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

by A. E. Rayne

  She heard her grandfather’s voice, calming her down. ‘What you have inside of you, Alys, is strength. Find it and hold on to it. Believe in it and know that you can conquer your enemies with that strength. It is not lost to you, my sweet girl... it is not lost...’

  Mother’s laughter rolled over that familiar voice, and Alys pushed back her shoulders, feeling anger mingling with the fear now. ‘You don’t have my daughter.’ She remembered the vision of Lotta disappearing through the forest, riding away with that man. The thought of it was something Alys couldn’t even comprehend, but she knew for certain that it was true. ‘My daughter is gone.’

  Mother’s laugh turned into a snarl. ‘Bitch girl, do you think I need her here? With me? Beside me? That I need to touch her to hurt her?’ She started walking towards the flames, wanting Alys to see all of her. And dragging a hand out from behind her back, Mother held the hair over the fire.

  Ice-blonde hair.

  Alys blinked. ‘And then what?’ she asked haltingly. ‘What will you do when you have killed her?’

  ‘Then I will ensure you live to suffer that loss. The loss of the men and women inside the fort too. We’ll string the Vilanders’ heads along those walls as though it was Solsta! Celebrate our victory, before we march to Stornas!’

  ‘You don’t need to threaten me,’ Alys insisted. ‘I have no ability to hurt you. No power at all. You know that. Surely you do? If you’re a dreamer, you must see that I know nothing.’

  Mother watched her face, so full of innocence. So beautiful and naive.

  ‘You are right,’ she conceded with a sigh. ‘You know absolutely nothing, and yet... you know far more than you realise, Alys Bergstrom.’

  Alys stiffened. She hadn’t heard that name in years.

  ‘Your grandfather,’ Mother smiled. ‘He didn’t tell you anything, did he? About who your mother was? What she did? Who you really are?’

  Alys looked confused, even more disturbed as Mother started cackling again, turning around, heading away from her. ‘You will choose!’ Her voice echoed around Alys like rolling thunder. ‘You will choose! Your daughter or the fort? But hurry now, for there is little time! If you try to attack me, I will end her! Careful now, careful in the path you choose, for there will be no return!’

  Lotta rolled over, staring at the trees. They stared back down at her like enormous spiders, dark branches entwining overhead. She saw stars peeking through them, glittering like the sea. It reminded her of Ullaberg, and she thought of how much she missed the feeling of sand between her toes.

  Clover nickered softly nearby, and Lotta wanted to go to her, but if they escaped, she wouldn’t know where to go, and they would both die. Lotta sensed that. Ulrick would protect her. He would feed her and keep her safe. He wanted to present her to his wife as a gift. With Ulrick, she would be a prisoner, but alive. On her own, in the forest, she would stand no chance.

  It was so cold that Lotta couldn’t stop shaking, and she pulled Ulrick’s smoky fur up over her face until only her eyes were peeking out, remembering how Magnus had tried so hard to look after her. She missed him desperately. And her mother.

  The thought of being wrapped in her arms again...

  Lotta squeezed her eyes tight, wanting her mother to know she was safe. That whatever she had to do, she needed to do it without worrying about her.

  For she was safe.

  Magnus woke with a start, momentarily confused. He had been dreaming of the time his father had thrown him across the house, raging at him for being disrespectful, furious that Magnus had tried to stop him hurting his mother.

  His father had been a sadistic man. If he thought he was hurting you, he would hurt you some more.

  His mother had tried to leave him, Magnus knew. He had seen her try, watched his father beg and sob and plead with her. Watched her stay.

  Watched her regret that she had stayed.

  But after that night when Arnon had hurt Magnus for the first time, his mother had taken him for a long walk on the beach while his father slept. And she’d told him that they were leaving for good. She would start making preparations. She would put away food, clothes, furs; everything they would need for their journey. She would make sure the horses had new shoes, that they had what they needed to make shelter. To cook food. To hunt. It would only be three days, his mother had promised, squeezing his hand. They would be with Jonas in three days, and he would protect them. He would.

