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

by A. E. Rayne

  ‘They will move into the harbour. Those ships are coming closer. Now!’

  47

  The catapults stopped firing.

  The fog still covered most of their fleet in a protective blanket, and Sigurd felt grateful for it. Still, arrows pierced the fog in whistling waves, his heart stuttering regularly, the shield above his head stabbed full of arrows. His body still stung from his last three arrow wounds, and he felt a deep dread of receiving another.

  Torfinn had trekked back to him, nose dripping. ‘Ready, then?’ He held a shield in one hand, sword in the other. Hearing the whistle of arrows in the distance, he lifted his shield high, crouching slightly. The arrows shot over their heads, disappearing into their wake.

  They were moving now, Bolli silent beside them.

  He had no need to bellow orders. They had spoken quietly before dawn, gone over their plans. Everyone knew what would happen.

  Everyone knew what was expected of them.

  Sigurd grinned. ‘To kill the Vettels? Always ready for that.’ And he inclined his head for the men standing behind him to follow him into the bow. They had a burning brazier now, plenty of fire arrows too. The archers would remain behind with Bolli and the oarsmen when they landed.

  Walking through his men, Sigurd spoke in a low growl. ‘We land fast. Bolli has to drop and go.’ It was a risk, but they’d all decided to bet their fortunes on the shipless Hakon Vettel not wanting to fire their fleet.

  Sigurd, gripping his sword in his cold hand, hoped they were right.

  Bolli was concentrating hard behind him, not wanting to send Dagger crashing into a pier. The fog was thinning, but still, it was a challenge for his old eyes, and his body tightened like a trap, barely a breath slipping through his lips. ‘Stay where you are!’ he grumbled loudly. ‘Be nice to still be afloat when we hit the pier. He wished Sigurd and his men could have swum for it, but mail was heavy, and so were weapons. Best he dropped them off.

  If only he could see the pier.

  They climbed the roughly carved stone steps that led out of the tunnel, eager for a breath of fresh air. The tunnel had been longer than any of them had imagined. Only Reinar had been in it before. Most hadn’t even known it existed, though they were grateful for its protection, and for the chance to sneak up on the fort unannounced.

  Reinar hoped that remained true of everyone, but as he mounted the final step, head up, shoulders heaving, he was hit on the helmet by an arrow. Stumbling backwards, he knocked into Ilene, who was climbing behind him.

  ‘Ilene!’ Berger shouted as she tumbled down the stairs.

  ‘Reinar!’ Bjarni hurried to grab his friend before he fell after Ilene.

  But Reinar held his ground, ears ringing, sensing the trouble that lay ahead of them now. ‘Shields up!’ he bellowed, all thoughts of exhaustion gone, his body suddenly thrumming with urgency. He twisted around, peering down the stairs. ‘Bjarni, go to the back! Get those archers ready. Holgar! With me!’

  ‘Aarrghh!’ Bolli bellowed, arrow digging into his left arm. ‘Pull!’ he gasped, breath momentarily sucked away by a surge of shock and pain. ‘Pull, you fuckers!’ And leaning on the tiller until he thought he would snap in two, Bolli could feel Dagger slowly starting to turn away from the pier.

  Sigurd was comforted by the sound of that familiar growl, lost in the fog behind him as he stood on the pier in the centre of his rapidly forming shield wall, iron rims clanging around him. There were four long piers, and the rest of his fleet had landed their crews on the other three. Soon every pier was full of Ottby and Stornas men, shields up, gripping swords and axes, some with spears, knowing how effective they could be in a shield wall. They needed to do everything they could to draw Hakon Vettel’s attention away from his brother.

  Hakon Vettel most certainly knew about the tunnel for Reinar guessed there were at least three hundred men waiting for them, shields up, archers in behind, firing a steady stream of arrows their way.

  His shield was quickly busy, working left and right, his men filtering out of the tunnel entrance behind him. ‘Shield! Wall!’ Reinar roared, though he didn’t imagine his men had anything else in mind as the arrows whistled towards them. ‘Faster! Faster!’ They had to get out of the tunnel quickly so their own archers could get to work.

  Bjarni was bellowing, trying to push his men forward, but there was barely any room to stand, the Slussfall shield wall crowding them close to the tunnel entrance. ‘Push forward!’ he grunted, frown digging in deep. ‘More room!’

