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

by A. E. Rayne

  She was struggling to get her head around what had happened.

  ‘Of course you do!’ Gudrum cheered, wanting to get inside. And moving closer to the dreamer, he bent his bloody face to her ear, sensing her distaste for him and his men. ‘I have my own dreamer, you know. Young and beautiful, she is. Talented too. And her friends are your enemies, from what I hear, so I’m not sure I need to keep you...’

  Mirella stiffened, inhaling the stench of him. But she stood back, holding her tongue as she turned to follow Gudrum into the hall.

  Jonas stared into the darkness, looking for signs of light, listening for those first early morning sounds that would hopefully wake him up. He felt ready to sleep till spring, though the promise of a bed was just a whisper on the wind, and he knew that there was still some way to go before he would rest his head on anything more than a pillow of snow.

  Vik yawned as he joined him by the fire. He took a deep breath, inhaling the welcome scent of pine, relieved to smell something other than horseshit.

  ‘Might make some progress today,’ Jonas said, turning to him.

  ‘Progress towards some ale would be nice.’

  ‘Mmmm.’

  ‘And what do we do when we get to Orvala? If Mirella’s there?’ None of it made sense to Vik, though he didn’t want to put ideas into Jonas’ head. Mirella was still his daughter, whatever had happened between them, and he didn’t want to make Jonas feel worse than he already did.

  ‘We do what we came for, whatever it takes. We rescue Alys and the children, and then we go home.’

  Jonas sounded oddly distant, and Vik frowned. ‘Whatever it takes?’

  ‘We’ve all chosen the paths we walk down,’ Jonas said. ‘We’re not children. Where we are is where we’ve chosen to be, and every choice comes with consequences. So we’re going to rescue Alys and the children, and if anyone chooses to stand in our way, that will be on them.’

  Vik nodded, listening to Ollo and Eddeth snoring in the distance. They were as loud as each other, and he was surprised that anyone was sleeping at all.

  He patted Jonas on the back, hurrying away to piss.

  Jonas watched him go, memories swirling around him like a chill wind. It had been years since he’d last seen Mirella, though he knew in his heart that he never wanted to lay eyes on her again.

  Gudrum swaggered into the hall as though it was already his, which, Alys supposed, it was. His eyes lingered on her face, dropping to her breasts before moving to Solveigh, who shuddered, not welcoming his interest in her.

  ‘The lady?’ he inquired, glancing back at a sour-faced Mirella, who nodded. ‘The lady,’ he mused, stepping forward, licking his lips. Gudrum’s wife had died only a few years into their marriage. That had been over thirty years ago now, and though he’d had countless women in his bed since, they’d been little more than a distraction, a way to pass the time. But now that his prospects were improving at speed, he saw the need to take a more formal step; to find a new wife, a young and fertile woman, who would bear him an army of sons.

  Raf was entertaining, a warm companion on a cold night, but she was a forest dweller, a wild dreamer. Not at all suited to being a lady.

  Gudrum took Solveigh’s hand. She had such clean, smooth skin, he thought, lifting her hand to his lips, watching her terror grow. ‘We will marry, yes we will, for you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen!’

  Solveigh looked at him in horror, trying to tug her hand away from his bloody face. ‘My... I... husband?’ she spluttered, feeling no love for Tarl but not wanting to be passed off to another man, who was likely even worse. Certainly worse to look at, she thought, turning away from his mangled face.

  ‘Is dead!’ Gudrum roared happily.

  There were cheers from Gudrum’s men, who filed into the hall now, eyes on the women and the tables, bloody hands seeking the spitting flames. Bergit shrieked as her buttocks were fondled by a pot-bellied man, who thrust himself at her. And squirming away from him, she headed for Alys, who shrank back with the children, moving behind Arnon.

  ‘Tarl Brava is dead, so we must celebrate!’ Gudrum bellowed, surveying the hall, which was even more impressive than he’d imagined. Bigger, grander, and filled with the most attractive women he’d seen in years. He grinned at Bergit before returning his eyes to the stern-looking dreamer, who appeared to be in charge of them all. ‘You will organise food and ale for my men, and I will make myself at home in my new chair, with my bride-to-be beside me.’ And dismissing Mirella with a wink, Gudrum turned back to Solveigh, pulling her into his arms for a kiss.

