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

by A. E. Rayne

  ‘Lotta!’ Bergit shrieked as the little girl tripped, nearly falling into the fire. ‘Will you slow down! Bring me that puppy, and we’ll find a bed for it. Poor thing must be tired now. Not to mention the two of you.’ She scowled at Magnus, who was even more irritating than his sister, constantly peering at her with those squinty eyes of his.

  ‘I’ve already got a bed for him,’ Lotta insisted. ‘But maybe he needs some hot milk? That would help him sleep.’

  ‘You can’t give a puppy hot milk,’ Magnus said, rolling his eyes. ‘What are you thinking?’ But Puddle wasn’t waiting around for either of them, and he scampered after Bergit, who was on her way to the kitchen.

  ‘I won’t be long, my lady,’ Bergit smiled over her shoulder. ‘We can talk more when I return. I won’t be long!’

  Solveigh watched her go, rubbing her aching eyes. Everything had blurred around her, and she dropped her head, staring at the empty goblet of wine on the table. Picking it up, she stood, wobbling, unsteady on her feet, realising that she was almost entirely alone. Bathilda had fallen asleep in front of the brazier, her knitting abandoned in her lap. Bergit had taken the children away, and the only person left was a little old man stoking the fires, ensuring that the wood piles were tall enough to keep them burning through the night.

  She eyed him suspiciously, but he didn’t look her way.

  The people of Orvala had decided that the lord’s wife was mad, and they pitied him, not her. They looked at their lord as though he was a god. Nothing he did was a cause for concern. They barely lifted an eyebrow in disapproval at his cruel acts. Everything he did was for them, they told themselves.

  The poor lord, suffering such an unfortunate wife.

  Solveigh sniggered, swaying towards the hall doors, surprised not to see anyone guarding them. Men had been standing there before. Maybe four, she thought distractedly, trying to remember. But where were they now?

  And where was that horrible Sverri?

  Spinning around, nearly losing her balance, she couldn’t see anyone but the old man, who finally lifted his eyes. And winking at her, he turned towards the kitchen, leaving Solveigh to wonder if it was truly possible to escape.

  One hand out, she edged towards the doors, which swung open on their own, hitting the walls with a bang.

  Staggering backwards, Solveigh nearly fell over, but keeping her balance, she straightened up, trying to wake herself up as she hurried out of the hall, the sound of drumming pounding in her ears like an angry storm.

  Mirella grew irritated by the wind howling down the smoke hole, having to work hard to maintain her daughter’s attention. Alys kept glancing at the rattling door and the hissing flames as though she was waiting for something to happen. ‘What is it?’ Mirella snapped at last.

  Alys quickly cleared her mind, sweeping all thoughts of Ragnahild out of it. ‘I don’t like that Bergit woman. She hates children.’

  Mirella sighed. ‘Yes, she does, though not everyone is as enamoured with children as you, Alys. Some women just endure them. Do you think everyone wants to be a mother? That every woman is born with a special gift that makes all the trouble such a pleasure?’

  ‘You were a stepmother,’ Alys reminded her. ‘Ivan spoke fondly of you.’

  Mirella was surprised, though she quickly shut all thoughts of Ivan and Hakon away, not wanting the distraction.

  ‘What’s that?’ Alys asked, hearing a noise. ‘A wolf?’

  Mirella stood, heading for the window.

  The odd baying sound grew louder, and she froze, listening, trying to bring images to her mind, the hairs on her neck tingling. She opened the shutters, staring into the night.

  ‘That’s more than one wolf,’ Alys decided, listening closely. ‘Sounds like a pack. Do you get wolves here?’

  ‘Not often.’

  ‘I need to get the children.’ And not waiting for her mother to argue, Alys hurried to the door, disappearing into the corridor.

  Mirella blinked, wondering what was happening. Her mind was oddly blank. She saw nothing, heard nothing but that plaintive baying that was certainly a pack of wolves. And grabbing her cloak from the bed, she threw it around her shoulders, hurrying after Alys.

  ‘Do you remember that wolf nightmare?’ Ludo yawned, thoughts of Ottby making him homesick as he worked to keep his eyes open. They were camping outside again, wistful for the warmth and shelter provided by the cave, though it was long gone now as they edged ever closer to Orvala.

