Wrath of the Sun: An Epic Fantasy Adventure
Date: 2022-11-29 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy
Description: We are at the end of the series, and it is time to choose sides... After three months of relative peace, Alekka is about to be jolted by a seismic shift, for ambitious lords and vengeful gods have only been biding their time, choosing their allies, hiding from their enemies, deciding when to make their move. And that time is now. In Stornas, Reinar is feeling strong, working and training with vigor, imposing his authority on those around him, though internally he is beset by fears. The threat of Alari grows each day, and though he carries himself with confidence, wanting to assure his people o
Rights: Copyright 2022 A.E. Rayne. All rights reserved.

EYE OF THE WOLF

THE LORDS OF ALEKKA : BOOK ONE

A.E. RAYNE

For JCW

In my heart, always

THE CHARACTERS

In Ullaberg

Alys de Sant, 28, (pronounced Alice)

Stina Arnborg, 38, Alys’ best friend

Magnus de Sant, 10, Alys’ son

Lotta de Sant, 8, Alys’ daughter

Arnon de Sant, 34, Alys’ husband

Ilene Gislar, 25, the husband thief

Magda, Jorunn, Vanya, women of Ullaberg

In Ottby

Lord Reinar Vilander, 32, (pronounced Ray-nar)

Sigurd Vilander, 29, his brother

Stellan Vilander, 63, their father

Gerda Vilander, 57, their mother

Tulia Saari, 29, Kalmeran warrior

Amir Saari, 24, her brother

Torvig Aleksen, 34, Reinar’s friend

Agnette Sansgard, 29, Reinar and Sigurd’s cousin

Bjarni Sansgard, Agnette’s husband/Reinar’s best friend

Ludo Moller, 25, fostered to the Vilanders/Sigurd’s best friend

Eddeth Nagel, 57, healer

Rutger Eivin, 35, warrior

Bolli Ollsfar, 65, helmsman

Holgar Agmund, 62, helmsman

Rilda, the cook

Martyn, Stellan’s steward

Rienne and Matti, Gerda’s servants

In Slussfall

Lord Hakon Vettel, 23 (pronounced Hay-kon)

Ivan Vettel, 23, Hakon’s cousin

Karolina Vettel, 22, Hakon’s wife

Anders Vettel, infant, Hakon & Karolina’s son

Mother Arnesson, 66, Hakon’s dreamer

Falla Gundersen, 34, Mother’s daughter-in-law

Borg Arnesson, 2, Falla’s son with Borg Arnesson senior

Lief Gundersen, 44, Falla’s husband/Hakon’s champion

Jerrick and Njall, Hakon’s men

At Vik’s Cottage

Jonas Bergstrom, 69, Alys’ grandfather

Vik Lofgren, 59, Jonas’ best friend

On the Road

Long Beard, Eye Patch & Silver Tooth, warriors

In Stornas

King Ake Bluefinn, 57, (pronounced Ak-ee)

Algeir Tarkel, 48, head of his garrison

In Hovring

Lord Erlan Stari, 27

In Vika

Lord Alef Olstein, 31

CONTENTS

Prologue

I. Taken

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

II. Nightmares

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

III. Broken Parts

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

IV. Mouth of the Beast

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

V. Siege

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Epilogue

By A.E. Rayne

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PROLOGUE

‘I can help you.’

Hakon wasn’t sure. He sucked in his cheeks, considering the woman. She was ancient. Round, like a full ball of yarn; wiry, short grey hair curling around a mean face; eyes dark with a look of madness; skin as leathery as his oldest helmsman.

A dreamer.

‘You wish to fight for me?’ Hakon laughed as the woman twitched impatiently in her chair, eyes never leaving his face.

She licked her hairy lips. ‘You are young, Hakon Vettel. Not as stupid as some, more ambitious than most, yet you have no sight. How will your dreams come true if you cannot see?’

Hakon frowned, edging forward in his own chair, ignoring the angry spitting of the fire beside them; listening to the roar of the wind as it lifted the wooden tiles on the roof of his hall. ‘No sight?’

‘I have vision that goes beyond your walls. Ears that hear more than your spies. I see enemies who have not yet appeared. And you, Hakon Vettel, have more enemies than you realise.’ She sucked in a rasping breath. ‘They will crush you before you see them coming. Wreck your ambitions before they are fully realised. Without my help, you have no hope of becoming the king your father wanted to be.’

Hakon watched the dreamer’s eyes turn to the flames, darkening further; glowing now. ‘And if you help me, what do you seek in return?’

She smiled. ‘What do I want?’ And drumming gnarled fingers on her knees, she peered at him. ‘I want Jael Furyck.’

Hakon was confused. ‘Jael Furyck? The Queen of Oss? You? You want her?’

‘I do. And when I help you take Ake Bluefinn’s throne, you will have an army at your command. An army strong enough and large enough to conquer the Slave Islands. And when you do, you will bring me that bitch, and I will have my revenge, for it is a thirst I must slake before Vasa comes to take me.’ She glanced at Hakon, salivating, not seeing the young lord anymore. In her mind, she held a knife, and that knife was carving a hole into Jael Furyck’s beating heart.

‘Who are you?’ Hakon wondered, his breath suddenly pumping before him in frosty waves. He shivered, wondering what the woman was doing to him. The warm chamber with its blazing fire, had quickly turned as cold as ice.

‘You may call me Mother,’ she murmured, her weathered face breaking into a maniacal grin. ‘I am Mother Arnesson.’

PART I

TAKEN

1

Alys was eager to escape the cottage.

Arnon had been in a dark mood since his return.

The men had been away raiding for weeks, yet they had come home empty-handed. There was little to find along the Eastern Shore, which had been ravaged by torrential rain and storms throughout the summer and into autumn. Ruined crops lay abandoned in fields, children died of hunger, merciless plagues came to steal their parents and grandparents away.

There was little to find, yet the men of Ullaberg still had to try, for they had their own families to feed over winter, and few stores left with which to do it.

Alys turned away from the tiny coastal village, towards the sea where the sun was struggling up over the vast horizon. It was a bitterly cold morning, and the sky was a grey reminder of the suffocating gloom winter would soon bring.

Her two children were playing behind her.

She could hear them laughing, teasing each other, and her spirits lifted as she walked. They sounded happy, silly, and she almost smiled.

‘You look terrible.’

Alys froze, suddenly aware of how cold the sand was beneath her bare feet. How brisk the wind as it battered her bruised face, sweeping her long wheat-coloured hair behind her like a galloping horse’s mane.

She swallowed, looking around, checking the children.

‘He will kill you one day, Alys. I truly think he will.’

Stina Arnborg was a good friend, a loyal friend, some ten years older than Alys. Widowed young and childless, there had always been a sadness about her that Alys was drawn to.

She supposed it was like looking in a mirror.

Alys sighed. It was hard to hide the truth when that truth was all over her face. And turning back, she braved her friend’s concerned eyes. ‘It’s not so bad.’ She looked past Stina, out to sea, listening to the comforting whoosh of waves rushing the shore. ‘There’s nothing I can do. Not yet.’

It was a lie, but Alys needed to keep her secrets hidden for the children’s sake.

‘The raid was not a success. Again. And soon, winter will come. Soon it will get harder to leave. And then...’

Alys didn’t want to think about winter.

She would be gone by winter. She had to be.

Nodding, smiling, she grabbed Stina’s gloved hand, squeezing it with a grin, trying to pretend she wasn’t covered in bruises. Trying to imagine she was as she wanted to be: free, safe, happy.

Loved.

‘Let’s not worry about it now. That wind feels like an ice giant coming to crush us, but I think we can still enjoy our walk, don’t you? Without worrying about winter and what may happen. And especially without worrying about Arnon. I don’t want to think about him.’ Alys dragged Stina along, spinning around to see what had happened to Magnus and Lotta. ‘Don’t get too far behind!’ she called, seeing that Magnus was leading his younger sister on an expedition over the steep sand dunes that bordered the tiny village.

They had grown apart lately, Magnus not wanting his little sister’s company as much, so it warmed Alys’ heart to see him gripping Lotta’s hand, pulling her after him.

Turning back around, she froze, shivers racing up her body like streaks of lightning.

Stina, still gripping her hand, could feel it. ‘What is it?’

They were just about to round the headland where the beach would turn into a series of sheltered coves, where the Ullaberg men kept their ships and fishing boats.

‘Alys?’

‘Run!’ Alys screamed, turning, charging towards her children. ‘Magnus! Magnus! Take Lotta and hide! Run! Run!’ She spun back to Stina, who was looking after her in surprise. ‘Raiders!’

* * *

It was a small village.

Ullaby? Ullaberg?

Reinar Vilander couldn’t remember. He hadn’t been there before, but he’d decided it was worth trying. There were no walls, no fortifications at all, apart from a few dunes and boulders, and a lopsided wattle fence barely strong enough to hold in a few chickens. He saw that as he rounded the headland, running through the sand, winking at his brother, though he felt no joy as he gripped his sword in one hand, his battered shield in the other.

Their no-quite-sixty men ran behind the Vilander brothers, up the white-sand beach, a bitter wind at their backs, the screams of the women rising ahead of them in a great shrieking storm.

Sigurd stopped, letting his older brother take his men ahead while he drew the archers back towards the sea. Nocking an arrow, he pulled the bowstring past his ear, feeling the fletching brush his cheek. The waves were surging forward. He could taste salt on his tongue, hear the cries of hungry gulls, suddenly loud in his ears.

Or perhaps that was the women?

* * *

Alys ran towards the village, heart pounding, watching Magnus and Lotta before her. The sand was no trouble for them, and they scattered like two little beetles seeking shelter and safety, racing past her husband.

Arnon stumbled towards her, half-asleep, naked from the waist up, sword in hand, eyes scanning the beach. He didn’t appear to see anyone but the men chasing them all.

‘Keep going, Magnus!’ Alys screamed, her voice breaking, whipped away by the wind. ‘Hurry!’ She stopped for a moment, closing her eyes, hoping to get through to him somehow.

Panic exploded into chaos and terror as the raiders surged towards the villagers, bellowing, swords clashing with the first men who had hurried down to the sand, hoping to mount a defense.

Alys could see it as she opened her eyes. She watched Magnus turn around, tugging Lotta’s hand, his shoulder-length hair, dark, his sister’s so fair it was almost white. He looked up, searching the beach, and for the briefest of moments, he met his mother’s eyes.

And Alys knew he could hear her.

‘Go,’ she breathed. ‘Go, my loves.’

Arnon roared before her, sword out, lunging for the big raider who was rushing him, ducking his blade, aiming for his waist.

The arrow shot past Alys, thrumming like a speeding bird, lodging in her husband’s bare chest. Arnon looked up in surprise, puffy eyes meeting his wife’s, before moving past her, seeing the men who were running, ready to grab her.

Shock flooding his body, he staggered in the sand, legs wobbling.

Reinar spun around, glaring at Sigurd and his archers. He was the leader, the Lord of Ottby; he didn’t need his little brother watching over him. Turning back as the man collapsed to the sand, he bellowed at his men. ‘We move quickly! Take slaves! Take treasure! Fuck, take food if you can find it! Then we go!’

Arnon lay in the sand, perfectly still, arrow moving about in his chest as the wind picked up, fluttering the fletching’s white goose feathers. Alys couldn’t move. She stared down at her husband, feeling nothing. After eleven years of terror and love and everything in between, she felt nothing at all.

Not even relief.

How could it be over so quickly? So suddenly?

And then a hand, roughly grabbing her arm, yanking her backwards.

Alys tried to turn, inhaling sour ale breath, a smoky beard. She stumbled in the sand, attempting to stay on her feet, eyes up again, searching for Magnus and Lotta as the man dragged her away, growling in her ear; threatening sounds. She was caught, wanting to fight, to run and escape, but she needed her children to escape more.

Fingers digging into her, the man pulled her back down the beach towards the ships.

‘We need to gather them together!’ someone yelled.

Alys could understand them. Alekkans.

Arrows whistled overhead as the man dragged her across the sand. His stench was overpowering, and she turned her head, struggling to breathe.

Struggling to think.

‘Get her with the others!’

And roughly thrown towards a huddle of sobbing Ullaberg women, Alys was suddenly free of the man. She saw Stina, mouth wrenched open in shock, long dark hair whipping around her petrified face; some of the other women clinging to their children.

‘We’re not taking children!’ came a sharp voice. ‘What are you thinking, Rutger!’

Alys glanced at Marren, a mean-spirited gossip who clung to her son with panic in her tear-filled eyes.

‘Please! No, please!’ Marren begged over the terrified wails of her boy. ‘Don’t take him from me! Please!’

But the man slung his bow over his back, snatching the boy out of her desperate arms with an impatient grunt. Marren’s son bit the bearded warrior, kicking and shouting at him, not wanting to go.

‘Mother!’

Other children were screaming, their mothers desperately holding on to them, pleading to stay together.

Alys was shaking now. The wind cried painfully, lifting the hem of her faded green dress, flapping it like a banner. She didn’t notice, not even trying to hold it down.

Beside her, Stina was shaking, and Alys gripped her hand, attempting to steady them both.

* * *

Sigurd Vilander was getting annoyed. He spun around, frowning.

There were too many children.

It was bad enough that they were doing this at all.

He wasn’t going to take children.

Rutger shot him a sour look, spitting on the sand, before turning back to the women, tearing their children out of their arms. ‘Go! Go on, go!’ he yelled to the boys and girls with bulging eyes and tear-wet faces. ‘Run away, little piggies!’ He laughed, throwing one girl to the ground, her mother trying to run after her. ‘Not you, beautiful.’ And pushing the woman back towards the huddle, he ran a filthy hand down her petrified face. ‘You’re not going anywhere.’

Frowning, Sigurd inclined his head to Bjarni, knowing that he was likely the only one clear-eyed enough to see what needed to be done. And how.

Bjarni nodded. He was a short, wide man, with a calm disposition and a friendly face. Trusted. Loyal. One of the only ones left now.

Reinar ran past them both, a broad grin on his blood-splattered face, a piglet under each arm. ‘They’ve got some livestock!’

Sigurd turned after him. ‘What about the menfolk?’

But his brother kept running, followed now by more of their men, arms loaded with barrels of ale; baskets of turnips and onions; a small chest of silver ingots and coins, a couple of them trickling out onto the sand. It was a nothing sort of village, Sigurd thought with tense shoulders, doubting its lord was wealthy enough to be hoarding anything more.

The women’s wails rose watching their children being chased down the beach by Rutger, and Berger, who though not as sadistic as his brother, was not to be trusted either. But at least they were both away from the women.

Sigurd turned back to Bjarni. ‘Get them to the ships quickly. Divide them up. Ludo!’ he called, turning to the young man slouching awkwardly behind him. ‘Take half to Dagger. We may as well take the louder half!’ He grinned, though he did not feel happy.

This was not who they were. Not who they had been.

Not who their father would want them to be now.

Sigurd’s eyes drifted to one of the women. She wasn’t crying, or making any noise at all. Her eyes were fixed down the beach, perhaps taking one last look at her children? Her dress was green; her hair long and golden. He could see freckles scattered across her nose like tiny grains of sand. Her eyes were blue or green, like the sea which turned from one colour to the other, depending on the weather. She was quite beautiful, and for a moment, Sigurd wasn’t aware of anything else. He blinked, noticing that Bjarni was trying to shepherd her along with his group. ‘Bjarni! Not her!’ Sigurd called. ‘Give her to Ludo!’ And with that, he turned around, heading for the village.

Alys watched him go as though she was having a dream. He was in charge, she thought. He seemed calm, whereas most did not. Panic and noise engulfed the beach; so many tears and frantic goodbyes. Helpless mothers watched their terrified children run away from them, wanting to hold on to the memory of those precious faces; not wanting to think about what would happen to them without their mothers, and perhaps their fathers too.

Alys stumbled, pulled away, conscious of Stina working hard to stay beside her, still gripping her hand, her long face the colour of snow, her grey eyes full of tears.

‘You want to take any men?’ Rutger snarled at Bjarni, who had three other men helping him tie up his group of women; rope around their hands, all bound together. They couldn’t afford to have even one of them escape. They were going to need the coins they would earn from every last one of them.

Bjarni shook his head. ‘You know what Reinar says. No men. Only the women. They’re fetching higher prices in Goslund. They like an agreeable house slave in that snake pit.’

Despite the blur of confusion and noise, the whistle of the wind, and the terrifying song of screams and blades, Alys was listening to the men.

Goslund. Slave capital of Alekka.

She felt a well of pain and fear rise in her chest, shutting her down, and then another, more powerful feeling: that of survival. And closing her eyes, seeking her children, Alys tried to hold on to a morsel of hope.

Magnus was a clever boy, a good brother. He would keep Lotta safe.

If he could just get to their secret place in time.

* * *

Magnus had dragged his sister into the barn as soon as they’d run back to the village. His mother’s voice rang in his ears, urging him on through the chaos; that and the frantic beat of his heart which pounded like a storm, making him want to cry.

He was so scared.

His father was dead, his mother captured.

The men would have taken her, he knew. There was nothing she could do. She was not a warrior, and even if she was, Magnus could hear warriors screaming and crying all around him as they dropped to the ground like felled trees. Some had been mighty in their time, but they were no match for fearsome raiders with the element of surprise.

It was early. Many of their men had been asleep, drunk from the night before, celebrating their return, though it had been a quiet, morose sort of night. Most of the men were just angry. Bitter and sad. Wanting to hide from what waited for them outside the hall doors.

Lotta was oddly silent beside her brother, her blue eyes blinking rapidly in the dark barn. Men were shouting outside, though the battle to defend Ullaberg had ended quickly. The raiders were ransacking the village now, taking their livestock, their meagre stores, their treasure. Magnus wrinkled his freckled nose, doubting Ullaberg had any treasure. Not with a lord like Arald Hussak in charge. He was not a warrior, just a fat old man with a bright red nose, who held a cup in his hand instead of a sword. Likely dead, Magnus decided, shaking suddenly, listening to the barn doors rattle.

Someone was outside. Coming in.

Lotta clung to him, snowy hair, luminescent skin, big eyes like two moons staring out of a tiny round face. She had lost a tooth that morning, and she’d carried it in her hand ever since. Magnus could see her gripping it now. He took her other hand, lifting a finger to his lips, urging her to come with him.

Quietly.

They crept through the straw, ignoring the two rats nibbling a parsnip they’d likely stolen from Urna’s stores. Nobody loved a parsnip more than Urna Kraki. She grew too many to eat herself and was always sharing them around.

Lotta stumbled after her brother, biting her lip. She didn’t cry out, though, well aware of how much danger they were in. Magnus pointed to the cart, and Lotta nodded, creeping after him as he crouched down, crawling around the big wooden wheel, quickly brushing away the mounds of straw which hid an old chest. Beneath the chest, Magnus had dug out a deep tunnel, and he pushed his sister into the dark space, grabbing the straw and pulling it back to cover them.

The barn doors creaked open, one man walking inside, sword out, poking through the straw. He kicked out at the rats, who squealed, abandoning their parsnip, making a hasty escape.

And then another two men burst inside, brandishing swords, panting.

‘Anything?’

‘Hasn’t been mucked out in some time, that’s for sure,’ grumbled the first man, gagging at the smell. ‘Nothing that I can see.’ He lifted his eyes, noticing the thick cobwebs stretching up to the rafters. ‘Nothing here at all.’

Magnus held his hand over Lotta’s mouth, hot all over. It was a freezing cold autumn morning, but he felt ready to rip off all his clothes and run into the sea. Lotta shook, her back trembling against his chest as they cowered in the hole.

Waiting.

‘What’s over there?’ The second man was not prepared to be dissuaded so quickly. He hadn’t found anything worth taking back to the ships yet. It was such a pitiful place, but he couldn’t head back to Reinar and Sigurd Vilander empty-handed. ‘The cart?’

Magnus’ eyes bulged, his mother’s voice suddenly loud in his ears, warning him to keep his sister quiet. He gripped Lotta tightly, afraid that she might cry, listening as the heavy footsteps stomped closer.

The men were at the cart now, rummaging about, though there was nothing but cobwebs to find; sticky masses of cobwebs that clung to bloody fingers, despite their best efforts to shake them off. Cobwebs and a few old tools.

Nothing of any use.

Magnus held his breath, trying to think of what he would do if the men discovered them. His father had shown him how to use a sword and a knife, but Magnus had neither on him. He’d barely been dressed when he’d run out of the cottage to follow his mother and Stina down the beach. He’d been desperate not to be left behind, worried that his sleeping father would wake up.

The men walked around the cart, listening.

Crouching down.

Running their hands through the straw.

* * *

Some of the women were fighting, tearing at their captors with sharp fingernails, kicking out with unbound feet. The men dragging them on board the two ships waiting in the shallows of the cove were not in the mood to be sympathetic to their plight. They tugged the women along, threatening them with big, filthy hands, gripping them tightly.

Stina cried out as she was hoisted over the gunwale, into the first ship, rough hands digging into her waist. Both ships were bigger than any seen in Ullaberg before; longer, with more oars; curled dragon prows.

Real warships.

Alys stumbled, almost thrown over after her friend, her rope, attached to Stina’s, dragging her forward, unbalancing her. The young man leading them was awkward. Too tall. Hunching. Big eyes, full of shame.

‘Gather here!’ he called, trying to make himself heard over the cacophony of terror. ‘You will all gather here! Nothing will happen to you! Stay calm now!’

‘Ludo!’ Rutger threw the last woman on board Dagger, swaying down the deck towards him. He wasn’t anywhere near as tall, but his body was stocky, thick with muscle. Threatening. ‘You want them to run away?’ he snarled. ‘Tie that one to the prow. You know what happened last time!’ He lowered his voice, eyes up, glancing back at the headland. ‘You let any of these bitches escape, what will Reinar think? Forget Sigurd. It’s Reinar you need to worry about. He’s not going to care about a few bruises, is he? Not when you risk losing one of his pretty prizes.’

Ludo was surprised, though he knew he shouldn’t be. Rutger Eivin had a big mouth; a mean one too.

More men were clambering on board in a noisy, disorganised rush. Ludo heard a goat bleating, panicking as the ship tilted. He glanced at the women, who clung to each other, some weeping, all of them in shock. Guilt nagged at him, and he felt ill with the thought of what they were doing, but he knew that Rutger was right. Reinar would be wild if he lost even one of the women. They needed to get them to the slave markets at Goslund quickly. After the disaster of their last raid, they couldn’t afford another mistake.

‘Alright,’ he mumbled to Rutger. ‘Help me.’

Alys was yanked forward by the ugly, angry man. He was a threat, she realised quickly. The young man was not. But that angry man? Alys knew men like him. His eyes were on her breasts, and then, so was his hand.

Ludo made a noise, almost like a squeak, though one look at Rutger and his eyes were up on the headland again, and this time he saw Sigurd coming; his long brown hair tied into a topknot, coming undone in the wind. Relief flooded Ludo’s tense limbs as he started wrapping the ropes around the dragon prow.

Rutger could sense his skittery companion relax, and seeing Sigurd coming himself, he gave Alys’ breast another tweak, winked at her, and disappeared down the ship to greet his leader.

‘More men are coming!’ Sigurd was yelling, arm in the air. ‘More men! Oars in!’ He spun around, happy to see his brother jumping on board Fury, clapping Torvig Aleksen on the back. Sigurd tried not to roll his blue eyes. They were surrounded by sick little turds. Everywhere he turned these days another cockroach crawled out of the woodpile, and Reinar seemed determined to bring them all into the fold. Murderous, self-interested, desperate men who took an oath in return for coins. There was no loyalty anymore, no shared purpose, just pure, unadulterated greed.

It was not going to end well, Sigurd was sure.

The way things were going, it was definitely not going to end well.

* * *

A shout outside the barn stopped the bloody hand in mid-air. Lying in the hole, Magnus could see it coming towards him, about to part the straw that hid the chest. But the noise caused the hand to retreat, taking its owner with it, and soon the three men were rushing through the straw, out of the barn, all thoughts of searching for treasure gone.

Magnus could feel Lotta collapse against him, his own shoulders loosening with relief. He held her tightly, one hand over her mouth, the other over her heart.

Their mother would come for them.

She would.

And in the meantime, he would get Lotta to safety.

The hole they lay in was narrow, but Magnus knew that inside the chest his mother had hidden saddlebags stuffed with food and clothes, a tinderbox and waterskins. There were fur bedrolls, linen sheeting, and knives. A small cauldron too.

Everything they would need for their journey.

* * *

Sigurd’s eyes were on the clouds tumbling overhead, darker than he would have liked, sinking lower. His crew was at the oars, all but Ludo, who was fussing around the women, and Bolli, whose calloused old hands were gripping the tiller as Dagger backed up into the waves.

Sigurd liked raiding. Or he had once. But, he thought, one hand holding down a panicking goat who was going to drive everyone slowly insane, this was not the sort of raiding to make the gods smile.

And then the clouds opened, rain cascading over them like a waterfall.

Big drops. Cold too.

Grabbing the goat by the scruff of its neck, Sigurd dragged it down to Bolli whose own eyes were already screwed up against the torrential rain.

‘I don’t want that whiny beast for company!’ the old helmsman groused. ‘Why do we need a goat?’

Sigurd grinned, grabbing a length of rope, tying it around the goat’s neck as it skittered around, unhappy with the rocking ship. The waves were rolling like the clouds now, and he was struck by the overwhelming certainty that it was going to be a rough ride home.

‘Though, I suppose, rather a bleating goat than those bleating women!’ Bolli snorted, listening as the sobbing in the bow grew into a great chorus of misery. He hoped the wind would pick up further. That searing whistle would surely drive the pitiful wails out of his head. He kept his eyes to the right, not wanting to catch a glimpse of them.

Alys was being jostled about, struggling with her balance, worried she was going to fall onto Stina, who was sobbing, shock replaced by grief and misery now. They all were.

Except Alys.

She was trying to think of a way to stop them from going to Goslund.

They couldn’t go to Goslund.

2

The sail was up now, flapping above their heads.

It was still raining, though it was almost irrelevant as so much of the sea was tipping over the bow that they were already soaked to the bone, shivering. The men were hunkered down, backs against the shield-lined gunwales, watching the women; keen, roaming eyes peering out beneath dripping hoods.

Alys held Stina’s hand, looking away. Her friend was silent, the young woman on her other side whimpering softly. A calm had descended over the ship now that they were under sail. It was not a peaceful calm, but a fretful one, as the reality of what had happened started to sink in.

‘What can we do?’ Magda sniffed from Alys’ left, fingering one of her long black braids. She was young. Eighteen. Newly married. The prettiest girl in the village, according to her new husband. She leaned towards Alys, lowering her voice. ‘How can we escape?’

Stina turned to her, hissing. ‘They’re Alekkans, Magda. They will hear you. We don’t want them to hurt us. They’ve left us alone. Don’t give them reason to come over.’ She glanced up as the lanky young man who had tied them up came swaying back down the ship, his shoulder-length dark hair slicked back from a handsome face, wet with sea-spray and rain.

‘Water?’ he wondered, trying not to make eye contact with any of the women. ‘Would anyone like a drink?’

They stared at him as though he was mad. The ship was riding the waves, crashing down with a bang, creaking and groaning, and the fifteen women, soaked to the bone, were sitting bunched and bound together, struggling to stay upright.

Eventually, having no takers, Ludo turned and stumbled towards Sigurd, who was hunkered down behind Bolli. Shoulders up around his ears, and shaking with cold, Ludo didn’t see Rutger’s boot until it was too late, and he tripped over it, crashing down onto his forearms as the ship rose up, smashing his nose on the deck.

