by A. E. Rayne
‘Ludo!’ Bjarni nudged him, having gotten no response. ‘Pass the ale jug!’
Reinar blinked, realising that he’d been holding an empty cup for some time. He put the cup down on the table, turning to face Elin, trying to focus.
‘I hope Sigurd’s not hiding from me,’ Elin said, feeling upset. Her head ached from crying. Her eyes too. It was hard to believe that Torvig had hurt anyone. Impossible, even. Though it was what everyone seemed to have decided had happened. It was what Sigurd obviously believed as he’d barely met her eyes since she’d returned.
‘No.’ Reinar shook his head. ‘After the pyre? He just wants to be alone. He’s gone to the dreamer’s cottage.’ That felt odd to say, and Reinar had to work hard to suppress the feelings of guilt that bubbled up inside his chest when he thought of Alys.
‘Salma was a dear woman. So kind. And now you’re without a dreamer...’ Elin’s eyes narrowed, searching Reinar’s.
Reinar turned away from her as the doors opened, checking on the latest arrivals. Some of his warriors had returned to the fort, hearing the news of their victory over the Vettels; those without wives, who weren’t too proud to show their faces again. Reinar wasn’t about to judge. He needed every man he could get his hands on, and it was encouraging to feel the fort filling up again. Now he had his reputation back. His wife too. And smiling at Elin, he reached down to hold her hand. ‘I’m not that interested in dreams anymore. Not when I have you back. What do I need to dream of?’ He leaned in to kiss her, surprised when Elin recoiled, her smile slipping for a moment.
‘Well, it’s always useful to know what’s out there. To have a warning of what’s coming, don’t you think? For how can we save ourselves if we don’t know the danger we face?’
She sounded odd, Reinar thought, not like herself at all. He smiled, though, nodding, trying to convince himself that what she needed was time. She was grieving, exhausted, displaced. It would just take some time for everything to fall back into place again.
But it would, Reinar told himself.
It would.
‘He hasn’t found anything,’ Jonas muttered, eyes on the fort in the distance. There’d barely been a hint of sun throughout the day, but it was certainly on its way down. Rain was falling steadily now, like tiny shards of ice as it hit their faces. ‘They’ll close the gates soon.’
Vik nodded, frozen body tense. ‘No, he hasn’t found anything, but that’s to be expected, isn’t it? Hard to find someone who’s not out in the open, and not everyone’s strutting around a fort all day, showing off the little girl they kidnapped.’
Jonas turned to him. ‘We should have gone in. Why didn’t we go in?’ Lifting his hands to his wet face, he scratched his beard.
‘Because we made a decision. We had a plan. We want to get them both out alive. And this is the best way.’ Though doubts had ripped great holes in Vik’s confidence too, and he was left wondering what their next plan was going to be.
The traders and farmers were leaving the fort, most without their goods. Some were still lumbered with theirs, and those men and women had slumped shoulders, walking slowly, weighed down by their problems and the failure of their day to turn things around.
‘He might still come,’ Vik decided. ‘You told that silversmith to find us, so we wait. He might still come.’
Jonas edged closer, until he was almost out of the forest entirely, hoping and wishing and praying to the gods that Magnus would get out of the fort safely.
Magnus had hovered around the busy square all day, wanting to hear more information about Ulrick. Bergit was a popular woman in Slussfall, it appeared, and wealthy enough to have spent much of the day conversing with the stallholders, parting with many coins.
Information too.
She liked to talk about herself and how valuable her husband was to Hakon Vettel. She seemed at her happiest when people were telling her how lucky and beautiful she was, and how great her prospects would be once Hakon reached Stornas and rewarded his most loyal men.
Though realising that there was little else to discover, and no point in remaining in the fort, Magnus had returned to Leonid, who had spent the afternoon embroiled in an argument with his neighbour, a rival silversmith. Leonid was not an argumentative man, but his desperation to sell his goods had led to him becoming increasingly vocal in his attempts to attract customers to his table. Insults had flown back and forth throughout the afternoon as each man vied to secure a purchase.
Magnus stood behind Leonid’s table, smiling awkwardly at prospective customers, trying to ignore the arguing, sniping men before him as they became even angrier.
