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

by A. E. Rayne

  Jonas stared at his great-grandson’s face, worried by his ghostly pallor. ‘When did you last eat? Last sleep?’

  But Magnus couldn’t speak, and so Jonas sat with him, wrapping his cloak around the boy, trying to share his body heat, though he was wet and cold, shivering himself, doubting he had much to spare. Magnus slipped a hand around Jonas’ belly, holding him close. And closing his eyes, Jonas was reminded of the little girl who had once done the same. ‘Tell me, Magnus. What happened to your mother?’

  Magnus stilled, tears coming. And he remembered the vision of the men rushing up behind his mother, her hair blowing like waves, her dress swirling around her, the panic in her eyes.

  Her voice loud in his ears.

  And starting slowly, as his body warmed up, and his teeth stopped banging together, Magnus told Jonas everything.

  Thoughts of Magnus kept floating into Alys’ mind, and for some reason, she felt comforted, as though he was safe. She wanted to see more, and hopefully, dream of what had happened, for something certainly had. But there was too much to do. Too much of the day yet to endure.

  She had come to visit Agnette, who had been put to bed, and she’d brought Eddeth along, which had not pleased Agnette at all.

  ‘It’s the stink of those herbs, Eddeth,’ Agnette grumbled, tucked up in bed, furs up to her chin, covering her belly. ‘I can’t stand the smell!’

  Eddeth stopped, salve-covered finger in mid-air. ‘You want to keep your child, don’t you, Agnette?’

  Both Alys and Agnette stared at her.

  Agnette looked terrified. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You’re a strange colour. Your breathing is strained. You feel a tightness, don’t you? I see it! I see it all!’ Eddeth circled the bed, shiny finger occasionally poking Agnette’s way. ‘I see trouble ahead. I have to say it, it falls on me to say it! I see trouble ahead if you don’t slow down, stay in bed, and open yourself to my herbs!’

  Agnette glanced at Alys, looking for some reassurance.

  ‘Let Eddeth help you,’ Alys smiled. ‘Her herbs helped my head.’ It was true. Her blurred vision and headaches had receded quickly after she’d started using Eddeth’s salves. And thinking of Eddeth’s salves led Alys’ busy mind back to Reinar, and she frowned, feeling annoyed.

  ‘What is it?’ Agnette panicked. ‘Have you seen something?’ She tried to sit up, but Eddeth was beside her, pushing her down.

  ‘No, no.’ Alys was quickly flustered. ‘I was just thinking about... what I have to do. Not you.’

  ‘Oh, good.’ Agnette slumped back against the pillow. ‘Well, I suppose I’ll have to submit to the stinking salve, then. Go on, Eddeth, do your worst!’ And pushing down the fur, Agnette revealed a gaping nightdress straining across her bump.

  Eddeth ignored Agnette’s bump entirely, heading to the other end of the bed. She turned to Alys. ‘If you’ll lift up the furs and then her nightdress. You’ll need to bring your legs up, then drop your knees open, Agnette!’ She went to scratch her nose, then thought better of it, catching a glimpse of her salve-covered finger just in time.

  ‘What?’ Agnette cringed, not wanting to imagine what Eddeth was planning, but Alys was already whipping off the furs, and sighing, Agnette did as she was bid.

  Jonas and Vik felt torn, eager to make some progress to find Lotta, but well aware that Magnus needed time to recover, for their journey would be challenging. The weather had worsened further, and now the gentle flurries had turned into thick snow, settling all around them. But Vik’s fire was hot and its flames strong enough to fight back against the wind. Magnus, exhausted from sleepless nights, and long days of hard labour and little sustenance, had fallen asleep quickly, his head on Jonas’ knee. So the two men had settled in as the afternoon sky darkened around them, enjoying some of the smoked char Vik had packed into his saddlebags.

  ‘I know how my great-grandson ended up here, but what about you?’ Jonas asked, surprised by how many yawns had escaped his mouth. It was barely dusk, yet the crack of the fire and the howl of the wind had him half asleep and ready for bed. Though the thought of sleeping in the snowy gale, with no more than a sodden fur for comfort quickly woke him up. He wondered if they should have tried to erect Vik’s tent, but they’d both decided that the wind would have torn it to pieces. It was better to keep it safe.

