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

by A. E. Rayne

  ‘Where is it?’ Ludo yelled. ‘Where?’

  ‘Fire at will!’ Tulia cried. ‘If you can’t see it, just fire!’

  Reinar’s breath was like smoke, his chest aching beneath his cloak. He stood behind the archers, watching, thinking.

  The wolf kept moving through the forest.

  Was it really there?

  He turned back to the square. Braziers burned along the edges, his eyes snapping to the hall where Agnette was screeching, ushering everyone inside.

  ‘Over here!’ came a cry from the western side of the fort. ‘It’s over here!’

  That made sense of why they could no longer see it before them.

  Alys emerged from the stairs, panting, peering along the rampart walk. ‘Reinar!’ And then she tripped over, falling onto her hands and knees, yelping in surprise. It was so dark. Clouds rushed overhead, and though there were braziers along the ramparts, their flames were blowing away from them.

  Reinar turned.

  ‘Reinar!’ Torvig shouted, running. ‘We have to go!’ And he headed to where the cry had come from, urging Ludo and Bjarni and the archers after him.

  Reinar blinked at him, then turned for Alys. Dragging her up onto her bare feet, he gripped her arm, pulling her close enough to see her eyes. ‘What is it?’

  Alys gritted her teeth from the pain in her knees. She didn’t know what she’d landed on, but it had felt sharp. ‘It’s...’ She tried to catch her breath. ‘It’s not real. It’s a... nightmare. A waking nightmare. It’s not real! It’s a spell!’

  Reinar wanted to believe her. Then another howl.

  He looked around, trying to ignore it. But the ramparts felt as though they were shaking, the trees rustling in the distance. He could hear cries behind him.

  ‘There! There!’

  ‘If it’s not real, what do we do? How do we stop it?’

  ‘Go out of the fort.’ The thought came unbidden, and Alys felt as surprised as Reinar looked.

  ‘Out of the fort?’

  She nodded. ‘Prove the nightmare isn’t real. Prove it to your people. Show them courage. Show them the truth!’

  The smoke swirled around Falla’s head, and she was no longer aware of Mother. She saw Borg, Frits, Lief; all her husbands before her. Two dead. One very much alive. But all of them appeared to be floating, as though they were ghosts, moving through the flames, hands out, faces pained.

  Pained?

  Why were they pained?

  Because they couldn’t be with her, Falla decided dreamily. Poor dead Borg. Pathetic old Frits. Their bodies were just ash now.

  But Lief? Why was he in such pain?

  And then a cry, like a wounded animal, and Falla blinked, clearing the vision of her ghostly husbands, seeing the old woman before her, howling in fury.

  Mother spun, eyes hidden beneath the wolf hood, spitting at her daughter-in-law.

  Sigurd might not have believed in anything, but he didn’t feel confident enough to let his brother leave the fort. ‘You can’t listen to her! Reinar!’

  Agnette agreed. ‘Sigurd’s right. It’s too dangerous!’

  Bjarni leaned over the inner wall. ‘Get inside the hall, Agnette! What are you doing out there?’ He shook his head crossly. She was such an impossible woman.

  ‘Go!’ Reinar told her. ‘Look after everyone, Agnette. You too,’ he said to his brother, who was struggling with his footing, the mud having turned to ice as the temperature plummeted. Reinar laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘If anything happens to me... this fort is yours to care for. All of it. All of them. Keep them safe.’

  Alys was there now, behind him.

  ‘Don’t go!’ Sigurd urged again, glaring at Alys. ‘You don’t have to!’

  Reinar shook his head, and with one last look at his brother, he strode to the inner gates, nodding at the guards to lift the beam.

  Sigurd spun around, calling up to Tulia. ‘Keep your eyes open, Tulia! Look for a trap! Arrows! Keep your eyes open!’ He limped after Reinar, through the first set of gates, struggling to calm his breathing.

  ‘Secure the gates as soon as I’m through!’ Reinar called to the guards when he reached the outer gates. ‘Sigurd! Find men to help them!’ He spun back around. ‘Don’t open them again until you know it’s safe. Until you hear from me!’ And watching as the beam was lifted, Reinar Vilander drew his father’s sword, inhaling a long breath.

