by A. E. Rayne
She was close, and Sigurd couldn’t think of anything but the need to pull her onto him. He wanted to devour her. ‘What have you done to me?’ he wondered, hearing drumming in the distance.
Or was it his pounding heart?
Shaking his head, Sigurd inhaled the smoke, strong in his nostrils.
‘What have you done to me?’
Raf giggled. ‘You think all dreamers know magic?’
‘I think you do.’ He sat up straighter, leaning towards her.
Raf kept her eyes down, wrapping the strip of cloth around his arm. ‘We have to get you on a horse.’ She tied a knot, standing up, holding her hand out to him. ‘You must come.’
Sigurd hesitated. His hands were unbound, and he wanted to run, and he wanted to take her in his arms, but he did neither, and grabbing her hand, he struggled to his feet. ‘Well, then, let’s go.’ He lifted his eyes to the tent flap, surprised when Raf pushed herself onto her tiptoes, kissing him quickly before spinning away.
And smiling now, Sigurd followed her.
36
‘Where did you get that?’ Arnon wanted to know, looking at his wife’s new swordbelt. ‘Why do you want a sword?’
Alys ignored him. ‘Is the hall secure? Did you find any men?’
‘The streets are deserted,’ Borr called from his position near the doors. ‘I took a quick look around. Where the lord’s men have gotten to, I’ve no idea, but there’s none out there.’
‘Were they in the tavern?’ Arnon wondered, eyes on Borr and his son, Ebben, who both shrugged.
‘Don’t think so. I’m not so familiar that I’d know that. But they wear black cloaks. The hall guards do, at least. Sverri usually has scores of them patrolling the place.’
‘Maybe Tarl Brava took them?’
‘They were here tonight,’ Alys said, eyes on Bergit, who nodded.
‘They were,’ Bergit agreed. ‘Lining the steps. More inside.’
‘So where are they now?’
‘I don’t hear the wolves anymore,’ Magnus realised. ‘Do you?’
Alys shook her head. ‘Well, that’s something, isn’t it?’ she said with a smile, ruffling his hair. His short hair. He suddenly looked more like his father, which disturbed her, and she turned back to Arnon with a frown. ‘We need everyone in here. Every servant. We have to watch the hall tonight. We don’t know what’s out there. Either we’re under attack from a pack of wolves, or someone is coming.’ She thought of the ice and Mirella and the broken bowl. ‘Someone who wants to hurt us.’
Lotta clung to her sleeping puppy, big eyes bulging. ‘All of us?’
Alys kept her fears firmly away from her face. ‘Not all of us. Of course not. Who would want to hurt you?’
Solveigh panicked, standing up quickly, eyes on the children. ‘The... doors!’ she spluttered. ‘We... you need people outside. Not inside, Alys. Outside!’
Arnon was surprised that everyone was turning to Alys, and he sought to take charge. ‘What’s coming –’
‘My family was burned alive inside a hall not six months ago. Every single member of my village! Locked into a hall and set on fire! If someone had been outside, maybe they would have stood a chance. Maybe they would have been able to escape!’ Tears flooded Solveigh’s eyes, and she rubbed them away. ‘You need to be outside!’
Alys nodded. ‘Solveigh’s right. Arnon, you take Borr. Ebben and Jiri too. Keep watch from the steps.’ Ignoring her husband’s raised eyebrows, she turned back to Solveigh, feeling so cold that she was struggling to stand still. ‘Is there another exit?’
‘There is.’ Mirella strode into the hall. She had changed into a dry dress and cloak, her wet blonde hair pulled away from her face in a long braid. ‘Through the kitchen there’s another door.’
‘Kurt, Lofi, you head out there, keep watch,’ Alys called, lifting her voice over the thunderous downpour assaulting the roof.
Neither man looked happy about that.
‘Something’s out there,’ Mirella said sharply. ‘An enemy hidden by darkness and magic, masked by the noise of the storm and the sound of those wolves. So if you seek to live longer than the next few hours, I would suggest you follow my daughter’s orders, as she appears to be in charge.’ And peering at Alys, Mirella was reminded of Jonas, who had always been the one everyone turned to. Except for Vik. With Vik, Jonas had finally found someone he could lean on. Someone as capable and confident as he was.