  Vik shrugged in his usual nonchalant way. ‘Had a feeling you’d need some help, and I was right. I went to your cottage. Saw your message in the dirt.’

  ‘Message?’

  ‘About Magnus and Lotta. Slussfall?’ Vik tried to jog his memory.

  ‘Oh, that was me trying to remember my dream. Alys came to me.’ Jonas didn’t even hesitate. Years of wanting to pretend there were no dreamers in his family had fallen away, and now he was simply eager to have every bit of help he could get to put them all back together again. ‘I woke up and tried to write down everything she’d said. Some of it was confusing. I didn’t know what had happened to her.’

  He felt sick.

  Slavers had taken his precious granddaughter. Yet, she had promised she was safe. He remembered that. Though, that was nothing new. Alys had never wanted him to worry.

  Vik laughed. ‘Thought it was for me, so I hurried to catch up with you. Imagined you’d head through Tolla. Wasn’t expecting to come across you in Akaby, though. Glad I did.’

  ‘I could have handled those men. I was just getting started.’

  Vik laughed some more, gripping his belly, closing his mouth as Magnus started to stir, moaning in his sleep. ‘You do remember you were on the ground? Big man with an axe aiming for your stubborn old head?’

  Jonas grinned. ‘That’s right. And you killed him for me. If you keep up like that, one day we’ll be even.’

  ‘So you say, but I don’t recall you saving my life that many times.’

  ‘No, happens to the old, you know. Losing your memory.’

  Vik had a skin full of his best ale, and he shared it with Jonas, and the fire spat and popped, and the wind howled, and they leaned back against the spiky hedge, trying to get some rest, watching the snow pile up all around them.

  It was growing harder to keep his thoughts focused on what lay ahead, for Hakon kept thinking about what he had left behind. Namely, his beautiful wife’s warm body, his fur-wrapped bed, his lamps and his fire, and mostly, at that moment while the wind was trying to tear his tent apart, Hakon was missing his walls.

  Strong, impenetrable, stone walls.

  Windproof. Rainproof. Solid and silent.

  He was growing tired of listening to the endless flapping of his linen tent.

  Shivering, he turned to Mother, who had been in a foul mood throughout the meal. Something was eating away at her like worms in the cabbages, and Hakon didn’t know if he had the energy to find out what. Though, he quickly realised, perhaps he needed to? ‘You and Falla have been quite fortunate in your little wagon,’ Hakon began. ‘I ensured it was weather-tight. Comfortable too, with all those pillows and furs.’ He did not want to pander to the old woman, though he felt a need to keep her happy.

  And yet, she looked anything but.

  Mother bit the spiced sausage in half with a grunt. It was half frozen. As she was. ‘It has been... comfortable,’ she agreed. ‘Though close quarters would wear on anyone after so many days.’

  ‘Though not many to go now,’ Hakon assured her, filling Mother’s goblet with wine. He had brought her into his tent to share his meal. He had not invited Ivan or encouraged Mother to bring Falla and Lief. Something had been troubling the old dreamer, and he knew that, somehow, he would have to find a way to the bottom of it.

  ‘No, not many,’ Mother agreed. ‘Though the snow will slow us down further, I fear. Soon we will be wading through it.’

  Hakon frowned.

  Other people’s discomfort always lifted Mother’s mood, and she chuckled. ‘Though time is a gift. And we shall use it to our advantage. Our enemy grows stronger in more ways than either of us had
imagined, I see that now. Reinar Vilander struts about his fort as though he is a god. As though he has already defeated you!’ Her voice rose, a sharp shriek cutting across the wailing wind.

  ‘Why?’ Hakon leaned across the table, ignoring the ripping sounds as the wind tore at his tent. ‘What has changed? After the wolf? After all this time? His people deserting him? Why would he feel confidence?’

  Mother inhaled, sitting back in the chair. It was an improvement on her tent, she thought, surveying the lord’s accommodation. The ground was covered in so many furs that there wasn’t even a hint of frozen earth peeking through. Candles flamed in copper bowls that hung from the tent frame, swinging in the breeze. Hakon’s bed, piled with two mattresses and more furs, sat invitingly in one corner. Mother blinked, trying to focus, though she felt reluctant to speak, and her voice was just a murmur. ‘His dreamer discovered the curse. It has been broken.’