Sigurd peeked out from his wet hood, watching Ludo pull himself to his feet, listening to the laughter from Rutger’s men, who were bracing themselves against the gunwale beside him. Bolli turned around, shaking his head.

‘That’s the side of the ship you chose to walk down?’ Sigurd growled, flicking a hand at Ludo as he ducked down, crouching next to him. ‘How many times have I told you to stay away from Rutger?’ He pulled back his hood, blue eyes glowing intensely against the dull sky, rain streaming down his cheeks, soaking his straggly beard. ‘That bastard will kill you. Happily too. You think I’m going to save you, Ludo Moller?’ Sigurd dragged his friend down to the deck. ‘You think I’d want to?’

Ludo struggled with his hood, fighting the wind, trying to pull it over his wet hair. He was twenty-five years old, still as gangly and awkward as a teenager, too tall to ever feel truly comfortable in his own skin. He had been sent to Ottby as a boy, fostered to Sigurd and Reinar’s family. They had grown up like brothers, though Ludo was still struggling to find where he fit in. He was a fair enough warrior, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to be a raider.

Not after the last few months.

He took the soggy sliver of salt fish Sigurd handed him and slouched back against the stern, trying to avoid looking at the women.

Alys saw him through the rain. She was shaking so much now that her teeth were chattering. The young man seemed harmless, kind even, though the same couldn’t be said for the rest of the crew. And whether harmless or threatening, they were all taking them to Goslund, where they would be sold as slaves.

Never to hold their children again.

Alys closed her eyes against the rain, seeing Magnus and Lotta as they ran down the beach, Lotta’s dark-blue cloak snapping behind her, hair tangling in the wind. Magnus had reached for his sister’s hand, she remembered. And after their eyes had met, he hadn’t looked back.

He had run past his dead father, and he hadn’t looked back.

* * *

Lotta kept trying to talk, which irritated Magnus.

He was used to his mother’s firm voice telling his sister to be quiet when she started babbling; to leave her brother alone. His mother knew that he was getting older. That Lotta was becoming more of a pest than a companion. She was too young. Too much of a child.

His mother understood how it was.

He laid a hand on his sister’s shoulder. ‘We must wait,’ he whispered.

‘For how long?’

‘Ssshhh!’ Magnus hissed, quickly furious. ‘Why can’t you ever whisper, Lotta? How can you not know how to whisper? What is wrong with you?’ He felt her flinch, moving away from him. They had been best friends once. Now he was always cross with her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, guilt quickly dampening anger. ‘But you must be quiet. We have to wait until it’s safe. I don’t know who’s out there. If anyone is.’

‘But what about Mama?’

Tears flooded Magnus’ eyes, and he blinked them away. ‘She wants us to be safe. She told me. You just have to listen to me, Lotta. I’ll get us to safety, and then Mother will come.’ She edged closer to him again, and he ran a hand over her knotted hair, seeing images of his mother trying to untangle it by the fire. According to his mother, Lotta had the most knotted hair she’d ever had the misfortune of brushing. Closing his eyes, Magnus tried to hold on to the image of his mother’s gentle face, remembering the way her nose would wrinkle when she smiled.

Remembering how she was always covered in bruises.

He felt Lotta lean her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her, happy to know that their father was dead.

* * *

Reinar Vilander liked the rain.

It felt like tears streaming down his cheeks, ice-cold, freezing him, numbing his face. If only it would numb his heart too.

Glancing around, he saw his two oldest friends, Bjarni and Torvig, leaning against the gunwale, heads together, deep in conversation, which surprised him, hating each other as they did.

Ullaberg had been a rundown hole of a place, which he’d known, by its reputation, though he’d felt an odd pull to go there. And now, they had nearly thirty women to sell as slaves. Thirty women... he tried to do the figures in his head, but the memory of his father’s disapproving voice was a loud distraction, and eventually, he gave up, glancing over the surging waves at Sigurd’s ship, Dagger. He grinned, knowing how much his younger brother hated the rain. He couldn’t see a sign of anyone above board, just Bolli, hunched over like an old troll; thick white hair blowing in the wind; bushy beard dripping down his belly.

Nearly thirty slaves to sell.

That would help things.

The women’s crying was like waves; he knew how it went. Shock and fear receded, eventually, allowing misery and hopelessness to take hold. Grief set in. Pain too. Broken-hearted women weeping for the children and husbands they would never see again. Reinar blinked, angry with himself for letting those thoughts in. It wouldn’t help to feel sympathy. Torvig was right: they needed to survive. For with a fort to hold, a bridge to protect, and an enemy ready to strike, they needed gold and silver to buy men. Men to man their walls.

The King of Alekka depended on Ottby, and Reinar couldn’t let him down.

Blinking away the freezing rain, Reinar headed for Torvig, who would surely set him right. His brother-in-law had a sharp mind not appreciated by many of his men, and certainly not by Sigurd. But Torvig saw things as they were. If they didn’t sell slaves, there would be no hope for their wives and children.

No hope for Ottby at all.

‘We need to head ashore,’ Bjarni grumbled as Reinar squeezed in between them. ‘Ride out the storm. We don’t need any more bad luck. And losing one of the ships and half the slaves would be some bad luck, Reinar. I wouldn’t put it past the gods. They seem to have taken up against us lately.’

Torvig, who’d been arguing the opposite, growled.

Reinar could quickly see that they’d not been talking, just niggling away at each other as they liked to do. Looking straight ahead, he let the rain wash over his face again. His head was newly shorn, just a fuzz of dark-blonde hair covering an olive-skinned scalp. He missed his hair, and running a wet hand over his dripping head, he thought of his wife, Torvig’s sister, Elin.

And his heart swelled.

‘Torvig’s right,’ he decided, ignoring the warning in Bjarni’s eyes. ‘We need to get to Goslund before tomorrow. We can’t afford another day. I want to get home quickly. The garrison is light. You know that.’

Bjarni Sansgard had been by Reinar’s side since they were boys. A calm head, always cooling Reinar’s fiery one. A wise voice in a sea of idiots. Especially since Stellan Vilander had taken ill, and Reinar had become the Lord of Ottby. Though when Torvig had returned, Reinar had stopped listening to Bjarni.

It worried him.

Over the past year, everything had gone wrong for Reinar, he knew. But listening to Torvig was no way to right it. Not at all.

‘I need to get home,’ Reinar insisted, seeking Bjarni’s eyes which were wary and full of things he was trying hard not to say. ‘You know I do.’

Bjarni could hear the pain in his friend’s voice; he could see the glee in Torvig’s twinkling eyes. Those hooded eyes were always twinkling, as though he was happy. But he wasn’t. Bjarni could see that clearly.

Bjarni Sansgard could see past Torvig’s smile, which was as empty and deceptive as those twinkling hazel eyes.

* * *

The stiffening wind wanted to blow them away from the estuary. Bolli could feel it as he leaned on the tiller, which vibrated against his thick waist, worrying him. Dagger was old now, repaired more times than he could remember. It had been the first ship Stellan had commissioned as Lord of Ottby, nearly twenty years ago. And now his sons commanded that mighty stone fortress, hoping to keep the bridge it guarded safe from Northern invaders. Though, with the amount of bad luck being heaped on them by the gods, Bolli Ollsfar wasn’t sure such a thing was possible anymore.

‘We’re heading for the estuary!’ Sigurd reminded him, on his feet, wet through, teeth chattering. He had to have a word with Rutger, who was molesting the women again, knowing that sending Ludo to do it would only result in them having to fish Ludo out of the sea.

‘You don’t think I know that?’ Bolli spluttered, drowned by a dump of ice-cold seawater. He shook like a dog, rolling his eyes as the women and the goat started their wailing again. ‘You don’t think I want to get to Goslund quickly? Away from that lot?’

Sigurd laughed, his eyes drawn to the quiet woman in the green dress. Her face was bruised, though he could see quite clearly, despite the driving rain, just how beautiful that face was. She wasn’t like the other women, all of them red-eyed from crying, panicked and fearful. Her mouth remained closed, her eyes, as far as he’d been able to tell, were free of tears. Sigurd blinked, forcing himself to stop staring, reaching for the shield rack as he waited for Dagger to rear up again. Turning his head, he saw his brother’s ship racing along beside them. And there was Reinar, face up to the storm like the idiot he was. Sigurd shook his head, then shook all over, thinking about his chamber and his comfortable bed piled high with thick warm furs.

‘Help!’ Alys cried suddenly, eyes on Rutger, who had his hands in Magda’s hair, trying to kiss her. ‘Please!’

The wind drove its mournful sounds into Sigurd’s head, the waves thumping Dagger’s straked hull, and he wanted to turn around and ignore both the women and Rutger. But if he didn’t do something, Rutger would surely try to rape the poor girl, and both Sigurd and his brother had drawn a deep line in the sand about that. ‘Rutger!’ Sigurd growled, scratching his hair in annoyance. ‘Why can’t you just sit down with the rest of them? We’re almost at the estuary. Keep your cock in your pants! There’ll be plenty of women to frighten in Goslund!’

Rutger was a brawny, experienced warrior. Ribbons of pink scars stretched across both cheeks; around his neck too. He had an ear missing, his eyes were too close together, and his nose was broken, though he acted like the gods’ gift to women. And despite the rain and the freezing waves pounding the ship, the mostly crying, hysterical women and the bleating goat, for some reason, Rutger thought this the perfect time to demonstrate it.

Alys could see the tall man with the blue eyes hesitate. The wind picked up his dark wool cloak, whipping it around him, and reluctantly, he started walking towards them, eyes on the man whose hands were all over Magda now; his tongue down the poor girl’s throat, hand up her wet dress.

‘Rutger!’

Rutger hated Sigurd Vilander. Always running after his brother like a motherless sheep. Fretting and whimpering. Whispering about him. He knew Sigurd didn’t approve of Reinar’s new men – the ones he needed to keep his little lordship – so Rutger didn’t give a fuck what Sigurd thought.

Fumbling with the ropes around Magda’s wrists, he dragged the sobbing girl out of the group of women, pushing her onto the deck, dragging down his trousers.

‘Rutger!’ The waves lifted Dagger high, and Sigurd almost fell backwards as he tried to climb the tilting ship.

Magda was shrieking, working hard to push the big man off her.

‘Stop him!’ Alys implored, holding out her bound hands as Sigurd reached them. He spun towards her, and she shivered, visions like shards of lightning exploding before her eyes. And then they were gone, and so was he, leaving her hands in mid-air, hair in her mouth.

‘Get off her!’ Sigurd growled, one hand around Rutger’s wrist, trying to pull the man up.

Ludo was hurrying towards him, sent on his way with a kick from Bolli, who could see trouble brewing. Rutger Eivin had been drinking since before the raid, and his belligerence had only gotten worse. He was a bone-headed arse at the best of times, with the ability to turn even the smallest slight into a full-blown fight to the death. But with all that ale in him and the lure of the women, he had obviously lost his mind, and Bolli could see that Sigurd was going to need some help.

Rutger stumbled back to his feet, jaw working, trousers flopping down around his knees, rain in his eyes. ‘Your brother promised me treasure in return for my oath. Treasure! And you think I should take nothing but a few goats? A handful of coins? An old turnip? You think that’s why I’ve given him my sword? My oath?’ And hoisting up his trousers, Rutger unsheathed his long knife.

Ludo’s eyes popped open, water sloshing around his ankles as Dagger rolled with the waves. He stumbled, seizing Sigurd’s arm just in time.

Sigurd shook him off, annoyed, quickly slipping a hand inside his wet cloak, pulling out his own knife. ‘Make me kill you, Rutger, you ugly prick! I’ve always wanted to!’

‘Oh, and don’t I know it, little boy!’ And Rutger lunged at Sigurd, blade-tip wet and sharp, jabbing for his bearded throat.

Sigurd jerked to the left, knocking into Ludo, who stumbled again before quickly righting himself, desperate to get out of Sigurd’s way. His eyes snapped to the girl who Rutger had tried to rape. She was sitting up, black hair tangled around her face, hands free now. Ludo felt a tremor of fear, concerned by the look in her eyes. He started towards her, but Sigurd banged into him again as the ship slammed down onto the waves, knocking them all off their feet.

There was a mad fumble and rush to right themselves as Dagger rose up again.

‘Will you get out of my way!’ Bolli called from down at the tiller. ‘I need to see! We’re coming up to the rocks! Get out of my way!’

Sigurd heard him over the roaring wind and the bellowing Rutger, but he couldn’t do anything about it now. Rutger had jumped back to his feet, slashing his knife back and forth in front of his face, legs spread, stocky frame like an ugly, stinking wall.

Alys looked on, hands bound, tied to Stina, who was shuddering next to her, wishing she was wearing a cloak. She wanted to go to poor Magda, who was on her feet now, swaying in the storm. Alys turned back to the fight, hoping the blue-eyed man would kill Magda’s would-be rapist, and quickly.

He needed to get to Magda.

Dagger tipped again, and Sigurd flew forward, arms out, falling on top of Rutger, who lost his knife, but reacted quickly, punching Sigurd in the eye. They rolled in the seawater sloshing across the deck, both of them trying to gain control of Sigurd’s knife.

Bolli looked on, tiller shuddering as the goat broke free of its rope, tangling itself around the helmsman’s legs, trying to hide from the rain, and the creaking ship, and the screaming men who sat against the gunwales cheering Sigurd and Rutger on.

Ludo was on his knees now, scampering through the bilgewater, seeing the young woman turn towards the bow. And though she was unsteady on her feet, she was moving towards the dragon prow with purpose, arms held out to balance herself.

‘No!’ Ludo cried, trying to get back to his feet, but the waves rocked Dagger like a horse, and he fell sideways.

Alys spun around to see Magda grab the prow, her pretty yellow dress soaked through, clinging to her plump figure, her hair wet and limp down her back in a mess of undone braids. ‘Magda!’ she screamed. ‘No! Stop! Someone stop her!’

Ludo was back on his feet now, hands out, trying to get to Magda. ‘Stop, please! Please!’

Sigurd couldn’t get away from Rutger, who was spitting in his face, hands around Sigurd’s knife, knee in his ribs; meaner, stronger, and now, despite being drunk, very much in control of that knife.

‘Magda!’

Magda was far enough away from the bound women that none of them could reach her. Far enough away from the men hunkered down against the gunwales. Far enough away from Ludo, who was still on his way to her. And with one look back at him, Magda scrambled up to the prow.

‘What’s she doing?’ Bolli barked. ‘Sigurd!

‘Sigurd!’ Reinar was yelling from Fury, watching the disaster unfold, unable to see his brother. ‘Someone grab her!’

But no one could reach her in time.

And in a heartbeat, Magda had jumped into the frothing sea.

3

As evening approached, the wailing intensified.

Rutger and Sigurd had been dragged apart by Bolli, who had been Sigurd’s father’s helmsman and friend for more years than he could remember; a man old enough and experienced enough not to be fazed by two brawling idiots. ‘What do you think Reinar’s going to do with you? Losing that girl? What’s wrong with the pair of you?’

Sigurd looked at Bolli as though his brain had cracked open.

And though Bolli was well aware that the whole sorry mess was Rutger’s fault, it wouldn’t serve any of them to carry on the fight by picking sides. They had to get to Goslund without losing any more of their precious cargo.

Ludo continued to stare at the dragon prow as the sea rose up in dark, white-tipped waves, swelling all around them. He kept seeing flashes of the yellow dress, the blank look of resignation in the girl’s eyes before she jumped.

She had been young. Perhaps younger than him?

He blinked, listening to Bolli barking orders, aware of Sigurd’s hand on his arm, dragging him towards the rest of the women, growling at him to secure them tightly. They couldn’t afford to lose any more.

Ludo nodded in resignation, checking the ropes of their remaining prisoners. They were a sodden mix of middle-aged and young women, now looking even more shocked than before, if that were possible. Confusion bubbled around them. Panic. Fear that they would be raped. Killed. Sold. Drowned.

Terror lingered in their eyes as they turned them away from him.

Finally confident that their ropes would hold if Rutger and his men tried anything, Ludo turned back to the stern, wanting to escape those haunting eyes.

‘Please. Wait!’ Alys needed to get his attention.

Ignoring her, Ludo kept walking, numb feet in wet boots, heart thumping.

He wanted to vomit. He didn’t want to talk to any of them.

‘Please! I need to speak to your lord! Quickly! It’s urgent!’

Ludo reached Sigurd, who was bleeding from a cut under his already swelling right eye, rain washing the blood down his face, colouring him a watery red.

‘What does she want?’ Sigurd grumbled, relieved that Rutger was sitting down, looking less cocksure now; obviously well aware of what Reinar would think about losing the girl. Sigurd frowned, wanting to feel his hands again. His toes too. ‘I wish they’d all shut up. I don’t want Rutger causing more problems. We just need to get to Goslund, then he can go hump whoever he can pay enough to let him.’

Ludo sat down beside him, elbows on knees, resting his head on his hands. And closing his eyes, he tried to think of anything but the cold, wet ship, and the sad slave girl.

Alys started to panic. ‘Please! Please! Hurry!’

‘Alys.’ Stina grabbed her hand in warning. ‘If we’re quiet, they might leave us alone.’

But Alys wasn’t listening. ‘You can’t go there. Stop!’ she cried out desperately. ‘I’ve seen something! Please!’

The ship was turning now, aiming its angry dragon towards the headland. ‘Please!’

The rain drowned her out, though, and for a moment, Sigurd thought that would be the end of it. He held his breath, hoping she would stop calling out.

‘Sigurd!’

Soaking shoulders tensing, Sigurd pulled himself up, turning towards the thunderous roar of his older brother, calling from Fury; his voice louder than the storm swirling overhead, threatening to unleash more misery.

Reinar’s helmsman, Holgar, was aiming Fury straight at them. And Reinar was yelling for his brother, though his eyes were on the woman in the green dress. He hadn’t been able to stop staring at her as their ships had ridden through the stormy sea, watching from a distance as her golden hair trailed behind her in the searing wind.

And then she’d started screaming at his brother.

‘Sigurd!’ Reinar tried again, sensing that Bolli was slowing Dagger down. Men were reefing the red sail, or attempting to. His eyes didn’t linger long on their efforts as he sought out the woman in the green dress again.

Sigurd leaned over the gunwale, waiting for Fury to get closer, head low, trying to avoid the sting of the rain as it pelted down. And then Reinar was there.

Rutger, deciding that his best hope was to simply face his lord and blame Sigurd, joined him.

‘What does that woman want?’ Reinar yelled, hands cupped around his bearded mouth.

Sigurd was surprised by the question. He shrugged.

‘You didn’t ask her?’ Reinar looked wild. He was a big man, broader and taller than his already tall brother. He rose up, chest expanding, eyes searching the ship, trying to catch a glimpse of her again. ‘Go and ask her!’ And flicking a hand in annoyance, he strode towards Bjarni, who was happy for a chance to get away from Torvig. ‘Sometimes I wonder about Sigurd!’ He directed this past Bjarni to where Torvig met his eye, nodding in agreement.

Reinar muttered to himself, waiting as his brother untied the woman, holding on to her with a firm grip, Ludo clinging to her other side, determined not to let her go.

‘Tell me,’ Sigurd hissed in her ear, eyes sharp with impatience. ‘For some reason, my brother wants to know what you want.’ He felt irritated, still haunted by the woman who had thrown herself overboard.

Not a woman. A girl.

He blinked. ‘Tell me.’

‘There’s an ambush. I see an ambush around the headland! In the estuary. Three ships are waiting for you! Men dressed for battle!’

Reinar’s blue eyes, usually hooded and wary, suddenly popped open. He’d heard her. Despite the howling wind rushing between the two rocking ships, he’d heard everything she’d said. ‘You’re a dreamer?’

Alys turned to him, shoulders hunched up to her ears, nodding.

Sigurd glared at her, before turning to his brother with a sigh. ‘She doesn’t want to go to Goslund!’ he cried. ‘She doesn’t want us turning down the estuary! It’s just a trick! You can’t believe her!’ He snorted, prepared to take her back to the rest of the women.

But Reinar wasn’t listening to his brother. His eyes were on Alys. ‘How many ships?’ His own ship creaked and groaned around him, drenched men filling the gunwales now, curious about why they had stopped.

‘Three! I saw three!’ Alys panicked, trying to bring her vision back to life. The rain pummelled them harder now, the waves surging, her stomach heaving. She saw a glimpse of her children, knowing that she had to do everything in her power to keep herself alive. ‘I saw a red banner! With a boar! An angry boar!’

They all turned to her then. Sigurd and Ludo. Rutger.

Reinar and Bjarni too.

The boar banner belonged to Hakon Vettel.

Reinar was surprised, then quickly disturbed. It made sense, of course, though it was an escalation he had not anticipated coming so quickly. ‘We turn back!’ he cried across the swelling waves to Bolli, before moving towards his own helmsman, whose yellowed eyes were blinking fast.

Torvig held out a hand, frowning. ‘Sigurd’s right to be suspicious. You’d change our plans for a woman who claims to be a dreamer? How do you know she is? She doesn’t want to be sold, Reinar! We need to get to Goslund!’

He wasn’t wrong, Reinar knew. But Torvig didn’t know what Reinar did.

And what Reinar Vilander knew was that the woman in the green dress was most certainly a dreamer.

He turned back to his brother, who appeared ready to fight Rutger again as they stood, eye-balling each other on the rolling ship, mail-covered chest to mail-covered chest. Reinar had no time for it, though. Rutger and his men had provided the extra hands he needed, but they were starting to cause problems. Even he could see that. ‘We’ll head down the coast and find a cove! Camp for the night! And Rutger and I can have a little talk about his habits with my slaves!’ And bear-fur cloak swirling, Reinar spun away from them, heading for Holgar, wanting to make a quick exit.

But Rutger wasn’t satisfied with that. ‘And who among you know this woman as a dreamer?’ he shouted at the shivering mass of women. ‘You all look surprised to me. Perhaps she’s a witch, not a dreamer? A trickster? A temptress!’

Sigurd growled, ready to shunt Rutger away. He had more to concern himself with than that blathering fool. They needed to get moving quickly, so turning away from Rutger, he inclined his head for Ludo to take the dreamer back to the prow. ‘Tie her tightly!’ he warned. ‘Do not let her escape!’

Ludo was happy to. Eager to get away from Rutger himself, he gripped Alys firmly, pulling her towards the prow.

‘Wait!’ Alys worried that she was about to be sick. She was suddenly so hot, despite the howling wind that had frozen every part of her, despite the cold water sloshing over her bare feet. She spun around, listening. ‘Something’s coming! Now!’

The whistle of arrows was lost amongst the groan of the masts and the creak of the strakes as Holgar and Bolli started bellowing at their crews to get to work. They needed to turn away from the estuary, and quickly, before the waves and the wind pushed them somewhere they didn’t want to go.

The first arrow hit Rutger in the back, tipping him forward with such force that he struck the gunwale, chin first. The second hit Sigurd in the shoulder, piercing his mail.

On Fury, Reinar spun, watching his brother fall. ‘Sigurd!’

And then they saw the three ships surging towards them.

Ludo threw Alys to the deck. ‘Crawl back to the women! Get them down, and stay there!’ And rolling off her, he wriggled towards the shield rack, listening as another wave of arrows whipped overhead, thudding into the mast, piercing the sail.

Alys crawled to the Ullaberg women with speed, tugging on Stina’s leg. ‘Down!’ she yelled, urging them down to the deck; though bound and tied together as they were, it wasn’t easy. Marren shrieked, shot in the back. She fell, knocking them all sprawling in a tumbling mess.

‘Shields!’ Sigurd screamed, trying to yank his from the shield rack, but another arrow hit him between the shoulder blades, and he staggered, falling onto Rutger, who was struggling with his own balance.

Ludo was on his feet now, hurrying towards Sigurd, one shield up high, protecting his head; the other he handed to Sigurd, who looked at him with a frown, as though he didn’t recognise him. And, in the next breath, Sigurd’s legs gave way, and he tumbled forward, onto the deck.

Reinar caught a glimpse of his collapsing brother, before bellowing to his men. ‘Archers!’ And as Holgar pulled on the tiller and Bjarni barked at everyone to get down, Torvig was busy handing out bows and arrows, his face beaming.

Rutger lay on the deck, blood running from his chin, trying to get back to his feet, but the arrow had hit something important; he could feel that. Everything looked oddly dark around the edges, and he was struggling to see; struggling to gather the strength he needed to get back to his feet. He could see Sigurd Vilander lying near him, though, and he could see the arrows sticking out of him as that long-legged dolt leaned over, trying to wake him up.

And if he was going to die, Rutger Eivin was determined to take Sigurd with him. So pulling his knife from its scabbard, he stabbed it into the back of Sigurd’s thigh, dragging the blade down his leg with all the strength he had left. And collapsing forward, blood draining from his back, he passed out.

‘Aarrghh!’

Ludo’s attention had been torn away from Sigurd by the screams of the women, who were lying down on the deck now, trying to put their hands over their heads. He looked back at Sigurd in surprise, eyes on the long wound Rutger had made in the back of Sigurd’s leg; blood pumping from it, quickly washed away by the rain.

More arrows. And now, thunder booming.

The goat was bleating, trying to escape the barrage of arrows and the warriors who were scrambling with the yard and the sail; those lining the gunwales now with bows and arrows, hidden behind a row of shields.

Reinar could hear them from on board Fury, but his attention was fixed on the three ships charging for them out of the estuary; two of them aiming straight for Dagger.

He still couldn’t see his brother and that worried him.

Dagger was taking the brunt of the arrow storm, Fury being further away from the enemy ships. And though instinct told him that they needed to get away, Reinar wasn’t about to let his brother’s ship be overwhelmed. ‘Holgar!’ he shouted. ‘Head for Dagger! We have to help them!’

Torvig spun around, irritation in his eyes. He masked it quickly, though, swaying over to his brother-in-law, bow in hand. ‘You’re sure?’

‘I’m not leaving Sigurd! And I’m not losing that ship!’

Ludo could hear Bolli screeching at their archers to shoot faster. He didn’t blame him. Hakon Vettel’s men appeared to have enough arrows to fire in a continuous stream. He crouched down, creeping towards the women, two of whom had arrows sticking out of their backs. ‘I need your help!’ Ludo called, grabbing the dreamer’s hand. ‘Please.’ She was the only one not bound, and he dragged her away towards Sigurd, urging her to keep low.

Alys could barely see as the wind blew the rain into her eyes. She blinked, trying to clear her vision as she crept towards the body.

‘Help him!’ Ludo cried. ‘Please help him! I have to go!’ And shield up, he rushed to the gunwale where those with bows were doing their best to damage Hakon Vettel’s crews. ‘Bolli! Get us out of here!’ he yelled, realising that with both Sigurd and Rutger down, he was going to have to take charge.

Alys could hear the men bellowing around her. She jumped as the ship was shunted, knocked forward onto Sigurd, who groaned, his eyes flickering open.

He tried to move.

‘No,’ she urged, pushing herself off his back, hearing a woman’s scream, hoping it wasn’t Stina. ‘You’re injured.’ Alys ran a hand over Sigurd’s thigh, tearing his trousers. Though his blood was flowing thickly, the rain was washing it away, making it easy to see just how deep the wound was.

Two arrows were sticking out of his back too.

