by A. E. Rayne
Magnus said she was a dreamer.
So what could her daughter see?
For such a cold place, Orvala’s market was surprisingly busy, and they were all grateful for it.
Ulrick bought three rolled-up pancakes, dripping with honey, pleased when Lotta squealed in delight. The pancakes were deliciously sweet, and even Bergit had a smile on her face as they walked past the stalls, eyes on the sellers’ wares, trying to ignore the overpowering reek of fish in the frigid morning air. That was impossible, though, as most of the stallholders appeared to be selling fish of some kind: fish oil, fish bones, dried fish, pickled fish, fresh fish to cook.
And though she was enjoying her warm pancake, Bergit still found plenty to complain about. ‘How does anyone live in such a frozen place? Where do they get their grain from? How do their livestock feed? On fish? On ice?’
Ulrick half-listened as they walked through the mist, head busy, eyes alert, trying to get a sense of the place. It was much changed since his visit as a young man. It seemed more populated, which was a good sign, he thought with a grin. Still, he felt nervous about introducing himself to a new lord. A lifetime of loyalty to the Vettels was hard to shake. He’d known how they operated. He’d known their every desire and whim. He could anticipate what they needed from him before they’d even thought of it themselves. He had known his place, and it was to serve the Vettels.
But Tarl Brava?
‘You’re not listening,’ Bergit grumbled from his right.
Lotta wasn’t listening either. She had gobbled down the pancake and was thinking about asking Ulrick to buy her another. Bergit was busy complaining to him, though, and he was trying to do his own thinking, Lotta could tell. She sighed, her attention drifting to the men and women wrapped in thick furs. Their faces were mostly hidden beneath hoods and hats as they chatted outside stalls, fires crackling in braziers – so many braziers – though there was no warmth that Lotta could feel, just smoke that tickled her throat. The misty air clung to them as they walked, and it was freezing.
She heard a voice calling her name.
Twisting around, she saw a giant hound walking slowly behind them, a wolfish look in its grey eyes.
Lotta stared at it, cocking her head to one side.
Ulrick grabbed her hand, pulling her away from the dog. ‘He looks hungry!’ he laughed. ‘Maybe he can smell your breakfast?’ And speaking of breakfast had Ulrick feeling hungry again. ‘Shall we go back for another pancake? What do you think?’
But Lotta wasn’t listening as he hurried her along. Her eyes were on the dog, wondering who had called her name.
Sigurd had finally abandoned the foreshore for the fire, remembering that he was the leader of their tiny crew. They needed him to make decisions, to lead the way. And though his body shook and shivered by the flames, trying to do just that, Sigurd’s mind remained on those thundering waves and his missing friend.
Ollo stood beside him, leaning over the fire, teeth chattering, eyes on Eddeth, who was handing out mushrooms. He hated mushrooms, but he wanted to make sure that she wasn’t giving anyone more than him. ‘We need to make a plan! Get out of the damn wind!’
Jonas barely had the strength to lift an arm. ‘Anyone know where we are?’ He resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder at the waves, trying to focus. ‘Any ideas?’
‘Likely near Torsas,’ Vik decided, chewing a frosty mushroom. ‘We just need to start walking, find a farmstead, get some food and horses.’
‘Weapons too,’ Ollo added. He’d thrown everything off in an attempt to stay afloat, regretting that now, though at least he was alive.
Eddeth sneezed, dropping her mushroom into the flames. ‘Oh!’
Aldo tried to fish it out for her, but it slipped into the ash. ‘Sorry, Eddeth.’
She shook her head, too distracted to care. Her eyes shifted to Sigurd, surprised that she could read his thoughts. And remembering that she was a dreamer, she straightened up. ‘We need to wait a little longer, though. Many are still missing. We can’t leave them behind!’
Sigurd looked at her with a grateful smile. ‘Can you see anything, Eddeth?’
She shook her head, and suddenly hearing Ollo’s thoughts blaring loudly, she turned to glare at him. ‘Do you think a dreamer can see everything there is? Every little thing? Well, that would be impossible, I can assure you! I would need the brain of an ice giant to hold that many thoughts at once!’
Ollo clamped his lips together, surprised that she’d known what he was thinking.
