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

by A. E. Rayne

  ‘Alys, my girl. What took you so long?’

  Alys blinked in horror, recognising the old woman from her dream.

  Ragnahild One Eye.

  Eddeth sighed, her body finally starting to thaw out. Her belly was almost full, her toes almost warm, and she lay back on the cave floor with a smile on her face. ‘And what will happen next? What have the gods in store for us tomorrow?’ she wondered sleepily, untroubled by the sound of thunder bellowing overhead. ‘At least we’re on the right side of things, eh, Stina? We’re not stuck with the Vettels this time. In danger of being swallowed by evil spirits!’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ Stina sighed, fearing that the blizzard would never end. The wind was screaming past the cave now, the snowy wall rising across its wide mouth.

  Ludo sat next to her, nodding. ‘We were attacked by a sea serpent, Eddeth! Shipwrecked. Poisoned. Chased by magical wolves!’

  Eddeth supposed that was true. ‘But no evil spirits! And that means Thenor’s on our side. He’s seeing us to safety. I’m sure of it. He likes Alys, you know. He does!’

  Jonas looked around from where he was checking the horses. Ollo wasn’t wrong, the stink inside the cave almost had him gagging, but, he supposed, it was no worse than sleeping in a barn.

  Vik’s eyebrows were up too.

  ‘Oh yes, Alys is favoured by Thenor, just as Reinar is. And what does that mean, I wonder?’

  No one knew.

  Ollo snorted. ‘If Thenor favours Alys so highly, why does he keep letting her get captured?’

  ‘The gods test us,’ Vik said. ‘You know that.’

  Ollo laughed. ‘They make us do all their work for them, you mean! What tests? What tests can they have for Alys? What can she do?’

  Jonas walked back to the fire, glowering at Ollo. ‘You’d be surprised to know what Alys can do. She’s a dreamer after all, so why wouldn’t Thenor favour her? Why wouldn’t he test her? She’s a strong woman. A capable, strong woman. He wouldn’t find her wanting.’ Jonas was suddenly hot all over, temper spiking. He thought of Arnon de Sant and Reinar Vilander and Thenor, and every man who wanted something from Alys, mad at the lot of them. Mad at himself most of all. Alys had been his to care for, to teach and raise, and he’d done nothing but let her down.

  Nothing but expose her to danger.

  He thought of Mirella, knowing that everything was his fault.

  ‘Vik’s right,’ Ludo insisted. ‘Sometimes, we don’t know how strong we are until we’re tested. Look at Eddeth. She’d forgotten that she was a dreamer. And now she’s leading us. Showing us the way. Saving us!’

  Eddeth was surprised by the compliment, quickly turning her attention to the staff which lay beside her. She’d carved three symbols into it now, pleased with how it was starting to look. It reminded her of her grandmother’s staff, and thinking of her grandmother, she closed her eyes. ‘There’s more ahead of us,’ she warned darkly, feeling icy fingers creeping up her spine. ‘Thenor watches over us, but he no longer commands loyalty amongst the other gods, not as he once did. Some wish him harm, like Alari. Like Vasa and Hartu. So we must be wary and watchful now. We must sleep with one eye on the unknown, searching for that which seeks to stop both Thenor and us.’

  ‘Stop us from what?’ Ollo wondered.

  Eyes springing open, Eddeth sat up, a big grin on her face. ‘From saving Alekka, of course!’

  It was dark in the shed, which reeked of disuse.

  Alys blinked, trying to focus on the old woman holding the puppy.

  ‘You think I’d hurt a little puppy?’ she cackled, handing a panting Puddle back to Alys. ‘He is my puppy after all.’

  ‘He is?’

  Ragnahild smiled. ‘The dead are everywhere. Most can’t see us. We take different forms, fitting in as we can.’

  ‘You’re dead?’

  ‘Of course I’m dead, girl! How old do you imagine I am? Oh yes, dead and buried decades ago. Not long after I visited your beloved.’

  Alys frowned, confused and irritated. ‘I don’t have a beloved. Not at all.’ She blinked away images of Reinar and straightened her shoulders, feeling annoyed. ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I thought Eida would have taught you better manners than that, though I suppose she was dead long before you needed some sense knocked into you. Perhaps if she’d lived, she would have kept you from running away? Hmmm?’ Ragnahild sat on a wooden chair which creaked loudly as she rocked back and forth.

