by A. E. Rayne
His heart ached, and he put a hand over it, pressing down, feeling Elin’s arms around him.
Sometimes it was hard to see the truth.
Bergit had softened over the day, and Ulrick was once again lying in her arms, head resting on her ample bosom, arm tucked around her waist, holding her close. ‘We need to be gone early.’
‘Why? Why are you in such a hurry? You really think Hakon will care about the girl?’
‘I don’t know. If he’d been victorious, likely not, but a defeat to the Vilanders will have him in knots. He wasn’t right, my love. He acted like a madman at Ottby. Like a child let loose in an armoury!’ Ulrick still couldn’t believe what he’d seen. He remembered the smoke. The old woman. His escape.
And he thought of Lotta lying in the main room, hoping she was warm.
‘Well, if he’s lost to the Vilanders, seems to me he’ll be looking for the right kind of men to help him get back on his feet.’
Once Ulrick would have been tempted to care. But Asger had told him about the new Lord of Orvala, and he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. They’d met once, years ago, when Ulrick was a young man, and Tarl Brava was just a boy, his father’s youngest son. It amazed him to think that after all these years and all those older brothers, Brunn had been the one to rise. His reputation as a warrior had grown into legend, and now he was a man whose power was increasing; who many were talking about as a future king.
Besides, Lotta saw danger if they remained, and his instincts were to listen to her.
Ulrick leaned over his wife, lips hovering just above hers. ‘Our destiny lies further north, my love. I know it, and tomorrow, we’ll begin our new adventure!’
IV
Slussfall
30
It was a relief to wake up with the sun.
Hakon rolled onto the ground with a yelp of discomfort, though he felt elated. They had made it through another night. One step closer to home and safety.
He stood, stretching his neck, not looking forward to another day on his horse. He thought of Slussfall and his wife and son, knowing that the quicker he got into the saddle, the quicker he’d be sitting in his hall, a goblet of Kalmeran wine in his hand, the wind wailing somewhere far in the distance.
The weather sounded horrific if the intense flapping of his tent was anything to go by, and Hakon yawned, eyes on the swirling flames of the fire. There was no sign of Rikkard, who had hopefully gone to organise some breakfast.
Yawning again, Hakon stood, pleased to see that the boy had laid out his armour. His boots sat on the ground, freshly polished. He saw a new tunic and an almost-clean pair of trousers, and desperate to change out of his sweat-soaked clothes, Hakon undressed. He kept his head up, refusing to catch even a glimpse of the mark, slipping off his damp tunic, throwing it to the ground. Hearing a noise, he spun around as Rikkard entered the tent carrying a bowl of porridge. Rikkard straightened up, eyes bursting open at the sight of the dark symbol carved into his master’s pale chest. It was enormous, glowing like fiery embers.
‘What?’ Hakon snapped, body taut, panic exploding.
Rikkard stumbled, not knowing where to look. He quickly backed up to the tent flap. ‘I...’
‘Put the bowl on the table.’ Hakon’s voice was like a knife scraping across stone.
Rikkard, hands shaking now, moved further into the tent, aiming for the table as Hakon slipped his new tunic over his head.
‘Now leave.’
Rikkard wanted to run. He’d seen the mark. He knew what it meant. His lord was doomed to die, and likely those around him would die too. He’d seen what The Hunter’s men had done. He’d helped bury the bodies. ‘I, I, I will go and find you something to drink, my lord,’ he mumbled, legs trembling. ‘I... you need something to drink.’ He wanted to vomit. His entire body was shaking now as he turned around, reaching for the tent flap.
Hakon jammed his knife into Rikkard’s back, pulling it out quickly, slamming his hand over the boy’s throat, arm around his chest. And holding it there, as Rikkard stumbled, in shock, body jerking, Hakon drew his bloody blade across the boy’s throat.
‘Still in bed?’ came the call as the tent flap rustled and Ivan stepped inside, mouth falling open in horror.
Knife in hand, Hakon dragged Rikkard’s body to the other side of the tent, dropping it to the ground.
Ivan closed his mouth, vibrating all over. And spinning around, he tied the tent flap tightly, not wanting anyone else to come in. ‘Hakon!’ he hissed, turning back around. ‘Hakon!’