  Magnus rolled towards his snoring great-grandfather, knowing that she’d been right. Jonas had saved his life. He had taken him from that horrible farmer and his miserly wife, and now they would find Lotta, Magnus was certain of it. Because he believed in his mother. And he believed that Jonas and Vik would protect them.

  And closing his eyes, feeling his body sink into the uncomfortable ground on which he lay, his toes frozen, his face numb, Magnus felt himself pulled back into his dreams.

  Torvig decided to leave the wall.

  They’d run out of ale, and the men had started to grumble, losing focus and the desire to stand up there in the bitter wind, in the dark, half asleep and thinking of their beds and the lonely women warming them.

  Torvig thought of his own bed as he headed down the stairs into the guard tower, where a handful of men were sleeping, some snoring. It stunk of wet socks, smoke, and farts. He walked out into the inner courtyard, looking for a barrel, wondering if he was dreaming. Where had all the ale gone?

  Surely, Reinar hadn’t gotten rid of it? They certainly hadn’t drunk it.

  Perhaps it was Eddeth’s smoke, drifting into the fort, addling his mind?

  He froze, hearing a noise overhead. Body tensing, Torvig peered at the night sky, squinting, eyes on the stars, trying to see what was there.

  Another rush, like a strong breeze.

  He looked down into the narrow inner courtyard, but no one was there. It was deserted. The only men around were up on the walls, keeping watch.

  Shaking his head, Torvig wondered if perhaps he had drunk too much ale.

  And then a noise, a screaming call of terror, and hands over his ears, Torvig dropped to the ground.

  ‘Was that you?’ Bjarni asked, grabbing Agnette’s hand. He had fallen asleep beside her, chin on his chest, but he jerked awake, panicking. ‘Agnette?’

  Agnette had been wide awake all night, trapped in the torturously slow pace of her labour, which appeared to have stopped altogether now. ‘It wasn’t me.’ She pushed herself up straighter, eyes blinking. ‘We’re under attack! You must go!’

  Bjarni was a rumpled mess, having no armour, no swordbelt, no sense of where they were either. And almost falling off the bed, he staggered to the chair in the corner, trying to put himself back together.

  Agnette groaned, pain exploding in her belly again. ‘Eddeth!’ She gritted her teeth, leaning out of bed, eyes on the floor.

  But Eddeth had gone.

  ‘Alys! Get up! Wake up!’ Eddeth tugged Alys’ arm, pleased to see that she’d gone to bed wearing her cloak. ‘We must hurry. Here! Come on! Stand up!’

  Alys was still trapped in her dream, but Eddeth’s voice came like a warning bell, peeling through the darkness. She jolted upright, falling to the side as Eddeth dragged her out of bed. ‘What? What?’

  ‘You have to stop her!’

  ‘Who?’ Eddeth was in a panic before her, fully dressed, wearing her dead husband’s trousers and tunic, hair bouncing wildly. ‘Stop who?’

  ‘The dreamer!’ Eddeth implored. ‘You have to stop the dreamer!’

  Reinar rolled out of bed, confused. He heard screaming. Panic. His mind rushed to the walls and the stupid decision he’d made to go to bed.

  Why had he listened to Torvig? Why had he abandoned the wall?

  And cursing himself, he grabbed his swordbelt, charging out of the chamber, wrapping it around his waist as he headed through the hall.

  Sigurd was in a guard tower with Tulia. They had left Amir on watch while they both slept, curled up together
in a narrow bed, bodies entwined like tree roots, enjoying a moment of peace. At the first high-pitched scream, they tumbled out of bed, fully dressed, grabbing swordbelts, heading for the stairs.

  ‘Alys!’ Eddeth didn’t understand her hesitation. The dreamer had frozen before her.

  Now? When this was the moment they had been waiting for.

  Now?

  She was going to run away now?

  ‘You must take the flying powder and go!’ Eddeth implored, shaking her.

  Alys felt caught. She could take the powder, try to stop whatever the dreamer was doing to the fort, if she could, and then... ‘She will kill my daughter. I dreamed it, Eddeth! The dreamer will kill Lotta!’

