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

by A. E. Rayne

  And closing his eyes, rubbing his head, Reinar tried not to scream.

  Arnon dragged Alys down the pier, checking on Ebben, who had a firm hold on Magnus. ‘You watch that boy now. Watch him closely. Likely he’ll try to escape.’

  Alys didn’t understand how anyone could hate their own child as much as Arnon appeared to hate Magnus. And not just appeared; she could feel the depth of hatred in his heart. The pure, unadulterated jealousy. As though Magnus was taking away her love for him. It made no sense, for Arnon loved Lotta. He wasn’t jealous of her. But he’d never had a good word to say about his son.

  ‘Will you pick up your feet!’ Arnon grumbled as Alys tried to walk carefully beside him. The boards of the pier were slick with ice and blood, and she was struggling to stay upright, watching as one of the crew stumbled onto his knees, face red with embarrassment. ‘It’s not that slippery!’ Arnon laughed, wanting to get to a tavern or the hall; anywhere with flames and something to drink. He glanced to his left, seeing the long stretch of beach bordered by a row of ship sheds. To his right, taking in the bustling market.

  The smell and the noise were hard to ignore.

  ‘Have you ever seen so many people?’ Arnon shook his head, his eyes drawn to the braziers, where a few red-cheeked men stood around cooking fish on long sticks. ‘Where did they all come from?’

  ‘They’re flocking to Tarl Brava,’ Borr said, just as eager to get to the tavern. ‘He’s the chosen lord, you know. The Brothers say so.’

  ‘Who?’

  Alys turned her head, listening to the helmsman.

  ‘The Brothers of Eutresia. They live further north on a tiny island. They worship Eutresia, the first Goddess of the Sun.’

  Arnon looked slightly puzzled, but mostly bored.

  ‘You do know there was another Goddess of the Sun? Before Solla?’ Borr laughed. ‘Well, she’s the reason there’s a North and a South in the first place. And if you’re from up here, you know all about Eutresia. She gave favours to the high kings, made one of them immortal, so Thenor punished her. Killed her. That’s how we ended up with Solla. And Solla only likes the South, so you’ll barely see a hint of the sun up here.’

  ‘And this Tarl Brava? The lord? What’s he been chosen for?’

  ‘To lead the North to victory. To unite the two halves of Alekka again.’

  ‘So they’re coming to Orvala for him? Because they want to follow the man who’ll be king?’ Arnon had his eyes up, seeing a wide street cutting through the market, hopefully leading to the tavern.

  Borr shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But Tarl Brava has a dreamer. The Brothers sent her to help him, so likely she’s guiding him towards his destiny.’

  Arnon smiled at Alys. ‘Sounds as though we’ve come to the right place. The home of the man destined to be the high king? Ha! A little more impressive than Ullaberg.’

  Alys thought of Ullaberg, and she saw her children playing in the water as she sat beside Stina, burying her feet in the sand. ‘It’s too cold!’ she yelled at them. ‘What are you doing? It’s too cold!’ But the children had loved the icy water splashing them, squealing gleefully every time a wave threatened their toes.

  Alys glanced at Magnus, who trudged along beside her, shoulders tense. She could feel his fear and his worry, and something else...

  As his head rose, and he contemplated the crowded market and the busy streets, his nose dripping, she sensed his excitement.

  For Lotta was here.

  ‘What will you call him?’ Solveigh wondered as the puppy wriggled in Lotta’s arms. She ran a hand over its dark-brown fur, smiling. The little girl was giggling as the puppy licked her face with his long tongue, and it was proving impossible not to smile.

  Mirella watched them, amazed that Lotta had drawn Solveigh out of her self-pitying stupor. It was encouraging, offering some hope for the future. She walked around the fire, hands out, pointing to the corridor. ‘Upstairs, Lotta. Take your puppy upstairs now.’

  Lotta looked confused as her grandmother grabbed her arm, almost throwing her towards the corridor. ‘But...’

  ‘Solveigh, you go with Lotta, take her up to your chamber. You can choose a name for the puppy together. I will come and find you both soon.’ And letting go of Lotta’s arm, Mirella turned back to the hall doors, trying to distract herself with thoughts of Tarl. He was a reckless man with a thirst for chaos and an intense dislike of anything resembling compromise.

