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

by A. E. Rayne

  ‘With this weather? Your lord’s wound? The vatyr and The Hunter? Oh yes, I would say so! It’s only a matter of time before something else goes wrong, mark my words. Only a matter of time!’

  Ivan wanted to scream. He wanted to run out of the camp and leave them all behind. He longed to be back in Orbo, standing on the wall, eyes on the vast expanse of glittering sea. He didn’t want to claim thrones that no longer belonged to them. He didn’t want to trek up and down Alekka seeking vengeance.

  He wanted to go home.

  Stina tied a knot in the thread, stepping back, checking Lief’s stitches, which was mostly impossible in the near-darkness. Soapstone lamps burned on the table beside her, but their glow was dim, flames disturbed by the wind, and she could only assume that she’d done a passable job. ‘You need to be careful,’ she warned. ‘Don’t touch your head. I’ll wrap a bandage around it. It’s still bleeding.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Lief muttered, impatient to be gone. ‘Well, cursed or not, we need to get on the road come first light. We won’t get to Slussfall waiting and hiding in the forest.’

  Ivan peered at him. ‘No, we won’t. Hakon’s already making plans for a quick departure.’

  ‘Is he?’

  Ivan could hear it then: the first hint of a problem.

  Not the first hint, he knew, but he could sense a worrying change in Lief. ‘He is, of course. He’s our lord. Our leader. He’s making plans for how to keep us all safe.’ None of it was true, and Ivan was struggling to even say the words. A lord could be defeated by a rumour. By the merest tremor of distrust.

  One sign of weakness...

  18

  Morning tried to dawn through a wall of clouds that promised another grim day. Vik and Jonas had been woken early by the goats, and a rooster they hadn’t realised was sleeping in the barn, though both men doubted they’d slept much at all.

  Jonas dragged a hand down his face, wanting a splash of cold water, a sip of something to moisten his throat, which was so dry he almost had to peel his tongue off the roof of his mouth. Vik looked eager to be gone, tightening his swordbelts, wrapping his cloak around his shoulders, eyes on the faint light seeping in through holes in the barn door. ‘Better be going before someone comes to milk those goats.’

  Jonas nodded, standing, thinking of Magnus, hoping he’d had more than a few nuts for his supper. His own stomach growled endlessly, irritating him. They could hardly sneak around the fort with his belly making such a ruckus.

  ‘Ready?’ Vik asked as Jonas pulled up the hood of his cloak, dropping it over his face.

  And nodding, Jonas followed him out of the barn into the blustery morning.

  Hakon wasn’t ready to leave his tent.

  After The Hunter?

  Before last night he’d let his imagination do all the work, making up explanations for what was happening, weaving it into a story he’d almost convinced himself was true.

  But now, it was plain to everyone.

  The gods had turned against him.

  And what would they do next?

  What would he do?

  Ivan poked his head inside the tent; tired eyes, forced grin, braids almost entirely undone by the vicious wind. ‘Hungry?’

  Hakon could smell the cooking fires. He could hear the scrape and slop of porridge being lumped into bowls, and he thought of his hall and his high table and his cook who made him venison sausages for breakfast. If she hadn’t been such a frail old woman, he would’ve brought her along. ‘Not hungry at all. You?’

  Ivan slipped inside, pleased to see Hakon looking better, which was surprising after the terrifying night they’d endured. ‘No, it’s colder than Vasa’s tits out there! I just want to get on the road. Standing around here won’t put anyone in a good mood.’

  ‘And what about the bodies?’ Hakon wondered.

  ‘All seen to.’

  ‘And Lief?’

  ‘He’s getting the servants sorted, those women too.’

  ‘Well, it was worth keeping them after all,’ Hakon decided. ‘They’ll be busy for days.’

  Ivan nodded, staring at Hakon’s belly. ‘And you? How’s the pain?’

  ‘Gone,’ Hakon lied, not wanting to appear weak, not even to his cousin. The pain was like bolts of lightning shooting through him. Sometimes, he couldn’t speak. He wanted to curl up on his bed and close his eyes. ‘Eddeth’s maggots worked their magic, and now I am healed!’ He tried to push back his shoulders, setting his jaw firmly, heading towards Ivan. ‘Come on, Cousin, let’s get outside. I’m sure there’s a drop of ale to find, perhaps even some wine!’ He hadn’t seen Rikkard in some time, though he knew Ivan had put him to work, helping to move the dead and injured. He felt annoyed, wanting the boy with him, tending to his every need.

