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

by A. E. Rayne

  Tarl did look interested as he turned around, clicking his fingers for Sverri. ‘Where’s my wife?’ He’d heard screaming in the distance, and it worried him.

  Sverri looked annoyed at just the mention of that irritating woman. ‘Locked in her chamber, lord. She was... unwell.’

  ‘Good.’ Tarl dismissed Sverri again, who didn’t go very far, eyeing Ulrick from a distance. ‘You have knowledge, it seems, but do you have loyalty? You abandoned your lord when he needed you most. Such behaviour is... troubling.’

  Ulrick felt just as troubled, but he knew that he’d done the right thing.

  Orvala was where he was meant to be. He felt it in his bones.

  ‘I wanted to get my family to safety, away from Hakon’s dreamer, my lord. She tried to take a girl from me. A girl I found and cared for. I never broke my oath to him. I just had to save the girl.’

  Tarl put down his cup, scratching his moustache. ‘I know what it’s like to do something for love. I do, believe me.’ He heard the screams becoming louder, and he frowned. ‘Though I’ve come to realise that it’s better not to lead with your heart, for it’s not as wise as your head!’ And tapping his own head, he stood. ‘Come with me, and we will talk some more.’ He drained his cup, encouraging Ulrick to do the same. ‘I’m heading west in the morning, so you can ride with me. Please me on our journey, and I will take your oath, Ulrick Long Beard. I will give you a chance.’ Tarl started walking towards the hall doors, which opened as a servant shuffled inside with a bucket of oysters. ‘Though displease me,’ he warned, turning back around, ‘and I will leave your body in The Murk and bring back your head. It can sit there, with all of my friends!’

  The waves rushed over Eddeth’s boots as she stumbled, struggling in the sand.

  Aldo and Sigurd ran after her.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Sigurd called, and reaching Eddeth, he dragged her higher up the beach. But Eddeth wriggled away from him, trying to focus. She lifted her eyes to the wall of rocks ahead, and heart racing, she started running.

  Sigurd glanced at Aldo, who merely shrugged, already familiar enough with Eddeth to know that there was no point in asking.

  It was better to just follow and see.

  ‘There!’ she called out suddenly, pointing to the rocks. ‘Go there!’ And exhausted after a night spent in the water, her strength sapped by the bone-chilling cold, Eddeth finally ran out of energy. Stopping abruptly, hands on her knees, she panted. ‘Go!’

  Aldo stayed with her as Sigurd charged for the tall wall of rocks, heart in his mouth. Reaching them, he started climbing, slipping and sliding as he dug his boots into crevices barely big enough for a toe. Though it didn’t take long before he was standing on top of the rocks, looking down another stretch of beach, eyes peeled open, holding his breath.

  And there were Ludo and Stina, walking towards him.

  Sigurd held up a hand, smiling broadly, tears in his eyes. ‘Here!’ he shouted. ‘Here!’ And he turned back to Eddeth, who was trying to move again, Aldo beside her. ‘You found them, Eddeth! You found them!’

  Eddeth looked up at Aldo, still panting. ‘Oh, I’m glad to hear it. So very glad. Now, please, get me back to that fire!’

  Bergit found herself becoming more and more irritated by the girl’s slow pace. She ached with cold. It was the strangest feeling, as though her limbs were too heavy to move. Though she wanted to move them quickly, for she did not want to sleep in that shed again. ‘If we don’t hurry, we won’t find anywhere to stay,’ she said sweetly, teeth gritted. ‘You don’t want to sleep on the floor again, do you?’

  Lotta didn’t care, but she also had a vision of a high, soft bed, with feather-stuffed pillows and thick grey-and-white furs. She saw a window with a view of the sea, and blinking, she saw a hearth big enough to stand inside, flames blazing brightly.

  And picking up her boots, she hurried along.

  Bergit had been given the name of a man who had a house to sell, and excited by the prospect, she reached back and grabbed Lotta’s hand. According to the taverner’s wife, there was a lot of interest in the house, for there were few proper houses in all of Orvala. Most lived in sturdy shacks and cottages, small enough to have only the one room; every member of the family crammed in together, often with their livestock too. Especially over winter, when they needed to protect those precious animals whose milk and eggs would help sustain them through the bleakest, coldest months.

