Mark of the Hunter: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (The Lords of Alekka Book 2)

by A. E. Rayne

  Panic tightened Alys’ chest, but thinking of Magnus and Lotta, she nodded, turning her horse, Haski, back around, listening to his hooves lifting out of the sucking mud. It was dark on the sloping bank, littered with leaves, sloppy and slippery. She wanted to get out of the shadows quickly, conscious of how easily someone hiding amongst the trees could pounce on them. Patting Haski’s grey head, she watched his ears, hoping he would give her some warning about what was coming.

  And nudging her heels against his flanks, she urged him on, deeper into the forest.

  Sigurd didn’t want to go back to the fort. He was frozen solid, shivering, but not even the thought of a hot fire and a cup of ale could tempt him to follow Ludo.

  Ludo stood before him, squirming, shoulders hunched around his ears. ‘Reinar won’t be pleased if I come back without you.’

  ‘I know, but I won’t stay away long, I just...’ Sigurd wanted to cry again. His head hurt from how much he’d cried already. His ribs ached too. He was tortured by regrets, wishing he’d forced Tulia to get those arrows out of her arm, knowing that if he had, she might still be alive. She could have beaten Torvig. She was a far better warrior than Torvig Aleksen in every way; with a sword, a spear, a bow. She’d been breathtakingly good at all of it.

  He swallowed, wanting Ludo to go.

  And sensing how much Sigurd wanted him to go, Ludo nodded. ‘I’ll tell Reinar you’re alive. That you’re not going to do anything silly.’ He peered at Sigurd, trying to see his eyes. ‘That’s right, isn’t it? Nothing silly?’

  Sigurd looked up, deciding. His heart was broken, shattered like glass. He wanted to lie in the snow until he froze. Until he felt nothing. Until he drifted away from all the pain to be with Tulia.

  It wouldn’t take long in this weather...

  But blinking, he saw his brother’s face. ‘I’ll be back for supper.’ He didn’t want food. He didn’t want to be in the hall, see his mother, hear Agnette and Bjarni’s baby cry, talk to the king, endure the looks and whispers, suffer the sympathy. But he couldn’t run from Reinar. His brother needed him. The fort was a mess, and he had to help Reinar put it back together. ‘Supper.’ And turning, Sigurd walked away from a worried-looking Ludo, who forced himself to keep his freezing hands by his sides and his boots in the snow, letting Sigurd leave, knowing that Reinar wouldn’t be happy at all.

  And he wasn’t.

  ‘You left him there?’ Reinar’s eyes were wide, angry, disappointed. ‘You should have brought him back, Ludo!’ He glanced at Bjarni, who stood beside him, jiggling on the spot, needing a piss.

  Bjarni shrugged. ‘Doubt Ludo could have done any more. If Sigurd doesn’t want to come back, he won’t. Leave him be, Reinar. You know how it feels to lose the woman you love, but for Sigurd, it’s worse, knowing Tulia’s dead. He’ll never see her again.’ And gritting his teeth, he hurried away to the latrines.

  ‘He was so sad,’ Ludo almost whispered when Bjarni had gone. ‘He just wanted to be alone. I couldn’t drag him back.’

  Reinar sighed, feeling his shoulder ache. ‘I know.’ And he did. More than anything, Reinar felt the demanding need to be alone. He ran a hand over his face, cupping his bearded chin. ‘Well, let’s just hope he doesn’t fall asleep somewhere and freeze to death.’ Trying to smile, he failed, and hearing his mother’s raised voice, calling for him from the hall steps, Reinar ignored her, heading towards the broken inner gates.

  Ludo remained behind, turning to a red-cheeked Gerda, who pulled up with a yelp. ‘Are you alright?’

  Gerda shook her head dismissively. ‘Just my hip, aching in the cold. I feel like an old woman today!’ She searched Ludo’s face, trying to see what he knew. ‘You found Sigurd?’

  He nodded.

  Gerda couldn’t express her worry as anything more than irritation. She frowned at Ludo. ‘Is he leaving?’

  ‘Leaving? Ottby? No, I don’t imagine so.’ Looking up, Ludo saw Bolli shuffling towards them through the snow; bandaged head, still half-deaf from the battle. ‘He just needs time. It was a shock.’

  ‘It was,’ Gerda agreed, still reeling herself. ‘And a relief, in the end, that Ake came.’ She gripped her throat, feeling anything but relieved. ‘Though, that will not be the end of it, will it? There’s always some new threat. Some danger lurking just out of reach. Another enemy approaching on the horizon like a dark storm!’