Alys hesitated for a moment. She didn’t want to help him, but he would die if she didn’t, and that wouldn’t endear her to anyone on board. This was the man who had killed her husband, and in a strange twist of fate, she felt she owed him something for that gift. So, tearing off a few soggy strips from the hem of her green dress, Alys padded them into Sigurd’s leg wound, listening to his moans of agony, feeling him writhe around, awake now. And then, suddenly, more shunting and she fell forward again as the ship was boarded; Hakon Vettel’s men jumping over the gunwale, gleaming swords carving through the late afternoon gloom.

Reinar was furious, watching the catastrophe unfold. ‘Get me onto that ship, Holgar!’ he bellowed. ‘Now!’ He could feel Bjarni come up on his right. ‘They’ve run out of arrows, thank the gods. But now they’re just going to carve them up and take our slaves!’ Rain ran down from his forehead, dripping onto his mail. He shook his head, wanting to see clearly, but the storm was intensifying, the sky and the sea almost impossible to tell apart now. ‘Holgar!’ Reinar screamed, turning as Fury rode the waves towards Dagger. ‘Hold for half of us to get on board! Bjarni, you stay. Get those other ships down. Try spears. Axes. I want their masts in the sea. Tear their sail! Kill their helmsmen! Quickly!’

Reinar was frozen to the bone, but he tore off his bear-fur cloak, leaving it in a wet heap at his feet. And drawing a short axe from his belt, he nodded at Torvig, who gripped his sword, teeth gleaming in the storm. ‘What do you think, then? Time to put an end to this shit of a day?’

Torvig nodded, smiling as Fury bumped up against Dagger’s hull, following Reinar over the gunwale, body humming with the thrill of battle.

Reinar chopped his axe into the scarred neck of a black-haired man.

He chopped it so hard the man’s head nearly came off as his body crumpled into a heap on the bloody deck. Reinar saw Torvig out of one eye, Ludo out of the other, swords scything through the storm, blood splattering through the air like red rain. Swinging around, Reinar hacked into a man’s middle, spinning again, axe flying into another’s face.

Reinar Vilander, cursed and abandoned by the gods he worshipped, was not going to surrender. He was not going to give Hakon Vettel his ship. Nor was he prepared to give Vasa, Goddess of Death, his only brother. And he was most certainly not going to let anyone take that dreamer away from him. He could see her as she turned her eyes down, working hard to help Sigurd; Sigurd, who didn’t appear to be moving at all now. She had snapped off the arrows poking out of his shoulder and back. Now she was wrapping more and more strips of cloth around his leg.

Reinar looked away, forcing himself to focus.

He heard a crash, voices raised in shock, and down came the mast from one of Hakon’s ships.

Reinar doubted Hakon Vettel was on it, certain the weasely boy would only have his eyes on Ottby, not on a little sea skirmish. But how he’d managed to find himself three ships after they’d burned his entire fleet, Reinar wasn’t sure. Still, once Holgar was finished with that one, there would only be two left. Two ships with two crews perfectly capable of sinking both Dagger and Fury.

Sigurd was wide-awake now, in pain, growing frantic. ‘I have to move!’ he growled into the bilgewater, trying to lift his head so as not to drown in it. The pain in his body made him want to vomit, but he could hear Reinar, and he could hear Ludo, and he needed to help them.

And then a horn.

Sigurd squirmed, trying to move, but the dreamer’s hand was firmly on his back, urging him to stay down. He groaned, attempting to fight her, trying to push himself up, but in another breath, everything suddenly went dark.

Alys could feel Sigurd’s body collapse beneath her hand, and she panicked, hoping he wasn’t dead. She leaned forward, hand at his neck, feeling for a pulse as all around her screams rose. The goat, stained a watery red now, skipped up and down the deck as men fought over and around it, weapons scraping together, rain teeming down in a thunderous roar.

Reinar didn’t know what the horn meant as he dropped to the deck, trying to grab the axe which had slid out of his wet hand. He felt a kick in the back, and coughing, winded, he flopped forward into the bloody water, fingertips reaching for the axe haft. Firming up his grip on that familiar piece of wood, he swung around, rising first onto one knee, then quickly onto both feet, lodging the blade into his attacker’s cheek. The man shrieked, dropping his sword, falling back onto the deck in a heap.

Another plaintive cry of a horn.

Not theirs.

And staggering as the ship dipped down into the sea and many lost their balance, Reinar could see Hakon Vettel’s two remaining ships turning away, one mast left standing between them, and that mastless ship already appeared to be foundering.

He glanced at Fury, blinking through the rain. And there was Bjarni, blonde hair plastered to his round face, bright red cheeks, bellowing orders, arms flailing.

Reinar spun around, axe in the air. ‘Your ships are leaving without you! Your men have abandoned you!’ He sucked in a cold breath, trying to keep his balance as a wave slammed against Dagger’s hull, making him stumble. ‘Seems that Hakon wants his ships more than he wants this victory! More than he wants any of you!’

Fighting stuttered, thunder crashing now, as bloody, wet, dripping warriors froze in place, chests heaving, eyes narrowed, listening to the Lord of Ottby.

‘So, I give you a choice!’ Reinar continued. ‘Join me or die! I need men, and you can fight. Forget Hakon Vettel, and come, join me!’

The men looked surprised; mostly distrustful. The thought of living was appealing, naturally, but Reinar Vilander was a Southern lord, their sworn enemy, and they could no more serve him than the treacherous King of Alekka himself. So, shuffling slowly together, securing their grips on their slippery weapons, blinking the icy rain from their eyes, Hakon Vettel’s men charged.

4

The rain had stopped. The thunder and lightning had retreated too, but night was falling, and they had to get to shore quickly. There were many wounded on board both ships, but none Reinar cared more about than Sigurd.

He stared at the dreamer, trying to see her eyes, wanting to seek out any lies she might be weaving to save her own skin. ‘Will he live?’

Sigurd floated in and out of consciousness. He hadn’t spoken.

Alys didn’t know. Their attackers were dead, the enemy ships long gone, and she was wet through, shaking with cold and fear, worried about her children. Worried about her friends too, who she hadn’t been able to get back to since the attack.

Leaning forward, she placed a hand on Sigurd’s back, closing her eyes, feeling him shiver. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly, turning to Reinar. ‘I believe so. I need to stitch him quickly, though. Is there any thread? A needle?’

Reinar spun around, pointing Ludo to the chests pushed against the gunwales. ‘Look for some thread! And a needle! Bolli likely has some.’

‘I do!’ Bolli called, hurrying to his chest.

Sigurd groaned, trying to roll over again.

‘Stay where you are,’ his brother growled. ‘There’s nowhere to go now. Not yet. Hakon Vettel’s men have gone. Those who still live. We killed the rest of the stupid fools. Now we’re going to find our way to a cove. Somewhere to stop for the night.’ His teeth started hammering together, and for the first time, Reinar realised how cold he was. ‘Somewhere to make a fire!’ He patted his brother on the head and stood with a yelp, surprised to discover that his leg was running with blood, though there would be time to sew that up later. For now, they had to get the ships out of the water, and themselves out of the storm. ‘Stay with my brother. Bolli will bring you what you need to stitch him up. And a good knife, Bolli! She’ll need to get those arrows out!’ Reinar called, nodding at Alys before heading away to talk to Torvig. They needed to clear the ships of the bodies quickly.

Alys watched him go before turning her attention back to the man lying before her, his back and leg soaked in blood. ‘Ssshhh,’ she whispered, feeling odd. Conflicted. These men had stolen her. Torn her away from her children. But she was going to need them to get back home, so she had to prove herself useful. And quickly.

The Ullaberg women were sobbing again, and with the noise of the storm suddenly absent, Alys could hear them clearly. She lifted her head, wanting to see what was happening, though it was too dark.

‘Here,’ Ludo said, trying to get her attention, his bloody hands shaking as he handed her thread, a giant needle and a short knife. ‘Is this all you’ll need?’

‘That needle is for sails.’

‘Yes.’

‘Is there nothing smaller? It will hurt him. Make great holes in him.’

‘Ludo, I’ve got a needle.’ Sigurd’s mumble was breathless, the pain overwhelming. ‘In my chest.’

Ludo nodded, disappearing again.

‘What’s your name?’ Sigurd asked, wanting to take his mind off the pain.

Alys bent down, tearing more strips off her dress. ‘Alys.’

‘And you’re really a dreamer? A Tuuran?’

Alys blinked. ‘I...’

Sigurd could hear the hesitation in her voice, and it made him even more suspicious.

‘I was born in Alekka.’ Alys spun around again, seeing Stina tending to one of the women.

Ludo was back quickly, ready to assist her.

‘You’ll need to give him something to bite down on,’ Alys said, shivering as the wind blustered around her. Her hands were numb with cold, shaking so much that she didn’t know if she’d be able to use them at all.

Ludo found an arrow and aimed the shaft at Sigurd’s mouth. ‘Bite on this,’ he ordered, looking anxious. What he could see of Sigurd’s olive skin appeared to have turned a dull grey. ‘You can save him, can’t you?’ he whispered to Alys, who was busy trying to thread the fine needle in the near darkness on a rocking ship.

‘Yes. If you help me, I can,’ she murmured, working to convince them both; trying to strengthen her voice. ‘Now, please, hold him down. This is going to hurt.’

* * *

Magnus had twisted his left ankle when he’d run down the beach with Lotta, falling into a hole he hadn’t seen. And feeling around it, he decided that his left ankle was almost twice the size of his right. It was dark in their hiding hole. Entirely so. And raining. Which meant clouds and no stars to shine any light their way.

His sister whimpered beside him, missing their mother.

Magnus didn’t want to admit that he was missing her too. He needed to be strong, and dwelling on what he didn’t have would only distract him from what he needed to do next. So, closing his eyes, he tried to focus on his mother’s voice. It was a kind voice, he thought with a sad smile. She had rarely gotten mad at them. Only slightly annoyed. Though he had likely given her reason to be much more than slightly annoyed over the years, especially lately.

Perhaps she had always been too afraid to show any emotion because of his father? But now he was dead.

Magnus smiled.

Arnon de Sant was dead.

After years of torture, his body was lying out on the beach, being feasted on by birds and beasts alike. His mother would be happy about that, wherever she was.

‘How will we travel?’ Lotta asked, sitting up with a yawn. ‘If you can’t walk, Magnus, what will we do?’

‘I will take Daisy, of course, and you’ll take Clover.’

‘Do you think they’re still here? Alive? I saw those men carrying goats and chickens. Someone had a piglet. I think it was Urna Kraki’s piglet.’

Magnus frowned, realising that his sister was right. ‘I don’t imagine they’d want to eat a couple of ponies, would they?’ He lightened his voice, wanting to comfort her. She was shaking as she lay her head back on his shoulder. ‘No, they wouldn’t have taken Daisy and Clover.’ He squeezed Lotta’s hand, hoping he was right.

Worrying about what those men would do to his mother.

* * *

Reinar’s ships were beached.

They had not sailed for long, just long enough to find a winding inlet, leading to a sheltered cove. And now half his men rushed around in the dark, setting fires, as the dead and injured were brought ashore. It was a stone beach, and the shadows had quickly revealed that though there were clumps of bushes, there were no trees within walking distance.

And everything was wet.

‘Not the most comfortable night you’ll ever have, Brother,’ Reinar laughed, trying to tease a smile out of Sigurd, who lay on a pile of furs and cloaks near the fire Bjarni and Ludo were crouching in front of. They blew on the scant flames, wafting smoke with their hands, conscious of Sigurd shaking uncontrollably behind them.

Sigurd lay there, head twisted to one side, uncomfortable, unable to focus. His sense of where he was and what was happening was displaced.

Then a hand on his forehead.

‘Is he feverish?’ Reinar bent down, eyes on the dreamer.

‘No,’ Alys said, wanting to leave to check on the women. ‘But he may become so if we don’t watch him. It would be better if I could find some willow bark. Perhaps some yarrow?’

Reinar nodded. ‘I’ll have Ludo go with you in the morning. You can have a hunt around before we leave, see what’s out there. Though it doesn’t seem much. I know this cove, and it’s a barren place.’

Alys stood, wanting to get off the painful stones. ‘I... I would like to check on the women. My friends. Please. I need to help them.’

Reinar straightened up, grabbing her arm as she slipped. ‘I’ll take you. And you may, of course. I need them to live. All of you. And besides, we need to have a little talk, you and I. About how you came to see that ambush, those men. I’m... curious.’

Alys felt his hand on her arm as he pulled her towards him, across the stones.

‘Stay with Sigurd!’ Reinar called to Ludo. ‘I’ll send the dreamer back to him when we’re done.’ He looked down at her. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Alys.’

‘Alys...’ Reinar sensed Torvig lurking in the shadows, wanting to talk to him; Bjarni and Bolli too, no doubt. But first, he needed a word with the dreamer.

They walked towards where the women were being guarded.

Alys peered into the darkness, trying to recognise who was there, who was missing. ‘Where are the others?’ she asked, panicking.

‘Dead.’ Reinar sounded irritated. Each of those dead women was a loss of silver that would weigh heavily on his people, harming his ability to defend the fort. ‘Plus the one Rutger released of course.’

‘Dead?’ Alys could only count twenty-five women. She swallowed. ‘But...’

‘You saved most of them, seeing that vision as you did.’ Reinar grabbed her arm, forcing her to stop just before the fire the women were huddled around, trying to warm themselves up. ‘But what else can you see, that’s what I need to know now. Where are the Vettels’ men going? Where will they strike next? We’re stuck here, in no man’s land. Can we risk trying to get to Goslund now?’

Alys felt confused. Reinar’s hold was firm, squeezing her arm, his rough voice attacking her like a hammer. He wanted answers, but she didn’t know if she had any to give. ‘I...’ She shook all over. ‘I can’t see anything. I need... I...’

‘Sleep?’ Reinar wondered. ‘To dream?’

Alys didn’t want to help him take them to Goslund. She scratched her head, trying to think. He had to trust her. If he could trust her, she could be of use to him. ‘I need to be alone. I don’t imagine I could sleep, but I could try to let thoughts come to me.’

‘Good.’ Reinar felt his hopes lift. ‘If you can get us out of here, Alys, I will be grateful. Grateful enough to reconsider what happens to you.’ He released her, letting her walk towards the women.

Alys’ hopes lifted too. She could hear it in Reinar’s voice: his need for her.

It was what her grandfather had always warned her about: the need those in power had for women who could see into the future. He had warned her away from that path, banned her from ever revealing her gifts, even to herself.

Torvig watched the dreamer, his eyes narrowed to slits. ‘Reinar seems to have found a real prize there,’ he murmured.

Bjarni was beside him, staring at the flames, pleased at last. He glanced down at his arm, feeling blood leaking through the strips of cloth he’d hastily tied around it. ‘Well, if you consider a dreamer a prize. Many wouldn’t.’ He grimaced, unravelling the cloth, happy the injury wasn’t on his right wrist; certain he could see a flash of bone.

‘You mean Sigurd? Ha! We all know why Sigurd doesn’t like dreamers,’ Torvig laughed, though after the day they’d just endured, his laughter sounded hollow, even to his own ears. ‘And why Reinar does. Though not every dreamer will be as useful as Ragnahild One Eye.’

‘No, and likely a dreamer living in a hole like Ullaberg is in no great demand. Though, perhaps Reinar will find the answers he’s looking for?’

‘I hope so,’ Torvig said, eyes back on the flames, hands extended now, gratefully accepting their warmth. ‘It’s time he listened to someone. Going on like this won’t help him or us. The gods want him to suffer, and until he accepts the arc of his fate, he has no chance of mastering it.’

Bjarni looked up in surprise, stomach growling. ‘You think a man can master his fate? Even if the gods have set against him?’ He shook his head, thick blonde hair matted with dried blood, hanging around a weary face.

‘Of course.’ Torvig sat back, digging into his pouch, searching for something to eat. ‘The gods are fickle. Much like women.’ He grinned, thinking about that dreamer, who had the prettiest face he’d seen in a while. And as for the way that wet dress clung to her hips...

Running his tongue over his teeth, he tasted blood. ‘But they’ll turn their favour to Reinar again, once they find reason to.’

As much as Bjarni hated Torvig Aleksen, he hoped he was right. For if the gods continued to shun Reinar, they had no hope of keeping Ottby out of Hakon Vettel’s hands.

* * *

Hakon Vettel had no thumbs.

They’d been cut off by his mad uncle, who had kidnapped him as a boy.

Hakon’s uncle had hated his father. They had battled each other for years, fighting over who had the right to reclaim the Alekkan throne from Ake Bluefinn.

Now both men were dead, and the future of the Vettel dynasty lay in Hakon’s thumbless hands.

At just twenty-three, he ruled the impenetrable stone fortress of Slussfall with a ruthlessness and hunger that belied his years, his eyes permanently fixed ahead, never content to sit still. He only wanted action; eager to move south towards the prize his father and uncle had so desperately sought but failed to capture.

His army continued to grow as neighbour after neighbour was felled by experienced, hardened warriors.

But not quickly enough. And not in every way that was desirous.

Hakon needed Ottby to fall so he could access the bridge to Stornas, capital of Alekka. But that stone fort had stood before the bridge, protecting it for the Alekkan kings for centuries now. Built by the Vettels themselves, Hakon knew it would not break easily. Though its pathetic old lord had finally been moved aside, both his mind and body deserting him, and now his son, Reinar the Unlucky, sat in his chair. And yet, despite all that had befallen Ottby and the Vilanders, they would not break. They would not bend.

And now this?

‘You return to me with one ship? One?’ Hakon was incredulous as he paced before his throne in Slussfall’s great hall, eyes on the gathering of miserable-looking men before him. Bedraggled. Defeated. Pathetic. Leaking water all over his dark flagstones. ‘When we’d only managed to scrape together four new ships? And you return me one out of three, leaving me a fleet of two ships? Two?’ He was seething, his skin glowing white beneath his pointed brown beard. ‘But how is that possible, Dagfinn, my loyal friend, my most competent commander? How could you fail me so badly? Become so inept? Have you been bewitched?’ Hakon stepped forward, clear-blue eyes piercing, dark eyebrows sharp.

He was not a tall man, though he was strong, and the black tunic he wore hugged his body tightly, showing just how powerful his arms were as he clenched his fists, biceps twitching.

Dagfinn was exhausted, frozen solid after sailing through the night, almost too tired to speak, though Hakon’s eyes demanded an explanation. ‘They did not come down the estuary, my lord,’ he tried. ‘At the last moment, they turned away. We could not ambush them as intended. The battle was harder because of it. We lacked the element of surprise.’

‘And why do you think the Vilanders turned? What would have made them suspicious? Could they see you? See a glimpse of your prows? My banners flapping?’ Hakon saw his wife, Karolina, carrying their infant son into the hall, and he frowned, annoyed. The dress she wore did not suit her at all. He wanted her to catch the eye, though that plain grey dress made her look like a nursemaid. Blinking, Hakon tried to focus. ‘Tell me, Dagfinn, what did you do wrong?’

Karolina smiled at her husband, preparing to walk towards him, but he flicked a thumbless hand at her, sending her away without a word, a snarl curling his thick lips.

Dagfinn tried to find the words to save himself from further blame; from whatever repercussions Hakon had in mind. He was exhausted, cold, and wounded, though, and he couldn’t. ‘I don’t believe I did anything wrong, my lord.’

‘So you think, perhaps, it is... someone else’s fault? Not yours? That someone else is to blame?’ Hakon raised his hands in the air, looking around, his voice rising sharply. ‘Was it any of you? Did you do something wrong, Kalf? Or you, Njall?’ He swept his eyes over Dagfinn’s crew, some of whom stood around the two long fire pits, eager to warm themselves. They lifted their weary heads, shaking them, shrugging.

‘Well, it appears as though the truth has revealed itself without any help from you, Dagfinn Vilo,’ Hakon murmured, stepping down from the fur-covered dais, circling his fleet commander, his hands clasped behind his back. ‘And that truth is a sharp blade in my heart, for I had thought you so loyal, so competent. So heroic. I thought you would cut down our enemies like Thenor himself! Yet, here you are, whimpering before me like a motherless kitten.’ Hakon’s eyes were hard, but his voice was suddenly lighter, almost insisting that his men find him amusing.

And they attempted to, a light smattering of laughter coming from those weary men now.

‘And as I’m sure you realise, Dagfinn, I have no use for kittens. Not in a fight to kill Reinar Vilander and his Ottby scum!’ And with that, Hakon drew his knife from the scabbard attached to the back of his belt, and he swung it forward and up, straight into Dagfinn’s throat.

He left it there, stepping back slowly, ignoring the gasp from his wife, who had lingered by the dark curtain that led to the family’s private chambers. Hakon smiled, watching the horror bloom in the eyes of Dagfinn’s crew, happy for them to see how failure was rewarded in his hall.

Dagfinn dropped to his knees, gurgling, trying to pull out the knife, hand shaking, eyes on his lord. Surprise lingered; pain and shock too. Then he shuddered, watching as Hakon took a goblet from a servant, smiling as he wandered back to his chair. And sitting down, he watched Dagfinn gurgle helplessly, tipping forward, falling onto the flagstones with a defeated thump.

Hakon waved a hand at his servant. ‘Drag him outside before he makes a mess. I’ve only just had the floor washed.’ And taking a sip of sweet wine, Hakon surveyed his stunned hall. ‘Jerrik!’ he called, making his decision quickly. ‘Congratulations! You are the new commander of my fleet!’

5

The night had been a painful one for Alys. She wasn’t sure if she’d even slept. Though, if she had, it was only in snatches, for she had been regularly awakened by the discomfort of lying on the stone beach, and the cries of the injured men all around her.

Her patient, though, remained mostly silent, which worried her. And rising to her knees, she edged closer to Sigurd, wanting to ensure that he was breathing.

Ludo was quickly on his feet, shaking himself in the murky dawn light. ‘What’s happened?’ His voice boomed, waking Reinar and Bjarni, who had both slept near Sigurd. Bolli and Holgar too. ‘Is he alright?’

Reinar grimaced, his arm having gone to sleep beneath his cold body. He stretched it out, shaking it, and himself. His blue eyes, which had initially gone to his brother, soon lifted to check that their two ships were still there, dug into the black stones of the beach. He shifted them to the horizon, relieved to see no sign of Hakon Vettel’s ships returning. ‘Sigurd?’ Reinar bent over his brother, who was shivering beneath his cloak. He looked at Alys, wanting to see some sign of confidence in her eyes.

‘He’s cold,’ she said, yawning. ‘Which is good.’

‘It is good.’ Reinar almost smiled as he sat back down, stopping himself from slapping Sigurd on the back.

‘For you, maybe,’ Sigurd grumbled, desperate to roll over, but his back and leg were covered in trails of painful stitches, and he knew that this was the only position for him now. Until he could sit. And just the thought of that made him dizzy.

Bjarni laughed. ‘Well, lucky you’re still breathing, or Tulia would have killed us all!’

Ludo nodded vigorously, searching through the waterskins, trying to find something to drink. ‘She would, that’s true.’

Reinar laughed, his mood quickly souring as he watched Torvig in the distance, touching one of the women. He scowled. Couldn’t anyone follow orders? Couldn’t anyone keep their hands to themselves for a day or two?

Bjarni was thinking of his own wife, wishing he was in their soft bed, lying next to her while she nattered on about nothing he cared about; complaining and gossiping usually. He smiled, thinking how much he liked to listen to her complain and gossip. She took such pleasure in it.

Glancing around, he sighed, realising how far away he was from Agnette, sitting in a damp heap on the stones with his battered friends in the dark gloom of the morning after another disastrous raid.

Wondering what they were going to do now.

‘Your brother needs a fire,’ Alys said shyly, glancing at Reinar. ‘He needs to stay warm... until we leave.’ She didn’t want to say that. She didn’t want to imagine what might be coming next.

‘Ludo and Bjarni can see to that,’ Reinar yawned, slipping as he stood, body aching. ‘You and I need to talk, don’t we?’ And holding out his hand to Alys, he helped her to her feet.

He had such a firm grip, Alys thought, grimacing, trying not to meet Reinar’s eyes, though they were desperately seeking hers. He wanted answers, though she was afraid of what the questions were going to be.

They walked along the foreshore, listening to the waves chasing each other up and down the beach in a steady rhythm; squawking gulls searching for breakfast, loud above their heads. The air was frigid, and the freshening breeze made it even more so.

Alys began to feel more anxious just listening to the sound of those waves as they walked, remembering Ullaberg; seeing Magnus waving to her as he dawdled behind her with Lotta, who was always bending down to pick up shells, hiding them in her little purse with all her baby teeth.

And then he spoke.

‘What did you dream of last night?’ Reinar asked, looking down at her. She was a nervous woman, he thought, seeming to shrink away from him as they walked. He noticed the bruises on her face. ‘What’s your last name?’

Alys was surprised, hesitant, not liking the sound of her last name at all. It reminded her of her dead husband. ‘De Sant.’

Reinar raised an eyebrow. ‘Not an Alekkan sort of name.’

‘My husband’s family came from Silura.’

Reinar was silent for a time, suddenly wanting to avoid asking her the questions that had been waiting near the tip of his tongue for weeks. ‘Did you dream what we would do next? Where we would go? To Goslund? Ottby? Did you see us getting attacked again?’

Reinar’s eyes never stayed still. They jumped from her face to the waves, down to the stones, back to his men. Alys could tell that though he appeared to be a strong leader, with a powerful body and a big voice, he was plagued by doubts. She could read his thoughts. She could hear how being a lord weighed on him. Though it appeared to motivate him too. He was proud of it. But worried.

She swallowed. ‘Not Goslund. I didn’t see us going there.’

Reinar laughed, his handsome face relaxing. ‘No? I am surprised. You don’t want to be sold as a slave, then?’ He reached for Alys as she stumbled into a hole. ‘Though, I don’t blame you. Although, perhaps your new owner would be kinder to you than your old husband?’ He smiled, meeting her eyes, seeing the sudden flash of terror in them. They were a dark blue-green, dull with pain.

Mesmerising.

‘Your brother killed him.’

‘And?’ Reinar stopped, tightening his grip on Alys’ arm, making her look up at him.

‘I’m glad,’ Alys breathed, trying not to cry. ‘He was cruel beyond words.’ She blinked furiously, never wanting to cry for that man.

Reinar turned, walking again, slowly so that she would catch up. ‘He was a lucky man to have a dreamer wife. And a beautiful one at that.’ He didn’t look at Alys, but it was true. Impossible to ignore.

‘He didn’t know I was a dreamer, nor did he think me beautiful. He used to yell at me that I was the ugliest woman in Ullaberg. That I embarrassed him.’

Reinar was surprised on both counts. ‘Cruel and blind, then. But why didn’t you tell him you were a dreamer? Perhaps Sigurd was right? Perhaps you’re not a dreamer at all?’ He turned back to her, wanting to see those sad eyes. ‘Your friends certainly looked surprised. Suspicious even.’

Alys felt hot all over, growing even more uncomfortable. She wanted to change the subject, but the Lord of Ottby only had one subject in mind, she knew. He would not be dissuaded from this path. There was no point in keeping secrets anymore. Not now that her life had been ripped apart. ‘No one knew. I kept it secret. My mother, she was... killed for being a dreamer. Murdered by those who didn’t like to hear the truth. My grandfather forbade me from ever acknowledging my gifts. He called it a curse. No one knew until yesterday.’

Reinar was intrigued. Heartened too. It made sense, though his face revealed little. ‘And what did you dream of last night, then? Besides not going to Goslund?’

Alys wasn’t really sure.