  Reinar heard him, and realising that he had to work quickly to clear some space, he turned to Berger, who stood on his right shoulder with Ilene, whispering in his ear. And nodding, Berger whispered to Ilene, who turned to the man beside her. They gripped their shields tighter, eyes on their lord.

  ‘Charge!’ Reinar screamed, shield protecting his shoulder as he barrelled forward, knocking into the wall of enemy shields. They were never going to survive if they waited, outnumbered, pushed back towards the tunnel.

  They needed chaos.

  The shields before him jerked apart, and Reinar pushed harder, Berger beside him, growling like a bear. They were running at them hard, more and more Ottby men emerging from the tunnel stairs, joining the charge, and there was nothing their enemy could do. Shields fell away as Hakon Vettel’s men were knocked aside, losing any semblance of order.

  Slicing his blade across one man’s throat, Reinar forced his way forward. He looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of a snarling Ilene, cut over her eye already, blood streaming down her face, Berger taking off a head beside her with his giant two-handed sword. And then Bjarni. ‘Bjarni!’

  Bjarni turned, ducking a blade, stabbing his sword through the axeman’s groin, leaving him to fall as he straightened up. ‘Out of the tunnel!’ he yelled, shield high as the Slussfall archers fired on them again. ‘Move! Move!’

  Reinar left him to it. They’d anticipated what might happen, deciding to divide their forces. Bjarni would work to clear the tunnel, and he would focus on killing their enemy, finding a way through.

  Ilene was beside him now, screeching in anger, kicking a man in the balls as he lay on the ground, bleeding from his leg. Dropping to a knee, Reinar stabbed his blade through the man’s throat, spinning around to slice a tattooed warrior across the back of his legs. The man jerked forward, tipping over, unable to stand.

  Back on his feet, Reinar saw one of his friends stumble, a screaming man taking off his head with one clean strike of his sword. ‘Ottmar!’ he roared, rage burning, angry that he was here at all, throwing away the lives of his friends as though they were rotten meat.

  Fog swirled around them like a whirlpool, the wind picking up, and Reinar could smell smoke and pitch in the air. He swung around, watching as one of Berger’s men was felled by a knife to the back of the head, cursing that the man had been too stubborn to wear a helmet. He stumbled, shunted, unsteady on the frosty grass. It was icy, slippery, and Reinar sensed that Hakon Vettel’s warriors were starting to regroup, surging forward in energetic waves.

  He thought of Sigurd, knowing that his brother was relying on him.

  They all were.

  If they couldn’t get through to the main gates, they stood no chance of getting into the fort.

  Hakon ordered his men out of the rarely opened harbour gates. He felt hesitant about exposing them to an assault, but the Ottby men were on the piers; more were on ships, past the headland, assaulting the northern wall. It was a risk, but one he felt confident taking.

  Alys held her breath next to him, eyes peeled open as the fog dispersed. She could hear the battle of shields, and men with spears and axes, the odd splash as someone was knocked into the harbour.

  Lief stood beside her, thinking. Hakon was almost jumping out of his skin with confidence now, and it worried him. Everything Hakon did was worrying him, Falla’s voice ringing in his ears. He leaned down to the dreamer as Hakon strode away. ‘What do you see?’ he whispered. ‘Victory?’<
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  ‘For you?’ Alys whispered back, watching Hakon, who was shouting at his archers, thumbless hands flailing with urgency. ‘What would victory look like for you?’

  Lief ran his eyes over the harbour where the battling shield walls were fighting for control of the piers. He wanted to be down there, but Hakon had insisted he remain on the ramparts with him. ‘Defeating the Vilanders, ending them all. Taking their fleet, sailing to Stornas, killing Ake Bluefinn, claiming the throne.’

  Lief said it without feeling, as though he was reciting a recipe.

  They could both hear it.

  ‘There is another way,’ Alys promised him. ‘If you listen to me, Lief, there’s another way.’ She smiled at him. ‘I can help you, you and Falla, if you just listen to me.’

  But turning his head after Hakon, Lief strode away.

  Aldo Varnass thought he might vomit.

