Eye of the Wolf: An Epic Fantasy Adventure (The Lords of Alekka Book 1)

by A. E. Rayne

  He had run past his dead father, and he hadn’t looked back.

  Lotta kept trying to talk, which irritated Magnus.

  He was used to his mother’s firm voice telling his sister to be quiet when she started babbling; to leave her brother alone. His mother knew that he was getting older. That Lotta was becoming more of a pest than a companion. She was too young. Too much of a child.

  His mother understood how it was.

  He laid a hand on his sister’s shoulder. ‘We must wait,’ he whispered.

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘Ssshhh!’ Magnus hissed, quickly furious. ‘Why can’t you ever whisper, Lotta? How can you not know how to whisper? What is wrong with you?’ He felt her flinch, moving away from him. They had been best friends once. Now he was always cross with her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, guilt quickly dampening anger. ‘But you must be quiet. We have to wait until it’s safe. I don’t know who’s out there. If anyone is.’

  ‘But what about Mama?’

  Tears flooded Magnus’ eyes, and he blinked them away. ‘She wants us to be safe. She told me. You just have to listen to me, Lotta. I’ll get us to safety, and then Mother will come.’ She edged closer to him again, and he ran a hand over her knotted hair, seeing images of his mother trying to untangle it by the fire. According to his mother, Lotta had the most knotted hair she’d ever had the misfortune of brushing. Closing his eyes, Magnus tried to hold on to the image of his mother’s gentle face, remembering the way her nose would wrinkle when she smiled.

  Remembering how she was always covered in bruises.

  He felt Lotta lean her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her, happy to know that their father was dead.

  Reinar Vilander liked the rain.

  It felt like tears streaming down his cheeks, ice-cold, freezing him, numbing his face. If only it would numb his heart too.

  Glancing around, he saw his two oldest friends, Bjarni and Torvig, leaning against the gunwale, heads together, deep in conversation, which surprised him, hating each other as they did.

  Ullaberg had been a rundown hole of a place, which he’d known, by its reputation, though he’d felt an odd pull to go there. And now, they had nearly thirty women to sell as slaves. Thirty women... he tried to do the figures in his head, but the memory of his father’s disapproving voice was a loud distraction, and eventually, he gave up, glancing over the surging waves at Sigurd’s ship, Dagger. He grinned, knowing how much his younger brother hated the rain. He couldn’t see a sign of anyone above board, just Bolli, hunched over like an old troll; thick white hair blowing in the wind; bushy beard dripping down his belly.

  Nearly thirty slaves to sell.

  That would help things.

  The women’s crying was like waves; he knew how it went. Shock and fear receded, eventually, allowing misery and hopelessness to take hold. Grief set in. Pain too. Broken-hearted women weeping for the children and husbands they would never see again. Reinar blinked, angry with himself for letting those thoughts in. It wouldn’t help to feel sympathy. Torvig was right: they needed to survive. For with a fort to hold, a bridge to protect, and an enemy ready to strike, they needed gold and silver to buy men. Men to man their walls.

  The King of Alekka depended on Ottby, and Reinar couldn’t let him down.

  Blinking away the freezing rain, Reinar headed for Torvig, who would surely set him right. His brother-in-law had a sharp mind not appreciated by many of his men, and certainly not by Sigurd. But Torvig saw things as they were. If they didn’t sell slaves, there would be no hope for their wives and children.

  No hope for Ottby at all.

  ‘We need to head ashore,’ Bjarni grumbled as Reinar squeezed in between them. ‘Ride out the storm. We don’t need any more bad luck. And losing one of the ships and half the slaves would be some bad luck, Reinar. I wouldn’t put it past the gods. They seem to have taken up against us lately.’

  Torvig, who’d been arguing the opposite, growled.

  Reinar could quickly see that they’d not been talking, just niggling away at each other as they liked to do. Looking straight ahead, he let the rain wash over his face again. His head was newly shorn, just a fuzz of dark-blonde hair covering an olive-skinned scalp. He missed his hair, and running a wet hand over his dripping head, he thought of his wife, Torvig’s sister, Elin.

  And his heart swelled.

  ‘Torvig’s right,’ he decided, ignoring the warning in Bjarni’s eyes. ‘We need to get to Goslund before tomorrow. We can’t afford another day. I want to get home quickly. The garrison is light. You know that.’