And then Eddeth did see something, and she turned into the wind, almost blown over. ‘I see a long beach!’ she called. ‘A long beach!’
Sigurd stood, grabbing her arm. ‘Do you think they’re somewhere else?’
Eddeth shivered, blinking furiously. She turned left, then right, squinting, though she couldn’t see anything more than stretches of dark stones and low clouds threatening more storms. ‘I saw... something.’
‘You did?’
Eddeth shrugged, suddenly not so sure. But she had an idea, so slipping out of Sigurd’s grip, she turned back to the fire, snatching a long stick out of Aldo’s pile of firewood. ‘I’ll be right back!’ And stumbling across the stones, Eddeth made her way to the sandy foreshore where she started twitching, one hand scratching her chin, and then, ideas sparking, she began drawing symbols.
Ollo sighed. ‘What is the woman doing?’
‘Trying to help us,’ Vik said, turning around to watch. ‘We could do with some of that, don’t you think? Help?’
Ollo did. And teeth chattering again, he edged even closer to the flames, hoping Eddeth could find some answers.
They made their way into Orvala’s great hall, Bergit fussing over Lotta, who’d dribbled milk down her cloak. The size of the hall unsettled Bergit further as she lifted her eyes, surveying the strangers before returning to Lotta. ‘Ulrick must make a good impression,’ she hissed, trying to wipe the girl’s cloak. ‘The lord won’t look kindly on a man lugging a dirty little beggar around.’
Ulrick didn’t hear her. He’d walked ahead of them, up to the first stone firepit, warming his hands over the flames as he surveyed the hall. Made of thick, smoke-stained logs, it had a solid feel, which it needed to, for Orvala’s wind could tear a poorly constructed home to pieces with ease.
Though it was dark, a few lamps burned in copper bowls, swinging from blackened rafters in the cold breeze. More lamps were scattered around tables, where warmly-dressed men and women huddled close together, turning to see who had let in the draft. Wary eyes took in the orange-haired woman and the little girl, focusing quickly on the long-bearded man, who looked like a hardened warrior.
Strangers.
No lord was sitting in the giant wooden chair commanding a raised dais draped in hides, but a woman was lingering near it, and she glanced at them with little interest in her eyes. She was tall and gaunt, her dark-brown hair hanging lankly over an elegant dress. And though she appeared strangely lifeless, Ulrick strode towards her with purpose, a broad smile brightening his frozen face.
‘My lady!’ He bobbed his head respectfully, one hand across his belly. ‘I am new here, from Slussfall, one of Hakon Vettel’s men. I’m seeking the Lord of Orvala, Tarl Brava. I wish to speak with him, to offer my services. Perhaps you know where he is?’
Just the sound of her husband’s name made Solveigh shudder. ‘He’s somewhere, I’m sure,’ she mumbled, looking away.
Ulrick blinked. ‘You are the... Lady of Orvala?’ he wondered delicately as Bergit and Lotta came up beside him.
Solveigh turned back to him, staring at the little girl, seeing the freckles on her tiny pink nose. ‘I am, which is a curse from the gods. A curse I hope will soon claim my life.’
Bergit looked horrified. ‘Oh, you can’t mean that? A pretty lady like you?’ Her eyes drifted to the high table on the right side of the hall, where she could see heads arrayed like guests enjoying a meal. And swallowing, she turned back to Ulrick, who
had followed her gaze, quickly grabbing Lotta’s hand.
Solveigh crept towards them, and Ulrick could see that it wasn’t a dress she was wearing but a nightdress; the flames revealing how thin the threads of fabric were. He felt hot all over.
‘You wish to be a lady, do you?’ Solveigh cried, her voice rising sharply now, arms swinging around. ‘Then divorce your husband and marry mine! You are welcome to him!’ And then she was shrieking as a burly man snatched her by the wrist, pulling her away from the visitors.
‘You’ll forgive the lady, for she’s been unwell. Ill with a fever. She shouldn’t be out of bed.’ And eyeing Ulrick and Bergit, the man dragged Solveigh away from the hall, towards an open door that led to a corridor and the bedchambers.
Bergit glanced at Ulrick, doubts intensifying.