  Eddeth’s plan had sounded easy enough – something he did daily – and yet now, standing before the men, pouring wine into cups, Aldo saw that his hand was trembling. And not just his hand but his whole arm too.

  One of the men laughed out loud, belly jiggling. ‘You’ll never make a warrior, boy, with nerves like that!’

  The other guards who stood around the gates, eagerly taking the cups of wine Aldo was pouring, joined in.

  ‘Imagine what he’d do if we were actually under attack!’

  ‘We are, you idiot. Or they are. We’re missing out on all the fun stuck down here.’

  Tucked around the corner of the alley, Eddeth could hear them all. The guards were full of bravado, for none of them were facing any danger. She felt incensed on Aldo’s behalf. He was a nice boy, if a little greedy, and she felt ready to stride out of her hiding place and give those men a piece of her mind. But jerking her head upright, boots firmly in place, she tried to remind herself of her job. And peering down again, she poured a good helping of potion into the next wine jug, stirring quickly, wanting Aldo to hurry back, for he had to get up to the ramparts before the guards on the gate fell asleep.

  Reinar could see clearly as the fog dispersed, and what he could see was that they were more outnumbered than he’d realised. Hakon’s men were now outflanking them, archers keeping them pinned in place. He couldn’t catch his breath, bloody sword in hand, listening to the cries of pain from his wounded men as Hakon’s archers picked them off.

  He thought of Elin, back on Fury with Stina, and Alys in the fort, and he hoped with every strained breath that she’d found a way to open the gates.

  Though how they were going to get there...

  Berger was shouting at him. ‘Reinar! We have to move! Forward!’ Though it was more of a wish than a plan now, for they were surrounded.

  Bjarni had everyone out of the tunnel, all his men under furious assault. He tried to make his way to Reinar, blocked by a long-haired warrior who was almost frothing at the mouth, swords twirling. Bjarni growled at him, banging his blade onto his shield, ready to teach him a lesson, but the man hadn’t even raised his sword before he was tipping forward, knife in the back of his head.

  Bjarni stood there, staring at him in surprise.

  ‘Well, come on,’ Ilene grinned beside him. ‘Move!’

  And then she was knocked off her feet, two men falling on top of her. ‘Ilene!’ Sheathing his sword, Bjarni hurried to help her up, elbowed in the eye, quickly losing his own footing.

  A blade caught Reinar’s forearm, just above his guard, and he stumbled into the path of an axeman. Holgar was quickly beside him, shunting Reinar out of the way of the hacking blade, which swung at Holgar instead, chopping down on his arm, taking it clean off.

  ‘Holgar!’ Reinar jumped back to his feet, rushing to his helmsman, horror in his eyes. ‘Holgar!’ And then he was ducking a vicious blow from the red-bearded axeman, who wanted a head this time.

  Holgar didn’t move. He lay beside his lost arm, in shock, body throbbing, clouds swirling above his head, the clash of swords ringing in his ears.

  And then a shout in the distance.

  Reinar parried red-beard’s axe, dropping low, blade slicing across his thigh. The man stumbled forward, and Reinar stabbed up, into his eye, hearing him scream as he fell to the ground. Head up, conscious of Holgar whimpering on the ground, Reinar peered through the last vestiges of fog, his eyes on the approaching band of warriors.

  Sigurd had one eye on the shunting shield wall in front of him, the other on the open gates. His wet boots slipped on the boards of the pier, Torfinn working hard beside him, stabbing with his spear. More and more Slussfall men were streaming through the harbour gates, bellowing as they rushed down to the piers to reinforce the shield walls. And then suddenly, the gates creaked closed, locked shut.

  Sigurd’s guts twisted, listening to someone scream as they tumbled off a pier, into the water, another man crying out as he was speared through the groin.

  Hoping his brother was on his way into the fort.

  It felt good.

  Vik couldn’t deny it as the battle joy sung in his limbs, urging him to deliver his enemies to Thenor. Every last one of them.

  They came in behind Hakon’s archers, who appeared to have Reinar’s men pinned down.

  And they tore them apart.

  They’d crept stealthily for some time. At first, in the darkness, through the forest, winding their way through tangled trees, making their own path. Then, as dawn was ushered in, through the vanishing fog. And now they ran, blades glinting in shards of dull sunshine.