  Mirella, not used to being treated like a servant, lingered in surprise for a moment before slowly turning around and walking towards the kitchen. She stared at Alys, who followed after her, shepherding the children behind their grandmother.

  ‘What are we going to do now?’ Magnus wondered when they made it into the kitchen, packed full of servants, who had taken shelter and were now looking at Mirella with desperation in their terrified eyes.

  ‘We are going to wait,’ Mirella decided. ‘And do everything they say. Gudrum wants to be the lord here. He wants to marry Solveigh. He wants to eat and drink, so we will help him. We will help him do whatever he wants!’

  ‘But poor Solveigh,’ Alys said. ‘You can’t just give her to him. She’s not a chest of silver!’

  Arnon joined them.

  ‘And what do you want?’ Mirella snapped. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘I’m trying not to get killed. They’re already throwing that Sverri around, arguing over who’s going to carve him up.’

  ‘Where’s Ebben?’ Magnus asked, eyes on his sister, who was listening to her puppy crying in the distance.

  ‘Who?’ Arnon wondered distractedly.

  ‘Ebben. Borr’s son,’ Alys said. ‘Have you seen him?’

  Arnon shrugged. ‘He’s nearly a man. Let him look after himself.’

  Mirella ignored them all, sharpening her eyes as a loud shriek sounded from the hall.

  ‘That’s Bergit.’ Lotta wanted to leave and find Puddle, but thinking of Ulrick, she tugged her grandmother’s hand. ‘You’d better go and save her.’

  Mirella sighed. ‘Fine. I shall go and save everyone! Alys, you stay here, get this kitchen in order, then take the children somewhere. They need to get out of the way.’ She eyed Arnon. ‘There, something you can do! Get your children out of the hall. Take them to whatever hole you crawled out of. Who knows what that vile man is planning out there. Better they’re well out of it.’

  ‘I want to wait for Ebben,’ Magnus insisted. ‘To see if he’s alright.’

  Alys agreed. ‘Go find him first, Arnon, then come back for the children.’

  Mirella turned to her, changing her mind. ‘You go with him. Gudrum doesn’t care about you, so let’s keep it that way.’ She wanted Alys and Lotta gone, out of sight, knowing that she would need them in her battle against Alari. She would need their help returning Tarl to his rightful place.

  For he was alive, she had seen. Alive and riding to Orvala.

  And if he was ever to stand a chance of becoming the King of Alekka, Tarl Brava couldn’t let another man command his hall for long.

  As dawn broke, Tarl’s horse pulled up.

  He felt a deep affection for the horse, and not wanting to push him to his death, he stopped.

  Ulrick was relieved, feeling his own horse struggling beneath his aching body. The snow was deep, and the pace was wearing on the horses, not to mention the poor men who were running, having to keep up with them. They all blew and snorted around him in the frigid air, man and beast alike, and he sensed their desire for a break, though he didn’t know how long Tarl would give them.

  Jumping down from the saddle, Ulrick stretched out his back, eyes sweeping the trees.

  ‘Do you think anyone else is out there?’ Tarl asked, his voice an angry bark. ‘Anyone following us?’

  ‘I’ve seen no sign of it, my lord. Storm’s gone, wind’s quietened
down. There’s no one that I can see.’

  Tarl had sent scouts ahead, and those men had come back to confirm the same. He’d sent them out again, wanting to have some warning of what awaited them in Orvala.

  It would take days.

  Days to get back home!

  He smacked his hand against a tree, feeling the pain burning his palm and not caring.

  Days! And what would happen in the meantime?

  To Mirella? To Solveigh?

  ‘They don’t know Orvala.’ It was the only light in a world of darkness. ‘Not like I do.’

  Ulrick hoped that was true, though in order to have caused so much trouble in the first place, Gudrum had to have had a skilled dreamer by his side. To have out-thought Mirella like that? Masked the truth from her? ‘Then you’ll be able to overthrow them, my lord.’

  Tarl nodded. ‘Overthrow them, then tear them apart, limb by limb!’ He was raging, unable to feel anything but anger. Blood pumped through his veins, heating him like fire, and he turned back to his tired horse, knowing that he needed to find a faster horse. Uukko could take his old horse back home.

