Vale of the Gods

by A. E. Rayne

  ‘You mean Briggit?’

  ‘And her Followers. They will defeat Draguta. They have plans. Sound plans.’

  Dragmall raised his snowy eyebrows. ‘Draguta has the Book of Darkness, Morana. You know what that book can do. She has her seeing circles. She is watching. She will be prepared for whatever plans Briggit has made.’

  ‘She may watch,’ Morana sneered, glancing around the walls of the room where she and Dragmall had drawn symbols, hoping to keep Draguta from peering inside. ‘But then what? The Followers are united and powerful. And so is Briggit. More powerful and knowledgeable than Draguta realises.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Else had returned to her skillet, though her attention quickly drifted away from her hotcakes.

  Morana smiled. ‘I mean that Briggit has the prophecy.’

  Else looked confused but Dragmall didn’t. His father had told him all about the Tuuran prophecy. He frowned. ‘The prophecy was destroyed not long after it was written from what I’ve heard, so how can Briggit have it?’

  Morana was confused. ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘I am a volka, Morana. Like The Following, volkas have centuries of knowledge to call on. We are the collectors of history. Curators of myths and legends.’ He looked around at Else whose eyes were back on the skillet. ‘Whatever Briggit has is not the prophecy. It is likely an account, taken from someone who read it or dreamed about it. Memories. And who knows how accurate those memories are. No one ever found the actual prophecy, but one dreamer was convinced that the girl who wrote it had burned it. Thrown it into the flames.’

  Morana’s mouth hung open as she listened. ‘And you know this how?’

  ‘My father. He was the master volka here for decades. The most knowledgeable man in the kingdom.’

  Morana scowled.

  Dragmall frowned. ‘The prophecy was a document so powerful that perhaps its author rightly feared that it would end up in the wrong hands. So, whatever Briggit has may be relevant and useful. Or it may just be the misrememberings of one dreamer. And who knows where their loyalties lay?’

  The city of Angard gleamed beneath a brief sun shower as Briggit glided out of the castle, down the steps, heading for the harbour. The cobblestones were slick, and Sabine was fussing beside her, mumbling about slowing down.

  Briggit smiled, listening to her panic, smiling wider as she glanced at Lillith who appeared oblivious. How different those sisters were, she mused, her attention suddenly on the exceptionally tall man who was striding towards her, squaring his shoulders as he approached.

  ‘My lady!’ Ebbert Foyle called. ‘The sun has come out just for you! We were all drowning not five minutes ago.’

  ‘Well, I imagine the gods realise how powerful I’m about to become!’ Briggit’s eyes drifted towards the harbour, the piers so full of warships that there was barely enough room for the merchants to moor. Though that thought did not displease her. She had little patience for the complaints of those greedy men, and no need for their gold. ‘And how are your preparations coming along, rain or not?’

  Ebbert’s smile broadened, his armoured chest puffing out. ‘They are complete. We are ready.’

  Briggit was surprised by his confidence. Or not. Ebbert had proven himself very loyal after the death of her grandfather. And her father. And her mother. And her uncles. All her soldiers had. But then again, once she had bound them, they’d had little choice.

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it. And what will you do tonight?’ Briggit wondered, her eyes roaming Ebbert’s lean body, admiring how snugly his shining mail shirt hugged his chest. He barely looked a day over thirty, though he was approaching fifty. ‘Where will you wait for the attack?’

  ‘I shall be here, my lady, with my men. On the square. We will protect the castle. If they get over the wall, or into the harbour, we will be ready.’

  ‘Hmmm, if they get over the wall...’ Briggit smiled at the thought of it. That wall had mattered so much to her grandfather. And his grandfather. Centuries of wall building, for what? To keep their gold all to themselves? Hoarding it like dragons? ‘Well, perhaps you should join me for supper before you camp out here with your men? I’m sure Sabine and Lillith would enjoy the company.’ And waving her hand at her two frowning companions, who did not like to share, Briggit strode past Ebbert, wanting to inspect the men who straightened up as their queen approached, pushing their shoulders back. ‘Well, come along,’ she laughed. ‘Come along, my little pets. Let us see how well Ebbert has prepared his warriors.’ Briggit felt a lift as she walked, knowing that everything was about to begin.