Hakon was bent over, wiping his knife on the wet grass. He stood, carefully drying the blade on his old tunic before slipping it back into its scabbard. ‘You’d better have someone get rid of him.’
Ivan was speechless, spluttering, unable to even form words.
Hakon wanted him to go, and ignoring Ivan, and Rikkard’s corpse, he continued dressing, which even after all these years, never came easily with no thumbs.
‘But... but...’
‘You think I should tolerate disrespect? That I should have suffered that boy’s slovenly ways? Ha! What sort of lord would that make me?’ Hakon snarled, lips curling, eyes sharp. ‘Willing to be treated as though I’m no better than a stablehand! Is that what sort of lord you’d be?’
Ivan fumbled for an answer, not understanding why Hakon was turning on him. ‘No, I –’
‘You should have learned something from our fathers about how to treat those who don’t show respect.’ And now Hakon lunged at his cousin, finger pointing. ‘We’re on the same side, aren’t we, Ivan? We still want the same thing?’ He leaned in until their noses were almost touching. ‘Still want to be in Stornas together?’
Ivan could only nod, stepping back, the stench of Rikkard’s dead body in his nostrils. ‘Of course, Hakon, I do. I’ll...’ He stopped, trying to think. ‘I’ll get Oskar to help Jerrick take Rikkard away. They’re discreet.’
‘Discreet? I could care less about discreet! The boy was useless. He insulted me, abused me, failed to do his job. Let everyone see how I reward such insolence!’
And flapping a thumbless hand at Ivan, he turned away, chest on fire.
Ulrick had been up before dawn, ensuring that their chests were as full as they could be. It wasn’t in his nature to run away, but he tried to frame it as a fresh opportunity in his mind, knowing he would have to work hard to keep Bergit from sniping.
He smiled, eyes on Lotta, who was watching him silently from her bed.
Her hair was a knotted mess, and she looked hungry, he thought, as though she hadn’t eaten properly in some time. He worried that that was true.
‘Why don’t you come here and I’ll comb your hair?’
Lotta dragged herself up into a sitting position with a sigh. Her mother was close. She could almost feel her now. Magnus and Jonas were in the prison hole. Vik was somewhere. And she had to leave them all behind.
It made her sad, and she shook her head.
‘Go on,’ Ulrick grinned. ‘It’s not so bad to have those knots taken out. If they get any worse, I’ll have to take my knife to them!’ He glanced at the bedchamber door, lowering his voice. ‘Wrap that fur around you and come here. Sit on this stool.’ It was impossible not to see his daughter when he looked at Lotta, and though it had been nearly twenty years since he’d lost Gala, the pain still echoed. Losing a child was like nothing he’d experienced in his life. He’d lost his parents, brothers, friends and lords, but his daughter? It was a nightmare from which he’d never awoken.
Realising that with Ulrick there was no point arguing, Lotta crept to the fire, sitting on the stool with a sigh.
Ulrick smiled. He’d retrieved his comb from his pouch, and he gently ran it through Lotta’s hair, quickly catching it in a thick knot. He felt her flinch and he frowned, placing one hand on her head, so as not to pull her hair. ‘I might regret starting this,’ he laughed softly, not seeing Lotta anymore. ‘So what story do you want to hear, then? Something about gh
osts and spirits? About battles and warriors? Or maybe the gods?’
Lotta didn’t speak.
‘Or I can tell you about Orvala? I was there years ago, though I can still remember the place as though it was yesterday.’
‘I would like to hear about the gods,’ Lotta decided quietly, not wanting to think about Orvala. It was the last place she wanted to go, so far away from Magnus. He would be sad. He would blame himself. Though it wasn’t his fault, she knew.
It was what the gods had been planning all along.
Alys felt odd as she tightened Haski’s saddle. Though she was pleased to have slept soundly, she was surprised not to have had any dreams. And then panic started, knowing how many people would soon be staring at her with inquisitive faces, wanting to know what she’d seen.
‘You look ready to fall down!’ Ivan exclaimed behind her.
Alys yelped, biting her tongue as she turned around. ‘What?’
‘Sorry, I’m sorry.’
‘It’s fine. I...’ Shaking her head, she tasted blood. ‘I was in a dream.’