  ‘Though if she had, I wouldn’t have my children.’

  ‘True, and the gods have long had a plan for our line, so little Lotta will have a part to play, I’m sure. She already has!’

  ‘Part to play in what?’ Alys wondered.

  ‘In the battle to come, for Alekka is about to be dragged back together again, thanks to your misguided mother and her venomous allies. Your mother! Of my blood, but not of my heart. That terrible Mirella! Though, being our blood, she is our problem. So what are we going to do to stop her, Alys, my girl? What are we going to do to stop her, you and I?’

  Sigurd was reminded of the women they had captured as slaves, and he felt a deep well of shame in the pit of his stomach. He ignored the pain in his arm, distracted by the frustration he felt at being imprisoned himself.

  He wanted to talk to Raf, though he was sitting on the ground, tied to a tent pole now, guarded by a humourless young man, who sharpened his knife obsessively, occasionally holding it to the flames, ensuring that Sigurd could see how its edge shone.

  Sigurd didn’t care.

  He didn’t fear the man or his knife.

  He needed to know what was happening, and only Raf could tell him that. He thought of her just as obsessively as the young man caressed his knife, wanting to touch her again.

  And then the tent flap fluttered, and Raf slipped inside, eyes on the guard, who smiled at her. ‘You should have something to eat before it’s all gone.’ And not giving the young man much of a choice, Raf ushered him outside. ‘I’ll stay till you return. I have to change his bandage, so take your time.’

  The guard nodded, and with a sharp-eyed glance at Sigurd and a smile at Raf, he disappeared.

  ‘Are you alright?’ Sigurd hissed. ‘I was worried.’

  Raf laughed, her eyes almost hidden beneath a tall fur hat, far too big for her head. ‘You were worried? Why? I’m not your woman, Sigurd Vilander.’

  ‘Not yet, but soon you will be.’

  ‘What?’ Raf hadn’t been expecting that, and she stumbled backwards, blinking at him. ‘You’re a dreamer, are you? You see the future?’

  ‘I know what I want,’ Sigurd insisted. ‘From the first moment I saw you, I knew I wanted you. That we were meant to be together. Didn’t you feel it?’

  Bending to him, Raf held a finger to his lips. ‘Ssshhh.’ And then, removing her finger, she kissed him. Softly. Lightly. He was bound, and he couldn’t touch her, couldn’t keep her where he wanted her, and smiling, feeling his frustration mount, Raf slipped away. ‘You’re not a dreamer, Sigurd, and I have a man. I don’t wish to make a mess of my life by seeking another.’

  ‘You’re not happy with Gudrum,’ Sigurd scoffed. ‘You’re not safe with him either. He’s just using you.’

  Raf ignored him, unwrapping his bandage, hearing him hiss through his teeth. ‘I can give you something for the pain.’

  ‘It’s not that bad,’ Sigurd lied. ‘I’d rather have another kiss.’

  Raf ignored him some more, dropping the old bandage to the ground, reaching back for the jar of salve she’d brought with her. ‘No more kisses for you. Not ever. It’s not safe,’ she warned. ‘Your brother is coming. He’s a big man in a black cloak. A serious-looking man. Not like you. He looks like a lord.’

  ‘He is a lord.’

  ‘A lord fated to become a great king.’

  ‘So they say,’ Sigurd scowled. ‘Aarrghh!’

  ‘Sorry,’ Raf said, not looking sorry at all as she dabbed his wound with salve, enjoying its pleas
ant aroma. ‘It will sting a bit, but it will heal the wound quickly now. There’s no infection. It’s clean.’

  Sigurd was pleased about that, wanting to touch her.

  ‘Your brother is coming,’ Raf repeated, trying to focus his mind. ‘He will find you, I’ve seen that, so don’t do anything to get yourself killed before he arrives. If you can’t promise me that, I won’t come and see you anymore. Your arm is better. There’s no need for me to come. Not really.’

  ‘But you do. Why?’ Sigurd wondered coyly.

  ‘I feel sorry for you,’ Raf whispered, trying not to smile. He was so handsome and his lips...

  Standing up, hat dropping over her eyes, she became flustered, almost falling over a stool. ‘Your arm will heal if you stay still, which, by the look of things, won’t be hard. And tomorrow...’ Raf shook her head, wanting to stop babbling on. ‘Best thing you can do is stay out of the way. It doesn’t involve you. Gudrum won’t want anyone seeing you. You’re his secret.’