  Agnette’s screams echoed through the wall, and Eddeth turned her head. ‘I have to go, but listen, Alys,’ she said, jumping at a pop from the fire, ‘only you can make this decision. Only you can choose the path to take. And if you choose to help us, take the powder. Swallow it down. Don’t spit it out, though you will want to. Tastes like something from the midden pit! It will help you see, though! Further than you ever thought possible!’ And hopping on one foot, as she was only wearing one boot, Eddeth made her way through the door.

  Alys stared after her, utterly confused, listening to more screaming from Agnette and the men in the fort. She swallowed, surprised when Eddeth popped her head around the door.

  ‘And whatever you do, Alys the dreamer, do not take off that cloak!’

  Reinar could barely stand. It sounded as though a thousand ravens were screeching inside his head. He watched as one after another, his men tumbled from the walls. ‘No!’ Hands out, he pushed onwards, towards the guard tower, trying to see the door, wanting to get up on the inner wall and find out what was happening. But the pain from the noise was blinding, light flashing before his eyes, making it impossible to see. ‘Get down! Get down!’

  Reinar’s voice was lost in the noise as he stumbled, falling to the ground.

  Alys stepped out of the hall, eyes darting around the dark square. She saw Reinar on his knees, hands over his ears. Stina was there, lying near Ludo, both of them curled over, heads in hands. Up on the walls, warriors fell to their deaths, trying to escape the ear-splitting noise.

  Alys could hear it, like a bird’s cry, but it sounded far away, not affecting her at all. She could almost hear the beat of a drum too as she stepped forward, and then the rasping warning of the old dreamer again, threatening her daughter.

  Closing her eyes, Alys tried to think of what to do, certain she could hear Agnette screaming back in the hall, relieved that Eddeth was with her.

  And eyes on Reinar, now screaming in agony, Alys dug a hand into her pouch, pulled out the packet of flying powder, and tipped it into her mouth.

  Mother sat upright.

  The flames beckoned, and she had been lost in them.

  The girl’s hair lay beside her. Within reach.

  Though she had doubted she would need to use it.

  But now?

  What was the stupid woman doing?

  Alys ran to Reinar, dropping down beside him, trying to help him up, but he couldn’t hear her. He didn’t appear to even see her. She looked up, sensing the shadows flitting across the moon, catching a glimpse of a raven.

  The moon was almost full.

  It was definitely a raven.

  And leaving Reinar where he lay, and ignoring Stina and Ludo, who were writhing in pain, Alys ran to the nearest guard tower. She swung open the door, surprised by how dark it was inside. The fire had burned down to nothing but embers, and she carefully felt her way across the floor to the narrow stone stairs. Hurrying up them, turning and twisting in the dank passage, Alys emerged onto the inner wall ramparts. She glanced around, left and right, catching sight of Sigurd and Tulia, lying down together, hands clasped over their ears. She felt a sense of relief that they were safe, but then a man she didn’t recognise screamed, tipping over the rampart wall, tumbling to his death.

  Eyes snapping to the field in the distance, Alys saw flames. And then she saw further, further than she’d ever imagined possible.

  She saw deep into the forest where Hakon’s army was on the march.

  Glancing around, her panic exploded.

  No one was able to protect the fort. No one could even stand on their feet. She ran to the signal bell, knowing that anyone who came to the ramparts would be struck down by whatever spell the dreamer witch was weaving, likely killed.

  Closing her eyes, Alys tried to steady her breathing, feeling the warmth of the symbols glowing beneath her cloak. And opening her eyes, she turned back to Sigurd and Tulia, grabbing a bow and a quiver of arrows from the rampart walk they lay on. Crouching down, she slipped the quiver over her back, trying to steady her nerves which had her arms shaking.

  Then an urgent pain exploded in Alys’ head, and closing her eyes again, she saw a symbol glowing like flames in the darkness. Her eyes burst open, and she dropped the bow, pulling out her knife. Nicking her fingertip, she quickly drew the symbol on her forehead, barely knowing what she was doing.

  Standing, she dragged a bow from the quiver, feeling the symbol on her forehead burning hot. And nocking the arrow with trembling fingers, Alys tipped back her head, trying to see.