  The words, delivered so casually, did not impact Hakon fully at first, but within a heartbeat, he had spilled his wine, eyes bulging open. ‘What? What? Mother? Why didn’t you tell me?’ He was incredulous. Panicked. Leaving his goblet on the table, he dragged a cold hand down his cold face. ‘What are we going to do?’

  Mother laughed, amused by his distress. ‘You have an entire army, Hakon! Have you forgotten? I am but one weapon, and yet, outside this tent’s walls, you have many. They have none! My curse depleted their garrison. It took their old lord and made him a prisoner of his own body. It took the lives of Reinar’s sons before they could take their first breaths. Oh, the evil that curse wrought! And that evil cannot be undone!’ Mother couldn’t help but revel in her success then, her mood continuing to improve. ‘Your enemy may feel triumphant, but it is only a temporary illusion. One I have the power to twist and turn into whatever shape I like.’ She inhaled the wine, relaxing for the first time in days. ‘For I have seen this dreamer, and she is a mere child. A girl who knows nothing. No match for me at all!’

  Alys had returned to Agnette after supper to see how she was feeling, without Eddeth, which made Agnette smile. ‘I am feeling better,’ she admitted. ‘Make sure you tell Eddeth. I don’t want her returning!’ She shuddered, unable to shake the memory of Eddeth and her salve-covered finger.

  Alys smiled. ‘I will, though I think she’s likely sound asleep. She kept nodding off when I was there.’

  Agnette wriggled back onto the pillows, squishing them into a more supportive shape. The noise of the hall was a happy murmur in the distance, and that familiar droning sound was making her sleepy.

  How amazing, she thought, with a yawn...

  Only a few days ago they were preparing to be devoured by Ulura Blood Hunter, and now, once again, Reinar saw himself as the chosen one, confident that his victory over Hakon Vettel was already being written into songs and sagas.

  Agnette grabbed Alys’ hand suddenly, no longer feeling sleepy. ‘Your children. I wanted to ask you when Eddeth was here, but I didn’t know if you’d told her. Or anyone, for that matter.’

  Alys glanced at the door, bruised brow furrowing. ‘No. No one. I... it’s best if no one knows. Someone may be listening who could hurt them, or try to hurt me through them.’

  Agnette nodded as Alys moved closer. ‘But have you seen any sign of them?’

  ‘I haven’t, but I’ve had feelings of danger and hope.’ It was hard to explain, but as Agnette grabbed her hand, Alys tried. ‘My children are the two halves of my heart, and all those years I tried to keep them safe. I needed to be a barrier between them and Arnon. He could be... vicious. He drank too much, and it made him more so. He stayed in the hall all night with his friends, then flew into rages when the children made even the slightest of noises in the cottage.’ The memories were like sharp beaks, stabbing her; the pain palpable. She blinked, reading the question in Agnette’s eyes. ‘I tried to escape, many times. Arnon was popular, though, amongst the Ullaberg men. When he left raiding, he had some of the older men watching me. Any time I did manage to get away, I was always found, brought back and locked in the cottage to await my punishment.’

  Agnette couldn’t imagine such a thing. Bjarni was as gentle as a feather. Unless he had an axe in his hand, and then he was a fierce beast. She smiled, glad about that. She needed him to be, for he had to come back to her alive. When this was all done, he had to be by her side when she gave birth to their child.

  ‘What about your grandfather? Couldn’t he save you? You said he was a warrior once.’

  ‘He was. A famous one. Part of a brotherhood. My grandfather and his friends.’ The thought of Jonas made Alys sad. He was an old man now, and though he had fought and killed, and likely could again, she worried that she was asking too much of him. The man who had taken Lotta had sounded hard. Not young, but not old either. And she didn’t know whether Jonas could defeat him.

  ‘I never told him,’ Alys admitted, tears in her eyes. ‘I felt ashamed. When we met, Arnon told me tales of being a warrior, of raiding and trading. It sounded adventurous. I’d been stuck by my grandfather’s side since I was small, trapped in a small village, so Arnon was exciting. Everything about him was. I was only seventeen, and my grandfather didn’t want me to go. He refused to let me marry. He didn’t like Arnon, didn’t like the look of him, and so I... ran away. I ran away from Torborg.’

