The Mighty One (Anasta Chronicles Book 1)

by Jenny McKane

  She had to find her sense of purpose again. She had been losing it along the way, bit by bit. Listening to Skyresh’s stories. Watching him and seeing what a great leader he was. She had been swayed, but that had to stop immediately. The moment was upon them. It was approaching rapidly.

  But then she saw a vision of him, grabbing her, in the water. Pulling her upwards to the surface. She could still see his blue eyes, gazing at her, entreating her not to give up…

  What was it, about him? Why did she feel such a strong connection to him? She tried to shake it off, but it just wouldn’t go away.

  Finally, they reached the back of the tall building. The group conferred, crouching in the scrub.

  “It isn’t well guarded,” said Brunn, frowning. “That troubles me. If it is a large weapons base, we would have seen guards patrolling the area.”

  “That is true,” said Sondre. “I haven’t seen one.”

  Skyresh nodded. “That has occurred to me, as well,” he said. “But we did not know of it prior to this. If it isn’t known, then that is perhaps why it is so exposed. They think that it doesn’t need to be guarded.”

  “Or the guards could be inside,” Brunn continued. “Still, something feels not quite right.”

  Skyresh turned to Avalon. “Where are the weapons located?”

  Avalon shook her head. “I don’t know,” she replied. “All I know is that there are a large number stored here. I am as surprised as you that it isn’t guarded.”

  Minna glared at her. “Are you, guardian?” She turned to Skyresh. “I agree with Brunn. Something doesn’t feel right. I think that we should leave.” She glanced to the forest surrounding them. “The fact that there isn’t even one guard patrolling the house is worrying, and I have felt that we have been observed, as we came here.”

  Skyresh nodded. He turned and looked at the building. All was quiet. He stood up suddenly.

  “We have come a long way,” he said slowly. “The reward is great, if there are weapons here, and we can secure them. It is worth investigating, but I hear you all.” He stared at the group. “I will not command you to risk it, if you feel it is unsafe.”

  They were silent for a moment, thinking. Then Brunn turned to Skyresh.

  “I think we should try,” he said. “We have come a long way, as you said. I will stand by your side.”

  “As will I,” said Sondre.

  “Minna?” Skyresh turned to her. “What do you say?”

  Minna glared at him. “I have said what I think, but I see you are determined, so I will stand by your side also.”

  Skyresh nodded, his eyes shining. “Here is what we will do,” he said. “Brunn, Sondre, and I will approach the house and gain entry. Minna, you stay here and guard Avalon. If anyone approaches, I want you to whistle the signal.”

  “Why do I have to stay here with her?” Minna said, her jaw tightening.

  “Because I know you will guard her well,” Skyresh replied. “Just don’t kill her as soon as we go.”

  Minna nodded reluctantly.

  The three men set out, approaching the building. Minna drew out her sword. “Sit down, guardian,” she growled, glaring at Avalon.

  Avalon did as she was told. Her heart was beating so loudly in her chest, she thought that it might be heard in the forest. This was what she had been working towards, she reminded herself fiercely. She had a duty to do. She was a guardian of the realm. She was a warrior.

  She glanced around. There was a rock, sitting not far away from her. Small enough for her to grab quickly, but large enough to do damage if it was used properly.

  Minna wasn’t concentrating on her. She was looking through the scrub at the three men who had now gained access to the building and had disappeared inside.

  Avalon’s eyes flickered to the rock. She slid slowly toward it, then grabbed it quickly. Minna still hadn’t noticed that she had moved.

  She picked it up and crept towards the woman.

  She raised the rock, high above her head. At the last second, Minna looked up, but it was too late. Avalon crashed the rock hard upon her head. The woman toppled over, blood spurting from a deep gash on her head.

  Avalon stared down at the woman, breathing heavily. Even though Minna hated her, she still hoped that she hadn’t killed her and that Minna was only unconscious, giving her time to get away. She looked at the building. All was still quiet. She had to run, now, before the others returned and saw what she had done. If they returned. She frowned. It was so unusual that no alarm had been raised at all. Had she led them to the wrong place, after all?

  It hardly mattered any more. If it was the wrong place, they would be out soon and know that there were no weapons hidden inside. She would be killed instantly. She had made her choice now, and she had to live with it. She picked up Minna’s sword.

  She turned, throwing down the rock, and sprinted back through the forest. She didn’t know where she was going. She only knew that she had to get as far away from here as it was possible to get. If Skyresh and the others made it out, they would pursue her relentlessly. They knew this terrain better than her; they would catch her. She had not gone to all this trouble to simply be captured again.

  Her heart beating wildly, she leapt down the track, stumbling so hard she skidded on the snow, but still she kept running. Trying desperately to stop the guilt that was overwhelming her, even now.

  She had betrayed him. He had let her lead them here, and she had betrayed him. Why, oh why, did that thought tear into her heart like the piercing of an arrow?

  Chapter Ten

  Avalon kept running. Her leg muscles had started to contract and burn, but she ignored the fierce pain. She knew that this was her opportunity and that she couldn’t afford to waste it. Her heart beat so hard in her chest; it was like a drum had invaded her blood.

