by A. E. Rayne
Stina eyed her doubtfully, watching as Eddeth twitched, hopping around the fire, the least calm person she’d ever met, despite the amount of herbs she brewed in her teas.
Alys turned her head, Eddeth’s voice disappearing in the distance. She stared into the trees, trying to remember if she’d seen anything else in her dreams.
It was unhelpful to dream of Reinar.
Pointless.
Dreaming of Reinar and Ottby would not help them decide where to go next.
Alys’ heart ached, knowing that Magnus and Lotta were so far away. She needed to feel them against her, holding them close, smelling their hair, knowing they were safe with her.
‘Alys?’
Blinking, Alys turned around, eyes on Eddeth, who had shoved her fur hat over her wild grey hair and was back on her hands and knees, sorting out her mushrooms. ‘Where will we be heading this morning, then? What did you see for us?’
Alys’ eyes skipped to Stina, who was braiding her long dark hair, looking her way. She didn’t know what to say. She’d seen nothing.
Nothing of her children at all. Not since leaving Ottby behind.
Not since her last glimpse of Lotta riding through the forest with that man.
Everything she so desperately sought to know was shrouded in darkness.
‘I...’ Alys stood with a shrug. ‘We must continue on to Slussfall, I...’ She stopped, spinning around. ‘Did you hear that?’
Eddeth froze, mushrooms in hand, eyes jumping. She’d heard something too.
Alys’ right hand flexed above the hilt of Tulia’s sword, poking out of its scabbard as she glanced around. Shivers ran up her spine, down her arms as she edged towards Eddeth, whose body remained oddly still, eyes fixed on the trees on the opposite side of the stream. Stripped of their leaves by the coming winter, they were a maze of spindly grey trunks and branches snarled together. It was almost impossible to see through them, but Alys thought she saw something move.
‘What is it?’ Stina hissed, abandoning her braid and creeping around the fire towards Eddeth. ‘A bear?’
Eddeth didn’t answer. Her eyes were on the dreamer, knowing that she’d felt it too.
Something was out there.
Watching them.
Ake Bluefinn was the King of Alekka.
The southern half.
Two thousand years ago, the gods had broken Alekka in two, wrenching the North from the South, determined that no one man or woman would ever wield ultimate power over the land again.
There had been high kings for thousands of years before that. High kings of malice and cruelty, who wielded their power as soulless tyrants, crushing those who displeased them, who did not bend and break and give their lives in service of them and their allies. They were vengeful and capricious men, motivated by greed, indulgent of every whim and vanity.
Murderous.
Ruling from their great towers in Orvala in the North, they had worshipped Eutresia, Goddess of the Sun, sacrificing their people and their livestock to their golden patron. And she had bestowed upon them her favour, granting them fertile land of bounteous wealth, warmed by the sun. The winters were cold, the summers bright. The land was rich and moist and nurturing of its crops.
In her eyes, the kings were righteous and worthy of her loyalty. They adored her, and their sacrifices pleased her, so she was happy to watch them rule with iron fists and empty hearts.
The rest of the gods were not...
Ake smiled at Reinar, who was scowling as he stomped across the square in his black bear-fur cloak, barking orders. Snow was falling again, and Reinar’s hands were red with cold, pointing his men and women to work. The snow didn’t matter. What mattered was that they had gates off their hinges, ramparts in need of repair, cottages burned, pyres to build, weapons’ stores to replenish, and a king who had warned them of a coming war greater than any they’d faced in their lifetimes.
And yet, despite all of that, Ake smiled, because it was good to have loyal men on his side. Men like Reinar and Sigurd Vilander, who had kept Ottby safe until he arrived, stopping Hakon Vettel before he could claim the valuable fortress. Ake frowned, realising that if he had dealt with the Vettels before now, they wouldn’t have been roaming the Eastern Shore causing problems for them all.
A king always had problems, his dreamer liked to remind him, but none greater than the ones he made for himself.
‘Any sign of that brother of yours?’ Ake wondered as Reinar approached. He glanced up at the sky, conscious of the snow clouds, which appeared to be dropping lower, thickening with intent. ‘Not the sort of weather to be lost out in the wild.’