  Bjarni Sansgard had been by Reinar’s side since they were boys. A calm head, always cooling Reinar’s fiery one. A wise voice in a sea of idiots. Especially since Stellan Vilander had taken ill, and Reinar had become the Lord of Ottby. Though when Torvig had returned, Reinar had stopped listening to Bjarni.

  It worried him.

  Over the past year, everything had gone wrong for Reinar, he knew. But listening to Torvig was no way to right it. Not at all.

  ‘I need to get home,’ Reinar insisted, seeking Bjarni’s eyes which were wary and full of things he was trying hard not to say. ‘You know I do.’

  Bjarni could hear the pain in his friend’s voice; he could see the glee in Torvig’s twinkling eyes. Those hooded eyes were always twinkling, as though he was happy. But he wasn’t. Bjarni could see that clearly.

  Bjarni Sansgard could see past Torvig’s smile, which was as empty and deceptive as those twinkling hazel eyes.

  The stiffening wind wanted to blow them away from the estuary. Bolli could feel it as he leaned on the tiller, which vibrated against his thick waist, worrying him. Dagger was old now, repaired more times than he could remember. It had been the first ship Stellan had commissioned as Lord of Ottby, nearly twenty years ago. And now his sons commanded that mighty stone fortress, hoping to keep the bridge it guarded safe from Northern invaders. Though, with the amount of bad luck being heaped on them by the gods, Bolli Ollsfar wasn’t sure such a thing was possible anymore.

  ‘We’re heading for the estuary!’ Sigurd reminded him, on his feet, wet through, teeth chattering. He had to have a word with Rutger, who was molesting the women again, knowing that sending Ludo to do it would only result in them having to fish Ludo out of the sea.

  ‘You don’t think I know that?’ Bolli spluttered, drowned by a dump of ice-cold seawater. He shook like a dog, rolling his eyes as the women and the goat started their wailing again. ‘You don’t think I want to get to Goslund quickly? Away from that lot?’

  Sigurd laughed, his eyes drawn to the quiet woman in the green dress. Her face was bruised, though he could see quite clearly, despite the driving rain, just how beautiful that face was. She wasn’t like the other women, all of them red-eyed from crying, panicked and fearful. Her mouth remained closed, her eyes, as far as he’d been able to tell, were free of tears. Sigurd blinked, forcing himself to stop staring, reaching for the shield rack as he waited for Dagger to rear up again. Turning his head, he saw his brother’s ship racing along beside them. And there was Reinar, face up to the storm like the idiot he was. Sigurd shook his head, then shook all over, thinking about his chamber and his comfortable bed piled high with thick warm furs.

  ‘Help!’ Alys cried suddenly, eyes on Rutger, who had his hands in Magda’s hair, trying to kiss her. ‘Please!’

  The wind drove its mournful sounds into Sigurd’s head, the waves thumping Dagger’s straked hull, and he wanted to turn around and ignore both the women and Rutger. But if he didn’t do something, Rutger would surely try to rape the poor girl, and both Sigurd and his brother had drawn a deep line in the sand about that. ‘Rutger!’ Sigurd growled, scratching his hair in annoyance. ‘Why can’t you just sit down with the rest of them? We’re almost at the estuary. Keep your cock in your pants! There’ll be plenty of women to frighten in Goslund!’

  Rutger was a brawny, experienced warrior. Ribbons of pink scars stretched acro
ss both cheeks; around his neck too. He had an ear missing, his eyes were too close together, and his nose was broken, though he acted like the gods’ gift to women. And despite the rain and the freezing waves pounding the ship, the mostly crying, hysterical women and the bleating goat, for some reason, Rutger thought this the perfect time to demonstrate it.

  Alys could see the tall man with the blue eyes hesitate. The wind picked up his dark wool cloak, whipping it around him, and reluctantly, he started walking towards them, eyes on the man whose hands were all over Magda now; his tongue down the poor girl’s throat, hand up her wet dress.

  ‘Rutger!’

  Rutger hated Sigurd Vilander. Always running after his brother like a motherless sheep. Fretting and whimpering. Whispering about him. He knew Sigurd didn’t approve of Reinar’s new men – the ones he needed to keep his little lordship – so Rutger didn’t give a fuck what Sigurd thought.