Quickly irritated by thoughts of her father, Mirella took a deep breath. ‘We have a leader, and those of us with weapons must listen to her.’
None of the men looked pleased with being ordered about by two women, but another howl had them sharpening their focus on what mattered most.
Thunder crashed down on the hall, surprising Bergit, who yelped.
The puppy woke up, whimpering.
‘Lotta, why don’t you take Puddle to the corner? Warm him up by the brazier?’ Alys suggested.
‘No,’ Lotta decided. ‘I have to help.’ And reluctantly, she handed the puppy to Bergit, who looked relieved to have something to do.
‘You do?’ Mirella was surprised, but she quickly saw that that was true herself. ‘Yes, of course, you do.’
‘Three dreamers against a goddess,’ Alys said, eyeing her mother. ‘That might work.’
Mirella stared at her, hoping she was right.
Sigurd rode beside Gudrum, soaked to the bone, almost missing the discomfort of being tied to the tent pole. At least he’d been out of the rain and the wind and away from Gudrum, who kept eyeing him as though he could read his thoughts.
Every shard of lightning lit up Gudrum’s hideous face, and Sigurd saw nothing but mistrust in his eyes.
‘Whatever happens, I’ll keep you safe,’ Gudrum promised, trying to smile. ‘Tied up and safe! You can stay with Raf. She needs to stay safe too.’ He frowned, not wanting to leave the handsome young warrior with his precious dreamer.
Sigurd tried not to look pleased by that prospect, which was easy as he was confused. ‘I thought you wanted an alliance? I thought you didn’t want to be a king?’
Gudrum laughed. ‘You want to know about my plans? And if I told you? You think I’d let you live after that?’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t want to kill you, Sigurd, so don’t give me any reason to. I need that gold, but once the transaction is complete...’ He shrugged. ‘Don’t give me any reason to kill you, and I’ll let you walk away. I’ll let you leave with your brother, and then...’
‘And then?’
‘Well, do you think that a man with ambition and allies will just let the South have all the wealth and the resources and the power? No, I came to Alekka to make a name for myself. To become a wealthy lord. And I’ve done it. Now is the time to secure what I have. To seek more. To rise higher.’
Thunder boomed all around them, and Sigurd’s horse threw up its head, neighing nervously, though Sigurd’s hands were bound again, and he couldn’t reach out to give her a reassuring pat.
Gudrum’s eyes were focused on Ilmar, who rode ahead of him with Raf. ‘Some men think they’re born to rule, like that fool, Ake Bluefinn. How many years did he seek the throne, believing it was his right? And now, Tarl Brava comes along, thinking he can move through the North towards Stornas in one sweeping movement, as though he’s the only one with a claim to that throne. Why?’ Gudrum snorted. ‘Because a dreamer thinks he’s been chosen by a dead goddess? Ha! I tell you who doesn’t believe that. My dreamer! She’ll tell you the same, that perfect little creature. She’ll tell you who she sees on the throne.’
And grinning now, Gudrum watched as Raf turned around, seeking him out, a smile on her sweet face. She ignored Sigurd, and that pleased him.
‘No, I promise you, Sigurd, my dreamer doesn’t see Tarl Brava on the throne at all.’
It was impossible to sleep, so Ulrick had taken a long walk around the perimeter of their camp, seeking more understanding of where they were. The blizzard had raged for days, and it had been imp
ossible to get a true sense of their whereabouts. Though, he realised with a shrug, he didn’t know the North, not like he knew the South. South of The Rift, he would have been able to pick out every hillock, every copse or stream. Here, caught in a maelstrom of snow, and now rain, lashed by a shearing wind, he could have been anywhere.
Ulrick trudged towards the trees in the distance, running his eyes up the sides of the ravine. He was on edge, not just because of his souring feelings for his new lord. Not even for his conflicting thoughts about Lotta and Bergit and Mirella.
He kept hearing odd noises.
There was the sound of fires crackling and hissing, fighting the wind and the rain. He heard thunder in the distance, saw slashes of lightning.
But there was something else he couldn’t put his finger on.
Jesper Vettel had never been overconfident.
Now Ulrick knew that his wife had been at home, watching over him, dreaming for him. Yet, even with that reassurance and help, he had never been overconfident.
Tarl Brava saw Mirella’s presence as a sign that the gods had chosen him.