  Stina sat beside him, and she nodded, the sound of howling often appearing in her nightmares. ‘That dreamer was an evil woman. We were lucky that Alys was there. Lucky she killed her.’

  ‘And what about the wolves that attacked us?’ Ludo still felt the sting of their claws raking his flesh. ‘Who sent them? They weren’t a nightmare.’

  ‘No,’ Stina agreed. ‘Eddeth thinks it was Thenor trying to help us.’ Though doubt crept into her voice as she turned to Ludo, catching a glimpse of fear in his eyes.

  ‘I can understand a man coming at me with a sword. I can kill a charging boar.’ He shook his head. ‘I can try to kill a charging boar, they’re tricky beasts. But what do we do about serpents and magical wolves and gods?’

  ‘I don’t know, but we’ve got Eddeth dreaming for us. She’s helped us get this far, and with a little luck, we’ll make it to Orvala in one piece.’

  Ludo sighed, hoping for some luck. For Sigurd too. ‘But once we get there? How are we going to save Alys and the children? If her mother is a powerful dreamer, what are we going to do?’

  Stina smiled. ‘You forget that Alys killed Hakon Vettel’s dreamer, so never underestimate what she can do.’

  Alys found the children in the kitchen.

  Bergit looked up at her in surprise, down on her haunches with the puppy.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Lotta wondered. And then she heard the howling wolves herself. It was easier to hear things when she wasn’t having a shouting match with her brother over who should give Puddle the milk. In the end, Bergit had settled it by giving the puppy the milk herself. ‘What’s that? Mama?’

  ‘Let’s go,’ Alys urged, grabbing Lotta’s hand. ‘Magnus, come on.’ She stared at Bergit, who scooped up the puppy, looking at Alys with fear in her eyes. ‘You may as well come too. We need to stay together. Where’s Solveigh?’

  ‘In the hall,’ Magnus said. ‘I’ll get her.’

  ‘No, we’ll all go,’ Alys decided, and heading out of the kitchen, she stopped, peering over her shoulder at Bergit. ‘Don’t let anything happen to that puppy now.’

  Bergit nodded, eyes wide, hearing the full-throated cries of the wolves like a warning in the distance. ‘How many are there?’

  ‘At least a pack,’ Mirella said, meeting them in the corridor. ‘We need to secure the hall, ensure we’re locked in. There’s only one wall protecting the city. One wall and a sea of ice, but there are other ways to get in.’

  Alys swallowed, hurrying ahead of her mother, fearing that something more than wolves was coming. Her cloak swept around her, and she could feel the symbols almost calling to her, remembering what Ragnahild had said.

  And quickly clearing her mind again, she hurried into the hall, not at all surprised to find the doors wide open and Solveigh Brava gone.

  Solveigh didn’t hear the wolves. She heard the cries of her family as they burned to death in their hall. It had been a new hall, she remembered. Bright wood. The smell of pine still strong in her nostrils even now. Like many in the North, her family had been bear people, and her father and uncles had carved two giant bears to stand guard outside the hall doors, as they had in Orvala.

  Yet those bears had offered no protection from Tarl Brava.

  She closed her eyes, stretching out her arms as she jumped off the pier, her beloved’s face in her mind.

  The ice was hard beneath her feet, and she fell, slipping, landing on her shoulder with a thud. Solveigh barely felt it, though, as she stood, trembling now, the drumming urging h
er onwards, across the ice.

  ‘The stupid girl!’ Mirella growled, standing at the top of the hall steps, looking up and down the street. ‘Where are the guards? How did she get out? Where’s Sverri?’ She felt an unfamiliar loss of control, images flashing past her so quickly that she couldn’t piece together what was happening.

  ‘You have to find her!’ Alys urged. She hesitated to do so herself, not wanting to leave her children behind.

  Mirella nodded. ‘I will, but you must lock yourselves in. Something’s out there.’

  ‘Not just wolves,’ Alys warned, feeling odd.

  ‘No, not just wolves,’ her mother agreed.