Mainly her children, she knew. But she wasn’t about to tell him that.

She wasn’t going to tell him about her children at all.

‘I saw a man who wants to be a king.’

Reinar froze, intrigued.

‘A man with strange eyes. Blue, but so pale, like a clear pool of water. Evil. Without feeling. As though he has no soul.’ Alys no longer felt either hot or cold. She no longer noticed Reinar was there. ‘And this man wants to crush everyone in his path, one by one, until he claims the Alekkan throne. He is ambitious. Powerful. And he will grow even more so, until he overwhelms us all.’

‘Ahhh, so you dreamed of Hakon Vettel, then?’ Reinar wasn’t pleased to hear it, but who else could it be? ‘A man I would happily destroy. Though we are not evenly matched, he and I. Not any longer. Between him and his dead father, they conquered everyone between Orbo and Slussfall. Everyone but my father, and now me. I stand in his way. Sigurd and I do.’ Reinar ran a hand over his short blonde hair, shivering.

‘He plans to overthrow you,’ Alys warned.

‘You see that?’

‘I feel it. He is fixed on it. He sees you as a rival for what he wants.’

Reinar stared at her, his thoughts quickly coalescing into a single purpose. ‘We won’t go to Goslund, then, Alys de Sant. We’ll go home, to Ottby. Goslund can wait.’

* * *

Tulia Saari was growing tired of Bjarni’s wife.

Since becoming pregnant, Agnette had turned into even more of a busy-body, always following her around, making suggestions. Fussing, fretting, worrying about whether the fort was secure. Whether there were enough men on the ramparts. Whether more should have been left behind to man the walls and the bridge. Agnette wasn’t convinced that they could even trust the ones who had been.

Tulia wished she’d gone with Sigurd, and she would have if they hadn’t been planning on kidnapping women to sell as slaves. She had barely spoken to Reinar since he’d become desperate enough to embark on that endeavour, nor Sigurd, who had unsurprisingly gone along with it.

Though, now she was stuck in the old stone fort, in charge of a garrison of miserable old men and young boys, most of whom disliked her, plagued by a stream of questions from Agnette, who sat opposite her, stroking a black chicken which sat on her knee as she talked to Sigurd’s mother.

Tulia glanced at the hall doors, shut to keep out the frigid morning, wondering when she could leave. Though warmer than most places in Ottby, the hall was still cold, with its dark stone walls and its big holes in the roof to let out the smoke. Two long firepits ran through its centre, across the floorboards, stools and benches around which the men and women of Ottby would gather to share a cup of ale with their lord and his family. Though there were fewer and fewer people left in the fort now, and the hall was becoming an empty sort of place.

‘Did you hear those odd noises in the night?’ Gerda asked in her typically sharp voice. ‘Sounded like wolves. Do you think it was wolves?’

Tulia was a deep sleeper. ‘I heard no wolves, Gerda.’

‘Though where you come from, perhaps they don’t have any? Perhaps you don’t recognise the sound as well as we Alekkans do? Kalmera is not known for its forests.’ Gerda Vilander was a snarling sort of woman, with lined lips that always appeared dry, as though they were shrivelling up, much like Gerda herself. She was becoming meaner in both spirit and appearance every year, her tall figure starting to curl forward, her long hair, which she mainly wore tucked into a tight bun, turning different shades of grey.

Tulia tried not to sigh. Gerda had made it perfectly clear that she didn’t like that her son’s woman was Kalmeran. But Tulia didn’t care. Sigurd hated Gerda, most people in Ottby barely tolerated her, and Tulia hoped that soon, she would convince Sigurd to leave with her and return to Kalmera.

They had lived in the city of Varis for three years after finding each other, and Tulia knew that Sigurd had enjoyed being away from Ottby. Alekka was a cold, bleak land and Ottby was like an anchor around his neck. He had sought to break out on his own, hoping to weave himself a new destiny, but instead, he’d turned around and hurried home as soon as his father had taken ill. And Tulia had gone with him, bringing along her younger brother, Amir.

Against her better judgement.

That was a year ago now, and she was determined not to stay in this sinking ship of a fort much longer. Its fate was sealed long ago. It was only Reinar who refused to see it.

‘Could have been bears,’ Agnette murmured, dropping the chicken. She leaned over, checking her uncle, Stellan, who sat slumped in his wooden wheelchair beside her, hands in his lap, snoring lightly. ‘Reinar killed that bear before they left, remember? Perhaps it wasn’t the only one?’

Gerda’s grey-blue eyes widened. ‘Well, I’m not sure what’s worse? Though, it must be an omen, wouldn’t you say?’

Tulia didn’t believe in the gods, Alekkan or Kalmeran.

She rolled her eyes.

‘We should sacrifice something,’ Agnette muttered, feeling her rounded belly. She was heavily pregnant and growing increasingly anxious.

Now was not the time for dark omens.

Gerda nodded. ‘I’ll speak to Eddeth, though who knows what use she’ll be today. Last I saw her, she was dancing around the tree, half-naked, howling at the moon!’ And already on her feet, Gerda hurried out of the hall with barely a glance at her ailing husband.

Agnette stared after her, blinking. She was a short woman and pregnancy had made her as rounded as one of the carvings of the fertility goddess, Valera, they had placed at the tiny temple to the rear of the hall. Her cheeks were pink and full, with dimples that made her husband smile, and blonde hair in a permanent tangle, much to her aunt’s annoyance. She sighed, turning back to Stellan, who had dribbled some of his porridge into his grey beard. And grabbing a napkin from the table, she started cleaning him up. ‘I suppose we must try to focus on something else. Keep ourselves busy.’ She glanced at Tulia whose eyes remained fixed on the blackened hall doors, as though she wanted to escape. And not just from the hall, but from Ottby entirely.

Agnette didn’t blame her. Tulia didn’t really fit in.

She was a tall woman – almost as tall as her cousins – with a lean, strong body. Raised as a warrior, like her mother before her, she had a stern, angular face, rarely showing any hint of a smile. Agnette wondered what Sigurd saw in her. Though Tulia was attractive to look at, with her dark-brown skin and silky black hair, she was terrifying. Cold. Hard. The complete opposite of any woman in Ottby. Though, perhaps, Agnette realised, perhaps that was the point?

Tulia stood. ‘I’ll grab a few men, and take a look around the forest.’ And adjusting her swordbelt, she headed for the doors.

Agnette straightened up, feeling the ache in her lower back, panic flaring. ‘Is that safe? Safe to leave us?’ Stellan groaned, but she didn’t take her eyes off Tulia, who was pulling open a door, letting in a shaft of welcome light. After a stormy night, the day had started gloomy, and the permanently soggy weather was not helping to lift the dour mood of the fort.

Tulia spun around. ‘There’s no safe anymore, Agnette. Hakon Vettel sits on his throne like a hungry bird. And one day, his wings will be strong enough to carry him over these walls and devour everyone who remains. As I’ve told Reinar and Sigurd many times, you need to leave. We all need to leave. This is no place to be anymore.’ She glanced at Stellan, who was awake now, watching her, but in the next breath, he started making strange shapes with his mouth, and she turned away, disappearing outside.

Agnette watched her go, shoulders sinking.

Hoping that Bjarni would hurry home.

* * *

Karolina fussed over her baby son as if he were sickly, though he was not. Anders Vettel was seven months old now, with chubby arms and legs, and a tiny mop of dark hair already sprouting on his head. He was always wriggling, gurgling, sucking his hand. A happy, healthy boy.

But fussing over Anders gave her an excuse not to look at her husband, who had a temper like a storm that exploded often, only to completely vanish as quickly as it had come, as though it had never been there at all. Karolina never knew which version of Hakon she would see, and it left her with a sick taste in her mouth. So, she fussed over her baby, avoiding her husband’s eyes, not wanting to provoke his rage.

‘Come and sit down, my love,’ Hakon cooed as he prodded the fire, enjoying the spark of flame and ember that felt so welcome on such a cold day. ‘Leave the boy in his crib. Surely he can amuse himself for a moment?’

Karolina swallowed, a sense of reluctance making her slow to react.

‘Or, if he is becoming so demanding, perhaps it’s time you found a nursemaid? Now that your mother is dead, there’s no one to help you.’

Karolina froze. She had been carefree once, always smiling, her dark-brown eyes full of mischief and fun. Then Hakon had taken an interest in her, and Jesper Vettel had made an alliance with her father, making her Hakon’s wife. And nothing had ever felt good again.

She laid her son in his wooden crib and came to join her husband by the fire, trying to lift her eyes, to give him her attention. He never touched her when he was angry. Never beat her. But there were other ways to terrorise someone, Karolina had discovered.

She tried not to tremble, squeezing her hands as she took a seat.

‘We continue to have problems with the Vilanders,’ Hakon began, taking the chair opposite her, pouring wine into a silver goblet and handing it to his wife. ‘Though, be assured that we won’t for long. The noose is tightening by the day. They may celebrate one small victory over me, but their end is coming quickly. And soon I will help hurry it along.’

Karolina wasn’t sure why Hakon was telling her this. She had no interest in battles or rivalries. She knew her husband had great ambitions, and a strong desire to avenge his father’s murder, but it was not something she paid much attention to.

‘I want you to do more than hold that baby to your chest, Karolina,’ Hakon murmured, watching her eyes, eager to see something other than fear. She was attractive and desirable, but her timidity irritated him. There were women with fire in their eyes, and he had bedded many of them, but not his wife, who cowered and blinked and tried only to keep him happy.

Karolina cowered and blinked, attempting a smile.

‘Soon you will be the Queen of Alekka. My queen. And you must prepare to rule beside me. To have interests. To take an interest in things other than our son. Talk to Igne about dresses. Hairstyles. Perhaps she can help you find new jewels? I must have a queen worthy of the throne, my love. Slussfall is... not Stornas. And Stornas will be the beginning for us. You, me, and our sons.’ His eyes were on her stomach, which had flattened back to its natural state, though not for long, Hakon knew, for Karolina was already carrying his second child.

‘But...’ Her confusion made her more confident. ‘How do you know all of this?’

Hakon poured himself a goblet of wine, eyes glinting in the flames. ‘I’ve always known my destiny, my love. My father knew it too. It’s what he wanted more than anything, to see me as the King of Alekka. To have the Vettels back on the throne.’ Hakon sat back, listening to his son whimpering, missing his mother. ‘My family was run out of Stornas by Ake Bluefinn all those years ago. But he made a mistake thinking we would be happy to shrink away, content to leave our kingdom to him. No, I believe that I will be the one to return the Vettels to their rightful place. And you, Karolina, will be by my side, with all our healthy, strong sons around us.’

Karolina smiled, her teeth showing, her dimples revealing themselves.

Her eyes bright with terror.

* * *

They sailed slowly back to Ottby, hugging the shore, heads swivelling, searching through the gloom for more of Hakon Vettel’s ships. Though likely they had returned to their master, licking their wounds.

Reinar hoped so.

He turned to Torvig, who once again had his eyes on the women. ‘You need a wife!’ he grinned, clapping Torvig on the back. ‘How is it that you’ve never found yourself a wife? Don’t you want sons? Someone to warm your bed every night?’

Torvig laughed. ‘You don’t think I’ve someone warming my bed every night, Reinar Vilander? Ha! I’m happy to avoid the distraction of a wife, for what are women but a constant distraction? And as for sons? Well, that will come one day. But for now, I think we have other things on our minds, don’t you? Like trying to hold back the Vettels, and finding men for the walls. They’ll not hold themselves.’

‘You’re not wrong,’ Reinar agreed, turning around to check on Sigurd, who lay on his stomach in the stern, just behind Bolli, the dreamer sitting beside him.

Alys, he remembered. Her name was Alys.

Her hair was darker beneath the cloudy sky; a deeper blonde, he thought distractedly. ‘I just hope Tulia hasn’t had any problems. Perhaps Hakon’s men headed there? Perhaps the ships were just a decoy?’ Reinar felt the wind suddenly, whipping his new fur cloak away from him.

‘With barely one ship between them and all those injuries?’ Torvig snorted. He was a cocky man, not given to any show of weakness. It was something he tried to impart upon his friend. ‘No, Hakon will need to gather himself before he mounts another attack, but I imagine he won’t wait long. He wants you. Sigurd too. He wants to kill Stellan’s sons.’

Reinar turned away, hoping he was right.

‘And what are you going to do with all those women?’ Torvig wondered, stumbling away from Reinar as the ship tilted abruptly. ‘If we’re not going to Goslund?’

Reinar turned to him, a warning in his eyes. ‘You’ll leave those women alone. I know what you’re thinking, what you want, but I didn’t take any of them for you. They’re silver for my coffers. Silver I need to pay the new men. To get more.’ He glanced around Dagger, not liking the look of many of its crew, but tough times called for desperate measures.

And Reinar Vilander had become a desperate man.

‘Understood,’ Torvig said, jaw clenched. ‘No hands shall be laid upon their pretty heads. Not mine at least,’ he added, eyes drifting to Rutger’s men, some of whom had their heads together, muttering, eyes furtive. ‘Though, you might have a few problems if you’re not careful, after what happened to Rutger.’

Reinar swayed away from Torvig towards Sigurd and Alys. ‘Add them to the pile!’ he called, shaking his head. The stench of blood remained strong, wounds everywhere he looked.

Three of them on his own brother.

Crouching down, he tried to catch Alys’ eye, though she seemed intent on looking anywhere but at him. ‘How is he?’

‘He?’ Sigurd mumbled irritably. ‘He is ready to get up.’

‘You tried that and almost passed out,’ Ludo reminded him.

Sigurd growled nothing anyone could understand.

Reinar smiled, pleased to hear his brother sounding like his usual irritable self. ‘Well, we’ll be home soon. I’m sure Mother will be beside herself with worry. Ready to stick you in bed. Care for you day and night!’

Bolli, who knew Gerda better than he’d ever wish to, burst out laughing. ‘I’d like to see that!’

Sigurd closed his eyes, thinking about Tulia. She was going to be cross.

He was cross.

If Rutger hadn’t been dead, he would have killed him himself.

The pain bit, though it was hard to tell where it was coming from. Mostly all over. He felt oddly weak, his ears ringing every time he moved. And that dreamer kept hovering around him, not knowing what to do with herself.

He wondered what Reinar was going to do with her.

Fearing the answer.

6

When Magnus led Lotta out of the barn, he wanted to cover her eyes, but he knew it would be pointless, remembering what a wriggler she was.

She screamed when she saw the bodies littered around the square, forcing him to shove a hand over her mouth, dragging her behind the tanner’s hut. The stink made his eyes water, and then Lotta bit his hand, and he cursed. ‘Fuck!’

‘Mama says you’re not allowed to say that,’ Lotta scolded, turning to her brother. Her eyes were bigger, just as blue, just as terrified.

‘Well, Mama isn’t here,’ Magnus reminded her, wringing his hand. ‘And you need to be quiet if we’re going to escape.’

‘Escape from who?’

‘Anyone who wants to hurt us. Anyone who wants to find us.’

Lotta remembered the bodies. The heads.

She’d recognised Sketil, the fisherman. He hadn’t been a bad man.

Not like their father.

‘But why can’t we stay here, Magnus? In Ullaberg? It’s our home.’

Magnus wasn’t sure of that himself. The raiders were gone, and it appeared that they’d left some villagers behind. Men, at least. Though the ones they had seen looked wounded. In shock. Walking around, aimless. ‘Mother said we had to go. That I had to take you and run, just like we’d been planning to. That we needed to get to safety. To where we could be taken care of. There’s no one to care for us now. Not here.’

Lotta’s eyes filled with tears, and she closed them, wanting to see her mother, but all she saw was darkness. And opening them, she blinked, sniffing. ‘But where will we go, Magnus? Who will care for us now?’

‘We’re going to find Jonas, remember? He’ll look after us, that’s what Mother promised. He’ll look after us. If only we can find our way to him.’ And swallowing at the sudden weight Magnus felt on his narrow shoulders, he gripped his sister’s hand, pulling her down the path that led to the paddocks.

* * *

The day had dawned with a fresh breeze, though that had quickly dispersed, leaving the sea calm, which frustrated everyone. So the men were at the oars, many injured, grimacing and scowling as they rowed the ships along the coast towards Ottby.

Alys knew of Ottby. Everyone in Alekka had heard of the great fortress guarding the bridge to Stornas, though she had never been herself. Once they had arrived in Ullaberg, Arnon had never let her go on a ship again. He had barely let her out of his sight in the eleven years they were together.

Reinar stood next to her, eyes on the women in the bow, who were mostly quiet now. They looked defeated. Scared and confused. He quickly felt uncomfortable, annoyed that it had come to this; knowing how his father would feel about what they were doing. But what choice did they have? Hakon Vettel and his ever-growing army were breathing down their necks, and their fort was quickly emptying of every useful hand. ‘You’ve helped my brother,’ he said quietly, bending to Alys’ ear, ‘so I shall reward you, Alys de Sant. I will make you my dreamer. Let you stay in Ottby.’

Reinar’s breath smelled like ale. It was sour, and Alys wanted to turn away. But Ottby was not Goslund, so she forced herself to look at him. ‘And my friends? The women? What will you do with them?’

Reinar inhaled. He felt tired, impatient for his chair and his hall. ‘The women? I wasn’t looking for more mouths to feed, so I’ll have no use for them in Ottby.’ He scratched his bearded chin, listening to his belly rumble. ‘I’ll think on it. You may go and be with them if you wish, for now, you are free.’ Reinar opened his hands, smiling at her.

Alys eyed him suspiciously. ‘I don’t think I’m free.’

‘Perhaps not as free as I am, or Bolli over there, but freer than those women whose destiny will be woven by these two hands.’ And he held his big, dirty hands out to Alys, grabbing hers, eyes sharp now. ‘You will be useful, so I’ll keep you until you no longer are.’ And squeezing her hands, Reinar stared into Alys’ eyes until she shivered.

He let her go, watching her stagger backwards before turning around, one hand out to balance herself as she walked unsteadily down the deck, in between the sea chests the oarsmen were sitting on.

Alys, barely able to breathe, kept her attention on the women. A few she felt warmly towards, others she barely knew, some she disliked. But every one of them reminded her of home, and of her children, and she wanted to fall down to the deck and sob.

Stina reached out her bound hands as Alys approached. ‘What have they told you? What is happening?’ she croaked desperately, eyes on her friend. The taste of seawater in her mouth made her want to spit.

‘We are not going to Goslund,’ Alys said, sensing all eyes focus on her, mouths slightly open in desperation. ‘It’s not safe after the ambush. We’re going to Ottby. They’re from Ottby.’

‘And what will they do to us there?’ Jorunn asked. She was a skilled weaver with many children; grandchildren too.

‘Rape us!’ said another.

Nodding heads; anxious eyes focused on the crew.

‘Ssshhh,’ Stina hissed. ‘Don’t give them any ideas, Isla.’

‘You don’t think they have ideas? Look at what happened to poor Magda!’

Alys glanced over her shoulder as the women became more restless. She saw Reinar staring at her, his men too. Spinning around, she lowered her voice. ‘I don’t know what will happen, but if you want them to keep you, make yourselves useful. The lord will not want to keep problems. He will look to get rid of you.’

‘And what about you?’ Ilene asked. ‘What will he do with you, Alys the dreamer?’

Alys didn’t like Ilene. Not many did. Ilene Gislar had a reputation in Ullaberg as a husband-thief, though, unfortunately for Alys, she had not been successful in her attempts to steal Arnon away.

Eyes sharpened with curiosity, bodies banging into each other as the wind picked up again, the ship dipping into the waves.

‘I... I’m not sure. I think he wants to keep me as his dreamer.’ Alys didn’t like saying that out loud. She tried not to think of Magnus and Lotta.

‘But when were you ever a dreamer, Alys?’ Jorunn wondered. ‘We never knew this about you.’

Alys swallowed, more uncomfortable as she wobbled about on the deck, looking for something to hold on to. Her secrets were her own. Private. She didn’t want to reveal them to anyone, especially not someone like Ilene, who was looking on with eager eyes.

Reinar stopped all conversation, though, as he appeared behind Alys, a hand on her shoulder. ‘My brother needs you. His wounds are bleeding again.’

Alys felt relieved, briefly meeting Stina’s eyes before turning around.

* * *

Hakon’s fingers twitched as he walked the pier, inspecting his remaining ships. His army was growing by the day. He was a wealthy man, thanks to his father’s savvy managing of his gold, his stores, and his men. And now, just as he needed to procure more hands, more ships, and more weapons, he had enough gold and silver to meet all his needs. And more.

Hakon smiled, though he felt tense, because what he did not have was time.

He needed to move through Ottby quickly, while Ake Bluefinn was away fighting enemies in the West. That old stone fortress blocked his path to Stornas. And so did Reinar and Sigurd Vilander. He twitched, irritated that they had defeated his men, halved his tiny fleet, embarrassed him. The shame was one thing – hard to bear – but the setback of losing two ships was like a fire under his skin, burning hot, searching for an outlet.

‘Cousin!’ He turned away from his men with a forced grin. ‘Awake at last!’

Ivan peered at Hakon with one open eye, hearing the tension in his voice. ‘I’d rather be asleep, though it was a good night, Hakon. A very good night!’ His head hurt as he smiled, but he felt happy. The gods were guiding them towards glory. And though his cousin was not the best lord he could wish for, Ivan was hungry for success, determined to go along for the ride, though not quite as impatient as Hakon.

‘It was, I agree, but today is not such a good day, I’m afraid. Not for our hopes, at least.’

Ivan opened his other eye, both of them brown and usually full of mischief, but he took in the sight of the men clearing out the battered ship with a growing sense of horror. ‘They returned with one ship? One?’ He looked around at the men, not surprised when Hakon’s helmsman dropped his eyes. ‘Where’s Dagfinn?’

‘On the midden heap, I expect,’ Hakon growled. ‘Though I’ve no idea. I imagine the dogs would have enjoyed a good meal if not.’

Ivan stared at his cousin, who was the same age as him, the same height. Their bodies resembled each other, both of them with strong, wiry frames, corded with muscle. Even their hair was similar: shoulder-length, brown, and braided, though Hakon took great care over his appearance, whereas Ivan looked like he slept in a barn.

Which, he often did.

‘And what will you do now? The Vilanders appear to have no intention of rolling over and dying. Must we wait on them? We can go around Ottby, surely? If we build more ships. Wait winter out.’

‘Wait? Of course they want us to wait! Why do you think they burned our fleet? Because they knew we were coming. Because they thought they could stop us!’ Hakon spun around with a snarl. ‘No, Cousin, I want Ottby now!’

Ivan blinked, unhappy to be showered in his cousin’s spittle. ‘You do. We all know you do, Hakon. But don’t you want Ake’s throne more? You must choose which hill to die on, and if you’re not careful, Ottby will defeat you before you even sniff Stornas.’

Hakon’s lips curled venomously, but Ivan barely blinked. He was frustratingly laid-back. Casual. About everything. There was little fire in his cousin unless there was a sword in his hand and a battle song in his heart. Which made him the perfect commander of his army, Hakon realised. Ivan knew how to fight, though he had no appetite for power.

Or so it had always seemed.

‘We need more ships,’ Ivan said with a yawn, looking bored. ‘You need to think about ships, not Reinar Vilander. As soon as we have a fleet big enough to carry our men, we can plan our attack.’

Hakon turned to him with a dismissive smile. He had no intention of waiting at all. ‘Why don’t we walk back up to the fort, and get you some ale before you twitch yourself off the pier, Cousin, and I’ll tell you exactly what I have in mind.’

* * *

Alys watched Stina from Dagger’s stern, where Reinar had made her remain, wanting to ensure that she was near his brother.

Ludo kept bending over, offering her slivers of salt fish, something that looked like a hard biscuit, and crumbles of dried pork too. The smell made her want to vomit, and eventually, she hurried to her feet, leaning over the stern, but having barely eaten in days, she did little more than retch uncomfortably.

‘Are you alright?’ Ludo wondered with an awkward smile when Alys returned, taking a seat beside her.

He had kind eyes, Alys thought, tucking damp strands of hair behind her ears, wiping her mouth with the back of a hand. They were moving at pace now, under sail, and she was glad for it, eager to get off the ship, but her heart sank heavily every time she realised how much further she was getting away from her children. Though, at least they were not going to Goslund, which meant that she still had an opportunity to find her way back to them. ‘I am. The ship... it is... I feel unwell.’

Ludo wondered if he might vomit himself. He nodded, eyes on Sigurd, who appeared asleep, and Reinar, who had his head together with Torvig as they walked down the ship towards the women. ‘It’s not been an easy time for you.’

Alys blinked. ‘For me?’

Ludo pointed to her face, covered in bruises. ‘Perhaps they happened before we came and stole you away?’ His voice was barely a breath, his words quickly torn away by the wind.

Alys didn’t want to talk to him. She didn’t want to reveal anything about herself at all. Though, she realised with a frown, she had to find an ally. If she was going to make it back to Magnus and Lotta, she had to find an ally quickly. And this man, with those sympathetic eyes, who seemed very close to both the lord and his brother, might just be the ally she needed. ‘I... did not have a very gentle husband.’

‘No?’ Ludo edged towards her, overwhelmed with curiosity. Reinar had ordered him to watch over the dreamer and Sigurd, and he was eager to hear a story to pass the time.

‘He would beat me,’ Alys admitted, cheeks warm in the biting wind. She felt embarrassed to admit it. Weak. Pathetic. She saw the sympathy in Ludo’s rich brown eyes, and she wanted to insist that she was strong. That she had stood up for herself, but she knew it wasn’t true. She had taken Arnon’s punishment, his torture, like a beaten dog who kept coming back for more. But she’d never stopped planning when she might leave, hoping she would have the courage to do so.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ludo said, eyes shifting back to Sigurd, who was mumbling in his sleep now, writhing around on the deck. ‘There are men like that, I know. Some of them are in Ottby.’ He couldn’t help but stare at Torvig, then, who barely anyone apart from Reinar liked. ‘There is little to be done, though.’

‘Well, I think I would rather have been beaten by my husband than stolen away to be sold as a slave.’

Ludo looked mortified, his own cheeks reddening.

‘Though, I don’t blame you,’ Alys insisted, trying to smile. ‘I can tell you hate it.’

‘You can?’ Ludo sat up straighter. ‘Because you’re a dreamer?’ He was intrigued. Reinar’s last dreamer, Salma, had barely had a word to say to him, and certainly not a vision of anything he wanted to know about.

Alys nodded. ‘Dreamers sense things.’ It was either a lie, or it was the truth, she didn’t know. She didn’t remember her mother or her grandmother, both of them dreamers. And she didn’t know what dreamers really did or what they really felt, but she could see Ludo’s interest, and she was eager to foster it. ‘I can tell you have a hard time with it.’

Ludo swallowed. They were not alone, but Bolli appeared half asleep as he leaned over the tiller, beard blowing in the wind. Sigurd was snuffling at their feet, and no one else was within hearing distance. ‘It’s not who we were,’ he admitted. ‘Not who we want to be. But Reinar is desperate. If he can’t find the silver to pay for more men, we’ll have no hope of defending Ottby. They’re leaving, you see, his warriors. In droves.’

‘Why?’

Ludo sighed. ‘Everything has gone wrong for Reinar lately. His father, Stellan, was the Lord of Ottby for years. A good man. A kind lord. My father fostered me to him when I was ten, and Stellan cared for me as though I was his own. But then, a year ago, the crops began to fail, and things started going wrong. Something happened to Stellan’s mind. His body too. He had a seizure. Now he sits in a chair, dribbling all day.’

