by A. E. Rayne
It would only make everything worse.
Turning back to the ceremony, Alys hoped that Arnon was sober enough to see what was happening. That he would stay at the back of the hall, out of the way.
The children were locked in a chamber. She couldn’t get to them.
Mirella would stop her.
Her thoughts were her own, thanks to Ragnahild’s symbols, but Mirella would see the moment she started to move.
And then she heard her mother’s voice in her ears.
‘The guards are under orders to kill the children as soon as they sense trouble. They are very pliable men, Alys. Bound to me now. They will do my bidding, so calm that mind of yours, and hold your ground, for once I finish with Magnus and Lotta, I’ll kill the Vilanders. You don’t think I can?’ She inclined her head towards Reinar, though her lips never moved. ‘Watch me.’
Alys’ expression didn’t change as she stood opposite her soulless mother.
Soulless.
She knew that now.
Jesper Vettel’s sword was hidden beneath her cloak, and she felt an urge to slide it from its scabbard. Though she couldn’t kill her mother.
Never that.
For Alys still possessed a soul.
Orvala’s western border was guarded by a single tower, its wall still under construction, though Tarl knew that there was barely enough to stop a few children attacking the city. There were ditches, though, battlements his father had spent years constructing, which Tarl himself had fortified. Deep ditches that ran in meandering rows, with sharp stakes mounted on every rise, threatening anyone who dared approach the city. And those who made it up and over the ditches, slipping through the stakes, would quickly find themselves within range of that guard tower, where men would ring the signal bell, alerting the garrison as the archers showered them with flaming arrows.
There may not have been much of a wall protecting Orvala’s western border, but there was no way through.
Unless you had a dreamer on your side.
‘They’re not moving!’ Tarl called to Offa, who ran on his right, face screwed up in pain. He’d twisted his ankle, falling into a ditch, though it hadn’t stopped him moving. They’d been pushing hard since dawn, climbing through the maze of ditches, secretly wishing that they hadn’t worked so hard to secure the western border in the first place. ‘The tower guards can see us, but they’re not moving!’
Offa thought his lord was right.
He hoped he was right. That the two men Mirella had sent to find them had been telling the truth. That it wasn’t some trap of Gudrum’s. Gudrum, who had his very own dreamer capable of weaving powerful magic.
Rain was falling, turning the ditches icy, and their hands were frozen, swords sheathed as they climbed and slipped, breath smoke streaming behind them.
Getting closer to the city.
The blue light was as cold as ice, and Eddeth couldn’t feel her fingertips.
She couldn’t feel her arms.
Valera was relying on both her and Raf, though Alari was doing everything she could to weaken them.
Alari had approached Eddeth, wanting to dig into her mind, though she remained distracted by her sister, wondering what game she was playing. Valera was no spellweaver. No mistress of the dark arts.
So who had taught her this trick?
Shaking her head, Alari drew her attention back to a quivering Eddeth. ‘Never has there been a weaker creature! No dreamer more muddled than you. If you really are a dreamer, Eddeth Nagel? Perhaps my sister is just having a little fun at your expense? Playing games with you?’
Eddeth couldn’t close her eyes. She wanted to hide from that penetrating glare, afraid that Alari would trick her or trap her or bind her with some spell. But she couldn’t close her eyes. They were fixed open. All her focus, her energy, her will sent to her arms, now lost in the blue walls.
She tried to shut Alari out.
‘Your mother saw the truth, didn’t she, Eddeth? She saw who you really were. A weak pretender. A failure! You wanted to be like your grandmother, didn’t you? You wished you were a dreamer. But you never were. Not really.’ Alari saw a spark of pain in Eddeth’s bulging eyes, and she pushed deeper. ‘You tried to be a daughter, but your mother left you. Tried to be a wife, and your husbands took up drinking, or they found more... attractive women to warm their beds. You tried to be a mother and –’
‘No!’ Eddeth barked, tears in her eyes. ‘You... no!’
‘Eddeth!’ Valera warned. ‘Shut your mind. Now!’
Raf watched the blue walls, listening to Valera scream and Eddeth cry and Alari laugh, wondering what she was doing here. The blue light was mesmerising, and she thought of Sigurd, seeing his eyes as he leaned in to kiss her.