  Ludo nodded, knowing what Ake had warned. ‘Though we’re in no position to do much about it right now. We need some time to recover, to prepare for what comes next.’

  ‘But will we get it?’ Gerda wondered, spying Agnette talking to Rienne, showing the servant the fur-wrapped bundle that was her newborn daughter. ‘Will we get any time before the next attack comes?’

  ‘I hope so,’ Ludo said sadly, wondering about Alys and Eddeth and Stina. ‘I hope so, Gerda. We need it.’

  The silence was becoming oppressive.

  They could all feel it.

  It was as though every creature had hidden away, the sounds of the forest so oddly deadened now.

  Frozen hands squeezed reins tightly, heads swivelling.

  Alys blinked at Stina, who had ridden up beside her.

  Eddeth urged her horse up to Alys’ other side. ‘What’s out there?’ she hissed impatiently. ‘Surely something?’

  ‘Something?’ Stina looked terrified.

  Eddeth blinked, her stomach growling loudly. She took one hand off the reins, placing it over her cloak, seeking to quieten her complaining belly.

  ‘We’re not alone,’ Alys said with certainty. ‘We’re being followed.’

  ‘Maybe evil spirits? Maybe the gods didn’t like what you did, Alys? Killing that dreamer like that? Maybe they’ve sent them after us!’

  ‘Evil spirits?’ Stina turned in the saddle, checking behind them.

  Eddeth dropped Wilf’s reins entirely, digging beneath her thick cloak, opening up the leather purse which hung from her belt. ‘I have stones!’ she called loudly, her booming voice bouncing off the trees around them.

  They all cringed then, even Eddeth.

  Hunching up her shoulders, she handed Stina a grey river stone painted with symbols. She took another stone out of her pouch, giving it to Alys. ‘I made these before we left. Forgot all about them!’ She was whispering now, her breath a steady stream of frosty smoke. ‘They’ll help keep the evil spirits away.’

  ‘Will they?’ Stina looked doubtful as she flipped over the smooth stone. There didn’t appear to be anything special about it.

  Alys nodded. ‘They will. Eddeth’s stone saved my life in Ottby. When that dreamer was trying to kill me, I grabbed the stone, and I could breathe again.’

  Eddeth tucked her purse back beneath her cloak, readjusting herself in the saddle. ‘Oh yes, these symbols are more powerful than anything you –’ She froze, staring at Alys’ face, which had suddenly gone paler than snow. ‘What?’

  ‘Ride!’ Alys screamed, spinning around in the saddle, fumbling with Haski’s reins, kicking his flanks with urgency, eyes quickly on the path. They were still following the stream, and the muddy bank wasn’t amenable to fast travel. ‘Hurry!’ she yelled, head down, avoiding the low branches threatening her head. ‘Duck!’

  Stina was slow to get going, her horse slipping in the mud. ‘Come on, Eddeth!’ she called, sensing that Eddeth hadn’t even grabbed her reins yet. Stina didn’t know what Alys had seen, but images of Ullaberg’s beach flashed before her eyes, and kicking her flustered horse, Stina spurred her on.

  Ake was impatient to head back to Stornas. It had been over a month since he’d seen his wife and children, and the memory of their sweet faces tugged at his heart. He hated being away from them, especially now, when every enemy was descending upon Stornas.

  He’d never felt such great peril for himself and his family.

  For the whole of Alekka.

  Leaning over the map table, he gnawed a long toothpick, muttering.

  Reinar watched him, unsure whether
to speak. Sigurd wasn’t there, and he felt conscious of that. Bjarni, Bolli, and Ludo were, though. Ake’s man, Algeir, too. They were all as quiet as Reinar, waiting to be called on.

  ‘We don’t have enough men!’ That was the truth of it, and Ake straightened up with a sigh, eyes on Stellan Vilander, who slumped in his wheelchair, in between Reinar and Bolli. Ake felt the loss of his wisdom and advice, still expecting his old friend to jump up and start barking at them all, though Stellan didn’t even appear to be listening.

  There were few loyal men left that he could trust anymore.

  Hector was gone. Stellan too.

  His faithful warriors had scattered across Alekka after his victory. They came back occasionally, when there was a new threat, but never all of them. Never his entire brotherhood of experienced men who had helped him rip that old bastard Jorek Vettel from Alekka’s throne.