  ‘Come back inside,’ Alys said, pushing her children up the steps. ‘We’re going to lock the doors and wait for Mirella to return.’

  ‘But what’s out there?’ Magnus wanted to know.

  Bergit, who was trying to keep a firm hold on the puppy, wanted to know that herself, and she almost fell up the icy steps, not concentrating. Great torches burned in sconces outside the hall doors, though the wind was so violent that there was barely any breath left in them.

  ‘Get inside!’ Alys didn’t want to talk.

  She needed to find a sword.

  The weather gave them no respite, and Tarl and his men had struggled to make much progress after leaving their makeshift camp on the side of the road. As darkness fell, they had found what appeared to be a ravine, the shelter from the hills blunting the wind’s bite, though it was cold and the snow still blew. There was nothing to do but once again bundle up in front of hastily made fires, drinking, sharing stories, trying not to freeze to death.

  ‘My wife is with child,’ Tarl slurred, so drunk that he almost felt warm. ‘A son! That’s what my dreamer tells me. A son! Ha!’ He shook his head, remembering the sons he’d had over the years. None had lived more than a few months. He’d blamed the women, casting them aside, quickly looking for a new, better wife. But after three dead boys and three lost wives, Tarl was starting to wonder if the problem was his.

  He tried to focus on the shivering woman beside him, the cup in his hand, and the fire at his feet. Alvear was staring at him, and Tarl became irritated, imagining that his friend was reading his mind. Alvear knew him better than most – he’d helped find all his wives – but Tarl didn’t want him digging into his thoughts. ‘Solveigh is a beauty unlike any other. She will give birth to a strong, healthy son!’

  Ulrick hoped that was true, for a lord always needed heirs. He raised his cup. ‘A toast to the lady and to your son, then! May he be as mighty as his father, the future King of Alekka!’ Ulrick knew what to say to please an ambitious lord. It wasn’t hard. He drank his ale, seeing approval in Tarl’s dark eyes as they glinted in the flames, and he thought of Hakon, who he’d betrayed, wondering how he had wound up such a disloyal oathbreaker.

  ‘A son!’ Tarl bellowed into the stormy darkness. ‘My son! The son of the next king!’ He lifted his cup, thinking of Mirella, who had come to him with honey-sweet promises, painting visions of glory too tempting to resist. She had shown him the path to everything he wanted, including his wife, who would finally bear him an heir who would live. He felt that.

  Mirella.

  And though he wanted to kill Gudrum for daring to threaten his borders, Tarl knew that he had to follow her advice, for she was a dreamer of great vision, and she could see the future.

  Mirella couldn’t see Solveigh anywhere.

  Her mind was a dark hole of nothingness, and she ran towards the docks with fear in her heart. The baying wolves were a constant threat behind her too. The city wall was some distance from the woods, but those wolves sounded closer than that.

  She couldn’t see anything, but she could feel the cold intensifying, trying to freeze her thoughts as well as her body. She heard waves, as though the sea was rushing towards her, but Mirella knew that it was completely covered in ice.

  New ice.

  And heart in her mouth now, she turned towards the piers.

  There was no one of any use in the hall.

  The servants were panicking, and the strange old man who helped the cook appeared drunk or mad. Likely both.

  ‘Where are the guards?’ Alys cried in frustration, searching the hall for a weapon. Any weapon. ‘There were guards on the doors before. Four of them!’

  ‘Someone took them away,’ Lotta whispered, tugging Alys’ hand. ‘Someone took them!

  ‘What?’ Magnus wanted a weapon too. He drew his eating knife, earning a frown from his mother.

  ‘Bergit, go to the tavern, find my husband. Arnon de Sant. He’s got men with him. Send them back here with weapons. Hurry!’

  Bergit didn’t look inclined to go anywhere, and eyes blinking, she glanced at the closed doors, not moving.

  Alys didn’t blame her. ‘I can’t leave my children, but we need help.’

  That didn’t encourage Bergit any further, and sighing, Alys grabbed Magnus’ hand. ‘We’ll all go then.’ She glanced at the whimpering puppy. ‘But not Puddle. He’s going to stay in the kitchen. Bergit, give him to a servant, make sure she looks after him.’ She turned to a protesting Lotta. ‘We’re going to stay together and stay safe. It’s dark out there, dark and cold, and we can’t lose each other, but if we do, hide. Scamper between the cottages. They have sheds at the back of them. Go hide in one of those.’