  ‘Secret?’ Sigurd wondered, but Raf had turned away from him, heading for the tent flap.

  ‘Stay safe,’ she murmured, glancing back at him. ‘And I will find you in your dreams.’

  ‘Where have you been?’ Lotta exclaimed loudly as Alys pushed open the hall doors, dropping the puppy onto the floor. ‘Mama? Where have you been?’ Her attention was quickly on an overjoyed Puddle, who raced into her arms, tail wagging.

  Magnus looked just as relieved to see his mother, who seemed odd, he thought. ‘Did something happen?’

  ‘Happen?’ Alys blinked in surprise. ‘I wasn’t gone that long, was I?’ She saw that Bergit was still there, cloak off now, looking perturbed, though there was no sign of Mirella.

  ‘They were worried,’ Bergit said, coming forward, sensing Alys’ confusion. ‘Your mother has asked me to watch the children.’ She wanted to scream at the thought of it, though it was employment, and that meant silver, and silver meant the possibility of purchasing that perfect house.

  ‘Why? I’m their mother. I don’t need anyone looking after them.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s true,’ Mirella smiled, striding into the hall. ‘For you will be spending your time helping me. Starting tonight. Once you’ve eaten, we will head to my chamber and begin.’

  Alys’ head was spinning, breath trapped in her chest. She saw a glimpse of Reinar, his face drawn with worry, staring out at his beached fleet, snow in his beard. And then, looking closer, she saw that his wife was in his arms, and she blinked at her mother, willing the image away.

  ‘Good! And in the meantime, children, you may go and sit at the table. Bergit will help you with supper while I talk to your mother.’

  Bergit looked just as unhappy at that fate as the children.

  Alys was no happier.

  But they all trudged to their places, Mirella following after them, barely focused on what was happening in the hall. She’d been unable to see anything further about Tarl, though her last visions had given her some confidence. Ulrick was guiding him, and Ulrick Dyre was a steady man who would not see him wrong.

  They were lost.

  Ulrick didn’t know where they were. Tarl didn’t know where they were.

  Alvear and Offa didn’t either.

  Tarl’s scouts hadn’t returned, likely lost in the blizzard, just as they’d become lost in the blizzard.

  It was dark, and the men were cold and shivering, the horses tired.

  ‘We need to stop, my lord!’ Ulrick tried, throat aching. ‘We won’t find anywhere more suitable. Not now.’

  Tarl realised that Ulrick was right. He’d hoped to make more progress, wanting to reach the meeting place by the end of the day, but the night had come to claim them first, and frustrated by the obstructive weather, he snapped. ‘Alright! Alright! Let’s get some fires going! Bring the ale!’ And dropping down into the deep snow, Tarl strode away from his horse, who was quickly secured by a sleepy-eyed Uukko, heading into the trees for a piss.

  The blizzard whipped around them, making it impossible to see much of anything, masking the moon, freezing their limbs, but fires would help.

  Tarl returned, still growling, imagining how uptight Mirella would be if she was watching. The thought of her displeasure almost made him happy, though, and he felt a familiar ache of frustration, knowing that she would never be his

  Though perhaps, when he sat upon Stornas’ throne as the high king...

  ‘Ale, my lord!’ Offa announced, bringing a skin to Tarl, who took it in gloved hands, sucking down a big gulp of icy liquid.

  ‘You’re a good man, Offa!’ Tarl sighed, wiping his mouth. ‘So much better than that useless brother of yours!’ He heard Alvear snorting somewhere in the distance as they tried to decide the contours of what would be their camp in the dark. ‘Though you’ll return to my favour if you get a fire going quickly! And help poor Uukko get my tent ready too!’

  ‘Not really the weather for tents, my lord,’ Ulrick suggested delicately. ‘No room either. Snow’s coming at us like a storm at sea. We just need to secure the horses and hunker down.

  He wasn’t wrong, Tarl realised, scratching his beard as the edge of the forest came into sharper focus. He handed Ulrick the skin, the thought of sleeping without his familiar comforts wiping the smile off his face. ‘You’re full of bad news, Ulrick Dyre. I can see why Mirella likes you so much. Well then, if we’re not going to be resting comfortably tonight, we may as well just sit around the fires getting drunk!’