  Perhaps she should have gone with him?

  Solveigh sensed Mirella’s tension, and taking pleasure from it, she turned away, almost looking forward to spending some time with the little girl and her puppy. She smiled at Lotta, who was laughing again as the puppy licked her nose.

  Lotta stopped suddenly, spinning around to stare at Mirella, who appeared to have frozen.

  And then she felt it herself.

  Her mother.

  ‘Go now,’ Mirella ordered, not turning around. ‘I will come for you when it’s time.’

  Tears pricked Lotta’s eyes, and she wanted to stay, but feeling Solveigh tugging her along, she turned after her, boots scraping across the flagstones.

  Mirella sensed them leave, and now all her attention was on the doors. And taking a deep breath, she turned to Tarl’s chair, where she had left her cloak. A new cloak, she thought, not smiling. A new cloak, though it would not be warm enough for this bitter land. She thought of Orbo and Jesper, who’d had clothes made for her often. He’d wanted her to look a certain way, seeking to control everything about her. Though he’d never been able to control her dreams.

  Those had always remained hers.

  At first, Mirella had sought to help him, though, eventually, knowing that she had to leave, she’d chosen to help herself.

  And now?

  Now everything she wanted, everything she had worked so hard for, was within reach.

  Grabbing her cloak, Mirella draped it around her shoulders, thinking of Tarl.

  She could control Tarl, and he would do her bidding.

  But her family...

  What was she going to do about them?

  The horses had perked up as the morning progressed, slowly appearing more interested in their new surroundings as they searched for food amongst the snow. They licked an icy stream, unable to break through to the water below, so Vik put his boot through the new ice, making a series of holes.

  ‘Think I’m going to call him Henk,’ he decided, patting his white stallion, who bent his head to the water, slurping loudly. ‘What do you think?’

  Jonas snorted. ‘Ha! Poor beast. Why not something mighty like Brand or Hammer?’

  ‘You don’t think Henk sounds mighty?’

  Ollo shivered beside them. ‘I’d call him Frostbite.’

  Jonas chuckled, trying to keep his spirits up. They were back in the forest again, fighting their way through snow-laden trees, struggling to find a path to follow.

  Eddeth was no help, as much as she was trying to be.

  She talked of trouble. She fretted and mumbled and peered up at the tree canopy, trying to see the sky, but she couldn’t tell them anything.

  And who was that trouble coming for?

  That’s what Jonas wanted to know.

  He remained on edge, head always moving. Vik, he could see, was doing the same. The forest was a thick maze of ancient yew trees, their spidery branches fighting to block their progress, enormous roots buried under mounds of snow.

  ‘Frostbite’s a good name,’ Vik decided, getting a lick from his old white horse. ‘I like that.’

  Ollo was surprised. ‘Well, you can have it. I’ve called my horse Destroyer.’

  Vik burst out laughing. ‘That horse?’ And he pointed to the most depressed-looking horse he’d ever seen. His brown coat was matted and patchy, his tail almost bald. His back slumped, his neck drooping down, his gaze unfocused. He didn’t appear to have the desire to do anything. ‘Well, I hope he lives up to his name.’

  Sigurd walked over to them. ‘
Aldo saw a grouse, so Ludo’s gone hunting with him. Stina’s helping Eddeth pick some mushrooms. Apparently, she can smell them beneath the snow.’

  ‘And has she any ideas yet?’ Vik wondered, watching Jonas freeze. ‘What?’

  Jonas shook his head. ‘Thought I heard something. Though likely it’s just those two boys stomping round.’

  Vik stared at his friend, catching a hint of worry in his eyes. ‘Better if we don’t make too much noise, though. We’ve no idea where we are or who’s out there.’

  That was saying something, as Vik knew his way around Alekka better than most. Jonas frowned. ‘North’s the answer, that’s what Eddeth thinks. We just keep going till we hit the sea.’

  ‘What?’ A red-faced Ollo looked ready to fall down. He was frozen solid, his belly growling like an angry troll, and the thought of dragging himself up into Destroyer’s saddle again made him want to cry. ‘What?’

  Eddeth waded towards them with Stina, hands full of mushrooms. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘Ollo’s not looking forward to our journey,’ Jonas said, patting Ollo on the back. ‘Maybe he’s simply too old? Happens to the best of us, from what I hear. Sometimes, you simply have to stop. You can’t go any further.’

