by A. E. Rayne
‘None of us want to be here.’
That surprised him. ‘I thought you did. You seemed to be getting used to us. To Ottby. And with your husband dead... I imagined you’d be staying.’
Alys narrowed her eyes. ‘Did you?’ She felt confused, not knowing what she wanted. She had a growing sense of dread about her children, about Hakon Vettel’s fast-approaching army, and whatever was wrong with Stina. But more than anything at that moment, she felt annoyed that Reinar Vilander, who had brought her to this miserable fort and paid her all that attention, had suddenly cast her aside.
And then she realised why.
‘I expect Reinar will try to bring his wife back now. Now that it’s not luck he’s missing. Now that the curse is broken.’
Sigurd looked up, surprised. ‘I... I’m not sure if that can be undone, what Elin felt. Why she left. According to Agnette, maybe not. But...’ And here he wanted to be as honest with Alys as possible. ‘Reinar and Elin were fated to be together. The moment they met, it was as though the gods had spoken. You could feel it. It was meant to be.’
Alys felt silly. And eager to change the subject. ‘So, what do you want with me, then, Sigurd?’
Sigurd wasn’t sure. ‘I don’t put any stock in dreamers, but Reinar does, so he’ll listen to you.’
‘About?’
‘Turn him away from the torc. It’s what our father always used to do... when he had his voice.’ Sadness dulled Sigurd’s eyes, and he sighed. ‘He would keep Reinar’s feet on the ground, forcing him in the right direction. Gerda... she’s always been the opposite, pushing Reinar towards that fate. But he doesn’t even know if it’s true, or if Gerda was just lying.’
‘Why would she lie about what Ragnahild said?’
Sigurd shrugged. ‘She dotes on Reinar. She was never satisfied with Stellan. He was happy here, being Ake’s lord. He never wanted more. Just to be a loyal man, holding the bridge. It was his oath. Important to him.’
Alys saw a flash of something, and she stiffened. ‘You’re not their son.’ The image was of a moonlit forest, touched by mist, and a man in a hooded cloak picking up a tiny baby wrapped in furs.
Sigurd was quick to reply. ‘Well, not by blood, I’m not, but they are my parents, and Reinar is my brother. Agnette is my cousin. We’re all family here, though Gerda wishes I’d never come back from Kalmera, of course. She was always pushing me out the gates.’
‘Why?’
‘She didn’t know where I’d come from.’ Old memories were still painful, and Sigurd’s voice became halting. ‘I would hear her yelling at my father, wanting to know what sort of low-born peasants would leave their filthy baby out in the forest. In winter. Hoping he’d die. She would shriek it at him, over and over again. Didn’t care who heard. Didn’t care if I did. Likely she wanted me to.’
‘But your father loved you?’
Now Sigurd smiled. ‘He did. He does now, I’m sure. And together we worked to keep Reinar on the right side of his destiny. The Sun Torc is no prize. It’s just a trap, don’t you think? Like a beehive. If you didn’t know what lurked inside it, you might want to stick your finger in and taste all that sweet honey.’
Alys stared at Sigurd, trying to see anything else, but it was all hazy; images of Sigurd and Reinar and their childhood blurring before her eyes.
And then a sudden vision of Magnus.
The farmer was an annoying obstacle between Jonas and the axemen, two of whom looked more than handy with their weapons. Eventually, they growled at the farmer, knocking him out of the way as they charged towards the old man.
The farmer jabbed his sword at Magnus’ back, making him turn around to watch the death of his grandfather. And when Magnus did, the farmer pulled him close, one arm around his chest, blade at his throat, showing the old man just how many problems he truly had.
Jonas didn’t even look his way.
He swung his long sword at the man on the right: a tall man with two braids, and a freshly broken nose covered in bruises. His older companion came in behind with powerful arms, slicing his blade across Jonas’ forearm. Despite the rain and his rusty skills, Jonas’ senses were sharp, and he dragged his left arm away just in time to avoid anything more serious than a scratch. He gritted his teeth, though, hissing a breath through them, stumbling backwards.
‘Grandfather!’ Magnus wanted to slip out of the farmer’s grasp. He wanted to help Jonas, but the blade across his throat was almost cutting his skin. So staying perfectly still, he held his breath, watching.