Lotta kept looking around. She could feel problems creeping up behind her like evil spirits. The sides of the hall were packed with tables in rows, and those tables were only partly full. A few people were eating and drinking, most looking their way.
She smelled more fish, hearing sharp-tongued women calling in the distance; chopping knives, arguing loudly.
Another man approached. He was so small that he barely came up to Bergit’s waist, but he stared up at her angrily, ignoring Ulrick. ‘You wish to see the lord?’
Bergit turned to Ulrick, who was still gripping Lotta’s hand.
He looked down at the diminutive figure. ‘We do, yes. I’ve come from the South, from Slussfall, with news of the lord’s enemies.’
‘And you are?’ The man had a bald patch on his head, as round as a full moon, and Bergit stared down at it as he scowled up at them.
‘I am Ulrick Dyre. You may tell him that. We met years ago. Many years ago now. Likely he won’t remember...’ Ulrick’s voice faded as the man turned away from him mid-sentence, heading to the back of the hall, his short legs carrying him away with speed.
‘I think we should leave,’ Bergit hissed. ‘What sort of place is this? With a mad lady and all these strange people? Not to mention those heads!’ And she inclined her own head towards the high table.
Ulrick laughed quietly, conscious that they weren’t alone. ‘Everything new feels strange at first, but don’t worry, that feeling won’t last long.’ And slipping an arm around Bergit’s waist, he gave her a squeeze.
She wriggled out of his grasp, feeling more unsettled by the moment. ‘You stay here then, speak to this lord. I’ll take the girl to find somewhere to stay. I won’t sleep in that old box again tonight!’
Ulrick was relieved. He would feel more confident talking to the Lord of Orvala without needing to say things pleasing to his wife’s ears. ‘Good idea. You go. I’ll find you when I’m done.’
Ulrick seemed quite keen to get rid of her, Bergit thought moodily, though she was just as eager to be gone herself, so, kissing him briefly on the cheek, she turned to the doors.
Lotta hesitated, not wanting to be alone with Bergit.
‘Go on,’ Ulrick urged with a smile, bending down to her. ‘Better you get away from that smell.’ And winking at the little girl, he pushed her towards Bergit, who had one hand on the door, cloak flapping behind her.
Lotta sighed, and with a final glance at an oddly nervous Ulrick, she hurried after Bergit.
Alys had fallen asleep, rolled into a ball in the stern, and Arnon thought about touching her, wanting to wake her up. Though now he knew that his wife was a dreamer, he felt more inclined to leave her sleeping, hoping she could find Lotta.
He hadn’t heard Alari’s voice since he’d left Slussfall. That goddess had surely abandoned him now, though she had given him another chance, and not many received that.
Another chance at life?
Arnon was not about to let it slip from his grasp.
Everything had gone wrong for him in Ullaberg, where they had suffered such terrible weather and luck, led by a useless lord, who made disastrous decisions. He’d been surrounded by fools and idiots and a wife who’d cared more about their children than she ever did about him. She hadn’t been a good wife at all.
But now?
Now they could start again; do things differently.
He would find a new home, a new lord. Perhaps even become one himself?
Everything would be different, Arnon told himself, reaching out to stroke Alys’ hair.
Everything would be different when they reached Orvala.
II
Orvala
15
‘Eddeth!’
Eddeth saw Ludo smiling as he walked past her, leading his horse towards the inner gates. He raised a hand, promising to bring her a load of firewood when he returned.
She watched him go, hearing the waves behind her rushing the shore. Her knees were wet, sinking into the sand. She heard the hum of voices rising before her, but she stayed where she was, trying to hold onto the image of Ludo, though it was fading now, the waves getting louder, the cries of hungry gulls too.
And then he was gone, and there was only darkness.
She shivered, waiting, kneeling inside her tiny circle of symbols.
Eddeth didn’t know what she was doing. She saw visions of her grandmother on the beach, remembering her circles. Remembering her symbols.
And she waited.
She saw the last moment before the ship went down, before they were pulled apart.
‘Take it!’ Eddeth had screamed, shoving a tiny stick at Ludo. ‘Don’t let it go!’ And then he was gone, terror in his eyes as he was sucked away by an enormous wave.
She shivered, darkness again.
‘Eddeth!’
