but you can, Alys. You can.’ Valera smiled, her cheeks rounding like apples. ‘If you were to look at the tree over there, you would find everything you needed to know.’
Alys blinked, glancing around the flowering field, not having seen a single tree since she’d arrived, but as she kept turning, Valera’s Tree appeared before her, symbols glowing down its familiar trunk.
The smoke was still trapped in the square, and Tulia and Sigurd ran through it, pressing their masks to their faces, trying not to inhale. They could see wolves everywhere; people running, screaming, trying to escape.
Sigurd blinked, smoke stinging his eyes, head spinning again. He saw Alys and Eddeth kneeling in front of the tree, and grabbing Tulia’s arm, he pointed her towards Ludo, who was running to the inner gates with a handful of warriors, trying to escape. ‘Get Ludo!’ he yelled. ‘Stop them!’
And unsheathing his sword, Sigurd spun around to face the wolves, wanting for the first time in his life to believe in a dreamer. It was just a trick, he told himself, stepping cautiously towards the three wolves who were edging closer, teeth bared, growls rumbling in their bellies. Reinar’s voice boomed down from the ramparts, and then the battering ram crashed into the inner gates again. More men had obviously been brought forward to get them open quickly.