‘Oh.’ It was Alys’ turn to be intrigued.

‘Reinar became the lord, but the bad luck only worsened.’

‘How?’ The ship dipped low, and Alys almost slid off the chest. Ludo grabbed her, waiting until they’d crested the wave, before pushing her back.

‘Too many things, for sure.’ He lowered his voice, leaning down. ‘His sons were stillborn. He started to lose battles he would have won only a year ago. Just... everything Reinar touched, every decision he made, everything went against him, as though he was cursed. People started whispering that the gods had stolen away his luck, which is odd, I think, as he is the one fated to become the true King of Alekka.’

Reinar and Torvig had turned back after checking on the women, and Alys realised that she didn’t have much time before they were within earshot. ‘What does that mean, the true king?’

‘Ragnahild One Eye visited Ottby when Reinar was a baby. She told his mother that she’d had a vision of Reinar wearing the Sun Torc.’ Ludo could see Reinar and Torvig approaching too, and he pushed himself away from Alys, standing up, peering down at her. ‘And the legend of the Sun Torc says that the man who finds it will unite the two halves of Alekka again. Rule them both for the first time in two thousand years.’ Ludo smiled briefly, turning away, leaving her on the sea chest.

Alys started to slide again, and she gripped the rim of the chest, eyes on Reinar. Her grandfather had told her the legend of the Sun Torc many times over the years. She frowned, watching as he clapped Ludo on the shoulder.

From memory, that wasn’t a prize anyone should be seeking.

* * *

Magnus had left Lotta in the paddock with the ponies while he snuck around the village, seeing what else he could take. He had crept down to the beach, wanting to see his father’s body, but it was gone. They were all gone, having been moved into the village where pyres were being constructed.

Magnus couldn’t find him.

He didn’t really want to either. He was glad Arnon de Sant was dead.

He never wanted to see him again.

No one was paying any attention to Magnus as he collected a few apples that had rolled out of a basket one of the women had likely dropped as she was captured. Sobs rose up into Magnus’ chest, and he became cross, knowing that he couldn’t be a child. Not now. If he wanted to save Lotta and get them both to safety, he couldn’t be a child anymore.

‘Magnus!’

Magnus froze, slowly turning around.

‘What are you doing?’

It was Olaf, one of Arald Hussak’s servants, a kindly old man. He had a gaping cut on his sagging cheek, and he appeared to be shaking. But then again, Olaf was often shaking.

Magnus didn’t want to be stopped. ‘I’m taking Lotta for a ride, to get away for a while. She’s upset.’ His saddlebags were with Lotta and the ponies in the paddock, and Magnus hoped that Olaf would leave him to it.

Olaf nodded. ‘Well, don’t be too long.’ He appeared distracted, his rheumy eyes barely focusing on Magnus. His daughters were gone, and he was still in a daze, slightly removed from the grief flooding his heart. ‘There’s a meeting in the hall tonight, for those who are left, about what we might do. There will be food. You can bring Lotta. I’ll find you something to eat.’ And with a nod, he was gone, shuffling and shaking towards Ullaberg’s tiny square, where the bodies were piling up.

Magnus thought about it for a moment. The idea of staying in Ullaberg was tempting; not having to go off on their own, wondering how they would survive; worrying how he would keep his sister safe. But he heard his mother’s voice in his ears, and it was insistent.

They had to leave.

And turning back around, he hurried away, not listening to what Olaf was trying to tell him.

7

Sigurd peered at the dreamer as she returned to the women.

He was sitting, leaning against Ludo, who wasn’t needed to row as the sail ballooned above their heads now, the wind pushing them home at speed.

Sigurd didn’t trust dreamers. He didn’t believe that they wove anything more than lies and tricks intended to trap and deceive those foolish enough to believe them.

Like Reinar, whose eyes were on Alys.

Sigurd sighed, knowing what that was about.

‘Do you think Tulia is alright? Without us?’ Ludo wondered.

Sigurd laughed, quickly grimacing. He tried not to move, gritting his teeth. ‘Tulia will be enjoying the peace and quiet without us there getting in her way. Though, she’ll be stuck with Gerda and Agnette. That will be driving her mad for sure.’ He smiled. Tulia was a hard woman to love, and things had not been good between them for a while now, but he was looking forward to seeing her again.

‘Sometimes I think you picked Tulia just to stir Gerda up.’

Sigurd tried not to laugh again, but his eyes were brighter than they had been all day. ‘You really think anyone could pick Tulia Saari?’ He shook his head.

Ludo laughed, watching the dreamer as she tended to the wounds of the women who crowded around her. ‘What do you think of Alys, then? Reinar seems happy to have found her.’

‘Alys? The dreamer?’ Sigurd could see the mess she’d made of her green dress. She had torn off so many strips to make bandages for him that he could see her legs. ‘Reinar does like to have a dreamer around, that’s true. Though if he spent less time listening to what dreamers said, maybe he wouldn’t be in such a mess.’

The ship smacked into a wave, and Sigurd bounced off the chest with a yelp. Ludo put an arm on his leg to try and hold him down. ‘You can’t blame him for that, not after what Ragnahild foretold. Not after living his life hearing where his destiny lies. It would be hard not to listen to dreamers after that.’

Sigurd looked ready to spit. ‘No one knows the truth about what Ragnahild told Gerda. Gerda was the only one in that cottage with her. Who knows what she really foretold? Not Reinar, that’s for sure.’

‘But she was the most famous dreamer of all,’ Ludo insisted with round eyes. He knew Sigurd hated dreamers with a passion – something he had in common with Tulia – though he was fascinated by them himself. ‘Why would she make up stories?’

Sigurd shrugged. That hurt too. ‘Perhaps it wasn’t Ragnahild making anything up?’

Ludo narrowed his eyes. Sigurd hated Gerda too, and he didn’t blame him for that. She had never been kind to him. Her favouritism towards Reinar was something she wore proudly, like a colourful cloak. And despite Stellan’s best efforts to get her to treat Sigurd fairly, she never had. ‘Well, I wonder what she’ll think of Alys?’

Sigurd frowned. ‘He’s going to keep her, isn’t he?’

‘Reinar?’ Ludo nodded. ‘He is, which is good news for her.’

Sigurd wriggled, trying to get comfortable as the ship creaked, moving him around. He pushed his wet boots onto the planks, water sloshing over them, trying to keep himself still. ‘Or not. Ottby’s not the place anyone would want to live, not anymore.’ He stared at his brother, wishing he could get through to him. But Reinar Vilander was not about to let go of that which he believed to be the foothold of his destiny.

Faced with clinging to the precipice of certain doom, Sigurd knew that his brother was determined to keep on clinging.

* * *

Agnette had no appetite as she sat between Gerda and Tulia at the high table, listening to the fires crackling brightly before them. With Bjarni away, Gerda had invited her niece to sit beside her every night. She needed someone to talk to Tulia. To sit near Tulia.

She certainly didn’t want to.

Agnette was surprised that she had no appetite. She’d thought of nothing but food since falling pregnant, but now, with Bjarni gone and the threat of Hakon Vettel growing by the day, she felt worried and vulnerable.

Gerda peered at her. ‘You do not like the fish? I thought it was rather good myself. Rilda tried a new recipe. My suggestion.’ Gerda Vilander prided herself on being a lady. A hostess. Someone whose job it was to please those around her. Over her nearly twenty years as the Lady of Ottby, she had worked hard to turn the hall from a smoky shed packed with filthy, fighting men, into a comfortable, tastefully decorated space, where all of their people could come to eat, drink, and socialise with one another. Stellan had barely noticed her improvements, nor Reinar, she knew, but it gave her both pleasure and pride to see how far it had come.

But for how long, she wondered gloomily, picking up her cup of small ale.

How long would they be able to remain?

‘I’m just worried about Bjarni,’ Agnette sighed. Her belly was growing so big that she had to sit far back from the table, leaning forward quite a way to grab her own cup. ‘I don’t like it when he’s gone.’

Tulia tried not to snort. Her plate was scraped clean, and she had almost finished her second cup of ale. ‘Would you rather he was here, fussing over you?’

‘I would, yes!’ Agnette insisted. ‘As I’m sure you would if you were pregnant. It makes you feel... different. More vulnerable.’ She eyed Tulia. ‘Although, perhaps not you. I’m sure you’d still be able to kill someone if you needed to, even if you were about to drop.’

Tulia laughed. ‘I would, of course. And don’t worry, Agnette, we are all here together. If anyone tries to attack, I’ll protect us, which is, perhaps, even luckier for you. Bjarni is not so good with a sword, is he?’

Agnette sat up straighter, insulted on Bjarni’s behalf.

Gerda held up a hand, signalling for a servant to clear the table. ‘She’s right, Agnette. Bjarni is good at many things, but I doubt he could strike down an attacking sheep. He’s better with a bow. With a spear, perhaps?’

Agnette clamped her lips together, not enjoying her husband being the rare reason her aunt had decided to side with Sigurd’s woman.

‘What we do need is a new dreamer,’ Gerda went on. ‘Someone who could tell us what’s happening. What we should do. When Salma died, it plunged us into darkness, and now, here we sit, waiting. At that Vettel boy’s mercy!’

Tulia laughed, banging her cup down onto the table. ‘We’re at no one’s mercy, Gerda,’ she insisted, eager to leave. ‘We have solid walls. We have weapons, and men to wield them. We’re not at anyone’s mercy.’ She felt the need to say things that weren’t entirely true, for the truth did not always inspire confidence. And fear running rampant in the fort would not help any of them survive. ‘You need to see things clearly. Reinar would want you to.’ She saw Gerda stiffen, realisation clearing her eyes, knowing that Gerda would do anything for Reinar. Tulia lowered her voice, though the hall was mostly empty. No one wanted to come and drink in the hall without Reinar and Sigurd. ‘You are the Lady of Ottby. He needs you to keep everyone calm.’

Gerda nodded, biting her tongue.

Agnette was surprised, though she felt some responsibility to stay calm herself. Putting down her cup, she placed her hands on her belly, feeling her child swimming around inside her like a fish. It was comforting, and she sat back, trying to relax. ‘Perhaps they will be home tomorrow?’ She glanced up at Tulia, who stood, ready to leave.

‘Perhaps,’ Tulia mused, wanting to check the fort. She ignored her own fears that trouble might have befallen Reinar and Sigurd, knowing that trouble seemed to be following Reinar around like a hungry dog these days. And flicking her long braid behind her back, she shrugged, picking up her cloak. ‘But if not, we’ll enjoy the peace and quiet a little longer!’ And winking at Agnette, she headed around the tables, aiming for the doors. It was getting darker and colder much earlier now, making her wistful for Kalmera, where the sun warmed her skin, and the days were bright and clear; not a hint of the leaden clouds that hung over Ottby like a curse from the weather gods.

Dragging open a door, Tulia headed outside, wrapping her blue cloak around her shoulders, thinking about Sigurd, annoyed that she missed him so much. She smiled, hurrying down the steps, already keen to head back into the hall and warm her frozen toes by the fire.

* * *

Falla Gundersen was the most desirable woman Ivan had ever seen. She had a body so replete with curves that he wanted to bury himself in her tits, wrapping his arms around that perfect waist, squeezing her tight. She wore clothes that accentuated those curves; tight-fitting dresses that called his attention to every nook and cranny. Each one of them as tempting as the other.

And yet, Falla was married to Hakon’s champion, a man Hakon had no intention of killing, for Lief Gundersen was a warrior of great reputation and skill. Though he was not handsome, nor young, nor charismatic, and Ivan often stared at Falla, wondering what she saw in her dull old man of a husband. It hardly mattered what Falla saw, of course, for what Hakon saw was a mountain, rarely bettered in battle, hard and unsmiling, unwavering in the face of threat, no matter the enemy.

Hakon would be a fool to end him, yet at that moment, Ivan wanted him dead more than anything.

Falla flicked her hair over her shoulder as she glided past him, child on her hip; a boy, as raven-haired as she was. Not Lief’s. He had married her as a widow a year ago and taken on the boy, eager to get her pregnant with his own sons.

Hakon hit Ivan.

They were sitting at the high table: Karolina on Hakon’s right, Ivan on his left.

Hakon smiled. ‘Though Lief’s eyes are ruined, he can still see, Cousin.’ He inclined his head to where Lief Gundersen was standing near one of the hall’s enormous fire pits, chatting to his men, his dark, scarred eyes occasionally wandering to the high table.

Ivan shrugged. ‘Everyone looks at Falla,’ he whispered. ‘How can they not? She makes sure of it, dressing the way she does. Walking like that? It’s as though she’s in heat all the time!’ He edged closer to Hakon. ‘Must be that Lief doesn’t satisfy her, don’t you think?’

Hakon burst out laughing, causing more than a few heads to turn their way. Lief sharpened his eyes, and Hakon lifted his goblet in his champion’s direction. ‘A man like that? Most famous warrior on the Eastern Shore? More like wishful thinking on your part, Cousin.’

‘You think every man skilled with a sword knows how to use his cock?’ Ivan laughed back, listening as the musicians started plucking their lyres, raising a smile from the usually morbid-looking Karolina.

‘Well, I wouldn’t presume to know, but if I were a betting man, I’d bet upon it. Falla looks like a satisfied woman to me.’ Hakon’s eyes followed her as she walked up to the old crone who had entered the hall, seeking her out. He blinked, happy to see her. ‘I think it’s more that she likes to cause trouble. And getting you in trouble would be very easy. Imagine how that would work out for her?’

Ivan didn’t follow.

‘You’re the leader of our army, Ivan. You’re my most trusted advisor, my most loyal friend. And when we sit in Stornas’ hall, we will sit together, and I will make you a great lord, wealthy for life. Why wouldn’t I? We are family, and you will help me, so I will reward you. And Falla... I think she wants power. Wealth and power. With Lief, she has a famous husband, but she seeks more than reputation. She is definitely after more.’

‘So she wants to marry me?’

Hakon grinned. Ivan was quick at many things, but not when it came to women. ‘I don’t imagine so. She will likely keep her husband and hope to make him rich and powerful by removing you. And if she gets you in trouble with Lief, well... he will take care of that for her.’

Ivan sat back with a frown. ‘You really believe that?’

Hakon laughed. ‘I have a dreamer, and she sees many paths ahead. Some paved with death and darkness, some with gold and silver. But I see things too. I’m always watching. My people. The ravens. I look for omens. I see more than most. Those things they think are hidden... I see them all.’

Ivan swallowed, wondering what Hakon saw in his heart, which had often been bitter and resentful where his cousin was concerned. He snorted to cover his discomfort, helping himself to more ale. ‘Seems to me you can just burn Mother, then. What use do you have for that old bitch when you can do your own dreaming!’

‘I tell her that all the time! Just so she knows not to play games with me.’ Hakon watched the hunched figure waddling around the fires, elbowing his men out of the way.

Mother Arnesson was a small old woman, but wide, still thickly padded; grey hair curling in a furious mess; big eyes, slightly mad looking; lips always pouting with displeasure. She was intimidating and threatening, and most of all, mysterious, so the hardened warriors standing near her quickly jumped out of her path, much to Hakon’s amusement. She ignored both him and them as she aimed for Hakon’s private chamber, not even bothering to incline her head in her lord’s direction.

Hakon nudged his cousin. ‘Looks as though there’s some news.’ And standing, he left his goblet on the table, bending down to Ivan’s ear. ‘Keep your eyes on your meal, Cousin. I would hate to return to find you missing your head!’ He grinned, watching the famously unsmiling Lief Gundersen’s frown intensify as he headed away from the table, not even bothering to look at Karolina.

* * *

Sigurd’s eyes followed Torvig as he inspected the women’s ropes. Again.

Bjarni sat down on a log of driftwood with a groan, sticking his hands near the flames, thinking about Agnette. He looked up, following Sigurd’s eyes. It was long since dark, and they had made camp in a sheltered cove, its stones just as uncomfortable as the last one. No one was looking forward to trying to sleep.

Especially not Sigurd.

‘You think Torvig would have made sure their ropes were tight the last time he went over there,’ Bjarni whispered, eyes on the flames.

Sigurd turned to him, hearing the resentment in Bjarni’s voice. Bjarni Sansgard had been a loyal friend to both him and Reinar since they were boys. He was a calm man, his thoughts taking time to form. Never rash. Not judgemental either. But his impression of Torvig had taken shape quickly, and that shape had not altered in eighteen years. ‘You’d think so, a man as careful as that.’

‘As long as Torvig understands how important those slaves are to Reinar. Especially the dreamer. I’m sure Reinar wouldn’t be happy to lose another one.’ Bjarni turned his attention to Sigurd. ‘Though, I was happy to lose Rutger. He was a worthless shit in the end.’

‘As we knew he would be, old friend,’ Sigurd mused. ‘If only my brother would listen to either of us. These days no words get into that thick head of his, though. None but Torvig’s.’

‘Mmmm, Torvig’s the one who suggested we start slaving. Perhaps that was only for himself? I see no value in it, except to make us all nothing in the eyes of the gods. In the eyes of our women too.’ They both thought on that, knowing how Tulia and Agnette felt about slaving. Tulia had refused to come along. And Agnette talked about it incessantly, layering on heavy cloaks of guilt every time Bjarni returned from raiding.

‘We have little choice for now,’ Sigurd tried to convince them both. ‘Men need to be paid. Bought and paid for. They’ll not come willingly. Reinar is no lord anyone wants to follow anymore.’

Bjarni pushed himself up. ‘What do you mean?’ he hissed.

Sigurd brushed off his friend’s prickles. ‘Men who don’t know a lord are drawn to that man by two things. His reputation. Or his ring-giving. And Reinar’s reputation has been torn to shreds, you know that. What’s left of it? The only men willing to suffer and follow him now are those who know him. Who know his character and the truth. The rest? They need paying. And unless we travel further for longer, there’s no one around Ottby with enough treasure for our needs.’

‘Unless we were to raid Hakon Vettel at Slussfall?’ Bjarni poked the fire with a blackened stick, listening to it spit, lulled into a sleepy state by the gentle rush of waves up the foreshore.

Sigurd laughed, rubbing his beard, reminded of Tulia, who liked to braid it while sitting on top of him. Naked. He smiled, trying to ignore the sting of his wounds, though his leg was throbbing like a heartbeat, and he could barely see straight. ‘At Slussfall we’d stand no chance. It’s nearly as impenetrable as Ottby.’

Bjarni was only half listening. He was already trying to find the best place to lie his fur. But realising there was no best place at all, he unfurled it anyway.

‘But Orbo...’

Bjarni looked around. ‘Orbo?’ His body tingled.

‘When Hakon captured Slussfall, he left Orbo behind, garrisoned, so he’s not there. Nor is his idiot cousin, or any of his best warriors. Hakon has them all at Slussfall, from what I hear.’

‘Well, I say we go now,’ Bjarni mocked. ‘You can lead us!’

Sigurd frowned. ‘I’m not talking about now. But it’s something to think about, isn’t it?’

‘We couldn’t take it and hold it.’

‘No, we don’t have the men. But we could rob it.’

Bjarni lay down, testing the stones, longing for the warm body of his pregnant wife; forgetting what a wriggler she was, always waking him up as she flopped over like a whale, trying to get comfortable. ‘Imagine the look on Hakon’s face when he heard that news! I’d love to see it, but it would only enrage him further. Make him come after us even more. He’d stop at nothing then. Nothing at all.’

Sigurd slumped over on the log, not thinking about sleeping. The idea of lying down on the stones was not appealing. ‘I imagine so.’ His voice was quiet, sensing how tired Bjarni was. Bjarni tended to become sleepy almost immediately after eating. And though there had only been a hasty meal of trout, a few strips of salted bacon, and some cheese, Bjarni appeared quite ready for his sleep.

‘But there must be a way to stop him before he takes Ottby from us,’ Bjarni mumbled, eyes closed, thinking about Rilda’s apple cake. Whenever trading ships docked from the Fire Lands, Rilda would buy cinnamon and cardamom and dates, making the sweetest, moistest apple cake he’d ever tasted.

He sighed, thinking of the cake, and Agnette, Sigurd’s voice fading into the night.

* * *

Magnus wanted to eat more.

He’d tried to go to sleep, but he had given Lotta most of the meal. He’d killed a rabbit; skinned it and cooked it over the fire. Lotta had insisted she wouldn’t eat it, and that he should not have killed the poor creature. But when it was cooking on the spit of twigs Magnus had hastily constructed, her eyes had widened with hunger, the pains in her empty stomach quickly overpowering her indignation.

Now, it was Magnus’ turn to suffer the torturous hunger pains, trying to resist the temptation of digging into their stores, not wanting to deplete them so early in their journey.

He edged closer to the saddlebags, listening to the half-frozen leaves crunching beneath him, ears open to the unfamiliar sounds of the forest. They had fur bedrolls, and Lotta was sleeping on one, though it was not warm. Magnus hadn’t wanted to erect the tent because the night was clear, and they would leave not long after dawn, but he longed for the walls of a tent or a cave. Out here, in the forest, he felt exposed.

He spun around, hearing a crunch, all thoughts of food gone, eating knife in his shaking hand, eyes jumping between the trees. But nothing revealed itself, and Magnus settled back against the moss-covered trunk, glancing at his sister. They had been close once, though recently she had begun to irritate him. Everything she said and did sounded so childish now. It was hard to be around someone so silly when he was learning how to be a warrior.

He swallowed, heart racing with fear, not feeling much like a warrior at all.

Yawns came regularly, and Magnus knew that he had to get some sleep before morning or he would not make very good decisions. He could almost see his mother’s smile in that. And eventually, lying down, Magnus de Sant closed his eyes, hoping to find his mother in a dream.

8

Though Mother Arnesson was a gift, she was an unpleasant woman to be around, Hakon thought with a grimace. She would not sit still, and he felt awkward remaining in his seat, not enjoying her poking finger as she regularly spun around, sticking it near his face. She was not interested in talking about herself or her daughter-in-law, Falla, at all. She turned every query he made around on its head, pointing it directly back at him.

A thoroughly frustrating gift, he thought, though a gift none-the-less.

‘My sight is not what it once was,’ she grumbled, spitting as she spoke. ‘But I see a problem on the horizon.’

Hakon didn’t like the sound of that. But still, if it was only the one problem...

‘But what if that one problem is great enough to drown every other?’ Mother wondered, eyeing him sharply, enjoying his surprise. ‘Water is barely a problem if you step in a puddle. Your boot is wet, but it is no great hardship. But what if that water turns into a flood? A waterfall? Would you so happily wade into it then? See it as no more than a wet boot to contend with?’ All of a sudden Mother flopped down onto a stool, exhausted and cold, pock-marked cheeks bright red, eyes popping open. ‘It is up to you, my lord, and what you do next!’

‘But what problem are you talking about?’ Hakon leaned forward, grateful that Mother had stopped moving. ‘Something to do with Reinar Vilander?’

‘Of course, who else? That fool has fished himself a dreamer! Caught her on a line. And now she is his prisoner, though more of a gift from the gods, I would say!’ She spat irritably, annoyed by the unexpected development.

Surprised that it had surprised her.

‘What?’ Hakon’s breathing quickened. ‘From where?’

‘What does that matter?’ Mother snapped. ‘What matters is what you do about her. Between us, we managed to get rid of the last one, but now, Reinar Vilander will have insight once again, and that will be dangerous. If he were to discover our plans...’

Hakon scratched his chin, fingering his beard into a point once more. ‘If we removed one dreamer, we can remove another,’ he decided, eyes seeking some reassurance in Mother’s.

She shrugged, providing no reassurance at all. ‘I have seen her, this dreamer of Reinar’s. She is no old crone. She will not go quietly, not that one. And it will be hard to mask her death as old age. She’s not even thirty!’

Hakon was a man of action. Sharp-minded, decisive, prone to violence. Everything she sought in a king. For a king was who Mother needed to defeat her enemy, Jael Furyck. And helping Hakon Vettel was the first step to avenging her sons. To seeking vengeance for both her and Falla.

Her grandson too.

She would not let him fail.

‘We need to discuss what to do. I have some thoughts, but we must act quickly, before she causes too much trouble. And once she learns more, I promise you that woman will be nothing but trouble!’

* * *

Alys lay on the stones in the dark next to Stina, holding her hand.

Stina had started to panic, struggling to breathe, petrified about what would happen next. The man called Torvig kept staring at her, and, when his lord wasn’t looking, he touched her too, running a hand across her breasts, keeping his body between hers and Reinar’s so he wouldn’t see.

‘He won’t hurt you,’ Alys promised.

‘You don’t believe that. It may be dark, Alys, but I can hear it in your voice.’

They were whispering. Reinar had sent men to guard them all night, and those men often stood up from their posts, walking around to inspect the sleeping women. It kept them all on edge, fighting the sleep they so desperately needed.

‘All I know is that he wants to sell you, not hurt you. I believe that.’

‘Is that something you’ve seen? In your dreams?’ Stina was curious. She hadn’t been surprised to learn that Alys was a dreamer – she had always suspected as much – but now Alys had confirmed it, there was so much she wanted to know.

‘It’s more of a feeling,’ Alys admitted. ‘I don’t believe they are bad men. Not the leaders, at least. And if they stay in charge, we’ll be safe.’

‘Until we’re sold.’

The misery in Stina’s voice was heavy, and Alys felt guilty. ‘I don’t know what he’ll do with me. He wants a dreamer, but I don’t know what that means, or what he’ll make me do.’

‘But maybe it gives you a chance to find Magnus and Lotta? Somehow?’

‘Ssshhh, I don’t want them to know about the children.’ Alys whispered it in Stina’s ear, certain no one could hear her. ‘Please don’t talk about them.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know, I just don’t want to put them in danger. I need Magnus to find his way to Jonas’ cottage, to get Lotta there safely. Then I’ll feel better. They’ll be safe with him.’

‘You think that’s possible? Magnus is only ten.’ Stina yawned, and despite the discomfort in her tense limbs, she felt ready for sleep.

Alys sighed, closing her eyes. Though her body was weary, her mind flitted from one terrifying thought to another. But she needed sleep, because sleep meant dreams, and hopefully, a way to find her children.

She needed to see if they were safe.

* * *

Magnus walked through the forest, shivering. He wished he’d thought to grab his cloak, but he’d been impatient to know what the noise was. He had to keep Lotta safe. The moon was glowing, the stars scattered across the sky, but their bright lights only shone in patches as he walked into a small clearing where the tree cover was dense.

Magnus kept turning, wondering how far he’d gone from Lotta now.

Hoping he could find his way back.

A snapping sound had his legs trembling, his heart in his mouth as he spun around, fearing that he was not as brave as his mother needed him to be. ‘Hello?’ he wondered into the darkness, hearing more snapping. That was no vole or mouse. Whatever was breaking those branches and twigs sounded even weightier than a fox or a wolf.

And then a hand on his shoulder had Magnus yelping in terror, unable to move.

‘Hello, boy,’ came a familiar voice. ‘Not trying to escape, are you?’

Magnus spun around, staring up at his father’s face; those familiar, cruel eyes glaring back down at him.

‘You know I don’t like it when you try to run away.’

Magnus woke with a start, elbowing his sister in the face.

Lotta jerked awake, crying out, holding her cheek. ‘Magnus? What happened?’

He shook as she edged away from him, shivering, seeing only a shadow before her.

‘A bad dream,’ he mumbled, panting, still feeling his father’s hand, cold on his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. Just a bad dream.’