Jonas appreciated the reminder of how serious the consequences were, and he moved quickly, striking the third man who was lunging from his left, carving his blade across his waist, listening to the wail of pain as the red-haired man collapsed forward.
Broken Nose came at Jonas again, axe blade scything through the rain, and Jonas darted to the left, just avoiding being cleaved in two. He jumped onto his left leg, feeling it slip through the mud, pushing his boot down, needing to ground himself. And holding that leg there, teeth gritted, he dropped to one knee, bringing his left hand up to secure his grip, slashing his blade across Broken Nose’s thighs, hearing him scream.
The older man roared over the thunderous rain, lunging at Jonas, who rolled away, through the mud, body creaking. Back on his feet quickly, he backhanded his sword, missing the man entirely. The man’s long wet hair was hanging in his eyes, and he grew irritated, struggling to see. He shook his head, trying to budge it, distracted, and Jonas went for him again.
Quickly aware of the threat, the older man forgot about his annoying hair, dragging a long knife from its scabbard, jumping away from Jonas’ blade, looking for an opportunity to finish him off. He wanted to get back to the accommodating Gyda and his jug of ale before someone swiped it.
Jerking his knife with one hand, he swung his axe with the other, aware that Broken Nose was hobbling behind the old man now, bleeding profusely, thigh wounds gaping open.
‘What are you doing? Finish him!’ the farmer called, legs jiggling as he held Magnus tightly, eyes screwed up against the freezing rain. Surely his three friends were more than enough to kill that old warrior?
Jonas ignored him, aware that he had another threat approaching behind, and stepping back, he kept his sword extended, head swivelling, needing to see them both. He glanced quickly to his right, where the third man appeared to be dying, guts exposed, bloody hands shuddering by his sides as he lay in the muddy street.
Broken Nose staggered to the left, his older companion, moving to the right, both of them edging closer to their prey.
Jonas dropped lower, jerking his sword at one man, then stepping back, before lunging again, stabbing at the other. The rain hammered down in sheets, and suddenly just seeing was a challenge. Broken Nose, the younger, more impetuous of the two, grew impatient, taking his axe in both hands, swinging at Jonas’ throat. Jonas Bergstrom was a tall man, but the broken-nosed warrior was even taller, and he aimed to take off Jonas’ head and put an end to things before his injuries took hold.
Jumping backwards, Jonas stumbled into a hole, quickly unbalanced, and down he went, rain washing over him, axe blade swinging for his face.
Magnus screamed, and the broken-nosed warrior grunted, tumbling over, falling on top of a surprised Jonas, who shunted his twitching body away, slipping and sliding back to his feet. Sword out, he blinked into the rain, trying to see.
‘Thought you might need some help.’
Jonas shook his dripping hair out of his eyes, shoving some behind an ear, not sure what he was seeing.
But he knew that voice.
And smiling with a certain amount of relief, Jonas left Broken Nose with a knife through the back of his skull, bleeding in the mud, and headed for Magnus, leaving Vik to take care of the long-haired older man with his axe and his knife.
‘Aarrghh!’ Magnus yelped as the farmer squeezed all the air out of him, dragging him backwards, aiming for the tavern, wanting to get inside. But the tavern owner took
one look at how things were about to pan out, and he slammed the door shut, slipping the bolt.
‘Let the boy go, and you can live!’ Jonas called over the crashing thunder. ‘He’s nothing to you!’
‘Except my property!’ the farmer called back. ‘Mine!’
Jonas sheathed his sword, thinking quickly. There was no one else on the street, he saw, squinting. He hadn’t even seen Vik coming, so heavy had the downpour been for a time, but the rain was easing slightly now, and he could see that the only man looking for trouble was the one wrestling in the mud with Vik.
‘What are you doing?’ the farmer panicked. He’d seen Jonas fight, and he knew the old man was a skilled warrior. His grey hair and rasping voice were deceptive for sure.
‘I only want to negotiate!’ Jonas tried, hands open, bloody now, the cut on his arm bleeding profusely in the rain. ‘We can find a way out of this! I have more coins than you paid for the boy!’ And dipping a hand towards the pouch hanging from his swordbelt, Jonas kept his eyes on the farmer.