  It remained the biggest regret of her life.

  And yet, she had her children, the two halves of her heart.

  The past could not be undone, and the past had brought her to this very place in time. And Alys knew that whatever mess she had made, and whatever her grandfather thought of that mess, he was going to do everything in his power to save her children.

  Agnette stared at her. ‘We make mistakes,’ she said softly. ‘Some are scars we carry for the rest of our lives. Others, we blink, and they’re lost to the wind. Your past is over, Alys. Now, you’ve a chance to start again. Here, with us. Your children too. I feel it. It’s as though everything is about to change.’ She winced, a sharp pain in her side, but she kept smiling. ‘Everything is about to change for the better.’

  IV

  Mouth of the Beast

  31

  Mother was pleased to have a tent to herself. She had made it very clear that she had no intention of listening to Falla and Lief rutting like dogs anywhere near her. So they had their own tent, and for Mother, the company of the raven and the storm.

  She was oblivious to the flapping tent and the howling wind, though.

  Her eyes were on the symbols she was scratching into the dirt at her feet.

  The fire she crouched near was seething, flames blowing angrily in all directions. It was hard to see, though she had lit lamps, placing them around the outside of the circle she’d cast.

  A circle of power.

  The idea that dreamers worked best in threes was just a myth.

  Powerful dreamers were more effective by themselves.

  Powerful dreamers needed little but their own minds and talent.

  Their own blood too.

  Mother finished the last symbol, staring at her efforts, shivering in anticipation. Kneeling on the dirt, she moved the tiny copper bowl closer to the flames. And turning her palm over, she nicked her skin, slicing quickly, watching blood beading like rubies.

  Closing her eyes, Mother called to Alari, feeling her approval, that familiar dark voice humming in her ears as she leaned over the bowl, squeezing her hand, watching the blood flow.

  Her night would be long, but she welcomed it.

  There was so much to achieve.

  Stina couldn’t sleep.

  The bed was almost comfortable, and the cottage was far warmer than the barn they had started out in. There was no Ilene tonight. She appeared to be spending her nights with Amir, which had made the women in the cottage quite grateful to the Kalmeran warrior.

  But Stina couldn’t sleep because in the silence, waiting for her, were the memories of what Torvig had done.

  She knew she should tell Alys,
but she felt foolish. Embarrassed.

  If they could just survive the coming battle, then the Vilanders would take them all back to Ullaberg, and she would never have to think about Torvig Aleksen again.

  The cottage had two chambers. She shared the main room with Ilene. Jorunn and Vanya shared the bedchamber. To keep the warmth in, that door was closed, so neither woman heard the cottage door creak open.

  Stina did, but she hadn’t even propped herself up before the hand was over her mouth and Torvig was dragging her out of bed. She tried to fight him off, but all of her focus was suddenly on removing his hand because it was over her nose too and she couldn’t breathe.

  Torvig lifted his knife to her throat. ‘You have a choice,’ he hissed in Stina’s ear. ‘Scream, talk, make any noise, and I’ll cut your throat open. Come quietly, and you’ll not be troubled at all. In fact, I’ve a feeling you’ll enjoy yourself more than you realise.’

  Tears sprang in Stina’s eyes, and she nodded quickly, ears ringing, just wanting to breathe.

  Removing his sweaty hand, Torvig watched as she sucked in a frantic breath, keeping the knife at her throat. ‘Not a word, now, my lovely. Not a word.’

  And taking Stina’s hand in his, he led her out of the cottage.

  Reinar lay on the bed, staring at the blackened rafters. Garlands of fir and dried lavender hung from them in great loops, blowing gently in the cold draft. That had been Elin’s idea. He grinned. ‘To give me something to look at when you’re humping me,’ she’d said, enjoying the look of horror on his face.

  Alys’ face drifted into Reinar’s mind, and he felt confused. Guilty and sad.

  He remembered watching her fly through the air, smacking into the tree, worried that she was dead; seeing her on board Dagger for the first time, tattered green dress, bruised face, hair swept behind her in golden waves.