Kings of Fate A Prequel Novella

by A. E. Rayne

  That smile and those kind eyes were a constant reminder that the light was just a step away. If only he could leave the shadows behind...

  Jael’s scabbard slapped against her leg as she ran through the dark fort, chest burning with effort, scattering a pair of brawling cats, their high-pitched wails shattering the silence. Braziers glowed around the edges of the empty square, flames buffeted by a strengthening breeze.

  She saw glimpses of Gudrum and the main gates looming in front of him like an enormous shield wall. He was struggling, and Jael dug in deeper, knowing that soon he would have to stop.

  But, as Gudrum neared the gates, Jael suddenly realised that they weren’t locked. And more surprising still, one was slightly ajar.

  ‘No!’ she yelled. ‘Shut the gates! Shut the fucking gates!’ Her mind was too slow, too overwhelmed with thoughts of catching Gudrum to think about what that meant at first. ‘Stop him!’

  There were no guards by the gates, though, only those up in the towers, walking around the ramparts. None responded to her, and, in the next breath, Jael watched as Gudrum slipped out of the fort.

  She slid through the gates after him, still hoping to catch him. In the darkness, though, she was struggling to see where he’d gone, but a horse’s whinny focused her attention, and Jael was quickly running towards the sound, seeing glimpses of Gudrum now as he ran ahead of her.

  And then she was down, tripping over a rock, twisting her ankle. She was back on her feet quickly, though, limping, rock in hand. It was a big rock, an ankle breaker, and gritting her teeth, Jael threw it at the running shadow with every bit of strength she had.

  It took Gudrum in the back, just below his neck, and he grunted, tumbling to the ground. Jael ran for him, unsheathing her sword, needing to stop him reaching his horse.

  A grey horse, she noticed. Not Tig.

  Gudrum staggered back to his feet, spitting gravel and blood as he spun around, sword quickly in front of him, head pounding. ‘You really want to die, don’t you, bitch?’

  Jael couldn’t put her weight down on her left ankle. She couldn’t catch her breath, but she hobbled towards Gudrum, around him, wanting to block his path to the horse. ‘No, but I am going to kill you.’

  The moon finally shook off its cloudy cloak, revealing the blood-stained wreck of a man standing before her. But Jael could sense there was strength in him still, and she knew that she had to put him down quickly. Jerking her sword forward, she tried to unbalance him, but both of Gudrum’s ankles worked just fine, and he merely shifted his weight, lashing out with his own sword, unbalancing her. Jael stumbled, biting her tongue, annoyed, righting herself as she parried his strike, trying to think, but Gudrum quickly attacked her again. There was weight behind his blow, and Jael’s arm shuddered as she pushed her right boot back, into the dirt, working hard to hold her ground. Sounds of movement came from the fort, and Jael hoped it was those guards on the wall finally coming to life. ‘You tried to take my horse! Tried to kill Aleksander!’ she cried, wanting to keep his attention on her.

  ‘Tried to?’ Gudrum laughed, and smiling, he lunged, sweeping his sword towards Jael’s chest. She jumped back, landing on her left ankle, yelping as she dragged her blade across his thigh, hearing it scrape mail.

  Gudrum pushed his boots down, two hands on his sword now, swinging for Jael’s head. He knew he didn’t have long before his injuries took a toll; his ears were ringing, blood leaking steadily from his cheek, his shoulder, his hand.

  He had to end her quickly.

  Jael ducked the scything blade, watching Gudrum’s cloak billow away from him, revealing just how long his mail shirt was.

  He was quickly at her again, focusing her attention, lunging forward with his arm extended, blade reaching for her chest. Jael dipped to the right, leaning all her weight onto her good ankle, switching her sword to her left hand, hacking her blade into Gudrum’s with such force that she saw fear flash in his eyes; the fear that he was about to drop his sword. His hand was bloody, she could see, fingers dripping, but they closed around his grip tightly as he jabbed again, trying to get through her guard.

  Jael back-handed his blade away, jerking her body from side to side, wanting to tire him out, blocking his next strike which clanged against her blade, unbalancing her again.

  And this time, Jael dropped her own sword.

  Gudrum’s surprise froze him for a moment, before he smiled, launching a powerful blow at Jael’s throat.