  There were only eleven of them, but with the element of surprise, eleven men could do some damage.

  ‘For Ake!’ Jonas shouted. ‘Kill them for Ake!’

  It was their old cry. Simple. To the point. But it had always stirred the blood, and Vik winked at his best friend, two swords sweeping around, choosing his first victim: an archer, who stumbled around, eyes bursting open in shock.

  Reinar almost smiled at the sound of that cry, shoulders tense, arm bleeding, head pounding as Jonas and his men slammed into the back of Hakon Vettel’s archers. He bent to Holgar, who lay prone, face white with shock, armless shoulder pumping blood. And glancing around, Reinar saw one of his less experienced men knocked off his feet, punched in the nose, sitting there stunned. ‘Gorm!’ Reinar ran to him, pulling him up, slamming the rim of his shield into the chin of Gorm’s attacker, sending him flying. ‘Help Holgar! Bandage him up now! Stop that blood!’ And shield up to his shoulder, he took one last look at his helmsman and headed back into the fray.

  The sun was rising above the gloom now, and Alys and Eddeth would be at the gates, and if they couldn’t get there in time, they would lose their only chance to get inside.

  They had to hurry.

  Eddeth didn’t have any fingernails left.

  The men guarding the gates had fallen down, slumping to the ground in sleepy heaps, clad in mail, snoring. The men on the ramparts hadn’t noticed. They were too busy enjoying the wine Aldo had brought them from the kitchen. The boy delivered breakfast to them every morning, supper every evening, and though the wine in itself was unusual, they didn’t think anything of it until their limbs started tingling, their heads spinning. And then their friends were collapsing before their eyes, and though they wanted to shout and sound the alarm, they too were quickly toppling over, falling down to the rampart walk.

  Aldo and Eddeth glanced around.

  The square was almost deserted.

  Most of the army was now congregating on the eastern wall, archers attacking the ships still launching the occasional boulder at them. Others were down at the harbour where the Vilanders’ shield walls were edging forward, fighting to move closer to land.

  ‘We have to do it now, Eddeth,’ Aldo urged, peering over his shoulder.

  They remained in the dark alley to the right of the guard tower, waiting.

  Eddeth shook her head, hesitating. She couldn’t hear anyone outside the gates, but if they opened them too early? Picking her wart, her eyes bulged open.
‘Wait! I’ve got an idea!’

  ‘We have to get to the fort!’ Reinar called to Jonas and Vik, who were back to back, fighting off the last dregs of Hakon’s men as they scattered now, a few of them fleeing. ‘Bjarni!’ Reinar spun, eyes on his friend who stood with their archers. ‘Get those men down!’ And turning back around, panting, he parried a blade, shunting with his shield, jamming the boss into the nose of his opponent, hearing the snap of bone. ‘We have to hurry!’ He watched the running men taken down, one after the other, hands thrown in the air, bodies jerking, legs giving way as they fell to the ground.

  Vik nodded, bringing his two swords across a bald man’s throat, cutting it open. ‘We go!’

  Ollo was there, panting, red-faced, needing a drink. It had been a long night, and he hadn’t expended this much energy since helping the Vettels take Slussfall. Not with his sword arm at least. Sweat beaded along his upper lip, soaking his back. He longed for a mail vest, his body stinging with cuts, and turning to his men, he shouted hoarsely. ‘To the fort! Hurry!’

  ‘Finish these men!’ Reinar screamed at Bjarni, sensing that no one was interested in surrendering. ‘Finish them, Ilene!’ And leaving them behind, Reinar fell in beside Jonas and Vik, suddenly anxious, worried about Sigurd, exposed out in the harbour, doubting that Ludo could tear much of Hakon’s attention away from what was likely happening on the piers. He felt anxious about Holgar too, who he’d known since he was a boy.

  His wife, who waited on Fury with Stina.

  And Alys.

  He glanced at Jonas.

  ‘We’ll save that for later,’ Jonas grunted, reading his look.

  And nodding, Reinar lifted his head, hoping that Alys and Eddeth wouldn’t let him down.

  Hakon’s attention was becoming more difficult to command, though Lief was trying his best to command it. His lord stood beside Jerrick barking orders, before running back to him, eyes on the battle unfolding on the piers.