But despite the pain in her face, Lotta was already mostly asleep, and she wriggled back to her brother, nestling her head under his chin, quickly going limp. Magnus tried to calm his breathing, feeling nauseous as he wrapped a shaking arm around her cold body, drawing her close.

* * *

As a little girl, Alys had felt safe.

The joy of simply being a child shone in her eyes as she sat on her grandfather’s knee, urging him to bounce her up and down. She was left in the care of her grandfather often. Her grandmother was always busy helping someone, but her grandfather had plenty of time for her. Or so it had appeared to Alys.

Her father was gone – dead before she could remember him – so she lived with her grandparents. Her mother came and went, though Alys had not understood why at first. And eventually, she stopped coming back at all, and her grandfather was forced to explain that her mother had been killed by those she was trying to help.

Dreamers, he had warned her with stern eyes, dreamers put themselves in peril by revealing their gifts.

Alys remembered staring at her grandmother, who sat by the fire, sewing him a pair of trousers, tears running down her ruddy cheeks. There was something in her eyes she had never understood. Not then, not now.

Her grandmother died not long after, and Alys was left to be raised by her grief-stricken grandfather, Jonas. He had been distant at first. Sad. Though, eventually, he’d returned from that dark place of loss to give Alys a happy home, where she’d felt loved and nurtured, if not slightly trapped by his desire to keep her safe. So, when a young, handsome warrior named Arnon de Sant arrived in Torborg, seventeen-year-old Alys had been intrigued, excited to hear where he’d been, wanting to know what he’d seen. And though Jonas had not approved, Alys had continued to see Arnon behind his back, until, eventually, she’d run away with him, planning to marry.

Arnon had convinced Alys that he had prospects, that he would make a good husband. And if there was one thing Arnon was good at, it was convincing people of just how promising his prospects were. So it came as a great surprise to Alys when she’d arrived in Ullaberg and seen the tiny village, and Arnon’s rundown cottage, and the abject poverty of it all.

Times had been hard, he said then. And every year after.

Arnon had been a good warrior – one of the most skilled in the village - but what he needed to be good at was farming. Crops failed, the winters worsened, and Magnus and Lotta came along, putting a strain on everything that had already been strained.

Arnon had started beating her after Magnus was born.

Up until that moment, he had simply yelled at her, his face a hue of reds and purples, his hands in fists, threatening her. But everything changed when Magnus arrived because now she had a child to care for as well as her husband. And Arnon could not stand sharing her.

Not even with a helpless baby.

He lashed out at Alys so violently that she had to stop paying Magnus so much attention. She had to wait until Arnon left to spend the night drinking in the hall, before she could hold her baby as she wanted to.

Alys blinked, trying to concentrate. She didn’t want to think about Arnon. She wanted to find Magnus in her dreams. Her sweet boy. Her poor boy who had suffered so much neglect as she sought to shield him from his father.

She couldn’t find him.

She couldn’t find Lotta either.

But in the midst of all the painful memories, she did find her grandfather.

Jonas Bergstrom sat on the step of his old cottage, knife in one hand, whetstone in the other. He was a big man, his shoulders still broad and straight, and as he bent over, his shoulder-length grey hair hung over his face.

Alys walked towards him, wet grass beneath her bare feet.

‘It’s been a long time, my Alys,’ Jonas rasped, eyes full of affection as he looked up. ‘I’ve missed you.’ He had the look of a man who’d spent many years outside. Deep wrinkles dug into his forehead, fanning out around a pair of twinkling grey-blue eyes. His cheerful face was covered in a beard he trimmed regularly, preferring not to keep his breadcrumbs in it like most men his age.

‘I’ve missed you too, Grandfather,’ Alys said, hurrying forward now, limbs trembling.

Leaving his knife and whetstone on the step, Jonas stood, pulling her into his arms. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to come.’

That surprised her. ‘You have?’

Jonas nodded. ‘I’ve always been waiting.’

‘My children are lost to me,’ Alys whispered, trying not to cry. ‘I don’t know what to do. How to get them back. How to get back to them. Everything has gone wrong. Everything!’ And then she did cry, unable to keep all the years of pain in. There was simply too much of it. For though she had visited her grandfather over the years, she had never revealed how hard things were with Arnon, nor how unhappy she was. She hadn’t wanted to worry him, and she felt so foolish for running away in the first place.

Jonas wrapped a strong arm around her, squeezing gently. ‘My poor girl,’ he soothed. ‘I failed you, didn’t I? I shouldn’t have believed you. I shouldn’t have believed him.’ He touched her face, seeing the bruises. ‘I wanted to come for you, take you back home, but I kept finding reasons not to. I didn’t want to interfere.’

Alys shook her head, rubbing her eyes. ‘It wasn’t your fault. I saw nothing, felt nothing to stop me marrying Arnon. But now he’s dead. He’s finally dead, and I must find my way back to Magnus and Lotta. I need your help. Magnus will come to you, he knows how. I wrote instructions. He will follow them to Torborg.’

Jonas frowned. ‘I’m not at the cottage, Alys. I’m no longer in Torborg at all. It burned down last month. Vik took me in. I’m too old now to build myself a new cottage, and I don’t mind Vik’s company. Two old warriors together in the woods. Not quite how I imagined ending up!’ He laughed, stopping quickly at the look on her face.

Alys felt everything collapse around her.

Jonas squeezed her hand. ‘I’ll leave in the morning, don’t you worry. Head back to Torborg. Stay there until the children arrive. I can camp out. It will be like old times!’

It was only a dream.

Her grandfather wouldn’t remember anything when he woke up.

But she would.

‘Alys!’ Jonas tried to get her attention, but as he reached for her he started to disappear, his voice lost in a boom of thunder, the sky dark now, enclosing her like a cloak, though it did not warm her.

And she couldn’t stop shivering.

* * *

Hakon rolled over, his hands smoothing down his wife’s tousled chestnut-coloured hair. Despite his desire to see her dress and carry herself more like a lady who would soon be a queen, Karolina always looked most alluring when she had just woken up.

Naked.

It took his breath away.

‘What is it, Hakon?’ She squirmed, uncomfortable, trying to pull the furs over her breasts. ‘Is something wrong?’

He laughed, pushing it back down. ‘Because I choose to stare at you, you think something is wrong? Karolina! I’m simply happy to see you, to wake up next to you, to touch you.’ His other hand moved beneath the furs.

Karolina froze. Marriage had not been what she’d imagined as a girl. She had hoped for love or, at least, affection, but what she felt more than anything was fear. Hakon was unpredictable; at times, violent. She doubted he would hurt their son, but she worried that she would give him reason to hurt her.

She remained perfectly still, resisting the urge to wriggle away from his exploring fingers. She even tried to smile.

‘Tell me what you think of Ivan,’ Hakon murmured.

‘Ivan?’

‘Do you think he’s capable of leading our great army to Stornas?’

Karolina swallowed. She didn’t dislike Ivan. He could be funny and kind at times. He certainly seemed gentler than her own husband. But she never knew what to say, knowing that Hakon didn’t ask questions he didn’t already know the answer to. ‘I think he is young. Perhaps...’

‘Perhaps?’ Hakon narrowed his eyes, knowing that he was the same age as his cousin.

‘It may be that older men could provide some experience. Wisdom. They could support Ivan.’

Hakon liked hearing Karolina’s opinions. They were less abrasive than Mother’s and more considered than his cousin’s. ‘Experience, yes. Though we have years of battle experience now, Ivan and I. Still, I don’t suppose it would hurt to have him lean on Lief and Jerrik to balance his... enthusiasm.’ He was getting distracted, his mind wandering, but then Karolina arched her back, and his attention was right back on his fingers and her exquisite body. ‘Although, perhaps we will talk of that later, for I think we have other things to attend to right now.’

Closing her eyes, Karolina hoped it would be over quickly.

She wanted to go and check on her son.

* * *

Jonas Bergstrom woke with a headache, a griping stomach, and the intense smell of smoking fish in his nostrils.

He staggered out of bed, across the creaking floorboards which felt cold now that winter was on its way. They would have to think about a few new skins. Preferably furs. Vik had a breezy sort of cottage.

He blinked in the harsh morning light, head pounding, realising belatedly, and regretfully, that he could no longer drink so much ale. His body appeared to be trying to warn him that he was old. Jonas chuckled, not quite ready to listen. ‘What are you doing, you useless turd?’ he called to his best friend, Vik Lofgren. ‘Who smokes fish before the sun’s even up?’ He blinked, glancing back at the step to Vik’s cottage. He could almost see Alys sitting there as a girl, on one of their many visits, and his heart sank.

‘Well, I’m sure you won’t complain when you’re eating it for breakfast, you much older turd!’ Vik grumbled with a grin, emerging from his tiny shed in a cloud of smoke. He held a tray of ambered-coloured trout in his hands, steaming hot and ready to eat. ‘What’s wrong?’

Vik was almost sixty, Jonas almost seventy. They had been friends since they were young neighbours in Torborg; too many years ago to remember now. They had fought together in the shield wall, hunted in The Murk, even fished the Valgeir Sea. For a time, they had been travellers, adventurers, but over the years, they had both settled down, attempting to try family life.

It had not worked for Vik, who had married twice and ended up an unlucky, childless widower two times over. Jonas had been only slightly less fortunate. Though he had loved his wife and daughter, he had lost them both too young.

And then there was Alys.

Jonas glanced back at the step again, certain he’d had a dream. His wife had been a dreamer, his daughter, and then, Alys too. A dangerous occupation, he knew. One he had stamped out before Alys could do anything about it.

He’d never wanted her to end up like his daughter.

They were both gone now, but the memories of living with a dreamer still lingered, and Jonas knew that he’d certainly had a dream.

Barefooted and needing to piss urgently, he hurried away from the cottage to the latrine, which Vik had recently moved into the trees, some distance from the front door. Though, considering the winter chill in the air, Jonas realised that might have been a mistake.

When he returned to the cottage, he was pleased to see Vik at the table, a couple of stale flatbreads, half a round of cheese and a few figs waiting beside the tray of smoked trout.

‘What is it?’ Vik wondered. Though not as tall as Jonas, he was a big man, strong and broad-chested. He worked with a sword most days, when he wasn’t fishing or hunting or repairing his cottage. He wasn’t ready for Vasa to claim him yet; determined that she wouldn’t catch him without a sword in his hand. Though the chance of him fighting anything other than a frisky trout these days was slim. ‘Looks like you’ve seen a ghost.’

Jonas took a seat at the small table, just big enough for two. He’d been grateful when Vik had invited him to stay. And despite his friend’s annoying habit of getting up before dawn to tinkle about outside, he was enjoying the company. ‘Not quite, but I think I had a dream.’

‘About a woman?’ Vik joked. Isolation had its downsides, though surely after two failed attempts at marriage, the gods had made it rather plain that women were not in his future.

‘Perhaps...’ Jonas grabbed his eating knife, attacking a fillet of fish, his mind on Alys, his body taut with worry. ‘Perhaps...’

9

The waves curled effortlessly against the straked hull of the ship as it sliced through the dark sea.

Everyone on board appeared energised. The morning had rushed by, and even the injured men – those who had been moaning and groaning only hours earlier – started to perk up as they edged closer to Ottby.

Reinar felt different too. He was back on board Fury, confident that Sigurd was on the mend, watched over by his new dreamer. His chest tightened, his cold hands curling into fists, eyes on the familiar bridge that spanned the cliffs bordering the estuary. The need to keep that old bridge defended was paramount, for if Ottby was captured, enemy armies would be able to march directly to Stornas and threaten the king.

That weight had rested heavily on Stellan Vilander, and now Reinar felt it himself; though Ottby was not only a valuable defensive structure, it was his home, and the people he loved most lived within its walls.

Reinar blinked, wanting to speak to Alys urgently, but knowing there was still much to take care of.

Torvig stood beside him. ‘We need to be ready to move as soon as we’re back. Find more men quickly. Hakon will attack again. He won’t like that you sunk his ships. I doubt he had many more.’

Reinar smiled, imagining that little boy’s face, for Hakon Vettel was only a boy. Only twenty-three and he thought he could take on every lord along the Eastern Shore; become more powerful than Ake Bluefinn himself. ‘Well, he can go fuck himself.’

Torvig laughed. ‘He’s likely saying the same about you!’ He couldn’t feel his face, his hands or his feet, and he felt impatient to get into the fort. He could almost taste snow in the air, and his thoughts turned to the heat of a generous fire, the warmth of a fur-lined bench, a cup of wine in his hand. Then Torvig remembered Gerda, who was notoriously tight-fisted when it came to dishing out any item she considered a luxury. And a woman as miserable as Gerda Vilander would certainly consider wine a luxury best saved for a special occasion.

‘I’ve more important things to worry about than Hakon Vettel,’ Reinar muttered, his attention drifting to Dagger, sailing along in their wake. He caught a glimpse of the green-dress-wearing Alys de Sant. She was timid, lacking confidence, and young. Unlike any dreamer he’d known, yet he had such great need of her now.

Torvig watched his friend’s eyes narrow, seeking out the dreamer, as he had done since the first time he’d caught sight of her. That woman was going to cause problems for them all, he realised. Problems he would have to find solutions for.

And quickly.

* * *

Mother had been cryptic.

She was always cryptic, Hakon thought with a scowl, unlike Ivan, who sat opposite him, mouth ajar, eyes following Falla, who was sashaying around the hall after her young son.

Hakon kicked him.

Ivan bit his tongue, glaring at his cousin, though he was mostly just mad at himself for being unable to stop staring at Falla. She was the most mesmerising creature he’d ever seen. He couldn’t control himself at all.

Hakon laughed, watching Lief Gundersen enter the hall, shaking rain from his straight dark hair. His eyes were immediately on his wife, not his lord. Hakon could tell how much Lief loved his wife. Or, at least, how demanding his need to keep her safe was. He took great interest in her whereabouts, rarely allowing himself to become so distracted that he didn’t know where she was.

Hakon didn’t blame him. And though Karolina was no temptress, the idea of another man coveting his wife was enough to make him reach for his sword.

Satisfied that Falla was alone, Lief’s eyes quickly snapped to the high table, and he attempted a smile. ‘My lord,’ he said, ignoring Ivan entirely. ‘Anyone would think winter had arrived out there!’ Holding his hands over the flames, he rubbed them together, shaking his head, not wanting anything from the trays of pickled eel and oysters the slaves offered him.

‘Winter arriving early will disrupt our plans,’ Ivan suggested, ensuring his eyes remained on Lief, whether he acknowledged him or not. He could sense Falla approach, helping her husband take off his wet cloak, but he forced himself to ignore her.

‘Not all of them,’ Hakon grinned, just as cryptically as Mother Arnesson. He reached for his goblet as Lief left Falla behind, approaching the high table. ‘But we have time before the first snow falls, I’m sure.’ His mind drifted back to his conversation with the old dreamer. She had spoken of things he didn’t believe possible. But if they were...

If what she said could truly happen...

Hakon smiled, turning to Ivan. ‘Why don’t we go for a walk, Cousin? Lief, you should join us. We have plans to make. Urgent plans. It’s best we keep them to ourselves, away from gossiping women.’ He enjoyed the tart look on Falla’s face as he stood, winking at her.

Ivan wasn’t wrong to admire Falla Gundersen and her endless curves, Hakon knew, quickly shifting his eyes to the hall doors.

He was just far too obvious.

* * *

Agnette waddled with speed. She felt like a mother duck, with Bjarni’s two old hounds chasing after her, barking, as she hurried through the bridge gates into the square. Tulia was striding towards her, spear in hand. ‘They’re coming!’ she called, already out of breath, hands on hips, stopping to cup her protruding belly. ‘They’re... coming!’

Tulia looked relieved as she stepped past Agnette, her long legs quickly taking her away from Gerda, who had left the hall at the first shouts from the ramparts. The gates to the bridge were open, and Tulia hurried towards them, eager to get down the stairs to meet the ships.

‘Agnette!’ Gerda scolded, rushing past her after Tulia. ‘Your hair’s a mess! You shouldn’t greet your husband in such a dishevelled state. Go and tidy yourself up!’

Agnette glared at her aunt, who did indeed look as well-groomed as ever, unsurprisingly, since she barely lifted a finger to help anyone but herself. And certainly not her husband, who she had tasked Agnette to care for as soon as he took ill.

Ottby’s harbour saw little traffic as the fort was no trading station. Its market was small, servicing just the local area, and those few merchants who had built up relationships with the Vilanders over the years. The three piers jutting out from the bottom of the cliffs were full of warships, which, though sea-worthy, saw little action these days.

Those in the fort hurried down the steep stone stairway which led from the bridge, eager to see what their returning lord had brought back with him; hoping most of all that he’d brought back a change of luck.

They all needed some of that.

Reinar jumped down onto the boards of the old pier with a bang, happy to see Tulia, though she barely looked at him, quickly seeking out any sign of Sigurd. She ran her eyes over Dagger, not seeing him by the prow as she would have expected to.

Reinar put a hand on her shoulder. ‘He was injured, but he’ll live. Hakon Vettel sent men to ambush us near the estuary to Goslund. They were lying in wait. Three shiploads of them.’

Tulia shook off his hand, hurrying to Dagger, wanting to see Sigurd for herself. She rarely worried and wasn’t prone to panic, but in the four years they’d been together, he’d barely had a scratch on him.

Gerda, who had quickly made her way down the stairs, overheard their conversation, forcing herself not to interrupt. But as Tulia left, she grabbed Reinar, hand on his arm, slightly out of breath. ‘You weren’t injured, were you?’

Reinar shook his head, pleased to see his mother. ‘No, but Sigurd –’

‘You must come up to the hall! Let Bjarni sort everyone out,’ Gerda insisted, slipping an arm through Reinar’s, frowning at the dampness of his cloak. ‘I think snow’s on the way. Best we get to a fire, take off this wet cloak.’ She tried to move him towards the stairs.

Reinar held his ground. ‘I need to see to Sigurd.’ He glared at his mother, wishing that, just for once, she would show a maternal instinct towards his brother. ‘You need to see to him.’

Gerda inhaled sharply, quickly insulted. She lowered her voice, hissing. ‘I... will, of course, but Tulia’s there. I doubt she’d even let me look at him. You know how that woman is, always taking charge, as though she’s a man. I’ll look at him once you get him up the stairs, into the hall.’

Reinar decided that he was too cold to stand around trying to change his mother, who had likely been much the same for all her fifty-seven years. There was little he could do to bend and shape her into the mother Sigurd had always wished for. It was far too late for that now.

Alys shivered, eyes on the dark cliffs facing the estuary, almost perfectly sheer, running with moisture. She tipped back her head, turning it to the right, towards the imposing bridge, then back to the left where the stone fort perched on the edge of the cliff, reaching up into the clouds.

Over the years, Ottby’s fortress had proved near impenetrable, with two stone walls protecting the nearly three hundred homes and buildings housed within. The low wall led to a narrow courtyard and the much higher inner wall; both walls fortified with defensive ramparts and towers that gave a clear view of the fields and forests to the north, east, and west, and the bridge to the south.

Looking away from the bridge, Alys turned her attention to the men clambering out of the ships, onto the pier. Many of them looked happy to be home. Some appeared sullen at the thought of having returned with nothing to show but two shiploads of women no one wanted, and a handful of squealing, bleating animals.

The Ullaberg women just looked terrified.

Though Ottby was surely better than Goslund.

But only just.

Alys yelped as Torvig grabbed her by the elbow, roughly pushing her towards the gunwale. Her eyes snapped to Sigurd, who grimaced as he limped forward, leaning on Ludo.

‘Let Ludo take her,’ Sigurd gasped. ‘You should help Reinar.’

Torvig froze, eyes on Sigurd’s pained face. He bit his teeth together, hand still squeezing Alys’ elbow. And then Tulia jumped down in front of him, moving past him towards Sigurd, and Sigurd lost sight of Torvig and the dreamer.

‘Well, no surprise to see you’re injured.’ There was worry in her heart but not, she hoped, on her face, for Tulia Saari preferred to keep everyone at arm’s length; even, sometimes, Sigurd Vilander. ‘For without me, what use are you really?’

Alys’ eyes widened. The woman was striking, strong-looking, and fierce. She wore a tight-fitting leather vest over a red tunic; her trousers tucked into black boots. A long mane of dark hair hung to the middle of her back, gathered into a single braid, tied with ribbons. And when she swung back around, Alys caught a glimpse of her rich-brown eyes; sharp and almond-shaped, and not at all welcoming.

Tulia glared at her, then turned back to Sigurd, who she could sense was staring at the woman. And her scowl deepened. ‘Why don’t you get your prisoners off the ship, Torvig? What are you waiting for?’

‘I’ll take her.’ Reinar leaned over the gunwale, arms out, reaching for Alys, who looked relieved to see him.

Getting more incensed by the moment, Torvig shoved her towards Reinar, turning back for another of the women. There were many still to get off the ship, though most weren’t as quiet as the dreamer. The wailing, bleating noises quickly picked up again, the goat slipping its rope, tangling itself around an irritated Bolli’s legs.

Reinar laughed, placing Alys on the pier, before turning back for Sigurd, who wasn’t surprised to see his mother already disappearing towards the stairs, without even a glance his way. He yelped as Ludo and Reinar tried to lift him over the gunwale, struggling with the tilting ship and Sigurd’s many injuries.

‘Just leave me here,’ Sigurd groaned, eyes closed against the pain. ‘I can’t face the stairs.’

‘Alright, I’ll send down some ale. Something to eat.’ And Tulia strode off after Gerda.

‘What?’ Sigurd opened one eye just in time to see her turn around, frowning at him.

‘Well, hurry up, then! The quicker we get you up the stairs, the quicker we get to a fire!’ Tulia was shivering, irritated by the cold, worried about Sigurd, though she didn’t show it as she turned back around, disappearing up the stairs.

Reinar laughed at the look on his brother’s face. ‘Surely you’re not surprised? Not after all this time?’ He kept laughing, inclining his head for Bjarni to get the women moving in the same direction, right after Tulia. ‘Ludo, go ahead of us, I’ll push Sigurd from behind. If he’s going to fall down those stairs, I think I have a better chance of stopping him!’

Sigurd wanted to protest that he wasn’t a sack of grain, but it started raining, quickly turning heavy. He clamped his lips together, hunching up his aching shoulders, thinking about a fire, feeling Reinar’s hand on his back, shunting him up the stairs.

Alys emerged from the dark stairway, nudged into the fort by Bjarni. She blinked, tired eyes taking in the tall guard towers flanking the ramparts, where armoured warriors stood watching the men and women who clustered around the open gates, wanting to see and hear what had happened. Most appeared relieved to have their warriors home, but there was a sense of gloom and despair that was palpable.

Fear and misery too.

Alys could tell that Ottby was not a happy place.

Spotting Agnette, Bjarni hurried away from the women, grabbing hold of his wife, whose hair remained a wild mess. He didn’t notice as he held her close, his lips to her ear. ‘You’re well? You and the child?’

She nodded, heart beating fast, relieved that he was home. Everything had been going downhill for the last year, worsening rapidly over the past six months, and as her child grew in her belly, Agnette’s fears heightened. But she tried to smile, not wanting to worry her husband. ‘We’re getting bigger by the day. Both of us!’

Bjarni puffed out a cold breath, stepping back, looking his wife over, placing his hands on her belly.

‘He likes to move in the afternoons,’ Agnette smiled, moving his hand lower. ‘Yes, there. But I imagine he’s asleep now.’ She pressed Bjarni’s hand down, but there was no movement.

They smiled at each other, trying not to look worried.

Agnette’s eyes drifted to where Bolli was carrying a goat through the gates. It was only a kid, she thought, as Bolli was not a large man. The little goat bleated mournfully, and Bolli grumbled at it, his red cheeks reddening further.

‘I think you’ve got a new pet there, Bolli!’ Reinar called from behind him as he headed for Bjarni and Agnette. ‘You’d best make room for her in your cottage! Sounds like the needy type!’

Bolli didn’t look impressed with Reinar or the noise of his miserable companion, but he was quickly sold on the idea of having a ready supply of goat’s milk on hand.

‘Agnette!’ Reinar gave his cousin’s belly a quick glance, before smiling at her round face. She seemed content and healthy, and he felt relieved. She’d waited a long time for that child; her and Bjarni both. ‘Send that husband of yours to Torvig when you’re done with him. He can help gather the women into the square until we decide what to do with them.’

Agnette’s eyes widened, first resting on Alys, then moving to where a bedraggled group of women was growing in front of the gates. ‘Why have you brought them here?’ She was horrified. No one liked the idea of slaving, but hunger and hardship had made many of them swallow that bitter tonic. The slaves had always been sold at Goslund, so it had remained more of an abstract concept, as though they were not involved in the reality of it. But now, here were the women, broken-hearted, distressed women, who looked no different than her friends and neighbours; bound, prisoners, ready to be sold; stolen away from children, husbands, and homes.

Bjarni could sense his wife’s discomfort growing, and he sought to distract her. ‘We were attacked. Ambushed. Our passage to Goslund was blocked by Hakon Vettel’s ships. We couldn’t get through.’

Agnette’s wary eyes moved to an ashen-faced Sigurd, who hung limply between Tulia and Ludo, feeling an urgent need to sit down. ‘Sigurd! What happened?’

‘That would be Hakon’s archers and Rutger’s knife,’ Reinar grinned. ‘But we sunk Hakon’s ships and tipped Rutger’s worthless corpse into the sea, so you’ve nothing to worry about, except helping Gerda take care of all the women.’ He eyed his mother, who was attempting a look of concern at Sigurd.

‘Come into the hall!’ Gerda called, wanting to move everyone away from the gates. ‘You need to get by a fire. I’ll have Rienne find you something warm to drink. Agnette, see to those women!’ And sweeping her cloak around, she hurried away from the gates, into the fort.

Reinar watched her go, not surprised by his mother’s coldness, but always disappointed. ‘I need to sort the women out with Bjarni and Torvig,’ he said to Agnette, who looked ready to sit down. ‘You take Alys, here. She’s a dreamer. She’ll be staying in Salma’s cottage. It may need a... clean?’ He eyed Agnette over Alys’ head, remembering how ill Salma had been when she died. Nobody had wanted to enter the old dreamer’s cottage after she passed away, and it likely still reeked of her death.

Agnette nodded, eyes bulging at the thought of entering that cottage again. Salma had been a mysterious woman. Arriving in a storm, she had offered her services to Reinar, wanting to help him, though Agnette had never understood why.

And now, here was another dreamer.

Perhaps a healer too?

She gasped as her baby moved, her eyes suddenly sharper. ‘Alys?’ Agnette reached out a hand as Reinar urged Alys forward. ‘Why don’t you come along with me.’

* * *

Magnus was gripped by a sense of confusion as he turned in the saddle, quickly turning back again.

‘Do you know where we are?’ Lotta wondered beside him, yawning. She couldn’t decide whether she was hungry, tired, or scared. Most likely all three, she realised, blinking suddenly, hearing a noise. ‘What was that?’ She glanced at the trees to her left, seeking an explanation for the crunching sounds.

‘Probably a fox,’ Magnus grumbled, not worrying about noises right now. He had his mother’s instructions on his lap, the vellum fluttering in the wind. And though he could read her directions easily enough, what she’d written didn’t make sense to his ten-year-old brain.

Lotta didn’t hear another noise, and she convinced herself that Magnus was right about it being a fox. Surely if it was a bear, it would have crashed about, banging against the trees and bushes, making a big fuss. ‘We should go,’ she said, turning to her flustered brother. And leaning down, she gave Clover a pat, nudging her knees against her pony’s bulging white belly. ‘Come on.’