  But Jael skidded to the ground, onto her knees, swaying back, hair brushing the dirt, sliding under Gudrum’s sword as it arced towards her face. And scooping her sword into her right hand, she straightened up, dragging the blade across his unprotected knees. Falling to the side, she rolled quickly, hopping back onto her feet, knowing that she’d cut him deep, right to the bone.

  Crouching. Waiting.

  Wondering what he’d do next.

  Gudrum staggered before Jael, mouth wrenched open, eyes fixed on her, sword lingering in mid-air for a moment before dipping as he collapsed to his bleeding knees, falling onto his side, roaring with pain.

  Jael brought her sword into both hands, eyes on his neck, taking a quick breath, ready to end him. And as Gudrum turned his head up to look at her, bloody teeth bright in the moonlight, he started to smile.

  Jael frowned, confused. But in the next breath, she wasn’t.

  ‘Best you put that sword away... my lady.’

  Jael spun around, eyes on the four guards who were quickly surrounding her, weapons drawn.

  Lothar’s men.

  And Gudrum, laughing and seething and bleeding Gudrum, was quickly back on his feet, hobbling between two of the guards who had helped him to stand, and were now hurrying him towards his horse, unsteady, leaking blood, but very much alive.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Jael shouted, her voice shattering the silence, trying to see anything in the eyes of the two guards who remained, swords pointing at her, but shadows masked their faces. ‘What are you doing?’

  And then the glinting tip of a blade jerked towards her chest. ‘Sheath your sword now. Do it!’

  Or what?

  Jael vibrated with rage, wanting to scream it out loud, but there was no point.

  Her body heaved, shoulders dropping as the full weight of reality sunk in.

  There was no point at all.

  She turned her head, watching as Lothar’s men boosted a weak Gudrum up onto his horse. There was nothing cocky about him now as the pain took hold. He fell over the saddle, groaning, gathering the reins into bloody hands, sword sheathed, weakly tapping his boots against his horse’s flanks, desperate to be gone.

  Jael turned back around, wanting to see the eyes of the men who had stopped her. Wanting to remember them. Trying not to think about Gudrum.

  And finally, sheathing her father’s sword, she lifted her head and limped towards the gates, listening to the whinny of a horse, and the pounding of urgent hooves disappearing into the distance.

  11

  Eadmund felt terrible when he woke up, forced awake by his angry father, who was roughly shoving his shoulder. ‘What? What?’ His tongue tangled in his dry mouth, and he coughed, trying to swallow, trying to see his father. It was morning, he thought, though the light in the cottage was grim and dull.

  It could have been any time of day.

  ‘What did you do?’ Eirik growled. ‘They’re leaving!’

  Eadmund shook his head. ‘What? Who?’ He blinked open his eyes, struggling to sit up. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Orla! Her family. Ake too. All of them! Leaving! The sun’s barely up, and they’re leaving!’

  ‘I...’ Eadmund didn’t know why his father was so angry at him. He had no memory of the night before at all as he sat up, gripping his head. ‘I didn’t do anything. I...’ He wasn’t sure that was true. He couldn’t remember a thing.

  Thorgils stomped into the cottage, red-nosed and frowning. ‘She’s not hanging around out there,’ he muttered, eyeing Eadmun
d. ‘She’s already on the beach!’

  ‘What?’ Eirik felt sick. All he had worked so hard to achieve, undone in one night. All of it! All because of Eadmund.

  He was livid. Mad with himself for being such a fool.

  ‘You will get out of this fucking bed and come and apologise!’ Eirik yelled. ‘Now!’

  Eadmund was instantly just as angry. He wasn’t a boy, and he felt certain that whatever had happened, he hadn’t done anything wrong. ‘To who? For what?’ He glared at his father, who stood at the end of his bed, then up at Thorgils who towered over him with a pair of disappointed eyes. ‘What did I do?’

  ‘No idea! Ask Orla. Her father has torn up the marriage agreement. They want to leave. Sounds like they are leaving! And all because of you!’ Eirik shook his head. ‘Of course it’s because of you!’

  Eadmund stood, which was a mistake, and he quickly sat back down again, his head spinning. ‘I didn’t do anything,’ he insisted weakly. ‘Nothing.’ Dropping his head to his hands, he desperately tried to find any memories of the night before. He saw Orla’s smiling face, her hand on his arm, her lips lifting towards his.