  Lotta almost tripped as she tried to quicken her pace. The snow was deep in places, and she couldn’t get her boots out quickly enough to keep up with Bergit’s long strides.

  ‘Here!’ Bergit announced, puffing out a smoky breath, eyes on the two-storeyed house before them. ‘I think it’s here! That woman said it had a big stone outside, didn’t she?’ Though she wasn’t really expecting Lotta to answer, and she wasn’t looking her way. ‘It must be this house.’ Bergit’s eyes glistened, hoping it was true, for this was a fine house, better than any she’d imagined owning in Stornas.

  Lotta heard that voice calling her name again, and she turned away from Bergit, who had stepped onto the porch, running her hands down the carved wooden posts holding up the porch roof, almost giddy with delight. She knocked on the door, not noticing Lotta at all.

  And Lotta walked away from her, seeing that hound again.

  The dog edged closer; a grey hound, thin and hairy with big, inquisitive eyes. It was as tall as Lotta, and it padded forward until its wet nose touched her cheek. She held out a mittened hand, stroking the dog, feeling oddly calm.

  Seeing what she was doing, Bergit snatched her away, pulling her back to the porch. ‘You don’t know where that creature’s been! Eating out of the midden heap, most likely. Now, come along, we have to get inside!’

  Lotta sighed, but she didn’t argue as she was yanked into the house, head twisting, looking over her shoulder at the dog, who continued to stare at her.

  Ludo and Stina were grateful for the flames, too shocked by what had happened to do much more than nod and shake, relieved to have found the rest of the crew.

  Horrified by how few remained.

  Sigurd couldn’t stop shaking his head. ‘Thought for sure we’d have to leave you behind.’

  Ludo’s teeth were chattering, his arms jerking violently, but he managed to dig into his pouch, pulling out a stick. ‘I had this!’ He grinned at Eddeth, who looked surprised but pleased.

  ‘You kept it!’

  Ludo nodded. ‘I did. I d-d-did.’ And then Sigurd’s arm was around him again, trying to warm him up.

  ‘Another storm’s coming,’ Ollo warned, eyes on the dark clouds sweeping across the sky. He turned, peering at the row of trees in the distance. ‘We should get moving.’

  Stina, who had only just sat down, didn’t look enthused, not wanting to leave the flames behind, but she lifted her head, seeing that Ollo was right. Struggling back to her feet, she held her hands over the fire, trying desperately to feel warm. ‘We... we....’

  Vik slipped an arm around her back. ‘Let’s head for the trees. Start walking. It might warm us all up.’

  They were tired but cold, and no one felt like getting even wetter, so, feeling the first drops of rain misting over them, they shuffled across the stones, into the trees.

  Sigurd felt the relief of having Ludo back, the cold biting at him, shaking him to the core, and something else he couldn’t put his finger on. He turned around, staring at the waves pounding the beach. Brown and grey and frothing with anger, they rolled towards the foreshore in an unrelenting rhythm.

  Sigurd remembered the serpent and the storm and the anger of the goddess who had wanted them dead. He shivered, the hairs on the back of his neck rising.

  Thinking of the raven who had led them to safety.

  Ulrick felt uncomfortable in Tarl’s company. The man was undeniably charismatic, women and children flocking to him as they walked to the docks, though he had an air about him that made Ulrick wary. As though at any moment, Tarl co
uld slip out a knife and slit his throat.

  Ulrick blinked, trying to focus on the unfamiliar surroundings, wanting to learn as much as he could about Orvala and its lord.

  The city that had once been mighty, had been abandoned in the centuries following Eutresia’s death, crushed by the devastating battles that followed it. And though it had returned to become the seat of power in the North, it had none of the grandeur of a Stornas, or an Ottby, or even a Slussfall. There was one long wooden wall, newly built and topped with ramparts to the south, an impressive hall and an abundance of piers, though there were few hints of prosperity about the place. The men and women who passed wore tattered clothes, their faces lined with the hardship of their existence, for just managing to stay alive was a constant struggle up North, but they passed their lord with hope in their eyes.

  There were many of them, for more and more families and warriors were flocking to the city, to the lord who had promised them a better future. A lord who was rising, whose reputation was growing, blessed by Eskvir, God of War. God of Vengeance too. For there was nothing a Northerner wanted more than revenge on the South, that blessed land favoured so highly by Thenor.

