Blood of the Raven: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (The Lords of Alekka Book 3)

by A. E. Rayne

  They had to get to Torsas fast.

  The strong smell of fish made Magnus’ eyes water.

  The sight of the whale being butchered near the piers, blood cascading over the docks in bright red rivers, had him gagging.

  He looked over his shoulder, back to his mother, who remained on board with Dead Eye. He was an especially ugly, filthy old man, who always had such an odd look in his one good eye that it rose the hairs on Magnus’ arms. Leaving his mother alone with him made Magnus uneasy, though he had little choice as he was dragged down the pier, his father not stopping to ask his opinion about anything.

  Alys watched Magnus go, feeling oddly detached.

  Thinking that Arnon was dead had been freeing. At first shell-shocked, she had begun to emerge from a decade-long haze of fear and trepidation, slowly becoming more confident. She’d begun to feel safer, like her old self again. But now she was back in that place of always having to watch her words and her tone and the expressions on her face.

  She sighed, trying not to make eye contact with Dead Eye, though he continued to ogle her, edging so close that she had to keep moving away.

  Eventually, Alys turned to him. ‘If you want my husband’s coins, you had better stay away from me.’

  Dead Eye laughed. ‘You think he’d believe anything you said? That he’d care?’

  Alys tried to focus on his good eye. ‘I think he’ll cut your throat if he finds out you’ve tried to touch me. Surely you’ve seen his temper? He’s not a man who’ll ask questions. Trust me, I’m a dreamer. I see how it will go for you.’

  The man laughed a greasy sort of laugh, rubbing his crotch. ‘Who’s to say I’ll stick around long enough to let him? Maybe I’ve got all I need? Maybe I just want my final payment before I go?’

  ‘Payment?’ Alys was growing angry. ‘I’m not a handful of silver! Get away from me!’ And she backed up, moving to the stern, wanting to escape the man long enough to think.

  Dead Eye followed her, his good eye dropping to her breasts, the other one fixed east.

  He wasn’t a big man. He wasn’t a strong man or a young man.

  But he appeared to be a man who’d drunk so much ale that it had dulled any good sense he might once have possessed.

  And he approached her again.

  Alys couldn’t believe it. ‘Lay a hand on me, and my husband will kill you. Don’t you understand? Why would it be worth the risk? Worth your life?’

  It wasn’t that Dead Eye wanted to risk anything. He wasn’t particularly brave or reckless, he just didn’t believe that Arnon de Sant would care that much. He’d seen the way he treated his wife and son.

  Why would a man like that mind a little sharing?

  He stepped forward, glancing over his shoulder, checking that Arnon and the crew had slipped between the sheds, disappearing from sight. And looking back around, he grunted as Alys’ fist flew into the tip of his nose, knuckles first. Staggering backwards, he snarled, eyes watering. ‘You bitch!’

  ‘Get away from me!’ she yelled. And leaving Dead Eye to contend with a bleeding nose, Alys jumped out of the ship, hurrying down the pier, wanting to find Magnus.

  9

  Bjarni was eager to get home, but he eyed a limping Lief Gundersen with some concern, still not convinced that Reinar was doing the right thing.

  Reinar wasn’t sure himself as he walked towards his old friend with Berger chattering in his ear. They were deciding on who would remain behind, and no one seemed that keen. Everyone wanted the chance to go and fight with Ake, not be stuck in Slussfall, waiting to be attacked, with a miserable Lief Gundersen in command.

  ‘They say there’s gold buried somewhere round here,’ Berger murmured, eyes sweeping the square. ‘The Vettel gold. Jorek Vettel was a stingy old prick, never sharing his fortune with anyone. Just sat on it like a dragon, waiting to die. His son was the same, and his grandson brought it here, from what I heard. Hid it. Buried it. Somewhere...’

  Reinar turned to Berger, finally stopping. ‘And you know this how?’ Berger looked as well-groomed as ever. He even smelled fresh, which was surprising given the endless stink of the fort rushing around them in the near-constant wind.

  ‘I listen. More than most. Some like to talk, but me, I like to listen. Listening gets you places.’

  Reinar frowned, wondering what places Berger Eivin wanted to get to. ‘But no one knows where’s it’s buried?’