‘What are you doing? Keep your hands where I can see them!’
Magnus yelped as the blade scraped his throat again.
‘I’m just showing you my coins!’ Jonas called. And in the blink of an eye, he’d pulled out a handful of silver coins, showing them to the farmer. ‘You can take them. Take all of them! Just give me the boy!’
The farmer’s eyes lit up. That handful of coins was many times over what he’d paid for the boy, and distracted, he loosened his hold on Magnus.
Which Jonas saw, and he threw the coins at the farmer.
The farmer panicked, sword arm dropping, his instinct to grab the coins taking over. And quickly slipping his knife from its scabbard, Jonas balanced himself, one eye on Magnus, aiming for the farmer’s round forehead.
Vik had worked the older warrior into a panting frenzy behind them, and he dropped to one knee, lunging, slicing his sword across the man’s bleeding belly. He turned, eyes on Jonas, who had just felled the farmer with a knife to the head. Turning back around, Vik watched as the long-haired warrior gasped in horror, axe and knife falling out of his hands. He reached for his middle, terrified by what he felt, dropping to his knees, toppling into the mud.
The farmer lay on his back, staring up at the thunderous clouds.
His open eyes quickly filled with blood-coloured rain, his mouth wrenched open in surprise, coins at his feet.
Magnus ran to Jonas, who was panting as he wrapped an arm around him.
‘Get your pony, Magnus.’ And turning to Vik, who was sheathing his sword, Jonas tried to find a breath. ‘Where’s your horse?’
‘Where’s yours?’
‘Dead. In the woods some way back.’ Jonas swallowed, shocked that that was true.
‘Mine’s back there. Didn’t know what I was walking into.’
‘Well, I don’t think that man will be going anywhere,’ Jonas grinned, eyes on the dead farmer, relief coursing through his body. ‘So, I think I’ve found myself a new horse.’ The horse itself looked miserable, half-starved, and a little mangy, but he had four legs and a saddle, and that would be enough to get them out of Akaby quickly.
Vik turned, walking back to his horse, knowing that they needed to be on their way before anyone else turned up. He glanced back at Jonas, who had taken a moment to pull Magnus into his arms again, holding him close, before helping him onto his bedraggled pony.
And he smiled.
30
Tulia was pleased with how her archers had responded. She had worked with the tanner and the tailor to provide the women with some leather armour. Old bits and pieces left over or left behind had been quickly stitched together, and now each of the Ullaberg women had a leather vest and arm guards. It was not mail, and it would likely not protect them from a direct hit, but it was something. And it made them look more purposeful.
Reinar nodded, impressed. ‘You’ve done well, Tulia. They’ll be a useful addition to the inner wall.’ He nudged Torvig, who seemed in a chipper mood. ‘What do you say?’
‘About what?’
‘About telling Tulia that she couldn’t do it, yet there we have a row of new archers!’
Torvig snorted. ‘More like targets to aim at, if you ask me. Makes sense. We can afford to lose them.’
The women were standing nearby, and none of them looked happy to hear it, their brittle confidence eroding further.
Tulia strode forward, temper snapping like a dry twig. ‘We are on the same side, aren’t we, Torvig?’ Her voice rose, and her accent thickened as she went on, poking her finger at him over the railings. ‘Because sometimes I wonder whether you want to help or hurt Reinar. You grumble and moan, put everyone down, and do nothing much more than slide about like a lazy worm while everyone else breaks themselves into pieces out here!’
Reinar stepped to one side, leaving Tulia to slip out of the training ring. He thought he might have to peel her off Torvig, but Tulia merely spat on the ground and stormed away, braid snapping behind her, heading for the stables.
The air was thick with smoke and ash, mingling with snow flurries that never threatened to settle. It was bitterly cold, but Torvig suddenly felt hot all over.
All eyes were on him, especially Reinar’s.
‘She’s right.’
Torvig glared at him.
‘Those women will help. You’ve just seen what Tulia trained them to do. Her and Sigurd and Amir. A few days ago they couldn’t even bend a bow. Now look at them. If Tulia hadn’t bothered, we’d be weaker for sure.’