But to put all their faith in the gods alone?
Ulrick thought it was a mistake, knowing how fickle they could be.
Hearing twigs snapping, he crept into the trees at the edge of the ravine. Lightning streaked across the sky, revealing a shadow moving. More than one. His hunch strengthening in his mind now, Ulrick unsheathed his sword, rain running down his face, ice cold. He shivered, thinking of Bergit’s warm body tucked up against his. And keeping that image in his mind, he pushed deeper into the trees.
‘You know why you’re here, don’t you? In Orvala?’ Ragnahild huffed, feeling annoyed. Mirella had caused so much trouble, yet it was only the beginning. Eida had been blinded by love for her only child, too silly to see the problems that lay ahead. And love, Ragnahild knew, was the most troublesome problem of all.
Alys shook her head, feeling impatient, not wanting anyone to come looking for her. She glanced over her shoulder at the door, the puppy in her arms.
Ragnahild wasn’t flustered by her impatience to leave. ‘Because you are a pawn, dear girl. A toy to play with. To tussle over. Alari wanted to hurt Mirella, and now Mirella will use you to get what she wants, seeking to strike back at Alari. She has always been so hungry for knowledge, that one. Constantly digging, like a little mole. A dirty-nosed mole, looking for answers!’
‘To what?’
‘To how to make her dreams come true!’ Ragnahild snorted. ‘Oh, nobody has more fanciful dreams than Mirella. The ridiculous girl!’
‘And how will she use me?’ Alys asked.
Ragnahild pushed herself up from the rocking chair, creaking towards her. ‘Not just you, my girl. She wants to make use of Lotta too. Both of you. You’re her blood. And now that you’ve been dropped into her lap, she’s decided that the three of you together will be strong enough to defeat her enemies.’
‘Is that possible?’ Alys wondered.
‘Alys?’ Solveigh nudged her. ‘Are you alright?’
Alys opened her eyes, realising that she’d almost fallen asleep; wondering if her conversation with Ragnahild had really even happened. ‘Sorry?’
‘I thought you were having a nightmare.’
The chairs arranged around the brazier were comfortable, lined with layers of sheepskins that had almost warmed Alys through, though her hair was still wet, she realised as she rubbed her eyes, looking around for Arnon.
Remembering that he was outside with his men, she stood, wanting to check the hall. She adjusted her swordbelt, feeling odd to be wearing a Vettel sword. And pulling her cloak over it, she shivered.
Lotta and Magnus were curled up on chairs opposite her, looking half-sleepy and half-anxious. Bergit had taken Puddle into the kitchen, searching for ale. The men stuck out in the rain were asking for something to drink, and she didn’t blame them. The storm sounded as though it was intensifying, though at least the wolves had gone quiet.
Alys looked back at Solveigh, who appeared distressed. ‘Are you alright?’
She shook her head. ‘You... you risked your life to save Mirella. Mirella risked her life to save me. I...’
Alys glanced around the hall again, realising that there was no sign of her mother. ‘No one blames you.’
Solveigh smiled wryly. ‘Perhaps you don’t know Mirella very well?’
‘No, perhaps I don’t,’ Alys admitted, hoping she would find Ragnahild again. There was so much more she needed to know.
Arnon swung open a door, running into the hall, hair stuck to his face, his men following him. He spun around as Borr slammed the door shut, searching for the locking beam. ‘Head for the back door! Get Kurt and Lofi inside! Hurry!’
Alys turned as Mirella headed back into the hall.
‘Swords will be of no use now,’ her mother warned, pulling out a small knife and handing its haft to Alys. ‘Take this. Watch what I do, and copy me.’
‘Push the tables over!’ Arnon screamed. ‘Help me!’
‘What’s out there?’ Solveigh panicked, hurrying to the dreamers, hoping they could save her; surprised that she had such an overwhelming desire to live all of a sudden.
‘They’re in the streets!’ Arnon panted, not listening. ‘They’re... huge!’
‘What? Wolves?’ Alys gripped the knife, wondering what she was going to do with it, no images coming to mind.
‘Not wolves as we know them. They are torvargs. Creatures from The Murk,’ Mirella said calmly, striding to the closed doors. ‘Bigger than any wolf you can imagine, and much more deadly. Now, come along, Alys, we have work to do.’