  Draguta Teros thought that she would crush Angard and take her kingdom, but the Followers of Helsabor were Raemus’ finest and they had never been defeated.

  Draguta felt different. Each day she awoke feeling changed from the day before. Power was surging through her, and she was fighting to contain it. To calm her twitching muscles and her sparking anger.

  Control.

  The ultimate power lay in self-control.

  To not act reflexively, but to think strategically. To plan and wait and percolate, so that every little piece, every part of her plan would come together as designed at precisely the right moment.

  To jerk and thrust impulsively in one direction would only leave her dissatisfied.

  Disappointed.

  Draguta leaned over the map table, picking up the black figure of a man. She stared at it, wondering how she could put her faith and trust in one as impulsive and reckless as Jaeger. Though, she smiled, thinking about her son, Jaeger was a true Dragos. A pulsing mass of muscle and energy, seething and demanding and hungry for power.

  For victory.

  He wanted to conquer, and for her, he would.

  Helsabor would be theirs. Jaeger would place the head of his army in charge, and then, perhaps, Draguta mused, returning the black figure to the table, picking up the blue one, perhaps she would make Eadmund the King of Helsabor? Surely, he would prefer the wealthy golden kingdom to the salty little rock of Oss?

  Spinning around suddenly, she saw Meena creeping down the stairs, trying not to be seen as she headed for the doors. ‘Girl!’ she snapped. ‘You are going somewhere that I have not asked you to go! Somewhere far away from my potions!’

  Meena, sighed, turning into the hall.

  ‘And where is Amma? What have you done with the girl? You are supposed to be watching her. Looking after her and my potions!’ Draguta growled, leaving the map table behind.

  ‘Brill took her to the markets,’ Meena mumbled. ‘And I need more roseroot.’

  ‘Oh. Well, that sounds surprisingly reasonable,’ Draguta admitted. ‘Though by the look of you, you’re hiding something.’ She peered at Meena, whose thoughts revealed nothing, and quickly bored with trying to pull on that stubborn thread, she turned towards the throne. ‘Well, hurry up, then. You must be ready by tonight. I have plans. We have plans. Ensure that you are ready, girl.’

  Meena could feel her heart fluttering inside her chest, reminded of what it felt like to hold a bird; feeling its panic, its urgent need to fly far away.

  Karsten kept staring at Berard. He was trying to push himself between Ulf and Bayla who were embroiled in a discussion about finding a new cottage.

  Bayla still wouldn’t let that go.

  He shook his head, turning back to Jael. ‘I don’t want Berard to come.’

  ‘What?’ Karsten had tagged along as Jael headed to inspect the wagon they had chosen for Ayla and Astrid to travel in. It would need a roof. Sides. Symbols. It needed protection from the weather and from Draguta too. Jael was going to leave Beorn in charge of that, which hadn’t pleased him as he appeared to be in charge of so many things now. ‘Berard thinks he’s coming. He wants to come. He’s been in the training ring every day trying to get stronger.’

  Karsten laughed. ‘Berard could train till Vesta and be no better than he is now. He needs to stay here and not get himself killed.’ His eye was back on his brother, watching as Nico
lene joined his mother, agreeing with Bayla’s side of the argument no doubt. He’d heard nothing but complaints from both of them about the state of their cottage. ‘He needs to stay here.’

  ‘And you want me to tell him?’

  Karsten nodded. ‘It’s better coming from you. He won’t listen to me. I’m just his brother. But you? You’re very persuasive, and Berard listens to you.’

  ‘Not sure it’s much of an argument, saying you don’t think he’s good enough to come. I doubt he’ll listen to that.’

  ‘Berard’s never been good enough with a sword. Never. But he’s the only brother I’ll have soon. And if something happens to me...’ His eye met Nicolene’s and, surprisingly, she smiled. ‘If something happens to me, who will look after them?’

  Jael followed his gaze. The Dragos family was so far removed from the one she had met in Hest. Half the size. No fine garments. No impressive castle. No swagger to any of them any more. Not even Bayla.

  ‘He should stay here. This fort needs someone like Berard. Someone with a quick mind. There are enough of us who can use a sword. We don’t need him.’