Leonid Grubert was a slight, nervous man, inexperienced in all matters of weaponry, raised by an equally nervous silversmith who had never shown him how to fight. His rival had four brothers, two of them warriors, and all of them as thick-necked and bone-headed as he was, so when the insults had become too galling to ignore, the thick-necked silversmith had whipped out a knife, ordering Leonid to shut his yapping mouth before he cut out his tongue.
Leonid panicked, not even having an eating knife to hand. Looking around quickly, he swooped up a water jug from a neighbouring table. His remaining goods were already packed into his satchels, and he was eager to be gone. He’d meant to simply throw the water from the jug at the man, grab Magnus’ hand and run, but a sudden downpour of sleety rain had his hands both numb and wet, and he slipped, throwing the heavy jug at his rival’s head instead.
And the rival silversmith, Malick Valborg, was a sturdy man, who would’ve normally stood his ground and ended up with a lump on his head and an urgent need to beat Leonid black-and-blue. But the rain had soaked the boards they stood on, and he slipped, losing his balance, falling to the ground with a thump, hitting his head on a rock.
Magnus froze, staring down at the man.
Leonid looked ready to faint, holding his breath, willing Malick to stand up.
The neighbouring stallholders rushed over, including one of Malick’s brothers, who dropped to his knees, feeling for a pulse.
Looking up, blood on his hands, he called out in horror. ‘He’s dead! He’s dead! Look at his head. You killed him!’ And pointing a finger at Leonid, he raised his voice, screaming louder. ‘He killed him! He murdered my brother!’
Magnus wondered if it was all a joke, a dream. He started to step away. As much as he wanted to help Leonid, he didn’t see what he could do. He was conscious of the rain-soaked sky darkening above his head, worried that he would not be able to escape the fort before the gates were closed for the night.
And then a hand on his shoulder, and Magnus turned around as a helmeted guard grabbed him, dragging both him and Leonid across the square, through the pouring rain.
12
Alys didn’t know what Ivan was up to.
He had invited her into his small tent, where boulders and tree stumps had been rolled in to make a table and two chairs. The table had been laid out with a selection of fish and cheese, bowls of soup that smelled strongly of dill and onions, and two cups of ale. A fire blazed away in a ring of stones in the corner, a few candles guttering scant light across the table.
Alys had remained by the entrance initially, hoping to leave quickly, concerned that Ivan appeared to have tidied himself up. He had combed and rebraided his hair and changed into a light-coloured tunic, mostly washed clean of any blood and dirt. Alys had swallowed, sensing that she needed to make a quick escape, but Ivan had encouraged her to sit down, and they had eaten supper together. As worried as she felt about her children, she had rediscovered her appetite, almost enjoying the roasted perch, despite the abundance of bones. She took a few sips of ale, surprised to discover that it tasted stronger than anything she’d drunk in Ottby.
And blinking quickly, she tried not to think about Ottby.
‘We’ll depart for Slussfall at dawn,’ Ivan said, wiping soup out of his beard.
‘You must be in a hurry to get home if you want to leave that quickly. Your c
ousin shouldn’t be riding yet. Eddeth’s not happy.’
‘Mmmm, well, my cousin has other ideas. He wants to get home as soon as possible,’ Ivan said, struggling to keep his eyes on Alys’ face. He’d been helping himself to ale all day and was slightly drunk, his attention wandering to her lips, dropping suddenly to her breasts.
‘But not you?’ Alys’ voice was sharp, trying to focus him.
Ivan blinked, lifting his eyes. ‘Slussfall’s a base. A stepping stone.’
‘But not home?’
‘Not home,’ Ivan agreed, wanting to change the subject. He hadn’t invited her into his tent to talk about him. ‘And you, do you like your home? I forget its name.’
‘Ullaberg.’ Alys forced herself to smile because now when she thought of Ullaberg, she thought of her cruel, dead husband. ‘It’s barely a village, but it’s my home. Where I must return.’
‘Must you, though?’ Ivan leaned across the table, reaching for her hand. ‘Must you go, Alys? To... Ullaberg? It sounds like a nothing sort of place if I don’t even know its name.’