Alari’s head snapped around, leaving behind a babbling Eddeth.
Heading for the elfish dreamer.
Jonas hoped the scouts had been right; that Eddeth had been right in her dream.
She had seen Ulrick Dyre coming, leading an army of men, many on horses, riding like the God of Fire was chasing them. But no Tarl Brava.
Benn had described the Lord of Orvala in great detail, hoping she could see him, but Eddeth had insisted that she saw no such man riding with Ulrick.
Jonas didn’t know what that meant, but they couldn’t dwell on what had happened to Tarl Brava, not when Reinar and Sigurd were inside the city with Gudrum, and Ulrick Dyre was charging towards their rear.
The sound of hooves approaching was getting louder, clearer, shaking the earth. His horse could feel what was coming. Destroyer could too. He skittered around beside Jonas, looking to leave.
Ollo tried to calm him down, patting his neck. ‘I hope Eddeth was right.’ His eyes jumped around, seeing Vik on Frostbite on the opposite side of the road, talking to that pretty Ilene. They had divided their forces, hiding amongst the trees, not wanting to announce their presence.
Yet.
‘And what are they going to think about us, then?’ Ollo wondered. ‘Enemies at their gates?’
Jonas didn’t know, but he lifted his sword, pointing his men further into the trees, tension rising.
Solveigh barely noticed that the ceremony was over, though she felt nauseous, fearing what would come next. Cheers rang in her ears as Gudrum’s men gathered around him to offer their congratulations. She tried to slip out of his grasp, wanting to leave, though he held her hand tightly, eager to show her off.
Everything had come together so seamlessly in the end.
Gudrum smiled at Mirella, raising his goblet in her direction. And though it would take some time to trust the dreamer, he knew that she was a dreamer worth keeping. Raf had been useful, though he would not mourn her, for, in the end, many would be sacrificed to achieve his dreams. The road to Stornas, he knew, would be littered with the bones of friends and foes alike.
Gudrum grinned, kissing Solveigh’s lips, seeing another woman’s face.
The road back to Brekka too.
‘We’ll drink for three days!’ he declared. ‘Three fucking days! Now play me a song!’ The roars of Gudrum’s men rang throughout the hall as he left Solveigh behind and headed towards his guests. ‘You should know something,’ he smiled upon reaching Reinar. ‘Before you die, you should know something.’
Reinar froze before that smile, his brother stiffening beside him.
Gudrum’s warriors pushed forward, surrounding the Vilanders and their men, and soon there was no room to even lift up an arm.
‘What? That you didn’t care for your dreamer after all?’ Reinar laughed, though he felt worried, wondering if Eddeth could see how things were unfolding.
Sigurd swallowed, hoping Reinar had a plan.
Both of them tried not to look at Alys, who was being jostled out of the way before them.
‘The dreamer? Raf? But why would I care about her when I have another, better dreamer? No, that was obvious, surely? To me, at least! To Mirella too, as I know she sees everything.’ Gudrum flicked a hand, movi
ng his men slightly away from the brothers as he paced before them, his smile growing. ‘But it’s not my dreamers I want to talk about. Not at all. It’s Ottby.’
Shivers ran up Alys’ spine, down her arms, watching as Gudrum strutted around with such confidence now. She’d forgotten all about Arnon, but out of the corner of her eye, she saw him pushing through the crowd towards her.
‘Ottby?’ Reinar breathed, taking the bait. ‘What about Ottby?’
Now Gudrum laughed, head back, enjoying the fear he could see in Reinar’s blue eyes. The drummers were once again beating furiously inside the hall and out in the streets, the fires hissing as the rain came down. ‘There’s no one in Ottby, is there? No one but an old man guarding your pitiful garrison. An old man and your bitch mother and your pretty cousin with her little baby.’ Gudrum stepped closer, spitting in Reinar’s face. ‘Poor, poor little baby.’
Reinar couldn’t move. His heart was thumping in fear.
Alys watched him, fears rising, the cries of her children ringing in her ears. They were calling for her, desperate to escape.
Her mother stood opposite her, as still as stone. Silent too.
Taking a deep breath, Alys sought out Reinar, trying to get through to him.