  ‘Not no one,’ Berger decided, ‘for some poor sod had to bury it. Hakon wasn’t going to be digging himself, was he? Nor his cousin either. So someone did the hard work, and that someone likely told one more person. Won’t be long till we find out who.’ Berger half-wondered why he was telling Reinar and not just keeping it all to himself, but the gold spoken of was such a hoard that he felt confident there’d be more than enough to go around. And surely the man responsible for finding it would get a bigger slice than most?

  ‘Well, keep listening. I’m sure Ilene would like to marry a rich man!’ Reinar laughed.

  But Berger looked horrified. ‘Ilene? You think I’d want her as a wife?’ He shook his head. ‘No, she’s a fine woman for a night or two, but as a wife? Ha! Think she’s got her sights set higher anyway, so your brother’s welcome to her!’

  Now it was Reinar’s turn to look horrified. ‘Sigurd’s not interested.’ He wasn’t sure that was true, though he hoped it was. ‘Besides, we’ve got a lot ahead of us. Who knows who’ll even be standing come spring.’

  That was true, Berger realised, though if he was one of those left standing after the endless battles that lay ahead, he’d need some gold. Gold to buy himself a fine hall. Gold to dress a fine woman in fine clothes.

  And for that, he was going to have to find that hoard.

  Tarl Brava walked Mirella down the pier, running a critical eye over his fleet. Soon the sea would freeze, and he would lock his ships into sheds for the winter. But while the sea flowed and the days were light enough, he intended to keep his shipbuilders busy. ‘I need more ships! A bigger fleet.’

  ‘And gold to buy them. Silver too.’

  Tarl smiled, enjoying the roar of the wind as it tore at his clothes. It was a frigid day, but buried beneath a thick fur cloak, his favourite hat firmly wedged on his head, he felt happy. ‘You’re going to tell me where I can find some, are you?’

  Mirella didn’t say. ‘You need more ships, that’s true. And allies.’

  Tarl had still not come around to that idea. His father had raised him and his brothers to believe that allies were merely enemies waiting to kill you. He’d never believed in real allies, resisting even the thought of forging alliances. According to Einar Brava, you had to crush and kill everyone around you until you were the last man standing.

  And that last man?

  Well, he would be the King of Alekka.

  Tarl felt happy, pleased to have a woman like Mirella by his side. She had come to him when he’d been at his lowest. When his father had been killed, his third wife dead of a sickness, which had taken both his infant son and two of his brothers. He’d felt bereft, struggling to see a path forward.

  But now?

  Mirella had been like the sun, shining a warm, golden light on everything, revealing possibilities he’d never imagined. And with her help, he was charging towards his destiny.

  But allies?

  ‘Allies have gold and ships, weapons and warriors, so you must seek out their partnership. There are many contenders. Some lurking nearby. You know that.’

  Tarl scowled. ‘You don’t know men, Mirella. When was the last time you even let a man touch you?’ That felt odd to say, and he wondered why he let her stop him touching her. She wasn’t exquisitely beautiful like his wife, but she was desirable in a way that made him ache with longing. Mirella didn’t answer his question, but he felt her stiffen, though perhaps that was because of the men walking towards them. He eyed the two old warriors, who hurried on, both of them silent now.

  ‘Think of allies as steps. Steps to
help you climb to the top of a wall. And when you get there? Well, you won’t need those steps any longer, will you? Not if you keep rising, seeking more fortune, more power. You can forget all about those allies then. Leave them behind.’

  ‘Or kill them.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Mirella nodded. ‘You will have to kill them. But let us not focus on the end as much as the beginning. Go west now, while there’s time. Ake is distracted, getting his house in order, so you must not delay. His dreamer is searching for answers, and as soon as the old crone finds any, she’ll call him to action, so we must be prepared.’ And turning to Tarl, Mirella squeezed his arm, eyes on his clenching jaw. ‘You must be prepared.’

  Tarl smiled, enjoying her touch, though his thoughts quickly drifted to Stornas and the throne that awaited him. ‘And you, Mirella, what will you be doing to prepare?’

  She slipped away from him with a knowing smile, golden hair blowing loose in the wind as she strode down the pier. And turning her head to the right, eyes on the great expanse of sea, she knew that soon her granddaughter would arrive.

