by Steve Feasey
‘Perhaps I have been too hasty. My sister would be an asset on your journey. She could teach you combat skills in case you and your black blade ever get separated. A Rivengeld should be part of bringing my father’s murderer to justice, and as I must stay here and rule …’ He turned to Astrid. ‘You have my blessing, sister. Just make sure you come back to me when you have dealt with our odious cousin.’
‘I will, brother.’
‘Good.’ He nodded at Astrid and Lann. ‘The two of you should prepare for your journey. All of Stromgard is at your disposal. And you, witch,’ he said, turning to Fleya, ‘I would welcome your counsel now.’
‘Of course.’
The king waited until the two younger people had left before he slumped into his great chair in exhaustion.
‘Are you unwell, Your Grace?’ Fleya asked.
‘I did want to rule, you know,’ he said quietly. ‘But I never thought it would be like this.’
She nodded sympathetically. ‘The ritual to restore your memory will have diminished your strength. I will make you up some restoratives.’
‘Are you satisfied with the decision to allow my sister to join you and Lann? I should have consulted you first.’
The witch glanced towards the door. ‘She is a resourceful young woman and a great fighter. I have no doubt Lann can learn much from her.’ She hesitated.
‘But?’
‘But she has no knowledge of the Art. There will be dark majik ahead, and I fear for her.’
He nodded thoughtfully. ‘The lich – the thing that inhabited my mind and body – it could do the same to her, couldn’t it?’
‘It could.’ She paused. ‘I am having a small pendant made by your royal blacksmith. Marked on it will be powerful symbols that should help to protect her.’
‘This pendant is already being made?’
‘It is.’
He frowned. ‘It seems that you had foreknowledge Astrid would be joining you.’
‘I thought there was every chance a Rivengeld would be coming along. I just didn’t know which one.’
He stared broodingly into the distance. ‘I wish that it were me.’
‘You have much work to do here. It would be reckless for you to leave your kingdom after everything that has happened so recently. Kings are cursed with always having to do the things they must and not the things they want.’
‘Can you see the fate of my sister on this quest?’
‘No. But you know that Lann and I will do everything in our power to keep her from harm.’
He nodded his thanks, suddenly looking extremely weary again.
‘You are not sleeping,’ she said. It was more of a statement than a question.
‘No.’
‘You are having nightmares since the restoration of your memories.’
‘I have had some strange dreams, yes.’
The witch offered the king a sad smile. ‘They will not last forever. Your mind has been wounded by terrible traumas, and dreams are its way of coming to terms with those things. It is beginning to mend itself.’
He nodded his appreciation. ‘I find that I can be honest with you. When this enterprise is at an end, will you grant me the pleasure of your company again? Return here with Astrid and Jarl Gudbrandr, even if for a short while?’
She hesitated and was about to say something when she stopped herself. Instead she smiled and bowed her head. ‘I would like that very much, Your Grace.’
‘Please,’ he held up a hand. ‘When we are alone, I would like you to call me Erik.’
‘I think I would find that hard, my King, but I will try.’
28
‘Put your weight on your left foot and hold the point of the sword down and to your right. No, point it at the ground just ahead of your right foot.’ Lann and Astrid were standing in an open space in front of the shield maidens’ longhouse. It was used exclusively by the female warriors for all their training and she seemed more at home here than he’d seen her at any other place in Stromgard. Astrid leaned forward and adjusted the angle of the wooden weapon. ‘That’s better.’
‘It feels strange.’
‘Stop moaning. This is the Iron Door Guard. You lean forward a little and offer the head as bait to the attack.’
‘Offer my head?’ He stared at her, trying to ascertain if she were joking. The look he got in return was a hard one.
‘To draw an attack, yes. I’m not suggesting you just stand there and let your opponent cut it off. Once your adversary makes his move, you quickly straighten up, removing the head as a target.’
‘Oh, that’s comforting.’
She ignored him. ‘Alternatively you can step in, block, and counterattack with the Wrath Cut we worked on earlier.’
They’d been practising for hours. Astrid’s knowledge of the martial arts was inexhaustible, and she was equally comfortable with the sword as she was with the axe and spear. He knew this from bitter experience, and his body bore the cuts and bruises to prove it.
‘How good are you with that?’ he said, nodding at the horn bow.
‘Better than you.’
‘That would not be difficult.’
‘It’s my favourite weapon.’
‘How about a demonstration?’
‘Are you just trying to get out of any more training?’ she said.
‘Yep.’
She shook her head, but gave him an unexpected smile. Walking over to the bow and quiver, she slipped the latter over her shoulder and removed an arrow, nocking it on the string in a smooth, practised motion.
‘Pick a target,’ she said, looking across at Lann.
He looked out over the training area. About halfway across, maybe forty strides away, was an old wooden bucket. He pointed to it. ‘That.’
‘Really? That’s what you want me to hit?’
‘Too far away?’
The look she gave him suggested otherwise. Lann watched as she took aim, pulled the bowstring taut, then turned her head to look back at him. ‘I’d have liked more of a challenge.’ She had hardly let the last word out when, her head still turned away from the target, she released the arrow.