And as Gudrum moved aside, Reinar stared into Alys’ eyes, hearing her voice in his ears.
‘Kill them!’ Gudrum laughed. ‘Kill them all, and then we’ll eat!’
‘No!’ Reinar cried, panic making him breathless. ‘Wait! You’re under attack!’
Gudrum had turned back to his wife, hands in her beautiful hair, pulling her to him. ‘What? Ha! Are you a dreamer now, Reinar Vilander? Can you see through walls?’
‘I have a dreamer,’ Reinar said, not wanting to draw any attention to Alys. ‘She’s out there, in my camp. She’s screaming in my ears! Calling to me! They’re under attack. Now! Someone’s coming through the forest!’
Mirella stepped forward, needing to claim Gudrum’s attention before Reinar Vilander ruined everything.
But Gudrum spun away from his dreamer and his wife, his eyes back on Reinar, grabbing him by the throat. ‘You want to play games with me?’ he snarled. ‘Games? Who’s out there? Hmmm? Who does your dreamer see?’
‘My lord,’ Mirella tried, sensing Greppa panicking on the dais, his eyes seeking the safety of the corridor. ‘Your prisoners would say anything to live. Surely you know that? You must ignore them and keep to your own plan. Do not be disturbed by their games. They wish to save their lives, and who could blame them? Your men command the wall, and the towers, guarding the length and breadth of the city. You would surely hear horns blowing in warning by now if that were true. Bells ringing!’
Gudrum was inclined to agree, and turning towards Mirella, he could see the lack of alarm in her eyes. He could still hear the drums thumping outside, and there wasn’t even a hint of panic or warning, no interruption in that pounding rhythm at all. So, drawing his sword, he turned back to Reinar Vilander, deciding to kill the man himself.
‘Tarl Brava is coming!’ came a little voice in the distance, and everyone turned to the corridor in surprise as the children pushed through the crowded hall, trying to reach their mother.
‘What?’ Gudrum looked down at Lotta as she stumbled into him, shoulders heaving. ‘What are you? Another dreamer?’
Lotta nodded, panting, her brother right behind her, pulling a reluctant Puddle after him. ‘I saw Tarl Brava with his men. They’re coming!’ She wanted to get past the frightening lord to reach her mother, fearing what Mirella was about to do.
Bergit had been loitering near the corridor with the servants, unsure if she’d been invited to the wedding, and she clasped her hands to her throat, not knowing what to do. Glancing around the hall, she saw no one looking her way, and backing up, she disappeared into the corridor with a flash of orange hair.
‘I have men on the wall! Men lining the streets!’ Gudrum declared, though there was doubt in his voice now. ‘They would warn me if such a thing were true!’
‘They’re all poisoned. Spellbound,’ Lotta promised him, catching a glimpse of her drunk father. She blinked, fearing that he was about to make everything even worse. ‘Go and see! Those men won’t save you. They can’t!’
‘You’re going to believe this girl? This girl?’ Mirella was incredulous. ‘Tarl Brava is dead. Your dreamer told you as much. Your dreamer! She saw him. Have you forgotten? You can’t think to listen to a child, busy playing games!’
Gudrum had drunk too much mead, and his thoughts swam around him in a blur of confusion. He couldn’t decide what to do. He couldn’t determine what was true or who his real enemy was. ‘Ilmar! Get to the wall! See what’s happening!’ he bellowed, turning to another of his men. ‘Horst! Keep the Ottby men here. Mirella, you come with me!’ And grabbing the dreamer’s hand, he yanked her towards the doors.
Mirella turned to glare at Alys, who ignored her, bending down to Lotta, whispering in her ear. ‘How did you escape?’
‘Don’t ask,’ Magnus warned. He held Puddle’s rope tightly, eyes on the mess the Vilanders and their men were in. And then, suddenly, his father was there too, and Magnus didn’t know what to do. Gudrum swept out of the hall with Mirella, taking Ilmar and a handful of men with him, but there were too many warriors left behind for them to try and escape.
Arnon stumbled into Alys, wrapping a dirty hand around her wrist. ‘We need to leave!’
Reinar blinked, glaring at the man who’d elbowed past him, quickly guessing who he was.