  Shivering, Mirella closed her eyes, chilled to the bone. She was desperate to feel the sun warm her, but she knew that freezing in the bleak North would be worth it when Thenor and Ake Bluefinn were finally defeated, and Alekka was once again free and whole, ruled by a high king loyal to her.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Arnon was horrified to see Alys running up to them as they made their way to the tavern. He looked around, unable to see Dead Eye, anger sparking.

  Alys’ hand was throbbing, bright red, and she let it hang by her side, relieved to see Magnus. ‘Back on board, I imagine. He tried to touch me.’

  ‘What?’ Arnon wondered why he was surprised. His wife was a beautiful woman. Men were always staring at her, and sometimes, it made him feel pleased and proud. Other times, he wanted to kill any man who dared look at her with lust in his eyes.

  He strode past Alys, aiming for the piers. ‘Wait here!’

  Alys felt no great sympathy for Dead Eye, though she didn’t want Arnon to hurt him. ‘Wait! Arnon!’ But not listening to her, he disappeared around the corner of a shed. Shaking her head, Alys turned back to Magnus, who stood before her, shivering in his grey tunic. ‘We need to find you a proper cloak. Why don’t you ever have a cloak, my darling?’ And not caring what Arnon had instructed the men to do, Alys brought him into her arms.

  ‘Did the man hurt you?’ Magnus mumbled into her chest.

  Alys shook her head. ‘He wanted to. Unfortunately, some people think they can take what’s not theirs. Take without asking. But that’s not the sort of man you’ll grow up to be, is it?’

  Magnus shook his head, not wanting to end up like his father.

  Alys was conscious of the five men whose attention was mostly on the tavern. Two had already slipped inside, but the other three were smart enough to know that Arnon de Sant would expect to see them waiting on his return, ensuring that his wife and son didn’t escape. ‘You must stay safe for me, so don’t say anything. Don’t let your father upset you. Control your tongue and your temper. Promise me, Magnus.’ She pulled him close, whispering in his ear. ‘I’ll find an answer, a way out, so stay safe.’ And quickly standing back, Alys stepped away from Magnus, resettling her black cloak, eyes on the tavern door, wondering what waited inside.

  Ulrick became oddly nervous.

  He remembered being young, never intimidated by a challenge. He had ridden across and sailed from one side of Alekka to the other, hungry for new experiences. He’d wanted to wet his sword with the blood of his enemies, to spend his nights drinking with his friends, sharing his bed with beautiful women.

  And now?

  Now he had Bergit, who he loved more than life itself.

  Lotta, who made them a family.

  And a growing fear of what they were about to sail into.

  He shook his head, feeling like an old fool.

  He was older than his own father had been when he’d been cut down in battle. Older than all his friends, most of them dead now, he realised.

  So why was he thinking of starting again?

  Ulrick shook his head, surprised when Lotta slipped her hand into his, pulling him down the deck towards the prow.

  ‘Thought you were asleep!’ he called. The wind was a howl, and he picked her up, holding her close. ‘Thought you were lying with Bergit.’

  Lotta looked unhappy at just the mention of her name, but Ulrick chose not to notice.

  ‘I’m worried.’

  ‘You too?’

  ‘You’re worried? But I thought you knew this lord. I thought you were excited!’ Lotta didn’t like it when adults felt worried. That didn’t make her feel very safe at all. Especially someone as old as Ulrick.

  How could he feel worried?’

  Ulrick held her up, eyes on the horizon, hoping that the only weather coming their way was good weather. It was always a worry to be at sea, putting your life in Hartu’s hands, hoping she saw fit to bless your journey. Many didn’t make it to their destinations, Ulrick knew; the seabed beneath them was littered with bones. ‘Of course I’m excited!’ he insisted brightly, grabbing Lotta’s hat as it lifted off her head. ‘Bergit was right about this hat, wasn’t she? It’s never going to stay on your head.’

  Lotta used her free hand to hold it down. ‘I like it.’

  That made Ulrick smile. ‘What do you see, then? Good things? Is Orvala the place for us?’ He turned them around, glancing down the stern to where Bergit slept, hoping she remained well. After all this time of wanting to be a proper family again, he couldn’t lose her.