Alys squirmed, slipping her hands off the table, into her lap. Ivan’s intentions had become abundantly clear, and she needed to find a way to leave quickly. ‘Ullaberg has the most beautiful beach,’ she mumbled. ‘There are many coves and beaches down the coast with nothing but stones, but Ullaberg’s beach is all sand. It doesn’t have to be known by you, or anyone else to be my home.’
Ivan moved his tree stump closer to Alys, and sitting back down, he lifted his cup in one hand, placing his other hand on Alys’ knee.
Alys froze. ‘I...’ Ivan was their best chance of being freed quickly, and she didn’t want to risk offending him. Then, remembering what had happened to Stina, she jumped to her feet with a scowl. ‘Are you planning to rape me?’
Ivan rocked back in surprise, almost falling off his stump. ‘What?’ He staggered to his feet, legs wobbling. ‘Rape you?’ He snorted. ‘You think that’s why you’re here?’
Alys glared at him. ‘What else do you want with me?’
Ivan stepped towards her. Just the one step. He swayed, trying hard to stay still, to sound like a man. ‘I’m a lord. A Vettel. A famed warrior!’ He frowned, doubting the last was true. ‘I’ve no need to rape anyone. No desire to, either.’ And slamming one hand down on the table, he tried to steady himself, eyes on Alys.
‘Why did you bring me here, then?’
Ivan smiled, his face lighting up. ‘Because you are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. You have a face like a goddess. I wanted to feed you, talk to you. Most women I know don’t have much to say. Or perhaps, I’m too busy trying to get their clothes off to listen!’ He laughed, not feeling embarrassed. ‘You, though... you’re different, I think. Perhaps because you’re older?’
‘Older?’
‘Older than me, I’d guess, for I am merely a boy. Not even twenty-four!’
‘Well, then, compared to you, I’m an old crone,’ Alys smiled, not revealing anything further. She froze suddenly, seeing an image of Magnus, feeling his terror. And shivering, she turned away from Ivan, hoping to see more.
‘Are you alright? Alys?’ Ivan hurried to her, hand on her arm.
Alys stayed where she was, desperately trying to see Magnus, but now there was only darkness. Darkness and Ivan Vettel’s hand touching her. She turned around quickly, wanting to shake it off, but it didn’t budge. ‘I think it was the ale. Or the fish. I feel a little full.’
‘Well, come, sit back down. I want to talk to you, about tomorrow. About what we will do with you.’
‘Do with us?’
Ivan started rambling about things that were important, about things Alys very much needed to listen to, but her mind was flashing with worrying images of Magnus.
Of her grandfather. Of Vik.
She kept frowning, blinking, looking around.
And then Ivan finally got to what he was trying to say.
‘...so, we both think it best if you come with us to Slussfall.’
Alys stared at him, trying to focus, though that only seemed to encourage Ivan to come closer, and she stepped back. ‘What? Why?’ She had an urgent need to tip some more of his potent ale down her throat, sensing everything tangling up into the most impossible mess; reminded again of Reinar’s offer to send warriors with her. ‘Slussfall? But we’re going to Ullaberg, Ivan, we’re not going to Slussfall.’
Ivan was surprised by her resistance. He had thought they were getting along so well. ‘Once Hakon has fully recovered, you’ll be free to go on your way.’
Alys narrowed her eyes, completely focused on him now.
‘You will, I swear it. I do. I just don’t want Hakon falling ill again, and he’s bone-headed enough to push himself too hard just to prove that he’s the lord who will be king. It would do our hopes no good if something were to happen to him now.’
Alys sighed, shoulders tight, impatient to leave. ‘Slussfall?’
Ivan smiled at her, nodding. ‘Slussfall.’
The rain turned to sleet, and then snow, and both men knew that they had to seek the shelter of their tent, which Jonas quickly regretted pulling apart in a burst of nervous energy. But there was no point standing out in the foul weather, watching the dark silhouette of the fortress, its gates long closed.
‘We might have missed him,’ Vik mumbled, frozen solid. He didn’t move, though. He barely blinked, looking at the old fort, trying to remember how it looked inside, and where Magnus might have hidden away to get some sleep.