  ‘Well, I can’t argue with that, but I’ve a feeling Berard will. He’s got a good reason for wanting to go to Hest.’

  ‘He has,’ Karsten agreed. ‘But just like my father, he wouldn’t stand a chance against Jaeger. I need to end him. Berard needs to stay here in case...’

  Jael could hear the lack of confidence in Karsten’s voice. ‘Jaeger will die,’ she promised him. ‘If you can’t kill him, if something happens, I won’t let him live.’

  Karsten stared into Jael’s eyes, surprised to find that he didn’t want to dig them out with his fingernails anymore. ‘Good. Don’t. Whatever you do, whatever happens to me, don’t let Jaeger live.’

  After two goblets of mead, Briggit was beginning to wonder why she was letting Morana Gallas live. Though, she reminded herself, staring at the morose dreamer, she was a Follower. A Follower of reputation and standing, and Draguta’s sworn enemy. Still, she felt wary as she leaned forward, helping herself to a cherry from the bowl which sat on a low table between them.

  After an uncomfortable supper in which Morana had barely spoken, Briggit had brought her into one of her private chambers, wanting to discuss her plans.

  Wanting to know what Morana knew of Draguta’s.

  ‘That ridiculous woman is an empty vessel,’ Morana began. ‘A complete disappointment!’ Dark eyes intensified, the memory of Yorik’s death returning in a rush of angry fire. ‘I raised her. We all did. And yet it was all a lie! She didn’t want Raemus. She just wanted to be a queen. To rise again and rule. A crushing disappointment.’

  Briggit could read Morana’s thoughts. They were loud and furious, dark and twisted, and she started to relax. ‘And now you wish to end her, once and for all?’

  Morana nodded. ‘She was a mistake. My mistake. If I hadn’t raised her, I would still have that book. Yorik and his Followers would still live. All of them.’

  ‘All is not lost, Morana,’ Briggit assured her. ‘I have nearly three hundred Followers here with me. Almost one hundred of them dreamers.’

  Morana’s black eyes popped open. ‘That many?’

  ‘Oh yes, the Followers may have hidden in Hest, and in Tuura, but in Helsabor they have roamed freely for years. Our base of power has been growing for some time.’

  ‘And now?’ Morana couldn’t read Briggit’s thoughts at all, but Briggit was happy to share them.

  ‘Draguta made herself valuable by tearing out the ritual to bring Raemus back. She knows where that page is, so we take Draguta and her book. And when Raemus returns, we will watch as he kills her.’

  Morana ignored Briggit’s smug smile. ‘But first, we must stop her from killing us. She is sending Eadmund Skalleson and Jaeger Dragos here. Thousands of men with weapons. And she has that book.’

  ‘Yes, she does, but do not worry, Morana, I have been planning this for some time. We are prepared to defend ourselves, and we will.’ Leaving her goblet on the table, Briggit stood, motioning for Morana to follow her through the balcony door. ‘Come with me, and I’ll tell you exactly what I have planned.’

  Brill was a strange creature, Amma decided. Strange but kind. And that was a comfort. In this terrifying place, with the horror of being reunited with Jaeger to come, Amma was grateful for some kindness.

  Brill had taken her to the markets, to the tailor, who had measured her, noting the bump where her stomach was starting to protrude. Amma wasn’t sure how she felt about that anymore. It appeared obvious now that the child was Jaeger’s. Why else was she here?

  Yet, it was hers too.

  She shook her head, conflicted as she followed behind Brill who was pushing down the crowded street, forging a path for them both. It was hot, steaming, and Amma could feel her dress clinging to her. She wiped her face, wanting something to drink.

  And then Meena was there.

  Amma smiled, convinced that Meena was just as nice as Brill. Both of them appeared trapped beneath Draguta’s thumb, though. And that position, she could see, had rendered them almost mute, shaking with nerves.

  Much like her.

  ‘Draguta wants you to come,’ Meena said, ignoring the people jostling her, and the determined flies buzzing around her face. ‘She is in the hall. Waiting.’

  Amma nodded, butterflies flitting around her stomach as she fell in beside Meena, both of them quickly leaving Brill behind.

  ‘What will she do to me?’ Amma asked quietly. ‘What will she do to everyone?’