  Ivan knew Hakon well enough to sense how uptight he was, how worried he was too, but he felt a lift. His cousin had not retreated. He was not hiding from what was coming for them. That was something, at least.

  But only something.

  He smiled as Hakon peered at him, trying to ignore the tension in his shoulders that warned him that everything was falling apart. ‘Alright, I’ll go and see what I can do about some breakfast.’

  Vik made his way across Slussfall’s square to buy two hot sausages for breakfast. Jonas took his guiltily, thinking of poor Magnus, who would surely not be eating anything that resembled food in that prison hole. He tried not to look his way as they stood between two old sheds, watching.

  The tables were being dragged out in the hopes that some hardy folks still wanted to part with their hard-earned coins. And those selling lamps or candles or furs would surely do a good trade – those selling hot food too.

  ‘We need to get him out tonight, just before the gates close,’ Jonas decided.

  Vik nodded, unable to stop yawning. It felt as though he hadn’t slept in days, and his thoughts were slow to form, yet they had to be decisive and sharp. It would do none of them any good to make a mistake now.

  ‘Ollo Narp,’ Jonas murmured, eyes on the stout man striding across the square, barking at a group of small children who were throwing snowballs at each other. Hands flapping imperiously, he tried to move them away from the tables and those men who were out with their shovels working to clear the snow. ‘Never has a man been more in love with the sound of his own voice than Ollo Narp. Snively little shit.’

  ‘You think we can trust him?’

  Jonas narrowed his eyes, considering things. Ollo Narp had been one of Sirrus Ahlmann’s men, but rumours had drifted down the Eastern Shore that Ollo had turned on Sirrus in return for a powerful new position and a chest full of silver. Jonas didn’t doubt it. Sirrus had always been too loyal, keeping men like Ollo around when he should have cut them loose.

  ‘I think we couldn’t trust him to keep his own mother safe, but we’ve little choice now. He’s devious. Greedy. Might work in our favour.’

  Vik nodded, eyes on Ollo, who had grabbed a little boy by the collar, threatening him with a heavily ringed finger. ‘Let’s hope so.’ He looked over his shoulder, shivering. ‘Gates are open.’

  ‘Then you should go. Get out while you can. I’ll stay. Bring Magnus.’

  Lifting an unimpressed eyebrow at his old friend, Vik turned into the alley. ‘Not likely. And not today. Let’s tuck ourselves away awhile. We can go find Ollo when things warm up. We don’t want to give him too much time to betray us now, do we?’

  Everyone’s eyes were on Hakon.

  Including Lief’s.

  They had finally left their camp as the sun was reaching its peak, eager to leave behind the reminder of what had happened in the night.

  Hakon rode at the head of their long column, thinking of Ulrick, who had abandoned him for the little girl; Mother, who had died; and Njall, who had saved his life then lost his own. He turned to Lief, who rode alongside him, feeling the need to reassure him that he was still a lord worth following. ‘The weather appears to have improved.’

  Lief nod
ded. ‘It does, my lord. We’ll make good progress today, though there are many wounded, including yourself. It wouldn’t be wise to push you too hard.’

  Hakon flinched, not wanting to be lumped in with the injured, though he couldn’t deny that he was barely able to tolerate the pain in his belly. ‘Makes sense,’ he grunted, trying to think of something else to say. ‘Though nothing will make them feel as good as seeing Slussfall’s walls in the distance. I would rather we made progress than sat around feeling sorry for ourselves. I’d happily ride through the night if it weren’t for all of them!’ And turning in the saddle, he glared at the slow-moving train of warriors and servants.

  Lief doubted that was true. He could see the pain in Hakon’s eyes.

  The fear too.

  Lief was forty-four. Old enough to be Hakon’s father.

  He remembered how loyal his own father had been to Jorek Vettel; to his son, Jesper. He had given his oath to protect them all, as had Lief as a young man.

  Lief frowned, knowing that Falla was riding behind him with the women.

  His pregnant wife.

  His oath to Hakon mattered, but he’d also taken an oath to Falla before the gods, and that oath was carved into his heart.