  Both children looked terrified.

  ‘But what is it? What’s coming?’ Magnus wanted to know, sensing that his mother was worried about more than wolves.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Alys admitted. ‘I can’t see. Nor can Mirella.’

  ‘Nor can I,’ Lotta said. ‘But something.

  ‘Or someone,’ Alys suggested. ‘So we need weapons.’

  Bergit was back, trembling now. ‘I told the servants where we were going, in case Mirella returns.’

  Alys nodded. ‘Good. We’ll find Arnon and his men, get some weapons, and come back. Let’s go. Quickly now!’

  Eutresia had been the first Goddess of the Sun, the most gifted goddess of all.

  And those who worshipped her knew how to bring the light.

  ‘Solveigh!’ Mirella peered into the darkness, her breath a steady stream of white smoke. ‘Solveigh!’ Eyes sweeping the frozen sea, she couldn’t see the frustrating woman, but she could feel her nearby, and she could hear sobbing.

  But see her?

  Mirella pushed back her hood, eyes closed, centering herself with one deep breath. Symbols danced before her eyes like sparks, and she traced their shapes with her mind, feeling her body respond as though she was listening to a familiar melody. A song. And humming to herself now, a low sound that rose from her chest, she held her hands out to the dark void, keeping them there for nine heartbeats.

  Counting.

  Breath slowing now.

  Wolves baying.

  Mirella ignored them, all her attention on the power of that symbol.

  And on the ninth heartbeat, she pulled her hands apart as though she was opening a pair of curtains, the darkness suddenly illuminated by warm, golden light.

  Solveigh stopped, turning around, arms and legs shaking. She’d become disoriented, quickly sober in the freezing cold, and thinking of the child she was carrying, she had tried to head back to the piers. But she hadn’t been able to see them.

  And then she’d heard the wolves.

  ‘Solveigh!’ Mirella kept her arms spread wide. ‘Come! Hurry!’

  Solveigh blinked, too cold to move, but feeling an unexpected urge to stay alive, she shuffled one boot forward and then another. ‘The w-w-wolves! Mir-r-r-ella!’

  ‘Hurry!’ Mirella screamed, fearing the wolves herself.

  That sound was getting closer.

  Solveigh moved quickly now, worried that the ice would crack.

  Mirella’s arms were trembling, the light becoming harder to hold with each breath. And then Solveigh reached her, and she dropped her arms, darkness enclosing them both. Grabbing Solveigh’s trembling hand,
Mirella turned back to the piers, hearing a cracking sound.

  35

  They reached the tavern thanks to Bergit, who knew the way better than Alys, feeling very motivated to get inside.

  The tavern was full and loud, stinking of ale and fish.

  So loud that no one appeared to have heard the wolves.

  A pair of red-faced drummers had worked themselves into a sweating frenzy, and many were banging on tables, stomping their feet in time to the beat. Including Arnon. He peered at Alys in surprise, cup in hand, and ignoring the children and a terrified looking Bergit, he pulled her down to his lap, aiming for a kiss.

  Alys fought him off. ‘No! We have to go! Now!’ She glanced around, recognising Magnus’ friend, Ebben, standing awkwardly in a corner with his father and the others. ‘Arnon, we have to go! I need your men! I need a sword!’

  ‘What?’

  The song finished, the applause deafening.

  ‘I need a sword!’ Alys yelled again, and suddenly the tavern was quiet, everyone turning to her.

  Then the baying started.

  Arnon staggered to his feet, seeing the children for the first time; not understanding what they were doing there. ‘Wolves?’

  ‘Quick!’ Alys pulled his arm, moving him away from the table as everyone started to panic.

  ‘Wolves!’ came the shouts of terror as the tables cleared.

  ‘Are they in the city?’

  ‘Sounds close to me!’

  ‘Get your weapons!’

  Arnon’s head kept turning, listening to everyone but his wife, who stood before him, trying to get his attention.