  A sense of expectation hung in the air, despite the gloom and the bone-rattling cold. A sense that, soon, things would change...

  Ulrick kept one hand on his beard, holding it down as the wind sheared his face, tearing at his cloak. ‘It’s busy!’ he said, grinning at Tarl, who had stopped by a training ring to watch his men fight. The two men fought with bloody fists, crouched over, neither giving in, almost entirely masked by clouds of breath smoke.

  ‘You’re right. Word has spread far! They hear what the dreamers are saying. They know what this winter will bring. Better to all come together now, to fight the weather gods as one!’ Tarl didn’t appear bothered by the cold. His shoulders were straight, his face relaxed. ‘Kill him, Harkel!’ he roared, choosing his favourite. Harkel’s opponent tried not to show his disappointment that his lord wanted him dead, fixing his eyes on the fist aiming for his jaw. ‘But it’s not only the weather bringing them here.’ And now Tarl was smiling, his dark eyes glowing like embers.

  ‘No?’ Ulrick’s attention shifted from the fight to the powerful-looking lord, who was walking again, waving at a band of children who ran alongside him in tattered furs, hands in the air.

  ‘They hear other things. Promises of a return to the prosperity we once enjoyed here in the North. Orvala was not always this barren land. When Eutresia was our goddess, we were blessed by the sun! Solla is a miserly bitch, ordered by Thenor to barely glance our way. As you can see!’ And gloved hand up to the sky, Tarl glared at the thick tapestry of clouds. ‘We don’t see the sun here.’

  ‘Never?’

  ‘Rarely. Certainly not daily. We suffer beneath grey skies, frozen to the earth like lumps of ice.’ Tarl was stepping quickly now, boots crunching across the snow. ‘But change is in the wind, and that’s why they come.’ He smiled, turning to Ulrick. ‘And you? You haven’t come to find a place by my side before I’m crowned king?’

  Ulrick shook his head, though he was intrigued. ‘I’ve heard little about what’s happening up here, my lord. Little detail, at least. I know you wish to push south. That you seek the throne. I’ve heard that, yes.’

  Tarl laughed. ‘Wish? No, Ulrick, I will! You see, I have a dreamer of unrivalled skill and wisdom, and she has seen that I will be crowned the King of Alekka. A united Alekka. The first high king in two thousand years! That is no wish, no wish at all. Which they know.’ Tarl pointed at the children, who still followed him. ‘They all know my destiny, and so they come. The North will rise and take what it’s owed. Finally! Two thousand years of oppression will be overcome, the yoke around our necks broken. Thenor, our overlord, crushed!’ Tarl inclined his head, turning down a wide street, greeted by more raised hands and cheers. ‘And if I decide to have you by my side, Ulrick, you will bear witness to it all!’ Tarl studied the long-bearded man, impatient to find Mirella. She knew of the Vettels. Of Orbo and Slussfall and Stornas.

  She would know what to do with this man.

  Mirella stayed in her chamber, warming herself by the fire, eyes on the window, where she watched the orange-haired woman hurrying away from the little girl.

  Lotta.

  She clasped her hands together, staring at the thin gold band on her finger, and touching it, she remembered Jesper and the last time she’d seen him.

  ‘Will you watch over me, my love?’ he had whispered, his lips near her ear. ‘Keep me safe to return to you?’

  She had felt his arm around her waist, pulling her close; the pain in her back where he’d thrown her to the ground; the stinging burn of her swollen eye where he’d slapped her. ‘Of course,’ she’d murmured, her heart breaking. ‘Of course I will.’

  Swallowing, Mirella shut away the memory of that face; the memory of Hakon’s and Ivan’s too. She had seen their deaths, as she’d seen Jesper’s.

  There was no point in dwelling on what was never meant to be.

  The Vettels were cursed.

  In the end, Thenor couldn’t stomach them, just as he’d been unable to stomach the high kings who had once commanded all of Alekka.

  But now?

  And moving to the window, Mirella held a hand to the thin pane of glass.

  Now, Thenor would have little say in anything that was about to happen.

  Sighing deeply, she collected her cloak from the back of a chair, heading for the door, sensing Tarl’s need of her.

  16

  Alys woke slowly, feeling stiff and sore, the icy wind tangling her hair around her face. Brushing it away, she glanced around the ship, unable to see Magnus. It terrified her, breath trapped in her throat, heart racing. And then she saw one of the crew move, revealing that Magnus was standing with Ebben in the bow, eyes on the land emerging from beneath low-lying clouds.