  If only he’d finished the job...

  Excuses bubbled up into Ake’s throat. Old and tired excuses that he’d used to justify his failure, but in truth there were none. He had failed, and now he was left with the nagging problem of the Vettels at just the wrong moment.

  They all were.

  Reinar stepped closer to the table. ‘In Ottby, we certainly don’t have enough men, but you have thousands, my lord. More scattered around the South. More who can help. They will come, as you said.’

  Ake smiled wearily, grateful for the cup of ale Stellan’s old steward, Martyn, brought him on a tray. He took a long drink, wiping a hand over his short beard, now shot with so much grey that he was starting to feel old. Yet there was so much to do. And it was all on him to decide the how, when, and why of it all. ‘You’re right, and I’ll send word to gather them all in. Every man who can fight, who has fought. Even those whose only experience is to wield a pitchfork at a bale of hay. We need them all!’ He frowned, staring back at the map, placing his cup on the edge of the table. ‘We’ve got enough men to attack Slussfall, and sort out Hovring and Vika, but here...’ And he moved his hand up the map, further north and west. ‘In Ennor, I heard stories about what’s happening in The Murk.’ Ake swallowed, feeling odd. Another problem that could be laid squarely at his door. Another loose end he’d failed to tie up. ‘I had to return, to save Ottby, to keep Stornas safe, but my dreamer sees bigger problems coming.’ And leaning forward, he pointed to Orvala, a large territory east of The Murk.

  ‘Who’s up there now?’ Bolli wondered, adjusting his bandage. He was struggling to hear with it wrapped around his head, though he wondered if he needed it at all. ‘Thought it was just a bunch of half-frozen tribes and polar bears. All of them fighting each other!’

  Ake grinned. ‘Once, old friend. Now, it’s a beacon. A light in the darkness. Many are flocking there.’

  ‘To Orvala?’ Bjarni looked surprised. He remembered his journey to the North with Stellan and Ake when he was twelve-years-old. They had sailed to Orvala to visit the man who’d claimed kingship of the North; the self-proclaimed ruler of the northernmost tribes. Ake had sought to make peace and forge an alliance, and the new king had been amenable, as desirous of peace as Ake.

  Bjarni remembered their time as one of feasts and games, wild beasts and rabid boys, all of whom had wanted to fight him and Reinar to the death. He smiled, then frowned, remembering how that king had been killed as soon as they’d departed for Ottby, replaced by an angry, blood-thirsty man who had simply wanted to murder every rival until he stood alone, the King of the North.

  Orvala had been a brutal, untamed sort of place.

  ‘Thousands of years ago, a great city perched here,’ Ake said, pointing to what was now just a shadow of its former self. ‘When the gods broke Alekka in two, the North was crushed. Punished. But memories of what existed here remain. Memories of what Orvala was and what it stood for. Some have not forgotten.’

  ‘And they’re rising up,’ Algeir put in. He was a sour-faced man, with hooded eyes, and a flattened nose. His straight chestnut hair hung lankly to his shoulders, his beard kept short, turning grey. But despite his dour appearance and sharp tone, he was extremely loyal to Ake and effective at managing his lord’s men. And his lord. ‘They aim to take the South.’

  Reinar looked surprised. ‘Take the South?’

  Ake nodded. ‘It’s their belief that they will. And these men here.’ His hand moved back to Ennor, and up to The Murk. ‘These men want to crush us too.’ His hand lingered for a moment, feeling another tremor of regret, before moving east to Slussfall. ‘Not to mention our good friend Hakon Vettel and his cousin. So...’ And standing back, he opened up his arms, stretching them from one side of the map table to the other. ‘We’re threatened from both sides. From above too. And we don’t have the men to simply divide our forces and crush them all at once. To staunch every inevitable break in our wall.’ His eyes were on Reinar. ‘Many want my crown.’

  Reinar held his king’s gaze, not wanting to be lumped in with their Northern enemies. ‘We need allies.’

  Ake smiled, pleased that Stellan’s son was smart like his father. ‘We do. And we have some. But first, I want us to push up North. We can’t expose Stornas, so we need to strengthen Ottby. Algeir, you’ll take six hundred men to sort out Hovring and Vika. After what those idiots tried, I doubt they went back to their forts. I imagine they remained with Hakon, hoping he’d keep them safe.’ Everything was always a hope, Ake knew, shoulders aching with the lumberous weight of responsibility. ‘So quell any unrest, then install new lords. Give me your proposals for those men before you leave. Send half your men with Emil. Attack both forts at once. Give them no time to warn each other about what’s coming. Likely there won’t even be a fight. Most people want peace. They want a lord who keeps them safe. I hardly think they’ll go against us without Erlan and Alef there to twist the truth of their betrayal into something more palatable.’