  Meena swallowed. She couldn’t talk to Amma.

  She couldn’t tell her anything.

  ‘She wants you to be Jaeger’s wife. To have his baby.’ Meena didn’t feel comfortable talking to Amma about Jaeger. She kept seeing visions of him lying on top of her, stroking her face. She blinked. ‘Draguta wants you to be the mother of the Dragos heirs.’

  Amma sighed, tripping over a broken cobblestone. She fell to her knees with a crash, her basket falling with her, spilling out the fabrics and brooches she had half-heartedly bought.

  Meena dropped to the ground. ‘We must hurry now. Draguta does not like to be kept waiting.’ Her eyes were on the cobblestones, grabbing two plums that had rolled away.

  ‘Help me,’ Amma whispered, gripping Meena’s arm, trying to get her attention. ‘Please help me. I need to go home. To Andala. You can come. You’ll be safe there.’

  Meena blinked, wanting to yank her arm away.

  Andala.

  She thought of Berard. If she said anything, anything at all...

  ‘I can’t help you. You are safe here. Draguta wants your child to be born. You are safe here,’ she insisted, scrambling back to her feet, holding out a hand. Her eyes met Amma’s, and though neither of them spoke, their shared feeling of terror was undeniable.

  Amma could sense it as she stood, bending down for her basket. And nodding her head, she tried to remember Axl and Jael.

  Axl and Jael were coming for Draguta.

  And if she could just hold on, if she could just survive, then they would come for her too.

  6

  ‘That looks sore,’ Axl mumbled between mouthfuls.

  His sister was finding it difficult to eat with swollen lips. Ivaar, who sat at the opposite table, was struggling not to enjoy it.

  Jael could tell, and she wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction of thinking that she was in pain. Dropping the crab claw back onto her plate, she reached for her ale. ‘Not really. Still works.’ And eyeing Ivaar, she raised her cup, deciding that they would need a rematch. She didn’t like the idea that anyone could lay a hand on her.

  Or a boot.

  ‘You seem better today,’ Jael said, turning her attention to her brother.

  ‘Better?’ Axl grabbed his own cup with a heavy sigh. ‘I don’t think so. Maybe.’ He shook his head, confused. ‘I’m happy about Gisila. She’s healing quickly.’

  ‘She is.’

  ‘But i
t’s been so long without Amma. She’ll be in Hest now, won’t she? If they made it there.’ His frown intensified, making him look like their father.

  Jael smiled to see it, but she didn’t want her brother to play that game. She knew how it felt, wondering where Eadmund was, what he was doing, who he was doing it with. ‘Focus on what you can do, Axl. The wall is looking solid now, and everyone’s working hard to prepare the army. Focus on what you can do, not on what you can’t. And you can’t do anything about Amma. Not yet.’

  Axl scowled, irritated. He looked around for Gant, but he wasn’t there. Nor was Aleksander. Throwing back the last of his ale, he eyed his sister. ‘We need to talk about what will happen if...’ His eyes darted around and he waited while his steward filled his cup before disappearing back into the kitchen.

  Jael lifted an eyebrow. ‘If?’

  ‘If I don’t return.’

  ‘Been thinking about that, have you?’

  ‘Of course, haven’t you?’ Axl lowered his voice, sensing his sister’s discomfort.

  ‘About coming back? No,’ Jael lied, ‘I’m focused on getting there. What happens when we get to Hest is up to the gods.’

  ‘Or not, depending on who you listen to these days.’

  Jael stared at her brother, wishing she could see something that told her he would come back. Dreams came to her intermittently. They did not seem to bend to her will as much as she bent to theirs.

  She saw nothing about what was coming.

  But she did hear that voice.

  ‘True. But we’ll do what we can, whatever we can, to bring everyone back, including Amma and Eadmund.’

  ‘And if we don’t return? What will happen to Brekka? Who will be king here? What Furyck will rule?’

  That was a good question.

  ‘The gods wouldn’t let the Furycks die out. They wouldn’t. Furia wouldn’t.’ Jael hoped it was an argument that Axl could believe in. ‘If something happens to you, I’ll come back. I’ll rule here. I won’t let Brekka fall.’