  ‘Oh, the game! The game!’ Mother cackled, angrier than her voice belied. She clamped her rotting teeth together, trapped between two worlds, confused for a moment as to what was real.

  As to which was the nightmare.

  But now, here he came, the fated one, sword glinting as though he could touch her with it. As though he could strike a beast as magnificent and powerful as Ulura Blood Hunter with a tiny blade like that.

  Mother padded forward, edging towards the centre of the circle, heading for the flames.

  Falla watched her, shaking her head repeatedly, not sure what to do.

  Mother would burn if she got any closer.

  Couldn’t she see? Couldn’t she feel the heat of the fire?

  Reinar heard the gates creak closed behind him, the heavy beam scraping back down into its brace, securing the fort. He heard Tulia bellowing from the ramparts, Sigurd ordering the men on the walls to keep their eyes open. And seeing Alys’ face in his mind, urging him on, Reinar stepped forward, boots on gravel, finally taking a breath to steady himself. Eyes on the wall of dark forest in the distance, Reinar kept walking, muttering.

  It was a nightmare. A waking nightmare.

  Not real.

  He heard the howl, felt the frozen ground undulate beneath his boots.

  Not real, Reinar tried to tell himself.

  The trees swept from side to side before him, almost parting, as though something was coming, but Reinar couldn’t see it, so he kept going, remembering Gerda telling him the story of Ragnahild’s dream. ‘You will wear the torc, Reinar,’ she whispered. ‘You will be the greatest king in Alekka’s history. You, my son. You! You will unite the North and the South. You will become the high king.’

  And no man destined to become the High King of Alekka could allow himself to be defeated by a dreamer’s nightmare.

  ‘Come out!’ he roared, stopping now, eyes scanning the trees, spreading his legs, balancing himself. ‘Come and show yourself! Or are you not there at all? Just a nightmare! Trying to scare us! As though we’re children! You think you can scare us? Is that what you think?’ Reinar gripped his sword, tension in his arm, anticipating everything that might happen next. If Vasa’s wolf was out there, it could devour him in a heartbeat. ‘Come and get me, little dog!’ he croaked, trying to lift his voice. ‘Come on!’

  Arrows shot overhead, into the trees, and Reinar’s eyes darted from left to right, searching.

  He saw a glimpse of Alys’ face again, and straightening up, he walked forward now, a violent gust of wind flapping his cloak as it rushed past him.

  And then nothing.

  The trees stopped moving. The clouds stopped swirling.

  Reinar held his breath, waiting, sensing a change.

  Then a beam of moonlight streaked through the trees before him.

  Revealing nothing at all.

  18

  Alys sensed that the wolf had gone.

  The drumming had stopped. The storm appeared to have retreated.

  The sky had lightened just enough for her to see the concern on Bjarni’s face as he waited by the inner gates. He was holding his breath. She could feel that.

  ‘Open the gates!’ came the roar, and Bjarni spun around to Alys and Agnette, relief loosening his body, a look of amazement in his eyes.

  ‘Open the gates!’ he seconded, waiting while the men hurried the beam off again, pulling open one of the heavy gates as fast as their numb hands would allow.

  Alys watched as Reinar stepped into the courtyard, that easy grin on his face again, though she was certain his body was trembling benea
th his thick cloak, just as hers was.

  ‘Nothing!’ he bellowed, slapping Bjarni on the back. ‘Nothing but games meant to trick us! Hoping to make us leave! To abandon the fort so Hakon Vettel can come and claim it!’ He eyed Alys, who was almost nodding in agreement. ‘There was no wolf! No Goddess of Death waiting to steal us away! Just games!’ He kept walking, past his brother, through the inner gates, into the square where those men not on the ramparts had gathered.

  Sigurd called to Gerda, who stood by the hall doors. ‘Mother! Bring everyone outside! Let them see the truth! Let them see that it was all a trick of the mind!’ Sigurd wasn’t sure what it had been, but they couldn’t afford any more deserters.

  Everyone in the fort needed to see that there was no wolf.

  Their men came down from the ramparts, Tulia with them. She left Amir with some of her archers, watching, though, just in case.

  ‘There was nothing there?’ Bjarni asked, wrapping an arm around Agnette as she hurried to his side, eyes on Reinar.