  ‘Getting closer,’ Arnon smiled, offering her a skin of ale.

  Alys didn’t want it, though her throat was dry.

  ‘What did you see in your dreams?’ he murmured, stroking her cheek. He saw her discomfort and chose to ignore it. Arnon felt oddly calm, a sense of anticipation lifting him above the sinking clouds of his usual gloomy mood. They would be in Orvala soon, and he was looking forward to having his wife to himself. In a bed. A bed in a room with walls, a roof and a fire.

  ‘Ice.’ Alys took the waterskin, drinking deeply. ‘The sea is freezing fast.’

  ‘Is it?’ That panicked Arnon, who stood, turning back to the helmsman, quickly leaving Alys behind. ‘My wife sees ice coming.’

  The bushy-bearded Borr glanced to his right, though nothing had changed. The waves were still rushing past them with speed, the water a very liquid-looking dark-blue.

  Arnon moved behind the helmsman, wanting to see for himself. He lifted his eyes, surveying the sea. ‘Can we go faster?’

  ‘The wind’s as strong as we can hope for, but it won’t do us any good if the sea freezes.’ Borr shivered, wondering if it was getting colder.

  Hoping he was just imagining things.

  Ludo was used to Ottby cold.

  But after spending a night in the freezing water, he couldn’t get warm. Not even the constant walking stopped him shivering and shaking. He smiled at Stina, who walked beside him, eyes moving, worried about what was lurking beneath the thick layer of snow, already having fallen over twice. She kept looking over her shoulder, too, wondering what was coming. The memory of the sea serpent lingered, and she thought about moving up to walk with Eddeth, wanting to know if she’d seen anything; still shocked to realise that she was a dreamer. They’d been so worried that Eddeth would reveal Alys’ secret, yet Eddeth had been keeping one too. Even from herself.

  ‘Warm yet?’ Ludo wondered with a grin.

  Stina shook her head. ‘No. You?’

  Ludo laughed. ‘Not in the slightest. Not dry yet either. Snow’s not helping.’

  They’d come across nothing more than a co
uple of huts, both of them burned down, neither any use.

  ‘There must be something around here? Someone who can help us?’

  ‘There will be,’ Ludo assured her, hoping he was right. ‘We just keep walking. Something will turn up.’ He saw Eddeth stumble, helped by Vik, who walked on one side of her, Aldo on the other. Sigurd was at the front with Jonas, Ollo grumbling just behind them. The remainder of the crew trekked behind Ludo and Stina, mostly silent, eyes scouring the trees.

  Jonas was tired. The night had been long and sleepless, and the night before that, he realised, reminded of the serpent and how few men remained from the crew that had left Slussfall. He thought of Magnus and Alys, worrying about what Arnon de Sant was doing to them, and it spurred him on.

  ‘I keep thinking about a hot bowl of stew,’ Sigurd sighed beside him. ‘Beef stew with dumplings.’

  ‘Not fish?’ Jonas grinned.

  ‘Never fish again,’ Sigurd swore. ‘I think I probably swallowed a few last night.’ He shuddered at the thought of it, memories of that icy water terrorising him anew. He tried not to think of Dagger, but he kept hearing the great rendering cracks as her strakes broke apart, his beloved ship sliding into the sea, sucked down into Hartu’s arms.

  ‘You wouldn’t be alone in that!’ Jonas decided. ‘Though in this weather and this far north, we’re going to struggle to find much else to eat. Maybe a few frozen mushrooms, if we dig a bit?’ His eyes darted about, searching for signs of life, though there were few, and he sighed, turning to Eddeth. ‘Can you see anything on the horizon?’

  Eddeth’s stomach rumbled loudly, and she wished more than anything that she could see something on the horizon, but she shook her head. ‘Not yet. Not here.’

  It wasn’t what they wanted to hear, and Ollo grumbled some more, wishing he’d cared less about his reputation and more about that silver Jonas had buried in Slussfall’s forest. He thought of how pleasant it would be to sit in the hall, on a bench by the fire, a cup of ale in his hand, the soft sounds of Hakon Vettel’s musicians plucking away in a corner, pretty slaves swishing past him with trays of sizzling meat.