‘Were you?’
‘Well, no, not a real dream. I was just thinking. Wondering what will come next.’
‘Just wondering?’ Ivan’s eyes moved past Alys to where Falla was snapping at the servants who were organising porridge for breakfast. Everyone was sick of porridge, wishing that bags of oats weren’t the one ingredient the servants had been quick enough to take from their camp when they’d run away from Ottby.
Alys blinked. ‘I didn’t dream anything, if that’s what you want to know.’
It was exactly what Ivan wanted to know. He felt on edge, constantly looking back at Hakon’s tent, where he could see Jerrick and Oskar carrying out Rikkard’s body, draped in a fur.
Alys’ eyes burst open. ‘What happened?’
All the noise and early morning energy was sucked out of the camp as everyone turned to stare at the body, wondering who it was.
Wondering what had happened.
‘Hakon’s steward, Rikkard.’ Ivan felt sick, not believing anything his cousin had said. Rikkard was just a boy, the son of one of Jesper’s men. He’d cared for Hakon with great diligence for nearly two years, always rushing around trying to anticipate his lord’s needs in a quiet and respectful way. What Hakon had said made no sense, so why had he really killed him?
Alys saw flashes of the boy as Hakon stabbed him; the horror in his eyes.
‘He was...’ Ivan gave up quickly. There was nothing he could say. No lie that he could trot out, pretending it was the truth.
‘Things will only get worse,’ Eddeth whispered hoarsely from behind them, making Alys jump, biting her tongue again.
‘Where did you come from?’
‘I was here all along!’ Eddeth grinned, though eyes on the body, she swallowed, lowering her voice. ‘We’ll all need to be on our toes around your cousin now. Especially you two.’
‘Us?’ Ivan glanced at Alys, who peered at Eddeth. The sun was rising higher, and she could see the worry in Eddeth’s eyes.
‘Of course!’ Eddeth’s worried eyes kept on jumping around, not wanting Hakon to sneak up on her. ‘He’ll blame you both for everything that goes wrong, and he’ll most certainly not praise you for anything that goes right. In his mind, everything must work towards his survival now. Everything must be about beating back the curse of that mark!’
Alys shivered, turning to Ivan, who looked to be taking Eddeth’s words seriously. As he should. Eddeth had good instincts about these things, and knowledge far greater than anyone she knew of. ‘You must be careful, Ivan,’ she warned. ‘Listen to Eddeth, and stay away from Hakon until –’ Alys stopped, not knowing what waited at the end of the sentence.
‘Until?’ Ivan was almost holding his breath.
‘Until the gods have had their fun, of course! They will decide your cousin’s fate now,’ Eddeth said, watching Hakon striding out of his tent, heading straight for them. And wheeling around, cloak flapping, snow settling in her grey mop of hair, Eddeth bounded away.
Ollo Narp had a spring in his step.
The morning air was bitter, and snow was wet in his beard as he walked, though he barely noticed, for Elmar’s wife, the lovely Mora, had found Jonas’ herbs. It had taken so long that he was growing worried that Jonas, being such an old man now, would just curl up and die before he could rescue him. Or perhaps his grandson, who was a skinny-looking boy, half-starved to begin with. He’d sent extra food to the hole, hoping to keep them going while he worked on finding the herbs. And now he would send Haegel out to tell Vik to be ready tonight.
And once they had their silver ...
Mind sparking with possibilities, Ollo rounded a corner, heading into the square, smacking straight into Baldur Skoggi, who strutted around the fort as though he was the lord himself. ‘Watch it!’ Ollo grumbled, stepping back.
Baldur turned on him. ‘Me watch it?’ He didn’t like Ollo Narp. Didn’t trust him either. It made little sense for anyone to trust a man who would so easily break an oath for coins, especially a lord like Hakon Vettel, destined to be the king. He shook his head, eyeing the round man with disdain.
‘You’re barrelling around like you’re running to put out a fire! Sun’s barely up. What can be so important that you have to knock people over?’
‘You appear to still be on your feet, Ollo.’
‘True, though that’s only because of my superior balance.’ Ollo puffed out his chest, smoothing down his wet beard. ‘So what’s the hurry, then? What’s got you in a flap?’