  He would do whatever it took to keep her safe.

  ‘What we need is someone on the inside. Inside Slussfall. One of Sirrus’ men, if there’s any left. Someone to open the gates and let us in!’

  Reinar laughed, clapping Bolli on the back. ‘I like the sound of that. We can send a note, ask them to help us out!’

  They were moving through the ships, checking for problems. Once it had been reassuring to know that a fleet of twenty expertly crafted warships waited down in the harbour, though over the past year, Reinar had lost many of his helmsmen, and then many of his oarsmen too. They’d struggled to put crews together.

  But now?

  Now they had eight hundred Stornas men and those captured Slussfall warriors who had wisely chosen to live and give their oath to Reinar. And with word being sent to the settlements around Ottby, soon they would have even more men. Enough hands to launch the entire fleet.

  And more.

  Ake had promised to send ten ships of his own, wanting to ensure the success of their attack on the Vettels.

  Reinar puffed out a cold breath, eyes on the gloomy bank of clouds hanging above the fort. ‘Feels like winter’s already here. Those clouds aren’t going to shift till spring, are they?’

  Bolli frowned, following his gaze. He wore his favourite old blue gloves; fingerless, and repaired so often that they were a ratty mess, but he was rarely without them. ‘I’d say not. You know the rumours. They say this winter will crush us.’ He looked up at Reinar, who stood taller than every man in Ottby, apart from Ludo, who’d come down to the piers with Elin.

  Reinar frowned at his wife, Bolli’s words ringing in his ears.

  ‘What is it?’ Elin wondered, waiting by Fury as Reinar hopped over the gunwale, boots banging on the pier. ‘Is something wrong?’

  ‘Just worried about the weather. You don’t launch a fleet in winter. Makes no sense.’

  Elin laughed. ‘It’s not winter yet, Reinar.’ She held out her arms, turning around, eyes on the dark water. ‘There’s no ice! We can still sail.’

  Ludo looked worried beside her. ‘But for how long? We don’t want to get up the coast and be stopped, trapped in ice.’

  ‘No, we don’t,’ Reinar agreed, looking back to Bolli, who had crouched down, muttering to himself.

  ‘This is getting very long,’ Elin said, tugging on the end of her husband’s blonde beard. ‘Why don’t I give it a trim before you turn into an old helmsman?’

  Reinar stared into her twinkling eyes, and he smiled. ‘Thought I might grow it. It’ll keep me warm over winter.’ He winked at his wife before turning to Ludo. ‘How’s Sigurd?’

  ‘Keeping busy this morning, staying away from Ilene.’ Ludo tried not to smile because he felt so sorry for Sigurd, but it was almost pleasant to have a distraction from all the grief and misery and worry.

  Reinar laughed. ‘Imagine what Tulia would do to Ilene if she came back. That’s a fight I’d like to see.’

  Ludo nodded, glancing around as more men lumbered down the stairs, heading for the piers, arms loaded with barrels of ale. ‘I’d better go, see how Sigurd’s doing. Don’t want him running away again.’

  ‘Do that. We’re going to need him. And Ludo, send Ilene to me when you find her. I think we’d better have a little talk, she and I.’

  Elin was staring at her husband, sensing his desire to keep his mind on everything else but the woman standing right in front of him. She put a gloved hand on his chest, pressing, wanting to claim all of his attention. ‘Why don’t you show me where we’ll be. Which ship. Where I’ll be sitting. What I’ll be doing.’

  And dropping his head, staring into those familiar eyes again, Reinar smiled, trying to give it to her.

  Ivan had forced Hakon to stop. His cousin hadn’t wanted to appear weak and in need of a rest, though he certainly felt weak and in need of a rest. But Ivan had insisted that they take a break. Since leaving their camp in a hurry, they’d pushed the horses and men hard, and that sort of pace would wear on anyone after a while.

  So Hakon stood by his horse as he drank from the stream which rushed past them in an icy babble.

  ‘Your cousin asked me to check your wound, my lord,’ Alys said nervously. She hadn’t wanted to. Eddeth had been caring for Hakon, though, according to Ivan, he no longer wanted her near him.

  Hakon flapped a gloved hand at Alys, irritated by her interruption. He didn’t want company. Nor did he wish to be fussed over like an ill child. ‘See to someone who needs your help. I don’t.’