Magnus stared at his sister as she moved past him, before hurrying to stuff the vellum into his pouch, gathering Daisy’s reins. ‘Lotta!’ he grumbled. ‘What are you doing?’ And urging Daisy on, he quickly caught up to her. ‘How do you know it’s this way?’

Lotta spun around with a sweet smile. ‘I’m a dreamer, Magnus, just like Mama. I know which way to go.’ And off she went again.

Magnus didn’t know what she was talking about, but once again, he spurred Daisy on to catch up with her. ‘Mother’s not a dreamer!’ he insisted. ‘Why would you say that?’

‘You can hear her, can’t you? When she tells us things? In your head?’

Magnus thought about that for a moment, pieces of the puzzle slotting quickly into place. ‘But... that’s because she’s our mother. We’re connected like that.’

‘No, that’s because she can talk to us that way. She can hear our thoughts. I know that because I can hear yours.’

‘You can?’

Lotta’s eyes remained on the path she had chosen. ‘Yes. And you needn’t be so worried. Mama will find us when she’s free. I dreamed it. She will come for us when she’s free.’ And swallowing, Lotta blinked away her tears, deciding that she would hold on to her dream for as long as it took.

For as long as it took to feel her mother’s arms around her again.

* * *

‘It is...’ Agnette couldn’t go on. She held a hand over her mouth and nose, gagging.

Alys stood beside her, wanting to leave. The old cottage had been shut up for weeks, and it stunk of death and disease. Foul, stomach-churning odours made them both want to retch. She turned around, eyeing the door that had closed after them.

Agnette quickly grabbed the handle, opening the door and pushing Alys outside. It had started raining, which was an improvement, and they both inhaled deeply.

‘Salma died in there, a month ago or more. I can’t remember. Everything of late has been a terrifying blur.’ Agnette coughed, wishing she had a cup of ale. She saw Alys’ confusion. ‘Salma was a dreamer. Reinar’s dreamer. But she took ill and died. Many did over the summer, into autumn. We haven’t had an easy time of late.’ She glanced at Alys’ terrified face, feeling horrible. This poor woman was having more than just a bad time. She had been torn away from her life. From her home. And now Reinar wanted to stick her in a stinking cottage and make her dream for him. ‘I will clean it for you. Make it smell better. And in the meantime, you can go to the hall, warm yourself by a fire. I imagine that rain will only get worse.’

Alys didn’t move. She felt disconnected from her senses.

As though everything happening was not happening to her.

As though she was merely watching it. Not feeling anything at all.

Agnette touched her arm. ‘My name is Agnette. I’m Reinar and Sigurd’s cousin. You met my husband, Bjarni. And this,’ she smiled, touching her belly. ‘This is to be our first child.’

Alys blinked at Agnette, staring at her belly, suddenly back in the moment.

‘Come along, come to the hall, Alys. I will find somewhere for you while I sort this cottage out. I’m sure I have some dried lavender left!’

Alys turned after her, lifting her bare feet out of the mud, remembering the cold sand on Ullaberg’s beach. Remembering Magnus and Lotta and her dead husband too.

Wanting to go home.

10

Ottby, Ottby, Ottby.

A thorn or a jewel?

Hakon could never decide, but as he ran a finger over the little indentation in his map, his scowl turned into a smile. It was both, he realised. A thorn of a problem, that once solved would reveal a jewel powerful enough to help him onto the throne.

Mother muttered beside him, farting occasionally. Hakon moved away from her, nearer Lief, who didn’t seem bothered by Mother’s foul odours. Ivan was less discreet, laughing out loud, stopping as soon as Mother glowered at him.

‘You will need to act quickly. You will need to act quickly!’

Mother had a habit of repeating things, Hakon knew, and he glared at Ivan, who had a habit of laughing at the dreamer. ‘Of course, and we will. The weather will not improve, so we must hurry before we are all snowed in.’

‘The weather will not improve,’ Mother agreed, running her own finger over the indentation that was Ottby. ‘Though I can talk to the gods, see what they can do.’ Her eyes rolled about wildly as she considered things, her body sometimes jerking as though she was in pain.

‘You?’ Ivan couldn’t stop himself. ‘Talk to the gods? Thenor and Vasa? Sigunn and Vesti?’

Mother stomped towards him, filthy finger wagging as Ivan clamped his lips together, attempting to hold his ground. ‘And what do you think dreamers are, boy?’ ‘Dreamers are vessels of the gods! Gifted with the ability to see things mere mortals are not! Chosen by the gods to convey their messages!’ She spat as she spoke, wet lips twisting into a furious scowl. ‘And you would laugh at the gods themselves, Ivan Vettel? You would mock them?’

Ivan swallowed, finally stepping back. ‘No, I wouldn’t. I wasn’t aware the gods spoke to dreamers. It was a... simple mistake.’

‘I’m sure what you’re not aware of could fill the Valgeir Sea,’ Mother huffed, returning to her position at the map table. The boy was a constant irritant, though highly effective in battle and Hakon was going to need him fighting against the Vilanders.

Although...

Now it was Hakon’s turn to laugh out loud, watching Mother peering at Ivan as though she was turning him on a spit. He rubbed his hands together, feeling cold. ‘And when will our visitors arrive?’

Ivan yawned, scratching his belly. ‘Within the next few days. If they took the old road. ’

‘I hope you warned them to be discreet!’ Mother hissed urgently. ‘They need to slip through the forests like mist. Not barge around like clot-footed giants making a fuss!’ And though Ivan was no giant, she glared at him, moist lips pursing again.

He ignored her. ‘They know the importance of what they’re doing. They’ll be discreet.’

‘Good. Very good.’ He glanced around the hall, eyes on Karolina, who sat on a fur-covered bench in front of one of the long fire-pits, bouncing Anders on her knee.

There was no one else in the hall, not even a slave. And though Karolina could hear everything they were saying, if she had a mind to, Hakon trusted her. And, even if he hadn’t, he doubted she was clever enough to understand what was going on. She smiled at him, and he stared at her for a moment, appreciating the sweet beauty of her heart-shaped face as it glowed warmly in the flames. He turned back to Lief. ‘See that everything is ready for their arrival. I want our guests to feel welcome.’

Lief nodded, spinning around, heading for the door. He felt a charge in his body. There had been too much delaying. Too much moving from side to side. The thought of finally moving forward excited him, though claiming Ottby was of no consequence to Lief Gundersen. It was merely a stepping stone on the path to Stornas, where Hakon Vettel would be crowned the King of Alekka, and he would stand beside him, the new head of his army, his most trusted advisor.

Reaching the door, Lief grabbed the old wooden handle, carved like a dragon prow, and turning back to the map table, his ruined eyes drifted to Ivan for a moment, before he disappeared out into the rain.

* * *

Alys sat by the fire as everyone rushed in and out of Ottby’s large stone hall.

She was grateful for the flames, but not one part of her felt comfortable. She couldn’t stop thinking about Stina, who was possibly still standing out in the rain, which now sounded torrential overhead. She thought of Jorunn and Vanya and Ilene, who she did not like at all, and the other women from Ullaberg. Alys tried to remember who was not there, who had been left behind.

She tried not to think about poor Magda.

Rain splashed down the smoke holes, sizzling the flames before her, and for a moment, her attention wandered, and she wondered if they would be extinguished. Memories gripped her and Alys froze, reminded of how angry Arnon would become if she ever let the fire go out. It had rained so much this past year – devastating, crop-ruining rain – and she had failed to keep the fire going many a day.

For the first time since she’d left Ullaberg, Alys touched her face, feeling around her nose, around her eyes. The pain was dull now, and nothing felt swollen. She kept seeing the image of her husband lying in the sand, arrow in his chest. And if only she hadn’t been ripped away from her children; if only she didn’t know if they were safe; if only her friends weren’t trapped here with her in this strange place, she would have been happier than she had felt in years.

‘Who did that to her face?’ Tulia wondered, watching Alys from her place at the high table between Sigurd and Reinar. Gerda had insisted on serving them a meal, wanting the men to have something hot in their bellies after their cold, wet journey home.

‘Her husband.’

Sigurd stared at his brother, surprised. ‘Well, glad to hear it wasn’t Rutger, the fucking shit. Though, I wouldn’t have put it past him.’

‘Sigurd!’ Gerda disliked that sort of talk at the table.

‘Rutger did try to kill him,’ Reinar said, eyeing his mother sharply. ‘He’s lucky he’s still here. If that dreamer hadn’t sewn him up so quickly, he might not have been.’

Gerda barely blinked. ‘And you intend to keep her?’ She sat next to Reinar, her mute husband sleeping beside her. There was no sign of Agnette, who was still making the old dreamer’s cottage more habitable, though Gerda was growing irritated by her absence. She leaned towards her eldest son, lowering her voice. ‘What do you know of her? How can you trust her?’

‘I know she saved our lives,’ Reinar said, eager to get Alys into his chamber. ‘And I know I’m in the market for a dreamer. I don’t believe I need to know more than that.’ He stood, pushing himself away from the table. ‘That was a tender piece of pork, Mother,’ he smiled. ‘Though perhaps we should be keeping it for when winter truly arrives? We have enough fish for now, don’t we?’

Gerda twitched, hearing the disapproval in his voice, draped in politeness as it was. She nodded coldly, lifting a finger to Agnette, who staggered into the hall, drenched and tired. ‘Of course. I shall have a word with Rilda. Agnette! Stellan needs to be tidied up!’ And leaving the table, Gerda hurried away to the kitchen without looking back.

Sigurd tried not to laugh, because it would have hurt and because when he looked at Alys, he immediately felt odd. It wasn’t good to have the Ullaberg women here, a reminder of what they had done.

Rain drummed down on the roof, the wind a wail outside.

Or was it those women?

Bjarni followed Agnette inside, surprised that despite the extra weight his wife was carrying, it had not slowed her down. ‘I’ve put them all in the barn by the gates!’ he called to Reinar, who was heading for Alys. ‘It’s dry, but not especially warm.’

The women were a problem, Reinar knew, and they certainly didn’t need more mouths to feed over winter. Though until he knew whether it was safe to get to Goslund, he wouldn’t be able to exchange them for coins. And with winter fast approaching, his window was rapidly closing. The slave trade tended to die over the frozen months. People sheltered in place. There was little raiding, mostly because it was impossible to get anywhere without freezing to death.

They couldn’t afford to keep the women over winter.

‘Well, that’s the best we can do for now. See that they eat, and have Steffan and Ebbert keep a guard through the night. I don’t want any missing come morning.

He thought of Rutger, irritated that the fool had not only gotten himself killed, but one of the women as well. And sending Bjarni back outside, Reinar reached for Alys. ‘You can see your friends later,’ he said abruptly, grabbing her arm, lifting her to her feet. ‘But for now, you’ll come with me.’

Alys swallowed, hearing a change in Reinar’s voice. Disturbed by it.

And stumbling slightly, she hurried to keep up with him as he led her towards the back of the hall.

Sigurd watched them go, a worried look on his face.

* * *

Vik had gone fishing in his boat. It was big enough for two, but compact enough to be manned by his two brawny arms alone. He enjoyed the solitude, and since Jonas appeared to be staying, he was determined to increase their stores before winter hit.

According to Vik, this winter promised to be worse than any in recent memory. Jonas had asked where he’d gotten that information from, not surprised to discover that Vik had heard it from a dreamer he’d seen in Vaara. He smiled, though he did not feel happy. Thinking about dreamers reminded him of his wife and daughter. Of Alys too, who he knew was unhappy. Whenever he’d visited Ullaberg, she’d always insisted she wasn’t, trying to convince them both that Arnon was a good man. Jonas was no dreamer, but he could tell she was lying. And part of him had been relieved to hear her say it, convincing himself that he could not act without her consent, without her expressing a need for his help.

Guilt was a heavy weight to bear.

He saw Alys in his dream, urging him to help her children.

Saying she had sent them to him.

Jonas creaked down onto the step, sighing, rain misting over him. His eyes drifted towards the forest in front of him, caught between what was real, and what was just imagined. Though it was always impossible to know what was real where dreamers were concerned.

And then his wife’s voice, like a gentle kiss, whispering in his ear. ‘You know.’

He shivered, lifting a hand to his face, wondering if somehow Eida was there, watching him. And then he heard her again.

‘You know, Jonas Bergstrom. You know what to do.’

* * *

The draft caught the door, shutting it with a bang and Alys jumped, swallowing, as Reinar turned to her.

The long bedchamber was softly-lit. Two lamps hung from the rafters on either side of a low, comfortable-looking bed; two more at the other end of the stone chamber, where fur-lined chairs were positioned around a circular fire pit that crackled invitingly.

Elin had liked light. ‘Just enough,’ she’d smiled, teasing Reinar with her fingers. ‘Just enough so I can see what I’m doing.’

Reinar closed his eyes for a moment, almost feeling her silken hair beneath his fingers as she bent her head to him. And then the fire popped again, and he was back in his chamber, the dreamer in the torn green dress shaking before him.

In two strides, he was in front of her, hands on her arms. ‘You must tell me the truth,’ he growled throatily, eyes devouring hers. ‘Are you really a dreamer, Alys de Sant? Do you truly see the future, or were you just lucky at the estuary? Perhaps you even caught a glimpse of Hakon Vettel’s ships? Perhaps no one saw what you did?’

Alys shivered, frozen with fear. There was no smile in Reinar’s eyes now, nor on his face. The amiable lord had vanished. ‘I... I am... a dreamer. I promise I am, though I have no training. What I see comes to me. I... don’t know how to control my dreams, not as real dreamers do.’

Reinar let her go, stepping away towards the bed, tension building at his temples. ‘My wife is missing.’ He spun back to Alys. ‘Three weeks ago, she went missing.’ His eyes were full of pain, his heart aching. ‘Something has happened to her, but I don’t know what. Salma died before she disappeared. I’ve sent men searching for my wife, I’ve searched for her myself, but no one saw a trace. Her clothes are all still here. I...’ Reinar stepped closer, needing to look into Alys’ eyes. ‘I need you to find her. To dream of her. To see who took her.’

Alys’ mouth hung open. ‘Oh.’ She found herself nodding.

Reinar wanted to believe in her, but he found no reassurance in those frantic eyes. They reminded him of a doe: watchful, full of terror, sensing death approach. Ready to bolt for safety.

But she couldn’t. He wouldn’t let her. Not now.

He needed her to find Elin.

‘Agnette will take you back to the cottage,’ Reinar said, ignoring the look in her eyes. ‘And you will dream.’ He put a hand into his pouch, pulling out a gold bracelet; hungry dragons curling around either end. ‘This was Elin’s. She wanted to give me luck. I forgot to return it to her.’ He held it out to Alys, gripping it tightly. ‘It will help you. Salma said a dreamer can hold on to something as they go to sleep. That it helps to bring them dreams. To find what they’re seeking.’

Alys kept nodding as she reached for the bracelet, her hand touching Reinar’s, seeing a flash of something surprising. Familiar. She jerked away, stepping back.

‘What? What is it?’

‘Nothing.’ Alys moved towards him again, trying to avoid his eyes as she took the bracelet this time, holding it in her hand. ‘I’m sure it will help, though I can’t promise anything. I... I’ve never tried to dream like this before.’

That worried Reinar, but he needed her to feel confident.

It had to work.

He walked around the fire, its flames blustered by the rain and wind rushing down the smoke hole as the weather worsened. ‘You are here for a reason, Alys.’ His voice was softer now. It needed to be, Reinar realised. He would not woo that terrified doe with booming threats. He needed to coax her into trusting him. ‘And I believe that reason is to help me find my wife. To help me find a way to save Ottby and my people too.’

Alys’ eyes continued to blink rapidly as they followed him.

‘Salma died slowly. A sickness took many of my people over the summer. I thought we’d turned a corner, but then Salma took ill. She was a good woman. Wise and kind. Gifted too.’ Reinar sat down in his chair, conscious of the empty chair sitting next to him where Elin would sit, smiling as she stitched colourful patterns of flowers and birds onto her dresses.

She liked everything to look beautiful and bright.

‘The day she died, Salma sent for me. Told me about the final dream she would ever have. It was a dream about you.’

Alys froze.

‘She held my hand, promised that I’d have help, that a dreamer was coming. A woman in a green dress. Hair like a field of wheat ripening beneath a summer’s sun.’ Reinar was back in the cottage, holding Salma’s limp hand. ‘A young woman, she promised.’ And then he was in his chamber again, rain hammering down overhead, his eyes on Alys. ‘She saw you.’

Alys didn’t know what to say. Part of her wanted to scream at him. She didn’t want to be his dreamer. She didn’t want to be here in this unfamiliar place, away from her children, from all that she knew. Though part of her felt relieved to have been torn away from Ullaberg, most of her was trembling, terrified, not knowing what was going to happen next.

She squeezed the golden bracelet, lifting her eyes. ‘I will try.’

It was barely a murmur, but Reinar heard her over the deluge, and he nodded. ‘Come, then. I’ll take you to the cottage.’ He tried to smile, to put Alys at ease. He wanted her to relax, to be able to dream freely. ‘Hopefully, Agnette has managed to get rid of the worst of the smell.’

Alys followed after him, not listening, her thoughts drifting to the woman who had worn the golden bracelet, wondering where she might be.

* * *

‘You’ve seen this woman?’ Hakon asked, watching Mother as she hunched over her cauldron, stirring with a grumble. ‘Reinar Vilander’s dreamer?’

Mother nodded. ‘She is a head-turner.’

Hakon frowned, doubting that. He had met only a handful of dreamers in his twenty-three years, and not one of them had been younger than Mother, who was a creaking old crone, uglier than most. ‘Well, I hear he’s misplaced his wife, so I’m sure he’ll be grateful.’

‘He’ll be grateful for more than the way she looks,’ Mother warned, bulging eyes on the young lord. ‘Mark my words. She’s a prize catch, that one.’

Sometimes it occurred to Hakon that he didn’t know whose side Mother was truly on. ‘But we can kill her?’

Mother laughed, tongue showing, a throaty cackle. ‘Oh, yes, we can kill her. She knows nothing. Not how to defend herself. Not how to attack her enemies. She doesn’t even know how to dream!’ Mother straightened her back with a groan, breathing heavily. ‘I must find Falla, for it is nearly time to begin.’

‘And she will help you?’ Hakon wondered, curious about what Mother was planning. Her cottage was already dark, though night was some way off. She had draped skins over the window to block out any light. Her fire sparked, a single lamp flooding its oil over the floorboards where Mother had drawn a circle.

He wanted to watch her work her magic. He wanted to stay.

‘Falla knows how to help me,’ Mother said, urging Hakon to leave.

And feeling the sudden, unexpected need to head for the hall, Hakon did. ‘I expect to see you in the morning!’ he called, opening the door, greeted by a bone-rattling boom of thunder. ‘To hear how it all went!’

Mother followed him through the door, not noticing the storm at all, her mind flittering like a nesting bird.

Winter was coming. The dreamer would see things.

And everything she wanted would be torn asunder, leaving both her and Falla unsated, far adrift from the vengeance they so hungrily sought.

She would have to act fast.

* * *

Agnette took Alys back to the cottage. Reinar came with them, wanting to ensure it would be comfortable for his new dreamer. She was not his prisoner, he tried convincing himself. He wanted her to feel free enough to dream.

He needed her to.

‘It’s a little better,’ Agnette promised, though there was no confidence in her voice.

Reinar gagged, stepping inside, eyes on Agnette. She lifted her shoulders, hands open, not sure what more she could have done in such a short space of time.

‘There is a new mattress,’ Agnette said cheerfully, masking how cross she was with her cousin, who seemed to think she possessed magic in the tips of her swollen fingers. ‘A fresh fur too. Once the rain stops, I’ll burn everything else.’

The smell was still strong, but the mattress looked inviting after the stones Alys had slept on for two nights. She turned around, smiling at Agnette. ‘Thank you.’

‘You may go and see the women,’ Reinar offered. ‘Eat with them, if you like. Bjarni is organising some food. Then I shall bring you back here.’

Agnette backed away, towards the door. The fire was burning brightly now, though the cottage was old, with a damp dirt floor covered in a scattering of tired reeds, and one wall with more wattle than daub. Likely the thatch needed replacing too. She grimaced, gripping her belly, wanting to get back to Stellan before Gerda came looking for her. ‘If you need anything else, Reinar, you know where I’ll be.’

Her cousin nodded distractedly. ‘Can you check on Sigurd? Between Gerda and Tulia, I doubt he’s in for much sympathy or care.’ Agnette disappeared with a nod, hood up, shivering into the rain, and looking back at Alys, Reinar frowned. ‘Perhaps after you see the women, you could check on my brother too? Look at his wounds?’

‘I will, yes, though I won’t know my way around.’

‘No.’ Reinar needed to get back to the hall. He wanted to see Sigurd too. And Torvig would be impatient to speak to him about the women. About Hakon Vettel and his ships, and what they were going to do. ‘I’ll take you to the barn, then I’ll send Ludo to show you around, though it will be dark before long.’ He glanced down at Alys’ feet. ‘You have no boots.’

Alys was back on the beach again, feet sinking into the blissfully cold sand, children’s laughter ringing in her ears. ‘No. I was on the beach when you...’ Her voice faded away.

Reinar pretended he couldn’t hear the pain in it. ‘Agnette will find you something for your feet.’ He stared at her green dress, and though the cottage was still dark, despite the fire, he could see how worn it was. One sleeve was coming off the shoulder, hem torn to bits now. ‘And something to wear.’ He opened the door, avoiding Alys’ eyes as she stepped past him, watching her walk out into the rain, dark-blonde hair hanging down her back, shoulders drooping, mud up to her ankles.

Reinar swallowed, determined to ignore that voice in his head.

He thought instead of Elin, knowing that the dreamer was going to help him get her back.

11

Falla had once been called Falla Torfi, then Hallstein, then Arnesson for a very short time, and now Gundersen.

Yet she had loved none of her husbands.

She wasn’t sure she even knew what love was, though she knew it didn’t matter. Not in the end. Love was irrelevant to survival.

Gold was relevant.

Power and position.

Strength.

Those things were relevant, but love?

Lief’s arms were around her waist, pulling her to him, his lips on hers, devouring her. He had enormous lips which suited his big, long face, though sometimes it felt as though he was trying to swallow her whole. She didn’t grimace, though, for her husband was strong, and he excited her; excited her enough for Falla to ignore those flapping lips.

Eventually, she pulled back, gasping for air. ‘I told you I had to go. Not tomorrow, but now!’ And laughing, she skipped away from Lief, smoothing down her black hair, hooded eyes on her husband, teasing him, knowing she was out of his reach now. ‘But I will return, my love. I shall slip under the furs and wake you with my cold body, and you shall warm me through!’

Lief rarely smiled. His eyes were cold, dark, disfigured with scars. He looked terrifying, and that excited Falla too; though Hakon Vettel was not as enamoured with her husband as she was. And he still had his idiot cousin by his side day and night, leading his army.

A stupid boy like that?

Falla could never understand it.

‘I shall go with you, to Mother’s cottage.’ Lief was almost certain he trusted his wife, but he didn’t like letting her out of his sight, particularly at night.

‘In this storm?’ Falla laughed, her dimples showing. And though she looked happy, she was eager to be gone. He wanted to possess her, she knew. It had been the same with all of her husbands. But that sort of desperation only made her want to escape.

Lief wondered again if she was carrying his child. She appeared plumper, her curves more accentuated. Her dress was not new. It wasn’t that.

‘You stay here, and I will return when Mother is done.’ And stepping towards the door, Falla eyed him. ‘Eggi will listen out for Borg, you needn’t worry. He’s a good boy, so quiet and calm. Just like you.’ And winking at Lief, she slipped through the door, pulling up her hood, her good mood quickly souring at the thought of spending the night trapped in Mother’s stinking cottage.

* * *

Alys barely noticed the noise of the storm as the women gathered around her. After Magda had thrown herself into the sea, and Heera and Suvi had died from their arrow wounds, there were twenty-five of them.

And nearly all of them had questions for her.

Alys felt overwhelmed, unable to answer everyone at once.

Stina tried to help. ‘You can’t expect her to know everything!’ she insisted loudly, not caring about the guards stationed by the barn doors. The two men sat on stools, one old, one young, talking to each other, not paying any attention to the loud gaggle of women behind them. There was only one way out, and they were blocking it. And despite the loud clucking noises of all those chattering women, it was better than being stuck out in the rain.

‘But what will they do with us?’ Ingrid wanted to know. She was neither loud, nor confident, but her voice rose just as everyone else’s had gone quiet. ‘Will they sell us?’

‘I expect so,’ Alys said. ‘If they can get you to Goslund without being attacked.’

‘You?’ Ilene snarled. ‘Why do you not say, us, Alys de Sant? Do you think you are different than us? Better? That they will spare you now you’ve revealed your secret?’

Alys lifted her chin. ‘The lord here wants a dreamer, so he will keep me.’

Ilene spat on the straw. ‘How clever you are, Alys, becoming a dreamer at just the right moment. How very convenient!’

Stina stepped forward. ‘Alys doesn’t owe you an explanation, Ilene. She doesn’t owe an explanation to any of us. And whether you like it or not, she is a dreamer. And it’s a good thing for us that she is or we may all be dead now, or at another village being raped by men whose lord doesn’t care what condition his prisoners are left in!’

Ilene glared at Stina but kept her mouth closed.

A table had been brought in, and on that table, servants had left trays of rye bread, soft cheese, and thin slices of salted fish. There was not much, though many of them felt too anxious to eat, and some were still nauseous from their sea journey, so much of it went untouched.

Stina helped herself to a slice of bread, adding a smear of cheese to it. She felt just as ill as the rest of them, but she worried that this would be their only meal for some time. ‘We should eat. Stop attacking Alys with your questions and eat. Drink too. They may only feed us once a day, if that.’ And glancing at the guards, she lowered her voice. ‘This doesn’t appear the most prosperous place. Everyone looks a little starved.’

‘Well, if they came away from Ullaberg with goats and piglets, I’m guessing they are,’ Jorunn grouched, but she grabbed a slice of bread herself, listening to her stomach rumble.

The women had had their eating knives removed from their belts; the bread had been sliced for them.

Alys helped herself to a sliver of salt fish, though she didn’t want it. Stina smiled at her, and they walked to the other side of the barn together, Ilene scowling after them.

‘What will they do to you?’ Stina wondered quickly, sensing that they wouldn’t be alone for long. ‘The lord, what’s his name?’

‘Reinar. He...’ Alys turned her eyes away from Stina’s, down to the fish. ‘He wants me to help him. The ships that attacked us... he wants me to find ways to help.’

Stina looked troubled. ‘But if you help him, he will take us to Goslund. Sell us.’

Alys nodded. ‘He will, I suppose, but I don’t know how to stop that.’ She saw the fear in her friend’s gentle eyes. ‘Though I will do what I can.’ And leaning in even closer, she lowered her voice. ‘Whatever happens, Stina, I will try to save you.’ Guilt throbbed in her chest as she saw the other women, some of whom were looking at her with hope in their swollen eyes. But Stina was her dearest friend. If she could save just one person, it would be her.

Stina squeezed her hand. ‘I want you to save yourself. For the children.’

‘I will. But listen, you must think about keeping safe. Not everyone is like Reinar. Some of the men are more like the one who tried to rape Magda. Keep your eyes open.’