‘No, it’s not. I’ve sent Ludo after him, though I doubt he’s gone far.’ Reinar felt worried. It wasn’t like Sigurd to just disappear, though the shock of Tulia’s death had tipped his life upside down, and Reinar didn’t blame him for wanting to run away. ‘He just needs some time.’
Ake nodded. ‘Well, while the snow blows and the Vettels make their way back to Slussfall, there’ll be time. Time for us to start again. If we can’t keep Ottby safe, Stornas may as well open its gates and welcome all our enemies in.’ It was only partly true. The bridge Ottby guarded led to Alekka’s capital, but it was not the only way into the walled city. Though anyone attempting to scale the mountain ranges that led from the North into Ennor was going to have a terrible time of it, especially in winter. And the Huuka Sea was freezing fast, making any attack by ships less likely.
And yet...
Reinar stared at his king, who, despite his increasing troubles and the weight of the crown upon his head, still had a twinkle in his dark-blue eyes. He felt both affection for him and fear of him, and most of all, the worry that he would let him down. ‘We’ll secure Ottby as quickly as we can, though the damage to the walls was extensive in places. And the gates...’ He saw Bjarni out of the corner of his eye, arguing with Bolli. They were almost the same height and shape, arms flailing, faces red with irritation, and Reinar smiled, pleased that they’d both survived the battle.
‘Mmmm, so I saw. Though once the gates are back on, the walls will hold. I have some ideas about how we can reinforce the new gates further. More beams will help. And eventually, perhaps another wall too?’
‘Another wall?’
‘Why not? We can make our enemies go through three sets of gates. Give them some climbing practice! Exhaust them before they get anywhere near the square!’
Reinar laughed. ‘I’m going to need a lot more men if you want another wall, my lord.’
‘You are, Reinar, and you’ll find them. Once they hear about the curse being lifted, about your luck changing, men will return. They will, and quickly too. They’ll want to fight for the Lord of Ottby when he defeats the Vettels.’ Ake clapped him on the shoulder, remembering too late that Reinar had dislocated it. ‘I must be getting old,’ he cringed, ‘forgetting about that.’
‘It’s fine,’ Reinar lied, shutting away the throbbing pain.
Ake glanced around, eyes on the singed branches of Valera’s Tree, which stood to one side of the square, snow-dusted now, and he walked Reinar towards it, wanting some privacy. ‘We need to end Hakon Vettel and his idiot cousin quickly. Once you’re secure here, I want you to go North and finish them.’
Reinar nodded; there were few things he wanted more.
‘You’ll have the men you need, I assure you of that. Algeir will take care of Hovring and Vika before he returns to Stornas. He’ll install new lords, and once you’ve taken Slussfall, we’ll find someone to command that fort too.’
‘I still can’t believe Alef and Erlan went in with the Vettels. They’re not the men their fathers were. To have broken that quickly?’ Reinar shook his head, having known both men since they were boys. They had never been close friends, but their arrogance and stupidity had surprised him.
‘No, though greed has a way of corrupting a man’s soul. Or perhaps, it merely reveals it? But in any case, Reinar, we need to talk about the Vettels.’ A
ke stepped closer, watching flurries twirling down around the tree, feeling enclosed beneath its ponderous branches. ‘About what you’ll need to do.’
‘Do?’
‘I want you to kill Hakon and his cousin. But once that’s done, you’ll have to kill Hakon’s son too.’
‘What?’ Reinar looked horrified.
Ake knew how he felt. He’d been faced with the same decision twenty years ago, yet he hadn’t been able to go through with it. Another mistake coming back to bite him, he thought, scratching his stubbly cheek. ‘We can’t leave any Vettels alive. Not one. If you can’t stomach it, find someone who can, someone you trust. The boy is young, not a year old, from what I hear. It won’t be easy, doing a thing like that.’
Reinar was speechless, never having imagined those words coming from his king’s mouth.