  Fumbling with the ropes around Magda’s wrists, he dragged the sobbing girl out of the group of women, pushing her onto the deck, dragging down his trousers.

  ‘Rutger!’ The waves lifted Dagger high, and Sigurd almost fell backwards as he tried to climb the tilting ship.

  Magda was shrieking, working hard to push the big man off her.

  ‘Stop him!’ Alys implored, holding out her bound hands as Sigurd reached them. He spun towards her, and she shivered, visions like shards of lightning exploding before her eyes. And then they were gone, and so was he, leaving her hands in mid-air, hair in her mouth.

  ‘Get off her!’ Sigurd growled, one hand around Rutger’s wrist, trying to pull the man up.

  Ludo was hurrying towards him, sent on his way with a kick from Bolli, who could see trouble brewing. Rutger Eivin had been drinking since before the raid, and his belligerence had only gotten worse. He was a bone-headed arse at the best of times, with the ability to turn even the smallest slight into a full-blown fight to the death. But with all that ale in him and the lure of the women, he had obviously lost his mind, and Bolli could see that Sigurd was going to need some help.

  Rutger stumbled back to his feet, jaw working, trousers flopping down around his knees, rain in his eyes. ‘Your brother promised me treasure in return for my oath. Treasure! And you think I should take nothing but a few goats? A handful of coins? An old turnip? You think that’s why I’ve given him my sword? My oath?’ And hoisting up his trousers, Rutger unsheathed his long knife.

  Ludo’s eyes popped open, water sloshing around his ankles as Dagger rolled with the waves. He stumbled, seizing Sigurd’s arm just in time.

  Sigurd shook him off, annoyed, quickly slipping a hand inside his wet cloak, pulling out his own knife. ‘Make me kill you, Rutger, you ugly prick! I’ve always wanted to!’

  ‘Oh, and don’t I know it, little boy!’ And Rutger lunged at Sigurd, blade-tip wet and sharp, jabbing for his bearded throat.

  Sigurd jerked to the left, knocking into Ludo, who stumbled again before quickly righting himself, desperate to get out of Sigurd’s way. His eyes snapped to the girl who Rutger had tried to rape. She was sitting up, black hair tangled around her face, hands free now. Ludo felt a tremor of fear, concerned by the look in her eyes. He started towards her, but Sigurd banged into him again as the ship slammed down onto the waves, knocking them all off their feet.

  There was a mad fumble and rush to right themselves as Dagger rose up again.

  ‘Will you get out of my way!’ Bolli called from down at the tiller. ‘I need to see! We’re coming up to the rocks! Get out of my way!’

  Sigurd heard him over the roaring wind and the bellowing Rutger, but he couldn’t do anything about it now. Rutger had jumped back to his feet, slashing his knife back and forth in front of his face, legs spread, stocky frame like an ugly, stinking wall.

  Alys looked on, hands bound, tied to Stina, who was shuddering next to her, wishing she was wearing a cloak. She wanted to go to poor Magda, who was on her feet now, swaying in the storm. Alys turned back to the fight, hoping the blue-eyed man would kill Magda’s would-be rapist, and quickly.

  He needed to get to Magda.

  Dagger tipped again, and Sigurd flew forward, arms out, falling on top of Rutger, who lost his knife, but reacted quickly, punching Sigurd in the eye. They rolled in the seawater sloshing across the deck, both of them trying to gain control of Sigurd’s knife.

  Bolli looked on, tiller shuddering as the goat broke free of its rope, tangling itself around the helmsman’s legs, trying to hide from the rain, and the creaking ship, and the screaming men who sat against the gunwales cheering Sigurd and Rutger on.

  Ludo was on his knees now, scampering through the bilgewater, seeing the young woman turn towards the bow. And though she was unsteady on her feet, she was moving towards the dragon prow with purpose, arms held out to balance herself.

  ‘No!’ Ludo cried, trying to get back to his feet, but the waves rocked Dagger like a horse, and he fell sideways.

  Alys spun around to see Magda grab the prow, her pretty yellow dress soaked through, clinging to her plump figure, her hair wet and limp down her back in a mess of undone braids. ‘Magda!’ she screamed. ‘No! Stop! Someone stop her!’

  Ludo was back on his feet now, hands out, trying to get to Magda. ‘Stop, please! Please!’