‘That Leonid looked very keen for more silver,’ Jonas sighed. ‘He wanted the rest of it, I saw that in his eyes. Half-starved he was, so why didn’t he come to us? Even if we missed Magnus, why didn’t Leonid find us? We haven’t moved all day. Where is the man?’ He ran a wet hand over his beard, shoulder blades tight with tension. ‘We have to get in there!’
Vik nodded. ‘We do, I know. And we will. First thing come morning. So that’s what we need to do now. Not stand out here like two old fools trying to undo something that can’t be undone tonight. We can go and plan. Get warm, get some food. We can’t help Magnus if we don’t help ourselves first.’
Jonas didn’t even blink, but he took one last look at the fort, before turning around to follow Vik back into the trees, hoping that wherever he was, Magnus was safe and warm.
They had been taken to the prison hole. That’s what Leonid called it, and Magnus was too scared to ask anything further. It was a long, dark hole that smelled of shit. Rats too. Magnus could hear them squeaking and scurrying around. It was too dark to see much, but occasionally, he felt something furry brush past his leg. There was one small barred window that looked out onto the square, one iron-strong door with a flap where the guards would bark at the prisoners or throw some slop inside when it was time for supper.
It was a miserable place, promising a miserable death.
Leonid had sobbed for the first few hours, uncontrollably, and loudly.
They were not alone in the hole, though, and eventually, some of the other prisoners, who looked bigger, harder, and meaner than Leonid, had threatened him with fists and broken teeth if he didn’t shut up, and after that he’d slumped down beside Magnus under the window, mostly silent.
Magnus didn’t know what to say. He was in shock; unsure why he’d been blamed for what Leonid had done; wondering how he was going to escape and get word to Jonas and Vik about what had happened.
Leonid didn’t appear to care. He hadn’t said a word to Magnus.
He hadn’t even looked his way.
Magnus dropped his head to his knees, feeling the icy snow blowing through the barred window, trying to see his mother’s face.
Reinar felt awkward being in the bedchamber with Elin, which was ridiculous, he knew. They had slept in the bed together for nearly a year before she’d disappeared.
Before she had left him.
After supper, they’d escaped the hall and Gerda’s company, taking wine into their chamber, where
they sat around the fire, talking, reminiscing about Torvig. Reinar had indulged Elin because she had lost her only brother, and she was in pain. He hadn’t wanted to talk about Torvig at all, because Torvig had killed Tulia and tried to kill Alys. Torvig had raped Stina, and likely more. And Reinar hated himself for not seeing who he really was before it was too late.
He blinked, realising that he was going over what had already happened, trying to distract himself from what would come next. ‘Should I go?’ he mumbled, staring at Elin, who stood on the opposite side of the bed.
‘Go where?’ she wondered with a yawn, pulling back the furs. ‘You don’t want to sleep?’
‘Sleep?’
‘In the bed. It’s what you do in here most nights, I imagine,’ Elin smiled, heading for her chests. She pulled out a nightdress, and draping it over the bed, she started unpinning her dress.
Reinar looked away, still feeling strange. He sat on the bed, tugging off his boots, thoughts scattered.
Elin slipped her nightdress on quickly, for, despite the heat from the fire, the stone chamber was drafty and cold. And jumping into bed, she pulled the furs up to her chin, nestling down, enjoying the familiar feel of the mattress. It felt soft and welcoming after days on the road, and weeks before that in an uncomfortable cottage with a straw-stuffed mattress. Turning to Reinar, she held out a hand. ‘You aren’t tired? It’s a little early, I know, but I could sleep till spring!’
Reinar stood, pulling down his trousers, leaving them in a heap on the floor. Sliding into bed beside her, he frowned. ‘I’m nothing but tired these days, though it’s been hard to sleep.’ He rolled onto his side, eyes searching hers. It was all he’d wanted: Elin back in bed with him, lying by his side. It was all he’d thought about for weeks as he lay there feeling so alone. But now she was here, and he felt uncomfortable. The distance between them was barely the width of a pillow, but to Reinar, it felt as though they were standing on opposite sides of The Rift.