  ‘Nothing. Alys said it was a waking nightmare. A dreamer’s spell.’ Reinar had never been happier to think that he’d stolen a woman. The right woman.

  And just in time.

  She looked terrified, though. Upset. Not relieved at all.

  ‘Go! Go look outside!’ Reinar encouraged his wary men, pointing to the open gates. ‘Go see what is waiting beyond the walls, for it is nothing!’ He hoped he was right and some giant beast wasn’t about to pounce. But they needed to see. They needed to believe.

  They needed to stay.

  Alys turned away, wanting to be alone. Her bare feet were frozen, numb, and she slipped on a patch of ice. Ludo, who had just arrived, caught her.

  ‘Take Alys back to the cottage,’ Reinar said. ‘Help her get a fire going. See what else she needs.’ He wanted to go with her, to talk to her some more; find out what they could do to stop this dreamer terrorising them. But he had to stay. He needed to organise his men and his defenses. He needed to show his people how strong he still was. That his luck was changing.

  It was changing.

  They had to see that.

  Alys watched Reinar turn away, pointing Torvig in the direction of the inner wall, and she felt Ludo’s hand on her arm, tugging her gently along.

  He didn’t speak until they were at the cottage and he had ushered her inside, jumping as the cat miaowed loudly, curling around his leg. ‘Where did you come from, then?’ he panted, still in shock.

  It had been another strange night.

  Alys wanted him to go. She needed to get back to sleep quickly, wanting to discover more about the children. But Ludo didn’t appear in a hurry as he bent down to pat the cat, picking him up, walking to the fire. He was a tall man with a kind face, and he stooped as he walked, the cottage built for someone much smaller. ‘How did you know about the wolf? That it was just a trick? A spell?’

  Alys followed him, shivering. She dragged a stool closer to the flames, watching as Ludo dropped the cat back to the ground and picked up the poker, bringing the fire back to life. ‘I read one of the books.’

  Ludo was surprised; glad that he’d pointed her to the chest. ‘Perhaps Salma knew?’ He frowned, sitting back on his haunches, Winter rubbing himself against his leg. ‘Perhaps she saw what would happen, and she wrote about it in her books? A way to help you?’

  Alys looked surprised. ‘Help me?’

  ‘Of course. Dreamers see the future, don’t they? If Salma saw you coming, needing help... it makes sense, doesn’t it?’ And standing up, Ludo grabbed another log from the woodpile, frowning. ‘You don’t have much left. I can chop you some more tomorrow.’

  Alys wasn’t listening; her mind had returned to the children. She yawned, hoping to encourage Ludo to leave.

  ‘You need some sleep,’ Ludo said, yawning himself. ‘I think we all do after the last two nights, but hopefully, we’ll wake up to better news tomorrow. After what Reinar did? I can’t imagine anyone would want to leave now.’

  Alys’ eyes remained on the flames as Ludo headed for the door.

  ‘I’ll check on the women in the barn,’ he said softly, turning to her. ‘I check on them occasionally. They seem fine.’

  Alys looked up. ‘You do?’

  Ludo nodded, bashful. ‘I don’t like that they’re there. That they’re here.’ He dropped his head, dark hair falling over his face. Then, looking up, he smiled, tucking it behind his ears. ‘Come and see them in the morning. We can take them outside, see the sun, if it decides to come out. Get some fresh air. They need that.’

  ‘I will. Thank you.’

  Ludo could hear the lift in her voice, and it made him feel slightly better, though he was still shaking, still unsettled. ‘Get some sleep, Alys. You need to. Likely Reinar will be at your door early, wanting to know what you dreamed about, though after tonight, I don’t blame him!’ And ducking his head, he disappeared outside.

  Alys quickly shut the door, locking it. Turning around, she sought out Salma’s book, which had proved helpful already. There was so much she needed to know, but nothing more urgent than whether her children were safe.

  So, ignoring the book and the purring cat, she headed for bed, desperate to fall into a dream.

  ‘Tell me of your night, Mother,’ Hakon wondered, playing with his son on a pile of furs beside the fire. Anders was growing quickly, and he could sit on his own now, holding his head up so proudly. He was a handsome boy, Hakon thought, with his dark hair and his big dark-blue eyes. A boy to be proud of.

  Mother looked as though she’d slept outside in the storm.