Lann watched it thunk into the centre of the pail, knocking it back across the ground until it rattled to a stop. He applauded the shot, his admiration tinged with jealousy. He was nothing without his sword; she handled weapons as though she had been born to it.
‘How about you set me a real challenge?’ she said. ‘Something up the far end of the training square.’
He turned and looked, wondering what might be considered a good target. ‘That shield in the far corner. How close can you get to the centre?’
‘Ah. Now that is a good test.’ She narrowed her eyes, murmuring to herself. ‘I’ll have to allow for the wind coming from the left once the arrow flies beyond the shelter afforded by the longhouse …’
‘Too hard? I can pick something else.’
But she wasn’t listening to him. She gave a little nod to herself, then swiftly nocked another arrow on the bowstring. She was a lesson in concentration as she aimed, her breathing steady and controlled. It seemed to him that she had to miss, aiming as far away from the target as she was. He watched in fascination as she loosed the arrow into the air. It flew true for a while, then gravity and the wind acted on it and swung it down and round towards its target. It hit the edge of the shield, where it shivered for a second before becoming still.
Lann went to clap his hands, but Astrid swore, then swiftly pulled another arrow from her back, nocked it and took aim.
The second arrow hit the shield almost dead centre, and Astrid turned and grinned at him. ‘I allowed too much for the wind on the first shot,’ she said. ‘Bit of a stupid error, really.’
‘You hit it,’ he pointed out.
‘Yes – but it wasn’t the shot I’d pictured in my head.’
‘Is that how you do it? Picture it in your head?’
She frowned, as if trying to figure out how she did do it. �
�Yes. I imagine the arrow drop and the effect of the wind and the distance to the target, and I see it happening before I release. That, and hundreds of hours of practice, of course.’
‘It’s very impressive.’
‘I’ll teach you.’
Lann shook his head and nodded down at the wooden sword in his hand. ‘I’m having enough problems with this. Let’s just try and get that right, shall we? But not today,’ he added hastily. ‘I’m a walking bruise right now, and I don’t think I could handle any more pain being inflicted. If it’s all the same with you …’ He thought she might insist, but instead she gave a nod.
‘Hungry?’ she asked.
‘Starving.’
Lunch consisted of a stew, dried meats, great hunks of fresh bread, and cheeses that tasted a whole lot better than they smelt. They sat together at a small table in the kitchens behind the longhouse. The place was run by a surly old man who’d lost an arm and an eye in battle ten years earlier.
‘You lost your sight, didn’t you? What was it like?’ she asked between mouthfuls of stew.
The question took him by surprise. She had a habit of doing that to him: saying and doing things when he was least ready for them. He pointed this out to her. ‘You don’t mince your words, do you?’ he said.
‘I know,’ she said, lowering her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. It’s probably something to do with never having to apologise for my actions. “Spoilt” – that’s what my father would have called it. That, or just plain “rude”.’
‘It’s all right,’ he said, waving the apology away. He swallowed the mouthful he was eating and went on. ‘It was frightening, at first. I hadn’t always been blind, and I guess, like everyone else, I simply took my ability to see for granted. So when it was taken away from me, I had no idea how I might cope.’ He paused, remembering. ‘Almost a year I spent in the dark. A year of being scared and … alone.’
‘You had Fleya.’
‘I did. And I wouldn’t have been able to get through those times without her. But I missed the visual world so much it hurt. When I was given the chance to see again, I grabbed it. Perhaps a little too hastily.’ He tore a piece of bread from the loaf and spread butter across it. ‘But I don’t regret my decision. And I don’t take the things I see for granted any more. Take this meal, for instance. I look at the things on this plate in a way I never would have before. And that’s just food.’ He grinned and nodded in the direction of the open window. ‘Don’t even start me on the sky.’ A thought occurred to him. ‘I’d never seen the sea until we came here. If I’d not had my sight restored … well, I never would have. Imagine never having the chance to see that fantastic chaos of water – the power and beauty of it.’ He looked across into her eyes and took in her face. For some reason he flushed. ‘I’m sorry, I’m going on a bit.’
‘No. No, you’re not.’
He frowned. ‘It came with a price, getting my sight back. I see and hear strange things now. Things I’d rather not.’
‘Monsters? Like the one that made my brother do those terrible things?’
He nodded.
The sword’s voice, having been silent for some time, caught him by surprise when it gave a long, whispering sigh.
‘What was that?’ Astrid said, looking about her.
‘What?’
‘Nothing. I … I thought I heard something.’
Lann stared at her before eventually standing up and brushing the crumbs from his clothes on to the floor.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘I think it’s time we found my aunt and checked on the supplies. We have a long ride ahead of us tomorrow.’
‘Aye, a ride through lands that may not welcome Stromgardians like myself, let alone strangers like you and your aunt.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Our neighbours have not been too friendly of late. It would be better for us all if we can cross those lands unnoticed.’
Vorneland
29
Lann, Astrid and Fleya set off early on horseback, Astrid on her beloved chestnut mare, the others on mounts personally chosen by the king from his own stables.