Sweeping his sword around, Ulrick took the man in the back of the neck. And as the man fell forward, calling out in agony, Ulrick slipped behind a tree. ‘Wake up!’ he yelled into the furious downpour. ‘Get up!’ And knowing that he had no chance of keeping his location hidden now, he dropped down onto an aching knee, sword steady in two wet hands, taking the next man across the waist.
Neither man had been wearing mail, just thickly padded tunics, and Ulrick heard the pain in their cries as his faithful blade bit hard. He smelled blood, quickly back on his feet, slipping around the tree again. ‘We’re under attack! My lord!’ And Ulrick darted to the next tree, stepping carefully around it, sword held low now, down by his leg, searching the darkness, waiting for a burst of moonlight or lightning to help him out.
Tarl was there quickly, his groggy men fanning out around their narrow camp. ‘Move!’ he roared, his rage like a bonfire, quickly burning away any lingering sleep. ‘Alvear! Head South!’ And watching for a moment as Alvear spun away from him, Tarl heard another shout from Ulrick. He recognised the voice of the old scout, and hearing the hiss of a blade, he turned just in time to see a cloaked figure swinging an axe at his head. Ducking the man’s blow, he twisted his sword, aiming the hilt at his attacker’s exposed throat. In a flash of lightning, it was the first thing he saw, and he jammed the sharp tip of his hilt into that throat with force, breaking skin, listening to the man gurgling in agony. Tarl kicked out at him, knocking him to the ground, and still holding his sword backwards, he shunted it past his waist, stabbing another man through the belly. Backing into that man, Tarl tugged his sword free, bending low, sending him tumbling over his head.
Straightening up, he slammed a boot into the man’s face, roaring into the storm. ‘Kill them!’ he demanded, furious that Gudrum had tricked him. The bastard had obviously tricked Mirella too. Mirella, who’d insisted that Gudrum was seeking an alliance, convinced that he no longer sought to capture Orvala.
He just wanted gold and glory, she’d promised. Not power.
‘Allies?’ Tarl yelled, rain hammering down on him. ‘Who needs fucking allies?’
Mirella carved two symbols on the right hall door, occasionally glancing at Alys to ensure that she was following her precisely. Though never having carved symbols in her life, Alys’ hand was unsteady, still trembling with cold, and not at all h
elped by the growling sounds she could hear on the opposite side of the doors. ‘Will the symbols keep those creatures out?’ she whispered, glancing back at the children, who stood behind her with a wide-eyed Bergit. ‘The torvargs?’
Ignoring her, Mirella finished and ran for the corridor. ‘Come in!’ she shouted to the servants. ‘Come into the hall. I must lock us in!’
Before she’d finished speaking, the hall was full of servants, all of them hurrying together, frightened eyes on the dripping warriors and the dreamers with their knives.
‘Mama!’ Lotta tugged Alys’ cloak.
‘Lotta,’ Magnus muttered, coming to grab his sister. ‘Leave her alone. Can’t you see that she’s trying to keep us safe!’
‘But it’s a trick.’
‘What?’ Alys lifted her knife off the door, turning to Lotta. ‘What?’
‘You remember being tricked, don’t you? By Mother Arnesson? Tricked by her wolf?’
Alys remembered it clearly, and she saw flashes of Reinar. Reinar, who had left the fort behind to face the nightmare on his own.
‘It doesn’t sound like a trick, Lotta,’ she tried, though her daughter looked convinced. ‘Not this time.’ Her doubts grew, though, as she returned to scratching the symbol, thinking of Alari.
‘That’s no trick. I saw them myself! Stalking the streets, they were. At least thirty of them! Wolves as big as bears!’ Arnon called from by the fire where he was sharpening his sword. ‘Get away from your mother, Lotta. Magnus, grab her!’
And though he was generally unhappy doing his father’s bidding, Magnus snatched his sister’s hand.
But Lotta shook him off. ‘It’s not real! It’s not!’
‘So someone’s just trying to frighten us?’ Alys heard the growling outside the door, and catching her husband’s eye, she knew how fond Alari was of playing games.
Lotta wriggled away from her determined brother, grabbing her mother’s arm, pulling her down so she could whisper in her ear. ‘She’s trying to distract us.’