  She opened her eyes wide, seeking the raven.

  She could feel its wings wafting a cold breeze over her face. The raven, though, was as dark as the sky it flew across. Round and round the fort it flew in screeching waves.

  Alys turned her bow away from it, aiming for the moon.

  Waiting.

  ‘No!’ Mother shrieked, on her feet now, trying to stop the raven.

  Trying to stop the dreamer, who was trying to stop the raven.

  ‘Your daughter will die!’ she warned, her voice a roar. ‘Don’t you realise that your daughter will die?’

  Alys shut out the old dreamer’s voice, breathing slowly as the raven flew towards the moon. And just as its beak passed into the luminous glow, Alys released her arrow, standing back to watch its arc, willing it to fly true.

  Body trembling, she held her breath, waiting.

  The first boulder shot towards the fort, flying over the low wall, smashing the ramparts Alys stood on. She yelped in fright, jumping away from the wall, eyes up as the raven screeched, quickly tumbling out of the sky in ever-quickening spirals. And dropping the bow, Alys hoisted up her long cloak and ran to the signal bell, banging it with force. ‘The army is here! The army is here!’ she cried. ‘Hurry!’ And she ran to the stairs, past Sigurd and Tulia, who were dragging themselves back to their feet. ‘Watch out!’ Alys warned as another boulder smashed against the inner wall.

  And then she was gone.

  47

  Mother didn’t have time to kill the girl yet.

  The dreamer had killed her raven. Her sight was hampered, and she needed to work quickly to see how she could help Hakon.

  He was freed from her spell. Freed from that powerful smoke too. But he was still a weak boy-man and liable to need her help to get into the fortress.

  Turning back to her fire, she brought the baskets of herbs towards her.

  Reinar couldn’t hear. It felt as though someone had hammered a nail into each ear, and though the pain was excruciating, it helped him to focus. He could see now. Thanks to the flaming boulders being lobbed from the field, he could see very clearly that his enemy was well past the lucky mark, heading for the wall of fire which had burned itself out now.

  ‘Archers!’ Reinar bellowed, ears crackling. ‘Archers!’

  But some of his archers were lying dead below the low wall, impaled on the stakes they had dug into the ditch, pain contorting their ghoulish faces.

  ‘Get me some fucking archers!’ He spun around to Sigurd, who he could see right behind him on the inner wall. ‘Catapults! Hit the flanks too! Send the pitch! And fire! I need to see!’ Torvig was behind him, face screwed up in pain, bow in hand. ‘Aim for Hakon Vettel! That shit will be at the front somewhere!’<
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  Torvig nodded, drawing his bow back to his ear, aiming low, straight into the heart of the approaching army.

  ‘Duck!’ came the cry behind them. And the next boulders were flung from the field, hitting the low wall, knocking Torvig off his feet, arrow shooting up into the air, falling harmlessly onto the rampart walk.

  Reinar dropped to the walk himself, scrambling for a bow. Back on his feet quickly, he nocked a fire-arrow, dipping its pitch-soaked cloth into the brazier before him, waiting for Ludo to send the pitch into the army. And smelling it as the jar flew overhead, Reinar followed its path, waiting as it crashed into one of Hakon’s catapults. Releasing the arrow, Reinar quickly drew another, lighting it in the brazier again, watching as the pitch caught fire, flames hungrily surging up the catapult’s wooden frame.

  Hakon frowned, bathed in the glow of the flames, watching from just behind his cousin. Ivan was running their defense from the back of his unhappy horse, who had stood on a nail and was limping badly. Lief was further back, in charge of the second row of catapults. The Hovring and Vika men were creeping up on their flanks with catapults of their own, all of them swinging back and forth, creaking industriously, hammering the walls.

  For all his tricks and wishful thinking, Hakon knew that with Mother helping them, Reinar Vilander didn’t stand a chance.

  Alys ran back through the hall, stopped by Gerda before she could get to the bedchambers. ‘What’s happening out there? Are we under attack?’

  Alys nodded. ‘Their catapults are firing. They’re getting closer. Take cover!’ And she ran down the corridor, desperate to see Eddeth.