Eddeth shook her head, willing whoever was calling her to go away. She needed to stay in her trance, focused on finding Ludo and Stina.
That interrupter needed to go away!
‘Eddeth!’
Annoyed now, she realised that she would have to give up. She couldn’t find anyone. She hadn’t been able to save anyone either. She was a failed dreamer.
A failure.
Just as her mother had always insisted.
Dropping her head, an exhausted Eddeth wanted to sob.
And then she froze, recognising the voice.
Intrigued by the sound of this visitor from Slussfall, Tarl had torn himself away from the armoury, trekking back to the hall with Sverri the Small, who was a loyal but surly master of his hall.
Arriving at the back of the hall, Tarl made his way into the kitchen, stomping snow off his boots as he eyed the two giant-sized cauldrons, both bubbling with fish soup. And though he’d only just eaten breakfast, Tarl picked up a wooden spoon, dipping it into a cauldron, taking a quick sip. ‘Mmmm, just as I like it,’ he winked at the younger of his two cooks. ‘Salty enough to make you cry!’
Sverri stood patiently beside his lord, waiting while he helped himself to a corner of smoked cheese, before heading out of the kitchen and into the hall, towards the stranger, who warmed his hands over a fire, and now looked up as they approached, straightening his broad shoulders.
‘You are Ulrick? Ulrick who?’ Tarl wondered, eyeing the long-bearded man with interest. ‘You say we’ve met?’ Inclining his head to one of the tables, he called to his steward. ‘Uukko! Bring us a jug of ale!’ And turning back to Ulrick, he smiled. ‘Sit, and let us talk, for I am most interested in why you’ve come all this way to see me.’
Ulrick’s mind was oddly blank. Tarl Brava was a mountain of a man, bigger than he’d imagined, with black eyes, high cheekbones and a sharp nose. He looked like a king in his luxurious bear-fur cloak, with tall leather boots, buckled in gold, almost reaching up to his knees. A lord who appeared lucky in battle, for the only scar Ulrick could see was a tiny mark cutting through his left eyebrow, which rose sharply as he considered the stranger.
Ulrick tried to focus. ‘I... am looking for a new challenge, my lord,’ he began, quickly clearing his throat. ‘A chance to start again. Things didn’t go well with Hakon Vettel. I... didn’t see a future there.’
<
br /> Tarl laughed, taking the jug from his steward. ‘Didn’t go well? Ha! That’s quite an understatement.’ He grabbed an empty cup, filling it with ale, handing it to Ulrick. ‘Though a dead lord offers little comfort, so I don’t blame you for seeking new opportunities.’
Ulrick blinked. ‘Dead?’
‘It’s why you left, isn’t it? The defeat of the Vettels?’
Lying was Ulrick’s first thought, but he didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot. ‘Hakon’s dead?’
Tarl was surprised. ‘You left before he died?’ He peered at Ulrick, taking a long drink. ‘So you could see what was coming?’
Ulrick felt odd. Sad. Guilty too. ‘I suppose I could. We were in Ottby together. It didn’t go well. I... I didn’t like what I saw. How things were going.’
‘Nor did Thenor, it seems, for he had Reinar Vilander kill your lord. Gave him the mark of The Hunter, then sent Reinar Vilander to finish the job.’
Ulrick was quite stunned. ‘And Ivan?’
‘Dead!’ Tarl looked pleased. ‘No more Vettels, which means one less enemy for me to worry about when I take my men south.’
Ulrick felt even sadder, always having felt great affection for Ivan.
‘But why so sad? You must have left for a reason?’
Ulrick blinked. ‘I was with the Vettels for a long time, my lord. I didn’t wish them ill, I just didn’t want to follow them anymore.’
Tarl nodded, appreciating the man’s honesty. ‘So you’re a practical man, then? Or perhaps an oathbreaker? I can’t decide.’
Nor could Ulrick. ‘I’m a man who’s spent his life travelling Alekka. Mostly the South. I know the people, their secrets, their strengths and weaknesses. I was in Stornas with Jorek Vettel when he sat on the throne. I went to Orbo with his son, Jesper. I took Slussfall with Hakon. I have the knowledge and wisdom you need, my lord, if it’s the South that interests you.’