  The terrain was a swirl of color and form in her vision. She weaved around trees and jumped over rocks, all of it blurring. Eventually, she made it to a clearing. She stopped, panting heavily. Over the cliff face, she gazed down into the great fjord. Stianfjord. It was truly magnificent and would have made her catch her breath in wonder if she hadn’t already been struggling so hard for it.

  The snow-topped mountains rose sharply around the water, seeming to hug it. Almost like a mother with her child, thought Avalon quickly. What was her plan? She couldn’t simply keep running into the wilderness. For starters, she was unfamiliar with the terrain and would become hopelessly lost. She needed to get back to Farric, and from there, start the long journey to Vyheim Castle.

  But to do that, she needed a boat. Could she persuade someone to take her back to Farric? She could see at least four boats moored at the fjord pier, but they seemed deserted. No one was about. She would have to find people, and that could take time. Even then, she knew that they would be suspicious of her; as soon as she opened her mouth and spoke, they would know she wasn’t Stromel. No. That wasn’t the answer.

  She could steal a boat, of course, and try to sail to Farric by herself. But that was so perilous, she could barely contemplate it. The journey here had been rough, and Brunn and Sondre knew how to sail. She didn’t. She had almost drowned in the fierce storm. A vision of Skyresh grabbing her in the water held her for a moment. She pushed it aside. Now was not the time to think of it.

  She turned away from the fjord and looked back. She could try to cross back through the mountains. She remembered that Skyresh had said that it was possible, but it took longer than sailing, which was why they had chosen to come by boat. Yes. It was the only way. And she had to start this instant. Even now, they could have left the building, and they may be on her trail. Hunting her down.

  She touched the sword that she had taken from Minna. At least she had a weapon.

  She started running again, darting back through the woods. Away from Stianfjord and toward Farric. At least, she thought that it was towards Farric. Her sense of direction here was not strong, but she had no choice but to trust it.

 
***

  Everard rode into the small settlement, noticing that his horse was lagging, just a little. He sighed with impatience. He would have to stop and find a farrier to look at it. Perhaps it needed to be re-hoofed, but there was also a possibility it was injured, which would mean he would have to buy another horse.

  He had been riding like the wind all morning, not even stopping to have a drink. Heading out of Vyheim Castle at daybreak with the words of Commander Kallio echoing in his head. He had been like a man possessed. He had to get to her. To Avalon.

  The commander had been reluctant to let him go at first.

  “You are injured,” he had said, when Everard had made his request to go to Farric. “I was told that you almost died from your wound.”

  Everard’s dark eyes had flashed. “I received excellent medical care,” he said crisply. “I have made a full recovery.”

  The commander had raised his eyebrows. “Hardly,” he replied. “The wound has been treated, but it is not completely healed. There is always a risk of further infection. I would prefer that you stay here, Guardian Varr, until it is fully healed. We have other operatives watching the situation. There is no need for you to be there.”

  Everard had sighed in frustration. “Please, Commander,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I feel responsible. It is my partner out there, risking her life. We are supposed to be a team, on a mission. I need to play my part in it.”

  The commander had stared at him, long and hard. “Your passion is commendable,” he said. He frowned, thinking. “As is your loyalty to your partner. Alright, I will let you go. This time, though, take a horse. It will be much quicker. And travel as a Grey Guard, not undercover. You will be aided straight away, if you need assistance.”

  Everard had wanted to set out immediately, but on that point the commander had been firm. He needed to sleep and could start his journey in the morning. Everard had wanted to argue, but he could see it was useless.

  And now, he was forced to take a break, even though he would have kept riding all day. He looked around, then he led the horse down a muddy track. A man walked past him, gazing at him fearfully. Everard was puzzled for a minute, then he remembered. Of course. He was wearing the black uniform of the Grey Guards.

  “Where is the farrier, my good man?” he called out.

  The man stared at him, then pointed down the track. “At the end, guardian,” he said, his voice trembling slightly.

  Everard smiled and tossed him a coin. The man made no attempt to catch it. He simply watched as it fell onto the ground next to him.

  Everard shrugged, then kept going. He had no idea why the man wouldn’t take the coin, nor did it matter. There were more pressing issues at stake.

  He found the farriers and led the horse into the large, open hut. Several horses were tethered outside, and he could see stables leading to the back. The farrier looked up from his work, registering who he was.

  “Hail Agnor,” said the farrier in a small voice.

  “Hail Agnor,” replied Everard, dismounting. “My horse is lagging, and I need it seen to quickly. Do you have time now?”

  “Of course,” said the man. He walked over to Everard. “Which leg?”

  “The front right,” he said. The man picked up the horse’s leg, gazing at it thoughtfully. “She will go lame if she is forced to keep walking on it.”

  Everard cursed. He gazed at the tethered horses. “Can I buy one from you? I need to keep travelling.”

  The man swallowed. “They are not mine to sell,” he said. “But I can approach an owner and see if he is willing.”

  Everard felt frustration rising in his chest, threatening to strangle him. “Just do what you need to,” he said sharply. “And do it straight away. I must not delay.”