  Sigurd couldn’t get away from Rutger, who was spitting in his face, hands around Sigurd’s knife, knee in his ribs; meaner, stronger, and now, despite being drunk, very much in control of that knife.

  ‘Magda!’

  Magda was far enough away from the bound women that none of them could reach her. Far enough away from the men hunkered down against the gunwales. Far enough away from Ludo, who was still on his way to her. And with one look back at him, Magda scrambled up to the prow.

  ‘What’s she doing?’ Bolli barked. ‘Sigurd!

  ‘Sigurd!’ Reinar was yelling from Fury, watching the disaster unfold, unable to see his brother. ‘Someone grab her!’

  But no one could reach her in time.

  And in a heartbeat, Magda had jumped into the frothing sea.

  3

  As evening approached, the wailing intensified.

  Rutger and Sigurd had been dragged apart by Bolli, who had been Sigurd’s father’s helmsman and friend for more years than he could remember; a man old enough and experienced enough not to be fazed by two brawling idiots. ‘What do you think Reinar’s going to do with you? Losing that girl? What’s wrong with the pair of you?’

  Sigurd looked at Bolli as though his brain had cracked open.

  And though Bolli was well aware that the whole sorry mess was Rutger’s fault, it wouldn’t serve any of them to carry on the fight by picking sides. They had to get to Goslund without losing any more of their precious cargo.

  Ludo continued to stare at the dragon prow as the sea rose up in dark, white-tipped waves, swelling all around them. He kept seeing flashes of the yellow dress, the blank look of resignation in the girl’s eyes before she jumped.

  She had been young. Perhaps younger than him?

  He blinked, listening to Bolli barking orders, aware of Sigurd’s hand on his arm, dragging him towards the rest of the women, growling at him to secure them tightly. They couldn’t afford to lose any more.

  Ludo nodded in resignation, checking the ropes of their remaining prisoners. They were a sodden mix of middle-aged and young women, now looking even more shocked than before, if that were possible. Confusion bubbled around them. Panic. Fear that they would be raped. Killed. Sold. Drowned.

  Terror lingered in their eyes as they turned them away from him.

  Finally confident that their ropes would hold if Rutger and his men tried anything, Ludo turned back to the stern, wanting to escape those haunting eyes.

  ‘Please. Wait!’ Alys needed to get his attention.

  Ignoring her, Ludo kept walking, numb feet in wet boots, heart thumping.

  He wanted to vomit. He didn’t want to talk to any of them.

  ‘Please! I need to speak to you
r lord! Quickly! It’s urgent!’

  Ludo reached Sigurd, who was bleeding from a cut under his already swelling right eye, rain washing the blood down his face, colouring him a watery red.

  ‘What does she want?’ Sigurd grumbled, relieved that Rutger was sitting down, looking less cocksure now; obviously well aware of what Reinar would think about losing the girl. Sigurd frowned, wanting to feel his hands again. His toes too. ‘I wish they’d all shut up. I don’t want Rutger causing more problems. We just need to get to Goslund, then he can go hump whoever he can pay enough to let him.’

  Ludo sat down beside him, elbows on knees, resting his head on his hands. And closing his eyes, he tried to think of anything but the cold, wet ship, and the sad slave girl.

  Alys started to panic. ‘Please! Please! Hurry!’

  ‘Alys.’ Stina grabbed her hand in warning. ‘If we’re quiet, they might leave us alone.’

  But Alys wasn’t listening. ‘You can’t go there. Stop!’ she cried out desperately. ‘I’ve seen something! Please!’

  The ship was turning now, aiming its angry dragon towards the headland. ‘Please!’

  The rain drowned her out, though, and for a moment, Sigurd thought that would be the end of it. He held his breath, hoping she would stop calling out.

  ‘Sigurd!’

  Soaking shoulders tensing, Sigurd pulled himself up, turning towards the thunderous roar of his older brother, calling from Fury; his voice louder than the storm swirling overhead, threatening to unleash more misery.

  Reinar’s helmsman, Holgar, was aiming Fury straight at them. And Reinar was yelling for his brother, though his eyes were on the woman in the green dress. He hadn’t been able to stop staring at her as their ships had ridden through the stormy sea, watching from a distance as her golden hair trailed behind her in the searing wind.

  And then she’d started screaming at his brother.