  ‘True,’ Vik nodded, straight-faced as he walked past Ollo. ‘You could stay here, die with your horse. He doesn’t look like he’s ready for much more himself. Or maybe try and make your way back to the farmstead on your own? Spend your last moments in that steam house, melting away?’

  They all moved past Ollo, who turned, staring after them, and sighing loudly, he started trekking through the snow. The thought of being back at the farmstead, reclining in that steam house appealed beyond words. But if he was going to rehabilitate his reputation, he would have to do something more than sit around naked while Alekka was ripped asunder.

  That would hardly impress his king, or the gods.

  ‘Not sure you’d be able to cope without me!’ he called after them. ‘Eyes like an eagle, ears like a hawk. You’re going to need me!’ And he promptly tripped, staggering forward, only just managing to stay on his feet.

  Turning back for him, Jonas burst out laughing, but catching a glimpse of something moving in the trees, he stopped, staring for a moment. Though whatever it was was gone quickly, and shivering, he moved towards Ollo, who was grumbling loudly as he hurried to catch up.

  Turning back around, Jonas saw Eddeth, who was staring into the trees too, eyes narrowed.

  Watching.

  23

  Alys’ heart raced faster with each step, her chest aching.

  She was holding her breath, barely aware of anything around her. Arnon held her hand, but she felt no desire to pull away from him – he could have been anyone. Her attention was solely fixed on the hall in the distance. It was as big as Ottby’s, made of wooden logs, smoke trailing from many holes in the roof. It rose at the back to what looked like a second floor, and Alys imagined Lotta standing there, looking down on the harbour.

  Arnon tugged her away. ‘We’ll go to the tavern, ask around.’

  Alys was sure that the answers to where Lotta was didn’t lie in the tavern, so she held her ground, yanking her hand out of Arnon’s. ‘We need to go to the hall,’ she muttered, walking away from him. Her body was stiff, almost carrying her on its own, and breath smoking, ice beneath her feet, Alys left them all behind.

  The crew had their eyes on the tavern in the opposite direction. They could smell ale and something fishy cooking, and no one was inclined to follow Alys.

  Arnon felt much the same, but his wife was the dreamer. ‘Take the boy to the tavern. Watch him closely. Understood?’ His eyes were on Borr, who had Magnus’ other side now.

  Borr nodded, eager to be gone, and he pushed Magnus along, hurrying him towards that mouth-watering smell.

  Arnon caught up to Alys, grabbing her hand again. ‘What’s in the hall? Who’s in the hall?’

  Alys wasn’t listening, suddenly irritated that he was there, delaying her. Her children were the two halves of her heart, and for the first time in so long, she could feel Lotta as if she was in her arms.

  She hurried towards the steps, stopping suddenly as a door opened and a woman strode outside, blue woollen cloak flapping, golden hair sweeping around her face.

  Freckles on her nose.

  Alys staggered backwards, remembering her dreams of Mirella. ‘I...’

  Arnon stopped abruptly, mouth dropping open.

  ‘Alys,’ Mirella said, her body vibrating with an unfamiliar tension.

  Her daughter.

  No longer a crying baby of six days old, small enough to hold in her hands.

  Her daughter. A beautiful woman. A mother herself now.

  ‘You’ve come a long way.’

  Alys blinked in surprise, images tumbling before her eyes. ‘I...’ She didn’t understand, but whatever was happening wasn’t some coincidence, she knew that for certain. She saw flashes of her grandfather holding her close. ‘We needed to keep you safe,’ he whispered in her ear.

  But Alys suddenly felt more unsafe than ever.

  ‘You’ve come for Lotta, I know, and she is here, with me. You’ve nothing to fear. I have her now.’ Mirella’s voice was firm, and she saw Alys stiffen.

  ‘Have her? But where is she?’ Arnon was holding her hand, and Alys suddenly felt the pressure of him squeezing. ‘Where is my daughter?’

  Mirella rested her eyes on Arnon, narrowing them significantly. ‘You are Alari’s new toy, it seems, Arnon de Sant. Raised from the dead by the Goddess of Magic herself, so I can’t kill you, but I don’t wish to have you near me or my daughter, so you will leave. Go to the tavern and drink. It is all you appear to do, so I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourself. And when you get there, you will send my grandson to me.’