  And then what?

  What could he have done?

  Thorgils threw Eadmund’s cloak at him, and Eirik dragged him to his feet. ‘I’ve reached the end of my patience with you, Eadmund, I truly have!’ He turned for the door, desperate to get down to the beach and see what was happening. ‘Now, hurry up before I do something I’ll likely regret!’

  Eadmund frowned after his father, blinking at Thorgils who kept glaring at him. ‘I didn’t do anything,’ he croaked, but Thorgils spun around and headed out of the cottage after Eirik.

  Orla was hysterical as she stumbled across the beach with her mother, Hector hurrying behind them, hoping that Cotilde could get some sense out of their daughter. She had woken up crying before dawn in a terrible state: sweat soaking her nightdress, hair stuck to her face, wild-eyed. He’d never seen her like that before. She kept muttering about wanting to leave; not wanting to marry Eadmund Skalleson; needing to get away from him.

  And then the screaming had started.

  Ake was not especially sympathetic as he waited on the black stones, tired eyes darting back and forth from the Berras’ to his helmsmen who were hastily preparing his two ships for their unexpectedly early departure. He saw Eirik coming down the hill, a dishevelled looking Eadmund trying to keep up with him, Thorgils bringing up the rear. Ake sighed, blaming himself. Orla was a sweet girl; a woman, he chided himself. Smart and kind. The idea of a marriage had made sense, and he’d thought that it would work out, in spite of Eadmund’s problems.

  He should have known it would all end in tears.

  ‘Eirik!’ he called, hand in the air as he walked towards him.

  Eirik approached quickly, slipping on the stones, searching Ake’s face for some sign as to which way the wind was blowing. And seeing the Alekkan king’s sleepy grin, he carried on, trying to control both his beard and his cloak. Waves surged in the distance, smashing against the shore, and he felt pains in his chest, his body shaking with anger. But what should he have expected, Eirik wondered crossly. This is who Eadmund had become.

  Why should he have expected anything else?

  ‘I didn’t do anything,’ Eadmund insisted into the wind as Thorgils walked along beside him, though his pleas sounded pathetic and empty to his own ears; he still couldn’t remember what had happened.

  Thorgils could tell. Eadmund’s voice was reed-thin.

  ‘Get him away from me!’ Orla yelled in the distance, seeing Eadmund approach, orange hair whipping around her pale face. ‘Get him away! Hurry! Hurry! We have to leave! Please!’

  Eadmund’s eyes bulged in surprise, listening to the terror in her voice.

  Eirik spun around irritably. ‘Take him back up the hill!’ he growled, eyes on Thorgils. ‘Now!’

  Thorgils was surprised by the venom in his king’s voice, and he blinked as Eirik spun away, hurrying to where Ake had stopped, waiting for him. ‘Come on,’ Thorgils said, seeing for the first time the genuine confusion in Eadmund’s eyes. It dampened his anger, quickly replacing it with pity. Eadmund didn’t even appear to know what was happening. ‘Let’s get you back up to the fort. Maybe have something to eat? I could do with a hot meal, that’s for sure.’

  ‘But...’ Eadmund dug his boots into the stones. The wind was fierce, and he shivered into it, his hair blowing away from his face, waking him up. Visions flashed in front of his eyes: Orla smiling, laughing, her arm through his, shyly talking about the future. ‘I need to talk to her. I don’t know what happened.’

  ‘Best you leave it,’ Thorgils warned, his shoulders sinking as he turned away from the screeching wind. ‘You’ll only make it worse. Whatever you did, she didn’t like it, my friend.’ He didn’t know what to think as he put an arm around Eadmund’s back, urging him towards the hill. ‘Let’s go get a table at Ketil’s. Something to eat might stir up some memories.’

  Eadmund hung his head, trying to focus on putting one foot after the other, eyes on the stones. He didn’t know what to think. Part of him felt relieved, he supposed, knowing that he’d escaped the threat of marriage. Part of him was dulled to everything that was happening around him, as though he wasn’t really there at all.

  But most of him was just confused, wondering what he had done to Orla.

  Evaine stood on the hill with Morac, watching Thorgils help Eadmund across the beach.

