by Steve Feasey
The trio pulled their blankets up around themselves and closed their eyes to the world. But all of them found sleep hard to come by that night.
Lann woke to the sound of a voice calling his name. When he opened his eyes, he was standing in a pasture not unlike the one they’d travelled through earlier that day. It was neither night nor day, but the world was bathed in a weird pink light. The sword was gone from his side.
It occurred to him that he was dreaming.
He looked about him and spotted a strange circle of stones to his left. Each of the nine megaliths that formed the ring was square in shape, and twice the height of a man. They were old, those stones; that much was obvious even from this distance. Covered in lichen and moss, they looked like great hairy giants who had hunkered down close to the ground to shelter themselves from the weather. Stranger still was the pulsating glow that surrounded them, marking this place as one of power and majik.
The sound of feathered wings close to his head caused him to look up and then duck as the crow flashed past. Despite the creature’s speed, he caught the flash of green in its eye. Lann watched as the bird banked in an arc around the stones once, and let out a loud caw before dropping down into the circle and out of Lann’s eyeline.
Intrigued, he walked in the direction the bird had taken, his feet moving soundlessly over the ground. Indeed, with the exception of the crow’s calls, there was no sound of any kind in this place.
He rounded the nearest stone and stood at the edge of the giant circle. He was only half surprised to discover that the black-feathered bird was no longer there and that a woman had taken its place.
When she smiled at him his heart clenched. She looked very much like his aunt, but her eyes were wider, her lips fuller. Long hair the colour of polished copper hung down to her shoulders, where it came to rest on the black, heavy woollen cloak she wore, fastened on one side by a silver brooch in the shape of the bird that had preceded her. And he knew – knew in his very bones – that this woman was Lette, his birth mother.
Lann went to call out to her, but no sounds would form, and when he tried to enter the circle and go to her, he found that his way was blocked by some invisible force. He instinctively knew there was no point struggling, and the sad look she gave him confirmed he was not permitted to enter this place at this time.
She put her hand up to her lips and kissed the tips of her fingers, silently blowing it towards him. That smile again on her face, she reached for something on her arm and—
‘Wake up, Lann,’ Fleya said, shaking him gently out of that world and back into his own.
Opening his eyes, he stared into a face that was almost identical to the one he’d just been dragged away from. ‘I had a dream,’ he said, his voice little more than a whisper. ‘About my mother.’
‘Lae Fetlanger?’
He shook his head. ‘No, my real mother. Lette.’ He recalled the kiss she’d blown him from her fingertips, tears of happiness and sadness welling up in his eyes as he did so.
The look Fleya gave him mirrored his emotions. ‘I wish I had shared your dream.’ She sniffed and turned her head towards the morning sun. ‘We must be going, I fear we have another long day in the saddle ahead of us.’
After a short ride of no more than an hour, Lann spotted the circle of stones from his dream. Reining his horse to a stop, he stared across at it, his pulse racing at the sight.
‘The Ring of Brodgor,’ his aunt said, drawing her horse beside him. ‘An ancient place. A site of worship.’
‘For which god?’ he asked.
‘One of the old gods. Storren.’
Storren, god of the earth and all things that grow from it, breathe life into these seeds that they may awaken and flourish. His aunt had invoked the god’s name on many an occasion when they had been planting in their small garden back at the cabin, and the habit of doing so had rubbed off on him when he took it over.
‘The god has always been popular among farming communities,’ his aunt went on, ‘but this holy site has been left unused for some time.’ She gave a little shake of her head. ‘It is a shame when the old ways are forgotten.’
‘Storren is also popular with witches, is he not?’
‘He is. Most of the medicines and treatments we make are produced from plant matter. Those of us who study the Art offer up thanks to the god responsible for those things.’
Making a sudden decision, Lann urged his horse forward towards the circle. Exchanging a glance, Fleya and Astrid followed.
‘Lann?’ Astrid said. ‘Is something the matter?’
He didn’t answer her, but dismounted and approached the circle. He hesitated on the border – where his progress had been barred in his dream – and then took a step inside.
‘What is he doing?’ Astrid asked the witch, her eyes fixed on Lann as he approached the centre of the circle and stopped. He stood there, staring down at something on the ground before slowly reaching down and picking it up.
‘What have you found?’ his aunt asked.
He held the small bauble up so that both of them might see it. Whatever it was, it appeared to be the same colour and finish as the metal of the Dreadblade.
‘More gifts from the gods?’ Fleya said, the strain in her voice clear to hear.
‘Not from the gods this time,’ he answered with a little shake of his head as he walked back towards them. ‘And this was not left here for me.’
‘Then for whom?’
‘Astrid.’ He lifted the trinket up, offering it to her.
Fleya gasped as she saw the armlet up close, the thing causing a great surge of emotion to rise up inside her. She knew the item well. The last time she’d seen it was on her sister’s arm. She had been wearing it the night she died, shortly after giving birth to Lann.
Astrid stared at the black metal band, but made no move to reach out and take it. Without being able to explain why, she felt afraid to do so. There were intricate markings on its surface, but they were strangely difficult to fix with the eye. The more she tried to do so, the more they appeared to shift and blur. She looked to Fleya, as though seeking advice.