‘Just wanting to get to the hole. Executions today!’
Ollo swallowed, his hopes sinking. ‘Executions? Without the lord? Who’s agreed to that?’ He knew who it would be. There’d been grumbles ever since Jonas had been discovered and shoved into the hole. Many of Hakon’s men were agitating, unhappy that the old warrior still had a head. Crowds had been gathering outside the hole, disturbing trade, getting in Ollo’s way, making a noise and a fuss. It was becoming a real problem. ‘Seems to me a man like Hakon Vettel would want to see his own executions. He won’t be happy, you having all that fun on his behalf.’
It was something Baldur had considered too, though Ollo didn’t need to know that. ‘Hakon will understand the importance of keeping order. It’s why he left me in charge. And if the sun goes down with Jonas Bergstrom’s head still attached to his body, I can only guess what problems we’ll have.’
Ollo shivered, watching the guards pulling open the gates in the distance. He could hear the squeal of hinges, the scrape of wood across ice. ‘You’re a braver man than me, Baldur. I remember how wild Hakon got when his cousin took off Sirrus’ head. He didn’t speak to Ivan for weeks!’
Baldur remembered, though it gave him little pause. ‘So you say, but he’ll thank me when he comes home to an orderly fort rather than roaring chaos and a pile of charred rubble littered with bodies.’ And leaning in closer as more and more Slussfallers headed into the square, Baldur lowered his voice. ‘You really want a riot, Ollo? In this weather, everyone’s going a little mad. Impatient to know what happened in Ottby. On edge.’ And straightening up, Baldur resettled his new woollen cloak, eyes on the sky, confident that the fog would clear soon. ‘No, Hakon will thank me, I’m sure of it.’ And nose in the air, he strode away.
They had been riding for some time, the sun finally emerging from behind a long bank of clouds, when Hakon ushered Alys forward, sending Lief and Ivan back to check on the men. He wanted some time alone with his dreamer, though Alys didn’t want any time alone with him.
Eddeth smiled encouragingly at her, watching her go. ‘It’s a worry,’ she muttered, more loudly than she’d realised. Her mind skipped to Stina, who’d always warned her about her blabbering mouth.
‘What’s a worry?’ Falla wondered, eyes on Lief, who passed her with one of his almost-smiles. ‘Eddeth?’ Eddeth was busy chewing her lips, and she didn’t appear to want to talk at all. ‘You mean Hakon? Or Alys?’
‘No, but you sense things, don’t you?’ Falla said, hoping to lead her on. ‘It’s obvious your gifts go far beyond healing. I can see that.’
‘You can?’ Eddeth was alert, eyes wide with interest. ‘Well, I can’t deny that’s true. I won’t! I surely won’t, but as for what’s wrong, well, I can’t say for certain, but the lord is a worry. And what the lord might do to Alys is also a worry. She’s a strong woman, I know. Oh yes, I know what she’s capable of, believe me, but around a cursed lord going mad?’
‘Mad?’ Falla felt a wave of nausea rising, and she swallowed, willing it away. The mornings were the most unsettled time, and the constant rocking motion of the horse only made it worse. ‘Hakon?’
Eddeth sneezed so explosively that Hakon twisted around, eyeing her sharply, and now it was her turn to swallow, deciding not to say another word. Though in the blink of an eye, her mouth was open again. ‘Perhaps he’s always been this way, but I sense a change. A descent down a dark staircase. Down to the very pit of evil which seeks to claim him. To Vasa’s Cave itself!’ She cocked her head to one side. ‘Or perhaps Alari’s? They are sisters, you know. Twins! One light, one dark, as vengeful as each other.’
Falla shivered, thinking of Mother, who had spoken of Alari with such reverence and awe. And yet now, without her, Falla felt afraid of those dark goddesses. ‘But will they hurt us? If they wish to take Hakon, maybe Ivan, will they come for us all? For Lief?’ She gripped her belly, worry in her eyes.
Eddeth frowned, annoyed that her thoughts had escaped out her mouth. Again. ‘I wouldn’t worry,’ she tried, though there was little confidence in her voice. ‘But I would encourage your husband not to stand in the way of the gods, especially Thenor. If his mind is made up, it’s only a matter of time!’