  ‘We should go,’ Morac grumbled, though he wasn’t unhappy. A strong alliance with Ake would have benefitted the islands, and Oss especially, but he had become worried that Eirik and Ake had far too much in common. They had quickly become as thick as thieves, and Morac didn’t want anyone to have more sway over Eirik than he did.

  That would not do at all.

  It was better if they were not brought even closer together with a marriage.

  And now, there was no chance of that happening.

  ‘But I want to help Eadmund,’ Evaine insisted.

  ‘I think you’ve helped him enough already,’ Morac said. ‘Don’t you? Best you slip away now. Let the dust settle. Eirik will be screaming the fort down soon, threatening to banish Eadmund to the ends of the earth again. It will take some time to calm him down.’

  Evaine looked anxious. ‘You won’t let that happen, will you? Father? You won’t let him send Eadmund away from me?’

  Morac smiled. ‘Of course not. I won’t. But for now, you should go. Stay out of trouble. And stay out of Eirik’s way. He doesn’t like you anywhere near Eadmund, you know that.’

  The thought of Eirik Skalleson trying to get in between her and Eadmund made Evaine’s body throb with rage, but she nodded at her father. She trusted him to protect her from Eirik. To keep Eadmund safe. And lifting the hood of her white cloak over her head, Evaine quickly disappeared through the gates as Eadmund and Thorgils struggled up the hill towards the fort.

  Jael and Biddy were on their way to Edela’s cottage. Jael was worried about Aleksander and Tig. Biddy wanted Edela’s help convincing Jael to let her stitch her top lip which continued to bleed on and off, and she wanted a salve to help with some of the bruising and swelling on Jael’s face; not to mention her ankle, which was a swollen mess that had her limping along.

  Though Biddy hadn’t told Jael that.

  They ran into Lothar and Osbert as they passed the hall.

  Lothar stumbled back in surprise, the sun in his eyes, the sight of his niece rendering him mute.

  Osbert, though not surprised to see Jael, was shocked by the mess of her face. ‘What happened?’

  Jael ignored Osbert, her eyes on Lothar who looked as though he’d swallowed his tongue. ‘Uncle, you seem lost for words. You weren’t expecting to see me this morning?’ She held her ground, though she could feel Biddy grip her arm tightly, trying to pull her away.

  Lothar squinted, eyes sweeping across Jael’s face before becoming suddenly very interested in the clamour down
on the piers as two ships made their way into the harbour. ‘I was not expecting to see you in such a state, that is certain,’ he huffed. ‘It’s a shame you do not take after your mother. What an elegant lady she is. No wonder you’ve never found yourself a husband. I’m sure your father gave up trying. Hard to sell a sow when people are looking to buy a prize mare.’

  Biddy felt her own temper spark, but having lived with Jael for twenty-seven-years now, she had gotten very good at holding her tongue, and she dropped her eyes, saying nothing.

  ‘I was attacked in my cottage last night. As was Biddy. By Gudrum Killi.’

  Osbert’s face showed surprise and shock.

  Lothar’s eyes were evasive, still trying to look past Jael towards the harbour. He acted as though he wasn’t even listening. ‘Is that so? Seems an odd thing to happen.’

  ‘Odd?’ Osbert was more curious. ‘How did he get in? Where did he go?’

  Those were good questions, Jael thought, staring at her uncle whose dark moustache was twitching, one leg shaking beneath his cloak. ‘I’ve no idea, though I’d be interested to know.’ She turned to Osbert. ‘He tried to kill me, after all. Not in a fair fight. He wasn’t brave enough for one of those. I suppose he didn’t think he was good enough.’

  ‘And what did you do to him?’ Osbert wondered, eyes on his father now.

  ‘Enough that it would hurt. Not enough that it would kill him. You’ve no need to worry, Uncle,’ Jael said. ‘I’m sure we’ll be seeing Gudrum Killi again one day.’ And motioning for Biddy to walk on, she frowned at Lothar, ignored Osbert, and limped off towards Edela’s cottage.

  Osbert swung around to his father as Jael strode away. ‘You let Gudrum in? To kill Jael?’

  Lothar lifted his nose in the air, eyes on the piers. ‘Smells like spices. Men with skins and furs too. Why don’t we take a look?’ And he shuffled away before Osbert could ask him anything else, hoping that Gudrum would head for Alekka now and stay far away from Osterland.