  Arnon was stunned, dropping Alys’ hand, stepping back as Mirella walked down the steps towards them. ‘What? What are you talking about? Who are you?’ He stared at Alys. ‘Is this your... mother?’

  Alys didn’t nod. Mirella’s words echoed in her head, the wind whistling loudly, her ears aching.

  ‘I am, yes,’ Mirella answered. ‘I am the lord’s dreamer too, in charge of Orvala while he is away, so you will bring my grandson to the hall, or I shall cause you many problems. More than you can imagine.’ Mirella took Alys’ arm, her eyes still on Arnon. ‘We will go for a walk, and Magnus will be waiting when we return, do you understand? I don’t wish to see you again. Show your face anywhere near this hall, and I will set the dogs on you. Alari may have stopped me killing you, but death will be much less painful than anything I do to you.’ And turning into the wind, Mirella slipped Alys’ arm through hers, hurrying away from the hall.

  Arnon stared after them, mouth hanging open, unable to stop shaking his head.

  ‘Women!’ Tarl laughed, nudging his horse into the trees. They had ridden away from the city, eventually heading into Orvala’s diminishing forest. Tarl had been clearing the trees at a rapid pace over the years, building fortifications and homes for his ever-expanding population; ships, sheds, and more piers too. The forest was shrinking under the assault, though there were still enough trees to quickly become hidden, the sound of the army marching behind them slightly deadened, snow falling heavily now. ‘Women are such maddening creatures! Though how could we live without them? Did you see my wife?’ Tarl sucked in a sharp breath, remembering the softness of Solveigh’s lips, the ample swell of her breasts, before reminding himself how she sulked and scowled and sobbed like a child, ruining everything he wanted to build with her.

  It made no sense. He wanted to make her a queen!

  Tarl’s thoughts quickly shifted from his exhausting wife to his mesmerising dreamer, who would hopefully work on Solveigh while he was gone.

  Ulrick rode on Tarl’s right, while the swarthy-looking twins, Alvear and Offa, muttered away to each other on his left. Though they were both dark-haired and dark-eyed like their lord, they looked little alike, with Offa standi
ng a head taller than his brother and Alvear being a good deal more handsome.

  They had been by Tarl’s side since they were boys. His most loyal men.

  ‘Your wife is a great beauty, my lord,’ Ulrick agreed dutifully. He knew how lords liked to hear their women praised, just as they wished to be praised for the generosity of their feasts, the flavour of their ale, and their skill in battle. Solveigh had indeed been a vision of loveliness, but the depth of her sadness had been impossible to ignore.

  ‘She is, but more frustrating than any creature alive! I’ve promised her a palace and a crown, yet she yearns for a pitiful village burned to ash!’ They were riding down a wide path, fenced in by dense fir trees, hooves and boots crunching across the snow, sleds whooshing along behind them. Tarl kept his eyes ahead, searching for danger. His horse was valuable, experienced in battle, and he didn’t want him breaking a leg on a gentle walk. ‘Tell me more about your wife, Ulrick. You seem fond of her.’

  ‘Bergit?’ Ulrick smiled, already missing her. ‘We’ve been together for over twenty years now. A long time indeed. I saw her running through the snow once, orange hair sweeping behind her like flames, and that was that. Not long after, she was mine.’

  Tarl nodded. ‘It’s Valera, I think. That goddess can’t help bringing people together, even the most unlikely of matches at the most inconvenient times.’ He frowned, thinking of Mirella again. She was occupying more and more of his thoughts now, though she refused to even let him touch her.

  Perhaps she didn’t like men, for surely it couldn’t be that she didn’t like him?

  ‘Seems to me that Valera doesn’t always know what she’s doing,’ Alvear grumbled. His own wife bored him. Any love he’d felt for her had just been lust, he realised, though that had faded quickly, leaving him with a permanent earache and lingering thoughts of divorce.

  Tarl laughed, knowing Alvear’s wife well. ‘Ha, I think you’re right, old friend. Though perhaps she does? The gods see more than we think. They know us better than we know ourselves. That’s what Mirella says.’