‘What?’ Alys didn’t want Arnon getting in the way now. ‘No. No. We... no!’
Arnon was too drunk to see reason, too drunk to see anything but the need to be with Alys; to finally be with Alys and his children, far away from everyone else. ‘We’re leaving because I say so. Because you’re my wife!’ And turning around, he attempted to drag Alys behind him.
Reinar flexed his fists, gnashing his teeth.
This was the man?
This was the man who’d spent eleven years hurting Alys? Bruising and beating and raping Alys?
Sigurd could sense his brother rising on the balls of his feet, growing even taller. ‘Reinar,’ he hissed, knowing that they had to focus now. Whether Gudrum or Tarl Brava was going to take Orvala, they had to escape before it was too late.
‘Let me go, Arnon,’ Alys hissed, pulling her hand away. ‘Let me go!
It was the wrong thing to say, and seeing her husband’s eyes spark with anger as he spun back to her, Alys felt a familiar tremor of fear. She froze, unsure which path to take. She had to keep the children safe. Reinar and Sigurd were trapped. Her grandfather and Vik were outside the wall with Eddeth and Stina...
Her mind was blank.
Completely unaware of anything else happening around him, Arnon grabbed her by the cloak, and Lotta by the hand, dragging them both through the hall.
‘Alys!’ Reinar bellowed.
He couldn’t move.
Gudrum’s men were pinning him in on every side, one big man wrapping an arm around his chest. ‘Let her go!’
‘Magnus!’ Sigurd cried, watching the boy drag a knife out from under his cloak, slipping through the crowd after his parents. ‘Magnus!’
Sigurd couldn’t move, and Reinar couldn’t move, but Reinar wasn’t about to let that bastard hurt Alys again, and roaring, he flung himself forward, dragging the man restraining him straight over his head, bringing him down to the floorboards with a crash. Their swords had been left outside the hall, as was the custom in the North – which was another thing to hate about it, Reinar decided – so, dropping to his knees, he punched Gudrum’s man in the nose. And dragging the man’s sword out of its scabbard, he stabbed him through the throat.
Arnon staggered to a stop by the door, hearing the screams behind him. And turning around, he was too late to see Magnus, who came at him with a knife. The knife went through his cloak, just scraping his belly. Arnon, further enraged, backhanded his son, knocking him away. ‘You little
bastard! You can stay here! There’s no room for you in my family. Not anymore! Come on!’ And leaving Magnus to whimper on the ground, Puddle running away from him, Arnon dragged Alys and Lotta towards the doors.
Sigurd quickly pulled away from his captor as his brother caused chaos. Picking up a stool, he swung it around, smacking the nearest man in the face, freeing Ludo, who fell to his knees, crawling away to find a weapon.
Berger was bellowing behind them, knowing that they had to get out of the hall before Gudrum returned. He slammed his head backwards, breaking the nose of the man restraining him, and leaving his captor to scream, hands over his face, he ran after Reinar and Sigurd, searching for a sword.
51
Vik saw Jonas moving, so, sword in the air, he nudged Frostbite out of the trees, walking him to join his friend. Bolli followed him. Ilene too. Jonas had Ollo and six more men, and between them all, they blocked the road to the city, hearts thumping in time to those thunderous hooves.
Spying Ulrick on a snorting brown horse, Jonas roared his name, pleased when the long-bearded man looked up. ‘Stop!’ he cried.
Ulrick blinked in surprise, jerking the reins, not expecting to see Jonas Bergstrom blocking his path, that traitorous shit Ollo Narp beside him.
Vik Lofgren too.
‘Ulrick! Stop!’
Tarl wouldn’t want him stopped, Ulrick knew, but he pulled his horse to a halt, arm in the air, wanting to slow down his men.
And then he drew his sword.
‘What the fuck do you want? Why are you here?’ Ulrick glared at Ollo, pointing with his blade, struggling to catch his breath. His broken nose had made the journey uncomfortable and breathing an effort. Every part of him was frozen, numb or aching, and now, stopping for just a moment as the rain washed over him, he felt colder than ever.
Their horses skittered, tired and unhappy, the sky darkening rapidly as another storm approached.