  Algeir nodded, lifting his chin, enjoying the prospect of restoring order around Ottby.

  ‘I’ll take the rest of our men back to Stornas, for that is where we must be strongest. I’ll ensure we have everything in place there. Messengers will be sent through the North and the South, and beyond. And you, Reinar...’ Ake lifted his eyes to the hall doors as they opened, wondering if it was Sigurd, but it was two men he didn’t know; swarthy-looking types, who quickly made themselves at home by the fire. ‘I’ll leave you eight hundred men, and you and your brother will take Slussfall.’

  Now it was Reinar’s turn to look pleased. He nodded. ‘After what Hakon Vettel did to Ottby, I’d be happy to.’

  ‘Good!’ Ake was ready for something to eat. Whatever was roasting in the kitchen had his stomach growling in anticipation. ‘And Sigurd? Will he return?’

  Reinar blinked, jaw working. ‘He will. He just needs time. Tulia was his woman. Her loss...’ He shivered, remembering the image of Sigurd throwing himself onto Tulia’s body. The ship nail she’d fallen onto had gone through her neck. She’d stood no chance. ‘She was one of my finest warriors. There were few better. When Sigurd returns, we’ll honour her. And then we’ll begin.’

  ‘Good.’ It was what Ake needed to hear. He saw Stellan raise his head, and he smiled. ‘You get back to work, then. I’ll sit here with Stellan for a while before I join you.’ And dismissing them all with a barely discernible nod of his head, Ake took a seat beside Stellan, patting his friend’s hand.

  Reinar turned after Bjarni, who was following Ludo out of the hall. His mind started whirring, knowing that there was so much to think about, so much to organise and plan. He was worried about Sigurd, wondering what to do about Elin.

  Unable to stop thinking about Alys.

  Alys had been taught to ride by her grandfather, Jonas.

  His best friend, Vik, lived a day’s ride from their cottage, and they were always heading north to visit him. The road from Torborg to Burholm cut through the forest, with the odd stream to cross, and it gave Jonas an opportunity to teach Alys how to ride. Fast. They would often leave as dawn whispered its
first breath, hoping to arrive at Vik’s in time for supper.

  Over the years, they became increasingly competitive, for the loser would be lumped with cooking duties for the next month.

  Alys hated cooking, so she could ride fast. And she did.

  She could hear men shouting, horses crashing through the trees to her right, snow crunching, flung into the air by pounding hooves, flashes of armour glinting in the odd burst of sunshine.

  There was at least a handful of them.

  And they could ride too.

  Glancing around, Alys felt panic threatening to freeze her. Stina was not an experienced rider, but terror had her clinging on as her nimble horse raced through the slushy mud. Eddeth, though, was another story. Alys could see her big eyes bulging as she yelped, banging up and down in the saddle, struggling to control Wilf with little command of the reins at all.

  Turning back around, she could feel Tulia’s sword slapping against her hip, knowing she had no chance to use it. Her bow and quiver banged against her back, but she could barely stretch out her arms as she twisted Haski away from the stream, into the trees. There was nowhere to stop and regroup. Nowhere to hide. They just had to try and get away.

  The men were gaining.

  ‘Alys!’ Stina screamed.

  Alys turned, catching a glimpse of a dirty-white horse jumping over a fallen tree into Stina’s path. The helmeted warrior grabbed for Stina, who swung away from him, yelping. He reached for her long braid, and snatching it, he used it like a rope, pulling himself closer to her.

  ‘No!’ Stina tried to fight him off, but the warrior banged his horse into hers, nearly sending her flying, fighting for control of the reins.

  Alys wheeled her horse around, charging back for Stina, heart racing, eyes up as Eddeth was yanked backwards, a shaven-headed man grabbing her cloak. Eddeth barked at him, anger in her voice. Too afraid to take her hands off Wilf’s reins, she leaned forward, trying to wrench her cloak out of the man’s grasp, urging her horse onwards. But the man clung on, tugging Eddeth straight out of the saddle, dropping her onto the ground; Wilf ploughing on, oblivious.