‘It’s not something I wish to order, trust me, but while there is Vettel blood in Alekka, our land stands no chance of being free. We must remove every threat to peace if we wish to protect our people. And for now, the Vettels are the most immediate threat we face. We have to eradicate them once and for all. Every last one of them.’ Ake felt odd, staring at Reinar. ‘I know what Ragnahild foretold about your destiny. Perhaps one day that will come to pass, and you’ll become the high king somehow? Perhaps my end is near, and you will rule in Stornas...’ He ran a hand over his hair, brushing off traces of snow. ‘If that ever happens, then take this lesson from me, please, Reinar. Kill your enemies. Crush them. End them. Never leave a loose thread, not a single one, for there is nothing more motivating to a man than a desire for vengeance.’
Reinar waited, certain there was more Ake wanted to say, but the king merely grunted, turning away, uncomfortable with the conversation.
He walked to the edge of the tree’s branches, stopping, glancing over his shoulder. ‘Don’t run from this, Reinar. I demand it of you, as I would demand it of your father if he still commanded this old fortress. I trusted him, put my faith in him, and now, I put it in you.’ And turning back around, Ake headed into the square, slipping his hands inside his cloak.
Reinar watched him go, shivering.
They muttered in a corner, talking about him.
Sometimes their voices were as intrusive as thunder, other times as gentle as a purring cat curled up by the fire.
Hakon couldn’t make out what they were saying.
He drifted in and out of consciousness, the pain in his belly like a burning poker, spearing him in agony. Writhing around, he cried out, and they hurried back to him, peering down at their lord.
Falla stooped low, placing a hand on Hakon’s forehead. ‘He’s hotter. Much hotter.’
Ivan looked worried, eyes on his cousin’s chattering teeth. ‘But he’s cold.’
‘The fever will do that.’
‘And what can be done about it? How can we stop it?’ Ivan wanted to know, tension gripping him like claws. His body ached, bandages swathed around his chest. His wounds stung, and his head pounded, thoughts swirling around it like the smoke from Ottby’s field. He was frozen with cold, unable to think. He stared at Falla, who looked pale and tired and ready to bolt out of the makeshift tent and run away from their mounting problems.
‘I...’ Falla stepped away from Hakon’s bed of furs as he groaned, reaching a hand to her, trying to grab her cloak. ‘I don’t know how to help him. We have to find a healer. There must be someone who knows herbs? Some servant?’ Her eyes were frantic as they sought her husband’s advice.
Lief looked reliably calm and emotionless despite his frustration that their journey back to Slussfall had been halted by Hakon’s injury; despite the snow threatening to bury them in a frozen grave; despite their humiliating defeat and the fear of what would come next. ‘Go and ask again, my love. Ask the servants. There’ll be someone who knows what to do.’ He wished Falla knew. He wished she’d learned something from all her time spent with that horrible old crone, Mother Arnesson. He wished they hadn’t run away from Ottby in such a disorganised mess, not caring to check what or who they’d left behind. It was only now becoming apparent just how many people and supplies they were without – none of greater importance than their healers.
Ivan watched Falla leave the tent without even a hint of interest in his eyes. He pushed his braids away from his face, scratching his head. ‘We can’t stay here for long. We need to keep moving. Ake’s army might be right behind us. We can’t trap ourselves in the forest.’
Lief nodded. It was an odd series of events that had led him and Ivan to the unexpected place where they were of the same mind. Without Hakon standing in between them, everything suddenly seemed so much clearer.
Ivan could hear snow pattering on the tent roof, getting heavier. He dreaded to think how much worse it would become, his thoughts returning to their dead dreamer and their sudden lack of insight. Though had Mother ever really had true insight, he wondered absentmindedly? Or was she merely trying to further her own interests? He sighed, needing to focus. ‘We can’t travel while Hakon is like this, though. We have to hunker down. Get everything secure. Wait out the snowstorm. He may be better by then.’
Hakon didn’t appear to even recognise them as he stared somewhere past Lief’s shoulder with glassy eyes, hand out.
‘Mother...’ And hand dropping down, brushing the ground, Hakon’s eyes closed.
Ivan lifted up his cousin’s hand, gently placing it on the furs, horrified by how cold it was. Hakon’s body was on fire, but his hands were like ice. ‘I’ll stay with him for now,’ he said, turning to Lief. ‘Hopefully, Falla will find someone with healing skills. If you see Rikkard, send him back in.’