‘It was my sister’s,’ the witch said in response. ‘She received it as a gift, but I never found out who from. It was very special to her. Now she means you to have it.’
‘A majikal item,’ Astrid said. It was more of a statement than a question. Before meeting Lann and Fleya, the world she inhabited had not involved majik or the Art. And though she had seen the great good it could do, she still harboured deep-seated anxieties about this new supernatural landscape and the things that came from it.
‘It is, yes.’
Astrid frowned. ‘My father always told me to be careful when accepting gifts, and that those given most freely were often those that carried the most risk. You yourself told me you wished Lann hadn’t taken the sword when it was offered him, and that it was as much a curse as it was a blessing. How do I know this gift won’t prove to be the same for me?’
Fleya shook her head. ‘Items of majik always demand something from their bearer.’
‘Lann?’ Astrid said. ‘Why should I take this thing?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said gently. ‘There may be a price, as with the Dreadblade. All I know is that, last night, I saw my mother in this place, and she left this here so I might give it to you.’
‘Lette was here?’ Fleya gasped, staring out to the spot where Lann had crouched down to pick the item up. When she finally managed to tear her eyes away she turned them on Astrid. ‘My sister was the best and kindest human I have known. If the armlet could cause harm she would not have left it for you.’
Astrid gingerly reached out and took the bangle. Still not sure she was doing the right thing, she slipped it over her wrist and up on to her arm; as she did so, it was as if a filter were removed from her vision.
The first thing that struck her was the glow that surrounded each of the nine stones. The auras were like nothing she’d ever seen before: bl
ue and green shifting patterns danced off their outer surface. There was nothing sinister about that other-worldly radiance; quite the opposite: she felt it was a place of safety, of … sanctuary. She turned to comment on this to Fleya but the words were strangled in her mouth by what faced her. Gone was the beautiful woman she had first seen in the mirror on the fateful night before Lann declared himself her brother’s champion. Instead, a wizened and shrunken version stood before her. The sudden transformation caused her to gasp in surprise.
‘I told you I was older than I looked,’ the witch said with a smile. As she did so, the young Fleya seemed to shine through again, and the older version faded into the background. ‘Now you can see the world as Lann and I do, Princess Astrid.’ Her gaze went past the girl towards the stone circle. ‘I would spend a moment here. With my sister.’
Understanding that his aunt needed to be alone, Lann gestured for Astrid to join him on the other side of the perimeter.
Alone, Fleya approached the spot where the armlet had been left. Taking a shuddering breath, she spoke to her sister.
‘I need you to forgive me, Lette,’ she said, fighting back the emotion that threatened to take over. ‘I’m sorry for the way I behaved. I had no right to say the things I did when you told me you were with child. I was scared. I was scared for you …’ She paused and took another deep breath. ‘But if I’m honest, I was more scared for myself. I didn’t want to be left on my own.’
She pictured her beautiful sister. Her favourite memory of Lette. Of them playing together in the snow, laughing and screaming as they threw snowballs at one another. They must have been about eight years old at the time, not long before they were sent away by their mother to learn the Art. Lette had got chilblains that day, and Fleya had held her hand as their mother rubbed the blood back into her feet, chiding them both for being silly and staying out too long in the freezing temperatures. Despite the pain their mother’s ministrations caused her, Lette had smiled back at her sister throughout.
She wiped at the tear that slid down her face. ‘I was wrong. You knew the truth I refused to see. That you were not leaving me alone. You left Lannigon behind in the world with me. And I have tried to do as I promised the day he came into this world. I have tried to keep him safe.’ She shook her head. ‘But now, after all this time, I seem to be doing the opposite – I find myself leading him towards danger. I can’t keep him hidden any longer. The gods themselves have interfered with the path his life is taking, and try as I might, I can do little to stop them. He is like you and I: a leaf blown hither and thither on the breath of the gods.’ She let out a little sigh. ‘I miss you, sister. I miss you every day.’
As she turned to leave, something made her pause. Looking up, she smiled and then laughed as a black feather fell through the air in a graceful spiral towards her. She reached out her hand and allowed it to land on her palm, the feather brushing her skin with the softest of kisses.
‘I love you too.’
She took care putting the feather into a pocket inside her cloak. Then, gathering the garment about her, she left the Ring of Brogdor and rejoined her travelling companions.
30
‘What was it like?’ Lann asked Astrid once they were on their way again.
‘What was what like?’
‘Living with a father like Mirvar Rivengeld?’
She took a few moments to consider her answer. ‘Exhausting. He was so good, so … loved, that we were terrified to let him down in any way. Erik and I couldn’t really be ourselves unless we were alone, and we hardly ever got to be. That’s why I wanted to become a shield maiden. The maidens were not interested in who I was. The only thing they cared about was whether I could fight.’
It wasn’t the answer Lann had expected. He’d always thought it would be the greatest thing to be born into a family like the Rivengelds, to have everyone look up to you and admire you.
‘The woman who left me this …’ She gestured at the armlet. ‘Your mother. What was she like?’