Torvig saw the anger in Reinar’s eyes, quickly realising that he needed to step with care. ‘Alright, alright!’ And holding his hands in the air, he leaned towards his friend. ‘It’s just that woman. Tulia. She’s always rubbed me the wrong way.’
Reinar burst out laughing. ‘You mean she hasn’t rubbed you at all!’ He nudged his red-faced friend. ‘We all know how you feel about Tulia.’
‘What?’
‘You can’t have her, and she doesn’t want you, and it drives you crazy.’ Reinar’s voice was low as he led Torvig across the square, towards the hall. He wanted to find Bjarni, who’d disappeared to see Agnette. She’d been feeling under the weather for days now, and he was worried about her. ‘You know that’s it.’
Torvig’s anger flowed like a river of fire, hot and furious, but clamping his teeth together, he smiled. ‘If only that were true. But no, Sigurd’s welcome to the miserable bitch. I just don’t like her company. She’s arrogant. Acts like she knows more than anyone. Like she knows us. But she’s not from here. What does she know?’
‘Well, she knows how to fight, and now, it seems, she knows how to teach women to become warriors.’ Reinar grabbed a door, pulling it open with a numb hand, his eyes on the golden glow beckoning them inside the hall.
‘Close the door!’ came his mother’s shrill cry. Gerda had become increasingly thin since his father had taken ill, and she felt the cold more than ever.
Reinar shoved Torvig inside. ‘Don’t worry, I doubt she knows the real reason you’re such a prick to her.’ And then he was laughing again, gratefully accepting the cup of ale Martyn handed him. ‘You read my mind!’ he smiled, thinking of Alys.
It had been days since he’d spoken to her, and he was eager to discover if she’d had any dreams.
Sigurd slipped out of Alys’ cottage, immediately blasted by a gusting wind. He scowled, grabbing his cloak as it threatened to fly away. He’d lost his old cloak pin, but he’d need to find a new one quickly if this was how winter was announcing itself.
‘Not feeling like helping today?’ Tulia looked furious as she stood watching him, holding on to the bridle of her skittish horse, who was not enjoying the wailing wind. ‘Thought you’d just spend the morning sitting around a fire with the dreamer, did you? Having tea? Or was it wine?’
Sigurd knew Tulia had a jealous streak. A flaming temper too.
Though he hadn’t seen her this angry in some time.
; ‘I was...’ Sigurd glanced around, before lowering his voice, stepping towards her. ‘I was talking about Reinar.’
Tulia didn’t care. She spun around, almost dragging her dappled stallion towards the gates. ‘Well, the women are waiting for someone to train them, Sigurd Vilander! Maybe you should do some work before the snow comes down!’ And throwing herself up onto the fleece-covered saddle, Tulia dropped her hood over her black hair, spurring her horse towards the gates, scattering a flock of ducks who quickly took fright, flapping into the air.
Sigurd watched her go, utterly confused.
Ludo walked past him, laughing, leading Stina, Jorunn, and three more Ullaberg women towards the hall. ‘It’s not you, don’t worry. She had a fight with Torvig. Tore a few strips off him. You would have enjoyed it!’
‘Torvig?’ Sigurd shook his head. ‘Well, things look a little clearer, then.’ He fell in beside Ludo, who was keen to get the women out of the wind. ‘I say we put them in the ring together. Let Tulia kill him.’
Ludo smiled, turning around to motion for some of the stragglers to hurry up. ‘I don’t think there’d be many tears, except from Torvig of course!’
Sigurd laughed, glancing over his shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of Tulia, his eyes meeting Alys’ as she stepped out of her cottage, hurrying away, the white cat running to keep up with her.
And, smile gone now, he frowned, wondering where she was going.
They rode quickly, until they left the rain behind, and encountered the first flurries of snow. Jonas made them stop when they were far enough away from Akaby. Magnus had been falling behind, looking ready to break a tooth, his teeth were chattering so hard.
They turned off the road, heading down an old hunting track, looking for shelter.
They didn’t find it.
But they did find a thick hedge which offered a break from the wind, and Vik disappeared to find twigs and moss, branches too. They needed to warm Magnus up before setting off again.