  Lotta didn’t want to say. ‘I don’t know. But it’s the place we’re meant to be, I feel that.’

  That gave Ulrick some confidence, and any regrets about leaving Slussfall behind drifted away from him like a bird on the wind.

  Stina felt sick. She kept blowing short breaths out her nose, desperate not to vomit again. Her throat hurt, and she tried to focus on what Eddeth was explaining to Sigurd and Jonas. Vik was nearby, hands on the tiller, listening.

  They were back at sea, though none of them were enjoying it, and the ship was oddly quiet. Few had their mouths open, but their eyes never stopped moving, seeking some warning about what might be coming. Though likely it wouldn’t be coming till night fell.

  Jonas felt himself panicking. He’d wanted to believe in Eddeth’s symbol, but now, back at sea, the waves rising around them, he felt a growing concern that they’d done the wrong thing. He could almost feel Eida’s hand on his arm, trying to calm him down. ‘Symbols are the most powerful gift we dreamers have,’ she’d always promised him. ‘After our dreams.’

  But what had they done to protect her?

  He turned away, feeling uncomfortable.

  ‘Jonas?’ Sigurd was growing increasingly concerned. About the symbol. About relying on Eddeth, who stumbled away from them, hand over her mouth. The wind was slowly picking up again, the ship tilting now, and many had raced to the gunwales feeling a rush of nausea.

  ‘It’s all we can do,’ Jonas said finally, turning back. ‘Wait and hope.’

  Stina nodded. ‘And trust in the gods. They’re helping. They must be.’

  ‘Well, not all of them!’ Ludo spluttered, still shocked to see Vik standing where Falki had been only a day ago. ‘Some appear to be trying to kill us!’

  ‘It’s always the way!’ Eddeth announced, hand out as she turned back around, her stomach momentarily settling. ‘The gods are powerful! They loom over us like giants, with so much raw power in their hands, so what can we do but try to protect ourselves with symbols and spells?’

  Sigurd looked around, desperate to get to Torsas, hoping they could find Alys and her son, though he had a sinking feeling that it wasn’t going to be as easy as any of them had hoped.

  ‘You’ll have your work cut out for you here,’ Elin said to Falla Gundersen, who bustled around the hall, son on her hip, giggling cheerfully.

  Falla look
ed pleased about that. ‘If your husband can convince the king to let us stay. I hope he will. Lief will be a good lord. He’s not like most men.’ She smiled as she said it, realising how happy that made her. Her husband was frustrating and irritating, rigid and stoic, and all the things she found infuriating, but those qualities would help him be an effective lord, she knew.

  If only Ake Bluefinn could see it.

  They were in the hall, and Falla had almost gotten rid of the stench and the last of the wounded. She had sent servants into the forest for fir branches and sprigs of holly, and the tables were decorated with green and red centrepieces that smelled like winter.

  ‘I’m sure he will,’ Elin assured her, smiling at the little boy, who opened his mouth wider, showing off his tiny teeth.

  Falla was suddenly hot all over, sensing the need to vomit. She held Borg out to Elin. ‘Do you mind, I...’ And glancing around, she couldn’t see Eggi or even Karolina, but she had to go.

  Elin nodded, grabbing the boy as Falla scurried away from her, hand over her mouth, heading out of the hall.

  Elin poked her finger at the boy’s belly, and when he looked down at it, she tickled his chin. ‘What’s your name, then?’ she asked.

  ‘Borg.’

  Elin was surprised but pleased when he smiled at her. She’d always loved children, hoping one day to have an army of them. But now? She sighed, feeling the gaping loss inside her exposed again. Her sons were gone, and though it had been nearly a year, the pain was sharp, barely receding.

  ‘You’re keeping busy,’ Reinar grinned, walking up to her. ‘Getting in some practice?’ He was working hard to keep his focus on Slussfall and on his wife. Seeing Elin helped, reminding him how much he cared for her.

  ‘Practice?’ Elin tried to smile, though she felt odd. ‘Well, I suppose I am. Falla’s just run off to be sick. I remember how that felt, being so ill all the time. I could barely get out of bed.’