  ‘You must focus on what is two steps ahead of you, my lord,’ Ulrick warned. ‘Two steps ahead is Stornas. Revenge is fleeting, and the sweetest revenge of all is not decorating tables with heads. It’s sitting on that throne.’ He was tired and perhaps speaking more plainly than Tarl was used to. And seeing Tarl spin around in anger, he squeezed his swollen hands into fists.

  Tarl scratched his beard, grateful for the absence of the storm, though he was struggling to think clearly. And seeing the certainty in the old scout’s eyes, he nodded. ‘It appears that Mirella got one thing right. You are wise, Ulrick Dyre. Clear-headed. Plain-spoken.’ And flexing his hands, he nodded again. ‘We’ll talk more on the ride, and you will give me your advice. There is no dreamer in my ear anymore.’ Tarl turned with a sigh, looking for a new horse. ‘So you will talk to me, Ulrick Long Beard, and I’ll see what I think of what you have to say.’

  Ulrick relaxed his shoulders, loosening the tension in his hands.

  And though he wanted to scream, he smiled.

  Raf scowled at the sight of Gudrum kissing the neck of the dark-haired woman who sat perched on his lap, frozen in terror.

  And seeing his dreamer enter the hall with fire blazing in her eyes, Gudrum pushed Solveigh away, standing with a jump. ‘The mistress of dreams! The conjurer of darkness! My ever-perfect Raf!’

  Mirella stood in a corner, tired eyes sharpening.

  No one had laid a hand on her.

  No one had laid a hand on Bergit either. Mirella had insisted that she was her servant and that raping the women of the hall would not endear Gudrum to his new people. And though Gudrum had wanted to reward his victorious men with whatever prizes they desired, he was inclined to agree.

  The battle was over.

  He would let his men have their fun in the city a little longer, but his hall would be more... civilised.

  Bergit trembled, hovering near Mirella, who ignored her, fixing her attention on the little dreamer with the big blue eyes.

  ‘Come!’ Gudrum smiled, pulling Raf into the hall. And slipping his arms around her waist, he kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Come and drink wine, my precious girl! Wine and figs! They have figs! I haven’t tasted a fig since I was in Andala!’

  Raf didn’t want a fig, though Gudrum’s attention had already wandered, and releasing her, he strode towards Sigurd. ‘What do you think?’ he grinned, arms open. ‘Better than a tent?’

  Sigurd ignored him, eyes darting around the hall. He felt tired, on edge, not recognising anyone. Not seeing any sign of children either. ‘I would say so,’ he agreed irritably.

  Mirella!’ Gudrum called, turning to the dreamer. ‘More wine!’

  And already thoroughly fed up with the boorish man, Mirella nodded, eyes on the dark-haired dreamer as she turned and walked away.

  Raf blinked, recognising the woman from her dreams, and never having met another dreamer before, she felt intimidated, momentarily forgetting her anger at Gudrum, who had left her in the cold forest while he sat inside a warm hall kissing a beautiful lady. And with a dirty cloak too big for her and leaves in her hair, Raf felt anything but a lady. She eyed Sigurd crossly, sensing his pity and not wanting it at all.

  Gudrum clapped an arm around Sigurd’s back, moving him further into the hall, forgetting Raf. ‘You’ll sit by me. Me and my new wife.’

  Sigurd looked surprised, hearing Raf spluttering behind him.

  ‘My soon-to-be new wife!’ Gudrum corrected himself. He was already so drunk that his thoughts muddled before his eyes. He couldn’t remember what he’d been going to do, but spying Solveigh, he led Sigurd to the table. ‘This is she! A beautiful lady, I’m sure you’ll agree. A widow! Soon to be happily married to a man worthy of her bed.’

  Sigurd nodded as though he was listening, but he barely looked at Gudrum’s prize, his attention wandering to the woman who Gudrum had sent away for more wine.

  She looked just like Alys.

  40

  It was during times of crisis that a person’s true character was revealed, and Arnon had revealed his in a way that left Alys speechless.

  She had known him to be jealous and cruel, lazy and arrogant. He was angry and violent too. But he’d boasted of his skill with a sword, and never having witnessed him in battle, and never paying much attention to anything he’d done in the training ring, she’d been surprised to discover that he was a coward.