  Ulrick nodded, back aching, thinking that that sounded like a perfect idea.

  Gudrum wanted to know what Raf had seen, though she was initially too cold to speak. He’d wrapped her inside his fur cloak for a while, though that hadn’t warmed her, and now she hovered over the fire, hanging dangerously close to the flames, shaking like a barn door in a storm.

  ‘They’ll be there by tomorrow night,’ she breathed, at last, lifting her head to look in his eyes. ‘Tomorrow, they’ll be there.’

  Gudrum pulled her close, body thrumming with excitement. Everything he’d dreamed of achieving since leaving Brekka was finally within reach. ‘And what do you think he’ll do? Tarl Brava?’

  Raf shrugged, face buried in his cloak.

  He pushed her back, staring into her eyes. ‘I want to know, Raf. I need you to see for me. What will he do?’

  Raf felt his desperation, and she tried to squirm away. ‘I... I need to dream. After supper, I will dream some more.’

  ‘Yes, you will,’ Gudrum agreed, holding her close again, feeling the tension ripple through her lithe body. The dreamer was a gift from the gods, and she’d led him to this place, where he stood on the precipice of everything he’d ever dreamed of. There was always a need to compromise, he knew, though he had no problem with alliances, for every handshake and every conversation was another step along the path to victory. He’d never thought to seek the Alekkan throne himself, but there was much a wealthy lord could do with a king on his side.

  It was all about using his resources wisely; utilising his strengths. And looking around at the snow-blustered camp his men were racing to set up, he knew that he had many.

  ‘What do you want?’ asked that familiar voice in his head.

  And Gudrum just smiled.

  IV

  Negotiations

  34

  Bergit liked dogs even less than she liked children, and having listened to the yapping puppy chasing the shrieking children around the fire for two interminable days, she was slowly going mad. A blizzard had descended upon Orvala, sending everyone indoors, and the children had been cooped up in the hall, growing bored and getting louder. She could see why Mirella had sought her help, and watching the two dreamers head down the corridor again, going to do who knew what, she sighed loudly.

  ‘You can leave if you like,’ Solveigh suggested beside her.

  She sounded drunk, and though Bergit felt tempted by the offer, she could hardly leave the Lady of Orvala to watch the children as if she was a s
ervant.

  And a drunk one at that.

  ‘No, no, it’s just that noise. After all these years without my daughter, I tend to forget what a rowdy bunch children can be. Especially if you have more than one. I was raised an only child by a quiet mother. Like a mouse, she was, so noise isn’t something I enjoy.’

  Solveigh felt ready to fall asleep. She swayed gently from side to side, in time to the drumbeat in her ears. The night Tarl had destroyed her life, her father had brought drummers into the hall to celebrate her wedding. They’d stood at the head of the fire with painted faces and great bear hoods, thumping loudly as everyone cheered, clapping in time. The drumming had resounded so loudly that no one had heard the Orvalans’ approach until they were flinging open the doors and rushing inside, blades drawn.

  ‘My lady?’ Tears were running down Solveigh’s sunken cheeks, and Bergit was growing concerned. ‘Are you unwell?’

  ‘I am... in need of an end,’ Solveigh sobbed, gripping her arm. ‘An end to my pain. Can you help me with that?’

  Bergit blinked, glancing at the children, who were far too busy making noise to hear what the women were talking about. ‘I cannot, and the gods wouldn’t approve of you speaking so. You mustn’t wish to die, my lady. Pain is temporary. Like a storm, it passes, and the sun brings light and hope again. You mustn’t give up in the midst of a storm. Hold on, for I promise, everything will change, and you’ll feel differently in a day or a week or a month.’ Bergit had no idea what to say, though it would hardly put Tarl Brava in a good mood to come back from his journey to a dead wife. ‘You have a powerful husband, a handsome, powerful husband, and soon he will return even more so. Just hold on until then.’

  Solveigh looked away from Bergit towards the doors, the drumbeat growing louder in her ears, seeing her beloved’s eyes glowing above the fire as he watched the drummers. She had loved him since he’d arrived in her village, unable to think of another from that moment on. They had talked of their plans to visit the South, excited for an adventure. Solveigh smiled sadly, wondering what it would have been like, wishing she could feel the heat of a golden sun on her face.