  Or lost her comb. Or both.

  He grinned, untroubled by her muttering. ‘How is our little plan coming along?’

  Mother took a seat at the table, reaching for the jug of buttermilk. Her throat was dry, her body aching. She had singed the hem of her only dress, stepping too close to the fire, and the stink of it was strong. ‘Our plan has worked well.’ Hakon didn’t need to know anything. She’d decided that as soon as she’d woken. ‘Very well, indeed. Reinar Vilander’s warriors will leave in droves now. The fort will be yours for the taking.’

  ‘Excellent! And with my army intact too. What a valuable asset you are, Mother Arnesson. A most valuable asset indeed.’ Hakon felt a jolt of excitement as he smiled at his son.

  Once he claimed Ottby...

  ‘But you have problems,’ Mother warned, supping the milk, her shoulders drooping, relieved to quench her thirst at last. Falla had not stayed with her, and she had been too weak to even crawl out of bed in the night for a cup of water. ‘If you do not kill the Vilanders, they will go to Ake Bluefinn. If you merely run them out of Ottby, they will head for the king. Find him. Warn him. And he will run back to Stornas before you can do much more than knock on the gates.’

  ‘But won’t Reinar have sent word already?’

  Mother spluttered, wiping her chin, eagerly looking around for something to eat, irritated by the noise of the baby, who was starting to whimper. ‘You think he wants Ake’s help? Reinar Vilander? No, he wants Ake’s throne as much as you, despite what he may tell everyone. He’s been raised to believe that it’s his to claim.’ She grabbed a boiled egg, popping it in her mouth, surprised that it was still warm.

  Hakon handed his son to a servant and came to join Mother at the table, waiting while she finished eating. ‘So he will hold on, then, until we arrive?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Mother’s mood lifted. That stupid dreamer may have ruined her nightmare spell, but the damage was done. Alekkans were a suspicious people. They would not shake the sounds and visions as quickly as Reinar Vilander hoped. ‘He will die in that pit. A grave he has dug for himself every day since his father took ill. Reinar Vilander will never leave Ottby, I can promise you that. His death has been foretold. Ottby will be the end of him!’

  There was no sun. Only grey skies and soggy drizzle.

  And a square full of warriors readying their families to leave.

  Reinar cou
ldn’t believe it. After last night? After revealing that the wolf was no omen? Just a dreamer’s trick?

  ‘But why, Ingmar?’ His hand was on Ingmar’s arm, his eyes searching his old warrior’s face. ‘We’ve fought beside each other in the shield wall. Manned the ramparts together. Enemy after enemy has lain at our feet, dead and defeated. Why now?’

  Ingmar looked uncomfortable. ‘There’s nothing left, Reinar. It’s only a matter of time now. You must see that? Your father would, if he could. He’d know what was important, and what was not.’ Ingmar turned back to his horse, checking its bridle.

  ‘You’re wrong,’ Reinar insisted. ‘My father took an oath to Ake. He’d never break it. And when I became lord, I took it too. You’re wrong to think we should run away, beaten by an enemy we can’t even see. An enemy too afraid to come at us with swords and spears! An enemy who hides behind a dreamer’s weapons!’

  Ingmar spun around, anger darkening his usually placid eyes. ‘You don’t think those weapons can hurt us? Hurt our families? That it’s some toothless old woman you’re up against? Is that what you really think, Reinar?’

  Reinar stepped away, dropping his hand, letting Ingmar go. He was a respected man, and his experience would be sorely missed, but Reinar knew he couldn’t hold him hostage.

  Sigurd put a hand on his brother’s back, trying to get his attention. ‘There’s nothing you can do. You can’t ask people to fight for you who don’t believe. You never could. Let them go. We don’t need them.’ It was the biggest lie Sigurd had ever told, he was sure.

  Reinar spun around. ‘You think we don’t need them? Truly?’ He shook his head, attention on the Ullaberg women being led out of the barn into the miserable morning, blinking as though they were standing in bright sunshine.

  Bjarni wandered towards them, gnawing a toothpick. ‘And what are we going to do with them?’

  ‘Train them,’ Tulia said, looking Sigurd over. He almost appeared to be standing comfortably, though squinting a little closer revealed the discomfort in his eyes.