  Alys was relieved, stepping away from the stream, head bowed.

  ‘Wait.’ Hakon peered at her. ‘Why are you here? Who sent you?’ He saw enemies everywhere now, as though the gods were following him, planning another attack, determined to rip off any last vestiges of favour.

  Alys looked confused. ‘Sent me? I was captured by your men.’

  Hakon lunged at her, belly stinging, grabbing her wrist with his riveted glove. Alys yelped, feeling those rivets dig into her, but Hakon didn’t care. ‘So you say, but why should I believe that three healers were riding through the forest just when we had such great need of them?’

  His breath was rancid, and Alys let it wash over her, trying not to screw up her nose or gag. He smelled of ale and fear, his thoughts cantering around his head like a pack of horses. ‘We are not three healers, my lord. Eddeth is a healer, she has skills, but Stina and I are just her friends. We were on our way home. No one sent us to you, unless you think the gods are watching. Perhaps they brought us together? Eddeth did save your life. Perhaps it was the gods who sent us to help you?’ Alys watched him, her wrist burning beneath his grip, which finally weakened, all energy leaving Hakon’s trembling body in a rush.

  He stumbled away, snarling. ‘You think the gods wanted to save me?’ Leaning against his horse, he tried to catch his breath, wanting to collapse to the ground; the pain had his ears ringing. ‘Saved me so I could be killed by The Hunter or the vatyr or whatever is coming for us next? That makes no sense!’

  Alys saw the fear in Hakon’s strange eyes as he turned them on her; flashes of images that confused her once more.

  ‘What? What is it?’ Hakon watched her face change. She was a beautiful woman, he thought, studying her closely for the first time. Changeable and lovely.

  He felt his tension release, ever so slightly.

  ‘I... I feel worried,’ Alys said, dropping her eyes, not wanting to reveal anything further. ‘If the gods are in such a vengeful mood, what will that mean for tonight and the night after? It’s very troubling.’

  Hakon swallowed, not wanting to agree with her, though he did. Sighing, he peered over her shoulder, watching Eddeth hop around the stream, filling up water skins. ‘You’d better send that Eddeth woman to me
, then. She can ride with me today, tell me everything she knows about the gods.’

  Alys froze. ‘Eddeth?’

  But Hakon was already turning away from her, wishing Njall was there to give him a boost onto his horse, though it would hardly dispel the notion that he was weak and helpless if he needed to be coddled like a baby. So grabbing a handful of reins, and gritting his teeth, Hakon shoved a wet boot into the stirrup, pulling himself up into the saddle. ‘Yes,’ he breathed, pain in his eyes as he stared down into hers. ‘Eddeth.’

  Reinar had never imagined that he would miss Eddeth, but he walked past her cottage with a wistful feeling, eyes on the boots stuffed onto her bench, hoping she was safe, wherever she was.

  Ilene Gislar walked beside him. She wore a grey woollen cloak over her grey woollen dress, a pair of half-decent boots on her feet too. Yet she shivered, cheeks and nose red, shoulders hunched around her ears. She was a handsome woman, he supposed, with generous hips, an ample bosom, and unblemished skin, though her tiny eyes were calculating and she smirked rather than smiled.

  As though she was always playing games.

  ‘It gets cold in Ullaberg, then? At this time of year?’

  Ilene wondered what the lord wanted with her. He didn’t look at her as other men did, and she sensed that he had no interest in her body, and that worried her. She wanted to stay, to make a new home in Ottby. Ullaberg was a heap of crumbling cottages she didn’t wish to return to, and no men worthy of her time now that Arnon de Sant was dead. ‘It is. The wind blows from the sea, freezing us solid, though Ottby is just as cold, I’d say.’

  ‘And you wish to stay here?’ Reinar asked, nodding at his old scout, Beggi, who walked past with his lanky son, Torfinn. ‘You wish to stay in the fort?’

  Ilene nodded. ‘I can be useful. You’ve seen that... my lord.’

  Reinar smiled. ‘I have, Ilene.’ He stopped, turning to her. ‘You have skill with a bow, with a sword too. I saw how Tulia helped you, what she started to turn you into. I watched you, and I’d be happy to have you stay, though I’m worried too.’