‘I never knew her. She died giving birth to me. All I know is she was a witch, like Fleya. Last night, in my dream, was the first time I’d ever laid eyes on her.’
‘And the woman who brought you up? Who was she?’
‘Lae Fetlanger.’ A memory of her came to him. She was standing outside the farmhouse, laughing at his attempts to catch a chicken that had escaped the coop. The sun was on her face and she looked beautiful. ‘I couldn’t have asked for a better mother.’ As the words escaped him, he realised just how true they were. Lae had loved him like her own son.
‘I sense a “but”.’
‘She was married to a man called Gord – the man I thought was my father. He never liked me, and I could never understand why. That is, until I found out the truth.’
‘It is not in some people to give their love freely.’
‘No.’
‘You were lucky to have Lae. Just as I was lucky to have Mirvar. We were loved by good people.’
They rode in silence for a short while, taking in the landscape of this new kingdom.
‘Do you think the rumours about the new Queen of Vorneland are true?’ Lann asked. ‘That she killed to take power?’
Fleya, having caught up with the pair, answered. ‘It would not be the first time a blood-drenched monarch has sat upon a throne of the Six Kingdoms. Favner Lurvald is a woman obsessed with power.’
‘You know her?’ Astrid asked.
‘I met her once, although she was young at the time. Her ambition was evident but I sensed something more dangerous lurking inside her. Marrying a king was not enough for her – she wanted to rule. It seems she has achieved her goal now.’
‘It’s unusual to have a queen on the throne, isn’t it?’ Lann said. ‘Why do our people think a man should reign? Women should be given the chance to show they can rule every bit as well as their male counterparts.’
‘Unlike me, you mean?’ Astrid said in a loud voice.
‘No.’ The word came too fast and too loud, and his face flushed crimson again. ‘That’s not what I meant. You did the best you could. You were just, er … What I mean is …’
He stopped when he saw both women laughing. Cursing himself, he mumbled under his breath how he should, in future, keep his mouth shut on matters he had no real grasp of. His reaction, however, only resulted in more hilarity.
‘It’s all right, Lann,’ Astrid said, waving away his embarrassment. ‘But you’re right when you say it is unfair. As queen regent, Favner would be forced to hand the throne to the next heir apparent once he became of age. In this case, her young son.’
‘The one who has disappeared?’ As he said these words, the sword, silent until now, let out a strange noise, and a small frown clouded Astrid’s face, as if she too had heard it.
‘I think your brother’s advice to steer well clear of any contact with the new queen is well given,’ Fleya said. ‘Vorneland is not the kingdom it once was.’
The remainder of the day went by peacefully as they rode through a largely agricultural landscape. The only sign that people lived here was the occasional column of smoke drifting up from the chimney of the odd farmhouse they passed.
They built no fire that night – ‘Just in case,’ Fleya said. ‘Try to get some sleep now,’ she went on, hunkering down among the furs that made up her bedding. ‘If we make the same time tomorrow, we should make it all the way through Vorneland by noon. After that, the tower where Kelewulf and the lich have absconded to is a relatively short ride.’
Something at the edge of his consciousness made Lann open his eyes from the deep sleep he’d been in. He stared up at the deadly spear tip inches from his face, and the group of men surrounding him. His breath caught in his throat. Very slowly he felt down by his side and was shocked to discover the black blade was not there. Frowning, he tried to make sense of what was happening. If one of these men had taken the Dreadblade, why hadn’t the sword warned him?
Careful not to make any sudde
n movements, he slowly glanced to his left, his heart sinking when he saw that Astrid and Fleya also had spears pointed at them.
Their captors ignored the trio’s furious questions and protestations as they were dragged to their feet. Then, with their hands bound behind them, they were bundled up into their saddles.
It was only when the trio were trussed up on their horses like this that the leader of the group stepped forward. Dressed in leather and fur, with a long braided beard of the style that was common in these parts, he looked up at them and addressed them for the first time. His voice was calm and pleasant, which seemed at odds with his rough appearance and the manner in which he and his men had just captured them.
‘You are trespassing in Vorneland territory without permission of Queen Favner. If you do as you are told, you will be brought before Her Grace unharmed. However, I will quite happily present you to the queen in a less than pristine condition if you choose to give us any trouble. Is that understood?’
‘And you are?’ Fleya asked.
‘Captain Rinkor of the Queen’s Guards.’
‘Since when is it a crime to cross these lands?’ Astrid asked, fixing the man with a haughty stare. ‘The Volken people have always been permitted movement across any of the Six Kingdoms in times of peace.’
Her outburst was answered with a shrug.
‘Do you know who I am?’ she asked hotly. ‘I’m—’
‘An innocent young woman scared out of her wits at being captured like this,’ Fleya said, cutting her off and shooting the girl a look. ‘And so she should be. If the warriors of Vorneland are stopping travellers and threatening them like this, who knows what else they are willing to do.’
Captain Rinkor turned to face Fleya, his own expression grave. ‘I am a father as well as a warrior, and you have my word that no man in my charge would ever harm a woman. The men of Vorneland are not barbarians like the Northmen, or mindless thugs like the Hasz’een.’
‘Even the Northmen do not make prisoners of those entering their lands.’