Lief nodded, heading for the tent flap, lifting the hood of his cloak over his dark hair.
Ivan watched him go before turning back to his cousin, sighing.
‘Mother,’ Hakon whimpered, shivering violently, eyes still closed. ‘Please, Mother!’
Sigurd stared at the body of the old woman.
She stunk.
Blue-faced and rigid, her corpse lay in the middle of a snow-heavy tent, abandoned by Hakon Vettel and his men as they’d run out of their campsite, no doubt heading straight back to Slussfall.
Alys had killed her, Sigurd remembered; stopped her from torturing them with illusions of wolves, screeching ravens, and smoke; saved them from whatever the old dreamer had been planning next.
Alys had killed Torvig too.
He swallowed, pain searing through his chest.
Torvig, who’d killed Tulia.
Turning away from the bloated corpse, Sigurd ducked his head, slipping out of the tent. He heard a horse blowing, snow crunching, and turning, sword drawn, he saw the familiar figure of Ludo Moller sitting astride his white horse.
And he sighed.
Ludo dismounted quickly, hood hanging over his face, guiding his horse through the abandoned campsite, littered with firepits and tents, a few bodies too. ‘Didn’t think I was going to find you!’ he called, feeling relieved, though Sigurd didn’t look pleased to see him. ‘Reinar’s worried about you. He sent me to bring you home.’
Sigurd stared at his friend, blue eyes dull, frown digging a deep rift between his eyebrows. ‘Surely he’s got enough worries without thinking about me?’ It was hard to speak. He wanted to cry. Or scream. He’d done both in the two days he’d been trekking through the forest, and he wanted to do more.
It didn’t feel real.
He could almost see Tulia, sitting naked in the chair by the fire, cup of wine in her hand, scowling at him, the flames burnishing her skin with a deep bronze glow.
She was beautiful.
She had been beautiful.
Soon she would be ash, and he would never see that scowl again.
Dropping his head, Sigurd burst into tears, his body heaving, his heart breaking.
And then he felt Ludo’s arms around him, pulling him close.
2
They rode in silence throughout the morning, which was odd, Alys realised,
knowing how Eddeth struggled to remain quiet for long. It wasn’t that she was always talking; she made other noises as well: muttering and mumbling, whispering under her breath. She was rarely still, or silent, and Alys turned around, staring at her. ‘Are you alright, Eddeth?’
They were following the winding path of the stream, still misted with fog. There was barely a breeze, and the mist hung motionless, as though it was frozen in place. The ground was boggy where the sun shone through leafless birch trees, icy when they entered the shadows thrown by thick spruces, and they were slow, keeping the horses to a gentle walk, not wanting to risk them.
Eddeth looked up in surprise, frowning at Alys, fur hat sitting low like a big, furry eyebrow. She didn’t speak, but her frown intensified and eventually, she took one gloved hand off the reins, curling a finger in Alys’ direction.
Stina, who was riding behind Eddeth, distracted and silent herself, almost ran her horse headlong into Wilf’s rump. ‘Oh! What is it?’
Eddeth turned, glaring at Stina, finger to her lips as Alys tugged her horse around, riding back to them both.
‘What’s wrong?’ Alys wondered, feeling odd herself.
‘I think we’re being followed,’ Eddeth rasped, head twisting this way and that. ‘Someone’s out there, watching us. I’m sure of it.’
Stina felt worried. She hadn’t noticed anything odd, but both Alys and Eddeth looked so disturbed that she started peering between the trees, searching for signs of what might be out there. ‘Can you see anything, Alys?’ Stina edged her bay mare closer to Alys’ snorting grey stallion. ‘Anything?’
Alys couldn’t, and that worried her. She couldn’t see anything at all.
Slipping one hand inside her black cloak, she touched the cold hilt of Tulia’s sword. It needed a name, she thought distractedly, wondering what Tulia had called it.
‘We keep going,’ Eddeth sniffed, wiping her nose on the back of her thick blue glove. ‘If we stay here much longer, we’ll freeze to the spot! But make sure to let your mind wander now. Set it free, into the forest! We need you, dreamer. We need you to find the danger before it finds us!’