  And the fact that she was so surprised was the most shocking thing of all.

  Arnon stared at Alys’ sword as though he was considering taking it, but knowing that she’d just killed a man, he hesitated, seeing his wife through new eyes too.

  Magnus had helped kill that man, and he sat on a stool, eyes on the fire crackling noisily in the centre of the cramped cottage Arnon had taken them to. They had left the hall quickly, trying not to draw attention to themselves, though Magnus had seen Ebben’s body lying near his father’s, their blood freezing on the street in great red puddles, and he was too shocked to speak.

  It didn’t feel real.

  ‘Who’s hungry?’ Alys asked, not feeling hungry herself. She kept thinking about Ebben and poor Solveigh, wondering what was happening to Mirella.

  Both children ignored her, Magnus not even raising his eyes.

  ‘I’ll have something,’ Arnon decided, standing with a groan. ‘Not much here, though, just a few stale flatbreads. The taverner’s wife left us a basket, but I think the men ate most of it.’ None of his men had returned to the hall or the cottage, and Arnon was left to assume that they were all dead.

  It left him feeling even more vulnerable.

  He had his silver, though silver wouldn’t help him keep his head if he displeased the new lord.

  He dug through the basket, pulling out an apple.

  ‘What are we going to do now?’ Lotta wanted to know, stroking Puddle, who sniffed the air, feeling hungry himself. ‘Can we run away?’

  Magnus thought of Daisy, wishing he knew whether she was safe in Slussfall.

  He turned to their mother, who shook her head.

  ‘No.’ Alys was cold, yet no matter how close she sat to the flames, she couldn’t stop shaking. She wondered if it was the icy water or the shock of killing the tattooed warrior. His mocking voice still rang in her ears, his blood still stained her sword. And realising it, Alys slid the blade from its scabbard, wanting to clean it.’

  ‘I’ll take that.’ Arnon held out a hand, deciding to assert himself.

  ‘No.’ Alys stood, and tightening her grip, she pointed the bloody sword at her husband. ‘You were brought back to life by an evil goddess, and maybe she protects you, I don’t know. Mirella seems to think so. But I don’t care. You can’t hurt me anymore, Arnon. I won’t let you.’

  Arnon felt embarrassed in front of the children, though Alys’ anger, seething through the tip of the blade, was intimidating, so he rem
ained where he was, well aware that his wife knew what to do with that sword.

  Alys’ arm shook, and eventually, she dropped it down to her side. ‘We need to stay.’

  No one looked happy about that.

  ‘Why?’ Arnon wanted to know, his anger simmering now, curiosity becoming the more dominant feeling. ‘Do you want to be around your mother?’ He wondered what he wanted to do. The new lord would be little different than the old lord, though where else could they go while the sea was frozen? Borr hadn’t worked quickly enough to secure a shed, and now his ship was trapped, moored helplessly to a pier.

  ‘No, but we have to stay, I feel that.’ Sigurd was here, Alys knew, somewhere, and she had to find a way to help him. ‘We have to stay here for now.’

  ‘And Tarl Brava will return,’ Lotta added. ‘I saw him riding fast.’

  Alys spun around. ‘He’s alive?’

  Lotta nodded, secretly happy, for she had seen Ulrick riding with him.

  The horses were loud.

  Eddeth kept turning around, wondering what horses were making all that noise, blowing and snorting, whinnying occasionally. What could they sense?

  Trouble, she decided, frowning deeply. Trouble lay ahead.

  ‘What is it?’ Stina was curious about Eddeth’s continuing silence. It was so cold that she felt reluctant to speak herself, but Eddeth wasn’t even sneezing, so something was definitely wrong.

  ‘Everything!’ Eddeth declared loudly. ‘All the things! That’s exactly what it is, yes indeed.’ But mostly, just then, it was the distinct lack of a hot tea to defrost her hands, warm her chest, and calm her scattered thoughts.

  ‘Did you dream of anything useful?’ Ludo wondered from her left.

  Eddeth clamped her lips together, not wanting to say.

  ‘Eddeth?’ Stina leaned across Ludo. ‘What have you seen?’