Compared to his hill pony, Lann’s new mount, a grey called Mistglar, seemed huge when he’d first taken to the saddle. However, he quickly got used to the change, and it was not long before both rider and horse formed an easy understanding.
The trio were not alone on the first leg of their journey. Despite their protestations that they would be less noticeable on their own, Erik had insisted a number of his household guard escort them to the border with the neighbouring kingdom, Vorneland. From that point they would be on their own.
‘The Vornelanders are wary of outsiders,’ the king had explained before they’d left. ‘And there have long been concerns about the newly appointed queen.’
‘In what way?’ Fleya had asked.
‘Some say she has slaughtered her way to the throne, killing her husband, his brother and others. All of the children sired by the two men, including her own young son, have disappeared.’
‘Disappeared?’
Erik had nodded his head gravely. ‘Before his death, my father sent trusted emissaries in his service to find out what was happening. Although I do not know all of the details, I do know my father believed the queen to be ruthless and dangerous even before she ascended to the throne. My advice would be to avoid contact if you can.’
Despite everything they’d been through recently, not to mention the enormity of the task that lay ahead of them, the three companions found themselves in high spirits. Their time in Stromgard had been a difficult one, and even Astrid was glad for the opportunity to be away from the place. It was only when she was far from the coastal city’s boundaries that it occurred to her that she might never again see her homeland. She halted her mount. Turning in the saddle, she looked back on the capital and the surrounding landscape, trying to see it as Lann now saw the world – with appreciation and gratitude for its beauty. Strong emotions filled her, and she took a few moments to compose herself again. If the others noticed her farewell to the place of her birth, they were kind enough not to say anything when she spurred her horse forward to rejoin them.
By the afternoon they reached the foothills that marked the start of the range known as Grunwelfe. The mild weather of late had caused the pastures to erupt in a sea of colour as wild flowers bloomed among the grass, bringing with them a host of bees and small butterflies.
‘It reminds me of the hills near the farm where I grew up,’ Lann said to Astrid when she saw him smiling at the view. ‘When my mother died, I’d ride out on my own for hours on end. I spent a lot of my time in wild pastures like this.’
‘I’d like to see the Maiden’s Fingers one day.’
‘Maybe when all this is over, I’ll take you there. Compared to the place you grew up in, it would seem dull and uninteresting, but it was home to me.’
Reaching up, she touched the small medallion hanging around her neck. Fleya had given it to her before they’d set off with instructions not to take it off unless she wanted to invite dangerous majik. It was another reminder of how strange and perilous the enterprise they were undertaking was.
As they were crossing a river at a natural ford, she took a moment to study the boy riding alongside her. He was handsome in a way that was not obvious. Steely grey eyes stared out from a strong face, and the first wisps of his beard were beginning to show on his jawline. More endearing still was the way he seemed completely oblivious to his good looks. She blushed a little when he turned to catch her regarding him. ‘You look good on that horse,’ she said, nodding at both rider and mount.
‘It’s a fine animal.’
She gave a little laugh. ‘And so it should be. It was my father’s own horse.’
Lann stared across at her to see if she might be joking with him. He looked down at the animal in astonishment. ‘Why would Erik give me such a thing?’
‘My brother holds you in high esteem, Lannigon Gudbrandr. Mistglar is a fitt
ing gift for Stromgard’s newest and youngest jarl. I hope she proves as good a companion to you as she did for my father over the years.’
It was late in the day when Fleya called out for them to halt. They’d reached the pass in the hills that would be the safest and easiest route into Vorneland.
‘We will stop here and make camp. We are close to the border and I would like to send our escort back before the night is completely upon us.’ The witch waved away the guards’ protests, pointing out they were anyway no more than a couple of miles from the frontier.
They watched the Stromgardians ride off, then set about putting up a shelter for the night.
Astrid’s bow skills provided two fat rabbits, which they roasted with the herbs Fleya gathered. Bellies full, the three sat beside the fire, staring into the flames as they contemplated what might still lie ahead.
‘What is your cousin like?’ Lann asked Astrid, after a while.
‘Kelewulf?’ She started saying something, but stopped herself. Instead she thought for a moment before responding. ‘Erik always felt sorry for him. My cousin lost his mother when he was young – they were very close, and Erik put any strangeness down to that. I don’t really know why, but I’ve never liked him. He’s clever, but … false.’ She gave a little shake of her head. ‘I don’t think he likes people very much.’
Lann nodded thoughtfully, then turned to Fleya. ‘This lich,’ he said. ‘Who was it before?’
‘A powerful sorcerer with a similar dislike of this world to Astrid’s cousin. He seems to have found the perfect partner with whom to reignite his hatred.’ The firelight danced across her features and Lann could see the consternation on her face. ‘His name was … is … Yirgan.’
The name was familiar to Lann, and he remembered how Fleya had told him how the sorcerer had risen to power. A servant of the dark god Lorgukk, his majik had become so great, it threatened the very existence of the world until the gods themselves were forced to intervene and stop him. If the gods couldn’t destroy the man, what hope did they have?
She sighed. ‘We should rest now. We have a long journey ahead.’