  The man nodded, and then he scurried out of the hut, heading back up the track.

  Everard sat down slowly on a log next to the door. He didn’t have time for this.

  Every moment he delayed, she was in danger. He had to get to Farric. Before it was too late.

  ***

  Avalon stopped, looking around her, puzzled. She was sure that she had been heading in the right direction, but now she was confused. Surely, she had just passed this spot. Was she going around in circles?

  She had been running for hours, and she was so exhausted she could barely lift one leg in front of the other. She gazed up at the sky. It would be night soon. She could see the sun beginning to set behind the mountains, casting a strange indigo tint through the trees.

  She needed to find shelter soon, a small cave, preferably, where she could crawl into it and get a few hours’ sleep, undisturbed. Her stomach grumbled. She would need food, too—and water. She was so parched she thought she would die if she didn’t drink soon.

  She gazed down through a clearing. She could see a small stream. She didn’t want to go out in the open, but she had no choice. It would only be for a moment, anyway. Just enough time to drink.

  She couldn’t detect any movement, or sound around her. Stepping carefully out, she approached the stream. She squatted, cupping her hands and scooping up the water, drinking greedily. Then, she stilled. She could hear voices, drifting toward her, downstream.

  She ran onto the other side of the stream, crouching behind a tree—and that was when she saw it, in the far distance.

  It was a series of buildings surrounded by a high fence. Long, narrow logs, their ends sharpened like spears, had been placed around the fence at strategic points, jutting into the air. It was some kind of fortress.

  The voices drew closer. She crouched lower, listening.

  And then she saw them, two men in a uniform that she didn’t recognize. They were leading an old woman by a rope around her neck. Her hands were bound. She stumbled, wearily, and they laughed.

  “Watch your step, old woman,” spat one of the men. “Or should I call you Mother?” Both men laughed again.

  The old woman did not respond. She gazed steadfastly in front of her.

  “Tell me this, old woman,” said the other man. “If your magic is so powerful, why are you here with a rope around your neck?”

  “Yes,” said the other man, pushing her, so that she stumbled again, falling onto the river rocks. “Weave a spell, old one. No, you can’t? You are just like all the others. All talk.”

  The woman was silent. She lay where she had fallen, catching her breath.

  One of the men walked slowly up to her and kicked her. She groaned, writhing in pain.

  “We should get her back,” said the other man. “It will be curfew soon, and she needs to go into her camp.” He stared at her. “And Greigor will be wanting to speak to her. He makes a point of interrogating all the new arrivals, as soon as they get there.”

  The man who had kicked the woman frowned. “Why do they even bother housing them? They should kill them all immediately.”

  “It is not our decision,” said the other man. “We just do what we’re told. They end up killing them when they get there eventually. I have never seen one walk back out.”

  Avalon watched as the two men talked. They had forgotten the old woman, lying on the ground. They had even let their grip on the rope which bound her go. Avalon watched her backing away from them, and then she got to her feet, stumbling wildly through the water.

  The men heard, running after her. It didn’t take long for them to get to her. She was old. One of them picked up the rope, jerking on it hard. The woman fell, again.

  “You are like all of your kind,” he hissed. “Disobedient. We should teach her a lesson.”

  The other man nodded. He drew his sword, approaching the woman. Avalon could see the woman shrink back, as the man slid the sword into her chest. There was a gurgling, and then Avalon gasped as blood started flowing through the water.

  “Why did you kill her?” said the other man, turning to the man sheathing his sword. “Greigor won’t like it. She was supposed to be interrogated.”

  The man shrugged. “We will
tell him that she was escaping, and we had no choice,” he said. “What does it matter? Less paperwork. And one less Stromel witch in the realm, the better.”

  They stared at the woman’s body for a minute, then kept walking. They headed through the clearing and towards the fortress. Avalon watched with wide eyes as they approached the gate. It slowly opened, and they disappeared inside.

  What had just happened? These men had just killed a defenseless old woman in cold blood. What was this place?

  She swiftly ran through the woods, skirting around so that she approached it from the side. The sky darkened, and she could see torches being lit inside. The flames flickered in the darkening light.

  She could see a spot where the fence was broken just a little bit. She studied it carefully. No guards patrolled this side. She could slip up to the fence line and look through. It was risky, and she should be finding shelter for the night, but the compulsion simply overtook her. She had to know what this place was.

  She crouched low and ran toward the fence, peering in.

  Groups of people were huddled in a central square, their hands bound. There were men, women, and children. They were all clothed in shapeless grey sacks, and their heads were shaved. Avalon could see how thin they were. There were hollows in their faces.

  Suddenly, a man walked out, standing in front of them all. He was richly clothed in the manner of the Jarle, with a long grey beard.

  “It is time for the selection,” he boomed. “Twenty of you have been chosen. Those twenty will die a glorious death in Agnor’s name.”

  The people cried, groveling on the ground in front of the man. Avalon’s blood froze, watching their supplication.

  “Please, my lord,” cried one man. “Spare the children. Take the men from my area. We will gladly sacrifice ourselves in their place.”

  “How dare you!” bellowed the richly dressed man. “It is not your decision. I will select as I see fit.”