Stina smiled sadly. ‘I will, but I doubt there’s anything we can do to stop them, is there? Not really.’ Fear trembled her limbs, but she kept her smile going, knowing that fear was an enemy that would defeat her quickly if she let it take hold. ‘Let’s go back to the table. You need to keep up your strength.’

Alys nodded, listening to the wind howling outside, wishing she was out in it, wanting to feel it chill and numb every part of her until she couldn’t feel a thing. Her heart was aching with loss, her body was shaking with fear.

And she could feel a storm coming.

* * *

Mother’s cottage was dark, lit by a small fire in the centre of its sole room. It stunk of herbs and smoke; other things Falla couldn’t put her finger on. She thought of her own cottage, which smelled pleasant, apart from her husband’s boots which she made him keep outside. And thinking of Lief made Falla sigh. ‘I need more of those seeds,’ she said, risking Mother’s wrath. The old woman was hunched over, studying her book near the fire, trying to concentrate.

‘You don’t want his child? Ever?’ Mother didn’t turn around.

‘I don’t want a mess of a life. How do I even know if he’ll survive what is coming? You want me to be left alone and pregnant again?’ She strode to the fire, stirring it with an iron poker, watching the sparks fly, her eyes narrowed. ‘After Borg died, I didn’t know what I was going to do. Two husbands dead within weeks of each other?’

Falla’s self-obsession was a distraction Mother didn’t need. She turned the book over on the table, shooing her daughter-in-law towards a stool by the fire. ‘Put that down there.’ And she waited while Falla leaned the poker against the table, placing her hands on her lap as she sat down. ‘Now, we have spoken of this many times, my girl. I came for you as I saw that we were fated to be together. That we would help each other take what this world owes us. And I will. But I cannot do it, Falla, if you do not shut your mouth and do as you are told!’ Mother was spitting again, but she didn’t care. The girl was simply going to ruin everything if she carried on this way. ‘I cannot help us, and therefore, I can most certainly not help you, if you place your own needs ahead of mine!’

Falla looked surprised, though she knew she shouldn’t be. She clamped her full lips together, her knees too, turning her head to the flames, a petulant look on her face.

Mother was satisfied. ‘Good girl! Just as it should be. This spell will not work itself. And it will not work at all while you are blabbering behind me.’ She returned to her book, ignoring the rattling of the door and the foul look Falla was directing her way. ‘And if this spell does not work, we will both be in grave trouble with Hakon Vettel. So stop your pouting and pick up that drum. You may find me of great use to you, but I am often left wondering how much use you are to me!’ And spinning around, book in hand, Mother stared at Falla, waiting as she picked up the drum, placing it on her knees. ‘There you go!’ she smiled. ‘Keep that mouth closed now, and let me get ready, for we have a long night ahead of us!’

* * *

The storm scared them both.

It was loud, and Magnus pulled Lotta close, neither of them able to sleep in the tiny shelter he had made with branches and an old sheet that was being blown apart by a determined wind. Their ponies were tied to trees nearby, and occasionally, Magnus heard them whinnying. He hoped he had fastened them securely, not wanting to discover them gone come morning.

Lotta shook, jumping as the thunder roared again.

‘Tell me about being a dreamer,’ Magnus whispered in her ear. ‘Tell me how it works.’ He wanted to distract her, and therefore, himself. She had been so quiet since night had fallen. Tired, he’d initially thought as his own fears heightened, but now he realised that she was just as terrified as he was.

Lotta didn’t want to talk. Her ears were busy, picking up the sounds around them, wondering if any of them were threatening. It was hard to hear much with the storm crashing above them, but listening carefully, she could hear branches snapping, leaves rustling. She imagined a bear or an elk running towards them.

Or a boar.

She didn’t want to imagine a boar.

And blinking, Lotta opened her eyes, seeing the darkness almost swishing around her like water. ‘I dream of things, and then they happen. Some of them.’

‘What sort of things? Did you dream of Father dying? Of Mother being taken?’

‘No.’ Lotta turned her head away from her brother, shadows darkening on her left. She wished she could dream now, to see how it would all turn out. She felt scared, wanting her mother, not her brother. Her brother’s heart was beating fast, his fear as loud as her own. She wanted her mother, who was calm, who spoke with certainty, even when everything was blowing around her in terror.

Even on the beach.

Closing her eyes, Lotta saw her mother’s face, urging them to run. ‘I didn’t see those men coming, but I had a bad feeling when I woke up. I felt worried, but I didn’t know why.’

Magnus remembered. ‘You said you didn’t want to go for a walk.’

Lotta nodded, wishing her mother had listened to her. She turned back around, head on Magnus’ chest again. ‘I can see Mama.’

Magnus stilled. ‘Where is she?’

‘I don’t know, but I see her in a new dress, and her hair is brushed and shining. There are no bruises on her face, and she looks happy.’ The words tumbled from Lotta’s lips as she realised that it was a vision she’d had of her mother for some time. ‘She’s with a man who makes her happy. Not Father.’

‘And are we there?’

Lotta paused, thinking. ‘I don’t know. I don’t see us. I don’t know where she is. I don’t know where we are.’

They were lying on the ground, tucked into a copse, off the road, trying to keep out of the wind, the rain, the thunder and lightning. But the storm was only growing more violent, branches snapping around them now.

Magnus jumped as thunder boomed again, his heart almost stopping. ‘I will think of her like that, Lotta,’ he said, closing his eyes, trying to picture their mother. ‘You should too. See if you can find her. When we get to Jonas, we can tell him. He can take us to her. Close your eyes now, Lotta. Find Mother.’

* * *

Ludo lingered by the cottage door in his awkward slumpy fashion.

Alys wondered what he was waiting for.

‘I can bring you more lamps,’ Ludo muttered, eyes on the mud floor which was starting to look a little moist from all the rain. ‘It’s dark in here.’

Alys held the bracelet in her hand, staring at it. ‘I’m going to sleep, so I don’t need lamps. Not now.’ She didn’t want his company; she wanted everyone to leave her alone.

‘I’ll find more for you tomorrow, then. I expect you’d like to be able to read?’ He grabbed the door, feeling the wind rattling it with vigour.

‘Read?’

Ludo nodded, turning around. ‘Salma had a chest of books. She brought it with her.’ He pointed to the chest at the end of the tiny bed. ‘She was always reading or writing, when she wasn’t talking to Reinar.’

‘She wrote the books?’ Alys was curious, heading for the chest, grabbing the solitary lamp from the table, its fishy odour more pleasant than the lingering reek of death.

‘Here,’ Ludo smiled, opening the heavy wooden lid, listening to the creak, remembering how he had oiled the hinges for Salma when she’d first arrived in Ottby. ‘Perhaps there’s something to help you in there? I imagine she wrote about being a dreamer.’

Alys’ eyes were grainy and heavy, but she wanted to take a look. She glanced back at the bed. ‘I’m supposed to dream. To look for your lord’s wife.’

‘Oh.’ Ludo squirmed, eyes back on the door. ‘Perhaps tomorrow, then? It’s best if you help Reinar, so he finds you useful. He’ll want to keep you here if you’re useful to him.’

Alys followed him to the door. ‘Did you know his wife well? I forget her name.’

‘Elin.’ Ludo’s face glowed above the lamp’s flame, and Alys could see the pain in his eyes. ‘She was lovely, but she suffered so much this past year. So much heartbreak. It... it was hard on her.’

Alys waited, sensing there was more.

‘Reinar thinks she was taken. He insists on it. And now he has you dreaming about it. I hope you find her, Alys, I do, but I think most of us believe that... that she killed herself.’

‘Oh.’ That was both a surprise and not a surprise at all, Alys realised. She’d felt an overwhelming sadness when she held the bracelet. A deep grief. ‘Why?’

‘She lost her sons, twin boys. They were both stillborn. It devastated her. Her and Reinar both. I don’t think he realised how lost she became, though. He had the Vettels to contend with, and a sweating sickness during the summer. Men leaving in droves too.’ Ludo glanced at the door, realising that he needed to go. ‘I don’t want to put ideas in your head. I hope you do find her, I just... thought you should know.’

‘I appreciate it,’ Alys said. ‘I need all the help I can get.’ She felt nervous, knowing how desperate Reinar was to find his wife; worried that she wouldn’t be able to find the answers he needed.

‘Ottby is not what it once was,’ Ludo mumbled, opening the door, a gust of wind sweeping his cloak away from him. ‘And nor are any of us, I’m afraid. I’m sorry for that. Sorry we took you. Sorry you’re here.’ And with that, Ludo turned into the darkness, cloak flapping behind him.

Alys watched him go, grabbing the door just before it slammed against the cottage, hair whipping around her face. She felt odd as she stepped back inside, eyes on the bed that looked so welcoming, trying to ignore the stench of death that was not welcoming at all.

And dropping her head, she saw the glint of the bracelet in her hands, and she sighed.

* * *

Sigurd was restless, and Tulia was trying to be sympathetic. He couldn’t lie still. And just as she thought he’d fallen asleep, thunder would boom above the hall like a hammer striking an anvil, and he’d start moving about in the bed, groaning again.

Eventually, Tulia sat up with a sigh. ‘Maybe a cup of wine would help?’

‘Don’t feel like wine,’ Sigurd murmured, eyes closed.

‘I meant for me!’ And slipping out of bed, ignoring the cold, Tulia grabbed the wine jug, pouring herself a cup. She took it to the fire, sitting on a fur-covered chair, frowning at him. ‘How did you manage to end up with so many stitches, then?’

She sounded cross, Sigurd thought with a smile, trying to get comfortable. Though despite the softness of the wool-stuffed mattress, he realised that it was impossible. He hated lying on his stomach, yet there was no other way to sleep that didn’t hurt. ‘You love me really,’ he grinned, eyeing her in the flames as she sat there, naked, drinking wine, looking like a Kalmeran warrior goddess. So Sigurd was completely surprised when his mind skipped to Alys. He blinked, focusing on Tulia again as she quickly finished the wine and hurried back to bed, wriggling down under the furs, rolling onto her side, her face almost touching his. Her breath smelled like cherries, Sigurd thought, kissing her.

‘Go to sleep, Sigurd Vilander,’ Tulia breathed, kissing him back. ‘Before you tempt me to roll you over.’

He grimaced, his body trapped somewhere between pleasure and pain. ‘I think I’d cry.’

‘I think you would, but perhaps I wouldn’t care?’

‘I imagine you wouldn’t.’

Tulia smiled. ‘We should leave.’

‘Ha! I remember thinking how unpredictable you were once. How exciting it was never knowing what you were going to say next. And yet, here we are. Every night it’s the same!’

Tulia put a finger to his lips. ‘You talk too much, and you don’t listen at all. If you had, we wouldn’t be stuck here in this trap with your stubborn brother and your bitch mother, all about to die together.’ She lay back on the pillow with a sigh. Frustrated. The storm raged above them, though even at its worst it sounded calmer than she felt inside. ‘Amir says we should go before winter sets in.’

‘Amir? Amir should focus on being useful here. If your brother wants to be the great warrior he’s always talking about, he needs to stop looking to run away when things get hard.’

‘You think a hero must suffer? Go down with the ship? That’s your idea of being a hero?’ Tulia rolled back over, her voice sharpening. ‘Because that’s what Reinar thinks. He thinks he has to hang on here until we’re all dead. Until he’s spilled every last drop of blood for this place.’

‘He does. Of course. Stellan held Ottby for nearly twenty years. You think Reinar wants to let him down? To let Ake down, and put the kingdom in danger? A man with his ambition? A man with Reinar’s destiny laid out before him?’

Tulia snorted, surprised to hear that coming from Sigurd’s mouth. Though, where his brother was concerned, Sigurd had only the one eye.

Tulia closed both of hers. ‘Sleep will help. Your wounds will heal quicker if you sleep. My mother always said that to me as she forced me into bed.’

‘Had a lot of wounds, did you?’

‘When I was a child, maybe,’ Tulia yawned. ‘But I’m a better warrior now. I can hear an arrow coming for me, so I know when to duck!’

* * *

Mother crept around the circle like a thief.

Hunched over, crouching, swaying gently, her bare feet padding across the floorboards, around and around the fire. It blazed like the sun now, golden red and orange, angry and hot, fighting the rain and the wind blowing down the smoke hole.

She heard music in her head, drumming like waves, and she rode them, rising and falling, her heart keeping time.

Falla sat away from the flames, away from the circle. She patted the drum with purpose, the beat throbbing inside her body, the herbs Mother was burning muddling her mind until she felt as though she existed in more than one place. As though her feet were on fire, her head in the clouds.

She stared at the flames, watching the glowing figure dance before her, spinning and spinning her circle until she became a dark blur.

And then Mother stopped, her body completely still.

Breath pumping.

Eyes on the flames. Watching. Waiting.

Bending to squat before the bowl at her feet, Mother picked it up, holding it to her lips, murmuring over it before tipping its bloody contents into her mouth, inhaling the intoxicating, iron-rich liquid.

She didn’t drink it all, and placing the bowl back on the floorboards, she dipped a finger into the potion, painting a symbol before her.

And then another.

And as she finished the third symbol, she picked up the bowl in her left hand, dipping a small hazel switch into it with her right, flicking the potion around the circle, onto the flames. And they danced, higher and higher as Falla looked on, blinking, watching the flames twist and twirl into a symbol.

Watching as Mother closed her eyes and started chanting.

PART II

NIGHTMARES

12

The straw stunk of piss.

Though it was better than rocks, Stina thought, unable to smile.

She rolled onto her back, wanting to get away from Jorunn, who lay next to her, breathing into her face. She sounded like a blowing horse.

Closing her eyes, Stina tried to remember her little cottage in Ullaberg. It had not been much, though it had always smelled sweet. Sweet smelling and quiet, apart from the sounds drifting in through holes in the walls and around the window when the wind was blowing from the east. She would often hear fighting, arguing, crying people through that window.

Times had become hard all along the Eastern Shore. Famine and disease grew more prevalent. Destructive weather sent as punishment from the gods gave them no reprieve. Punishment for what, Stina wondered, yawning.

What had they all done to deserve such misery?

She tried to keep her mind in Ullaberg, seeing herself sitting in her creaking chair by the fire. It wobbled, but it was comfortable, and she liked wobbling before the flames, knitting socks for Magnus and Lotta. For Alys too.

Alys.

Alys the dreamer.

Though, if Alys was truly a dreamer, why had she stayed in Ullaberg with Arnon for all those years?

And why had she not seen those men coming?

* * *

Someone was drumming.

Or was it her heart?

Alys wasn’t sure as she approached the clearing. It was afternoon, she thought, seeing the warmth of the dappled light filtering through the trees. They were green, bright, and vivid. It was summer, but she shivered, feeling cold all over.

Voices drifted towards her from amongst the trees – women’s voices – and Alys crept forward, pine needles slippery beneath her bare feet. She didn’t feel afraid, though she didn’t know where she was, or what she was seeing.

And stopping suddenly, she reached out, hand on the gnarled bark of an ancient ash tree.

‘You can’t. You can’t!’

It was Agnette. Alys recognised her voice before she saw her. She slowly poked her head around the tree, not wanting to be seen.

Two women sat on a log in a tiny clearing. The path was worn beneath their feet, as though it was a place people often came. A place to be alone.

‘I must,’ said a woman Alys didn’t recognise. She had a round face, with a pointed chin, thick eyebrows and soft lips. Her glowing auburn hair hung in simple waves over a pretty yellow dress. She looked elegant, like a lady.

A very sad lady.

‘If I don’t, what will happen next? Reinar will kill me, I’m sure of it!’

‘Kill you?’ Agnette was horrified. ‘He’d never! He adores you, Elin.’

Elin turned away from her friend. ‘But everything he touches dies! Everything!’ Her eyes were frantic, filled with madness and pain. ‘His luck is gone. The gods have abandoned him! Even Gerda admits to that. His bad luck is dooming us all!’ Tears leaked from her hazel eyes, flooding her face. ‘His bad luck killed my babies!’ And now she was sobbing, head in her hands. ‘You must help me, Agnette! Help me escape this cursed place!’

Alys stared at Agnette, who looked confused, trapped, eyes filled with sympathy. She was pregnant, though her belly was not as pronounced as it was now.

‘Alright,’ Agnette whispered, glancing around. ‘I’ll help you leave, Elin, I will. But where will you go?’

Elin leaned in closer, wiping the tears from her sad eyes. ‘I know a place.’

* * *

Hakon couldn’t sleep.

He had wanted to be there, to see Mother work her magic.

He didn’t believe in magic, but he did believe in power. And if Mother could harness the power of the gods in her grubby little hands, then who knew what trouble she was capable of causing those stubborn Vilanders.

Karolina sniffed, edging away from him.

Hakon’s mind barely lingered on her before it was back on Mother, who was in her cottage with the temptress Falla, calling to the gods.

He sighed, eyes wide now, imagining what it would feel like to be that powerful. Wondering how long it would be until he sat on the Alekkan throne, the head of the usurper king, Ake Bluefinn, at his feet.

And smiling, Hakon rolled over, closing his eyes, seeing his father’s face.

* * *

‘There was a wolf.

And her name was Ulura.

And she was larger than any wolf in the forest.

Ulura was Vasa’s wolf, and she would send her out as a warning.’

Alys frowned, staring up at her mother, who bent over her in the darkness, the orange glow of the fire rising behind her back. ‘Why?’ Alys was five. It was her favourite word.

Her mother smiled.

‘Well, Vasa is a dark goddess, one might say. She brings death and pain, though she thinks it only fair to give warning.’

‘A warning of death?’

Her mother nodded. ‘When you hear Ulura’s cry, you know that Vasa is coming, so it’s time to say your goodbyes.’

Alys gulped, big eyes blinking in the darkness. ‘And what does Ulura sound like?’

‘A storm,’ her mother breathed, leaning forward to kiss Alys’ head. ‘She sounds like a storm.’

* * *

Mother had slipped her wolf hood over the top of her head, and now she pranced around the circle on her hands and knees, growling.

Falla wanted to laugh, but she started shaking with fear instead, hand still patting the drum, unable to stop.

That growl...

It was terrifying.

* * *

Someone was drumming.

Alys woke with a start.

Someone was drumming. She could hear them.

For a moment, she didn’t know where she was, then the smell reminded her and she shook, reaching down for the fur which had fallen onto the reeds.

The drumming rolled over her body like a wave, urging her to move.

And creeping out of bed, Alys wrapped the fur around her shoulders, her mouth dry.

No fire was burning. She couldn’t even see the glow of an ember as she crept forward, hands out, trying to find the rattling door.

And then a handle.

Grabbing it in her right hand, she turned it, almost disappointed that it opened; half-wishing she’d been locked in, unable to go outside. She wanted to run back to bed, to hide and wait and see.

But she had to keep going.

She was a dreamer. She had to keep going.

Shutting the door behind her, Alys walked away from the cottage, towards the giant tree that stood not far from her door. Valera’s Tree, they called it, named for the Goddess of Love. Its branches were thick with frozen leaves, rustling angrily. There was no light. No moon. No stars. Thunder boomed, out of time with the drumming; crashing sounds, louder and louder, shattering the silence of the night. Rain fell heavily, the storm raging around Alys as she walked away from the tree now, soaking her through.

The drumbeat pulsed rhythmically as Alys stepped into the square. She had little memory of the place, and she spun around, trying to see what was happening, certain she was dreaming.

It had to be a dream.

And then she saw a strange woman creeping towards her, swathed in dark robes which flapped about her, the wind trying to tear them to pieces. She was middle-aged, grey hair loose in the wind. ‘You must help them!’ she cried, ‘for I cannot! I cannot! Ulura is coming! Can you hear the wolf? Ulura Blood Hunter is coming for us all!’

Alys tried to move towards the woman, but she slipped in the mud, stumbling onto her knees.

And then a hand on her arm, pulling her up.

Reinar.

‘Can you hear it? The drumming?’ he shouted, voice raised above the storm.

Alys nodded as she stood, rain streaming into her eyes.

‘What is it?’ Reinar’s heart was racing, his body chilled by the icy rain. He’d run out of the hall without a cloak, and turning around, he saw men coming: Bjarni and Ludo; Bolli and Holgar were there; Amir and Tulia too. He turned back to Alys. ‘What’s happening?’

Alys saw images of his crying wife, and she blinked, trying to focus. ‘It’s the wolf!’ she called. ‘The wolf is out there!’

No one knew what she meant. Tulia grabbed her brother, and they hurried towards a guard tower, heading for the ramparts, Ludo and Bolli following closely behind.

Reinar spun around, pointing at Torvig, who was doing up his swordbelt, squinting, trying to keep the rain out of his eyes. ‘Follow them! See what’s happening! It sounds like it’s coming from the forest!’ He turned back to Alys, who shook, teeth chattering before him. ‘What wolf?’

‘Vasa’s wolf. Ulura.’

Reinar’s eyes popped open. ‘Go back to your cottage!’ he yelled, pointing into the darkness before running after Torvig.

Alys stood there in the torrential rain, jumping as thunder clapped overhead, watching as the wind ripped thatch from tiny cottages, sending it tumbling through the square.

And then a white cat bounded past her, trying not to be swept away.

A white cat?

Alys swallowed, turning after it.

* * *

Stina was on her feet, gathering as many women into her arms as possible, trying to keep them all calm.

‘What is happening?’ Jorunn begged the guards who had the doors open, peering outside. ‘Tell us! Please!’

‘Ssshhh,’ Stina soothed, breath smoking around her face. The barn was frigid now, all of them shivering uncontrollably.

The guards stood by the doors, gripping axes, neither looking certain about what to do.

‘Go out there!’ Ilene urged. ‘Hurry! Find out what’s happening!’

* * *

The inner wall ramparts were solid, made of stone. Reinar and Sigurd had worked with Stellan to replace loose stones and repair any holes not long before his seizure. The ramparts were solid, but the wooden boards beneath their boots bounced as they thundered around them trying to make sense of the drumming.

Trying to hear through the storm.

It sounded like an army was approaching. But then the drumming would shift.

Sometimes it came from the forest.

Sometimes from the bridge side.

Sometimes from the pastures to the east.

Reinar tried to clear both his throat and his mind, wishing he’d brought Alys with him. He grabbed Tulia. ‘What can you see?’

She shook her head, her braid slapping her back. The wind was so strong now that they had to grip the rampart wall to keep upright. ‘Nothing! I can’t see anything! What could it be?’

Reinar shrugged, not wanting to say.

And then they heard it.

A howl.

Trees shook, and Reinar froze.

Bjarni was beside him, panting. Eyes wide, he kept scanning the wind-swept forest in the distance, trying to see any sign of a wolf. ‘That’s no ordinary wolf!’

‘Alys says it’s Ulura!’ Reinar cried, eyes on Torvig and Amir.

Amir had no idea what he was talking about.

Torvig’s mouth hung open, but he quickly closed it, shaking his head. ‘Impossible!’

Reinar glowered at him, swaying in the wind. ‘You don’t believe in the gods anymore?’

‘Of course I do! But why would Ulura be here?’

‘Why do you think?’ Ludo growled at Torvig, too terrified to be cautious around the notoriously thin-skinned man. ‘Because we’re all about to die! That’s why she comes! It’s the warning!’

Reinar looked from one man to the other.

‘There!’ Tulia yelled, pointing at the forest.

And turning towards her, Reinar followed her arm, catching a glimpse of movement. The trees, blowing about at the mercy of the malevolent wind, were almost parting now.

Something was coming.

More men flooded the ramparts.

‘I want my archers!’ Reinar turned, screaming down into the square. ‘And fire! Somebody find me fire!’

* * *

Sigurd hobbled into the hall. He’d heard the wolf’s call too.

It was like nothing he’d heard before.

Agnette was there with Gerda, both of them shaking, gripping hold of one another.

For almost the first time in her life, Gerda looked thrilled to see Sigurd. ‘What’s happening?’ She rushed to him, hands on his arms.

Sigurd blinked, listening. He could hear the wind more than anything now. The drumming had faded, though it was still there, lurking in the distance like a heartbeat. ‘I heard a wolf.’

Agnette gripped her belly, eyes bulging. ‘That was no wolf, Sigurd! You have to find out what’s happening!’ She looked at her ashen-faced cousin, who was teetering before her, trying not to pass out.

Sigurd nodded, turning, limping towards the doors.

‘Here!’ Agnette called, hurrying after him with a broom. ‘Use this to help you walk!’

Sigurd took it, glancing back at Gerda. ‘Barricade the doors! Lock yourselves in!’ He saw Martyn, Stellan’s old steward, shuffling towards him. ‘Help them, Martyn! Get this place secure!’ And leaning on the brush part of the broom, Sigurd tried to quicken his pace towards the doors, Gerda and Agnette staring after him.

* * *

Alys followed the cat, though she wasn’t entirely sure why she was following the cat.

She could hear voices above her as the warriors ran around the inner wall, calling to one another. More men were gathering in the square, though there would not be enough if Ulura had truly come to Ottby. There wouldn’t be enough warriors in the whole Eastern Shore to turn her back.

The cat stopped outside a door, sitting down, peering up at Alys.

She blinked, lightning jagging above her head, a tiny glimmer of light.

It was the dreamer’s cottage, and hurrying to push open the door, Alys ran inside, eager to get out of the rain.

The cat followed after her, bounding over to the chest, jumping on top of it.

Alys remembered the books, and she edged slowly forward, trying not to trip over whatever lay hidden in the darkness.

The chest was open, the wet cat sitting on top of a book.

And then it moved, knocking it onto the dirt floor.

* * *

Mother had them all in her thrall.

Oh, the power, the sheer, unrivalled, intoxicating power! It pounded in her chest, it sparked in her fingers, and throwing back her head, she roared again, padding forward.

She could see trees, though they were like shoots of grass.

Rampart walls like pebbles and twigs.

She was immense.

Unstoppable.

Hungry.

* * *

Sigurd hobbled into the square, teeth gritted, listening to the howl reverberating around the tall inner wall.

Shivers shot up his injured back, down his arms. He stumbled, trying to make the broom more comfortable, easier to manage. The ground was mucky, the rain washing it over his bare feet like a river of mud. He moved forward, tugging the broom out of the deepening muck, over and over, hearing Tulia now, running the archers on the ramparts.

‘Nock! Draw! Aim! Release!’

Sigurd couldn’t have fired an arrow if he’d tried.

He kept moving in the direction of the warriors who waited in the square, half of them being screamed at by Torvig, who had them moving towards the inner gates.

‘What is it?’ Sigurd yelled, trying to get his attention.

But the wolf howled again, and he could feel the earth move beneath his feet, unbalancing him, sending him crashing down into the mud.

* * *

Alys picked up the book, trying to still her shaking hands. The cat jumped again, hopping onto a stool, peering down at her.

At least that was what Alys saw in her mind.

The cottage was too dark to see anything more than shadows.

Too dark to read a book, but she flicked through its vellum pages anyway, waiting for a clue as to what she needed to see.

She didn’t get one.

Dropping the book and feeling panic start to freeze her mind, Alys crawled over to the cat, wondering what it wanted from her. Wondering if it was trying to help her.

Hands out, and feeling her way, she came to the stool, touching the cat, who jumped down again, knocking something to the ground. Alys was quick, hand out to where she heard the noise, feeling a small tin.

A tinderbox.

* * *

Torvig loomed over Sigurd like an ice giant.

Then he stuck out a hand.

‘What is it?’ Sigurd gasped, grabbing hold of the irritating broom again, not wanting those prickly bristles sticking into his armpit, but quickly realising that he had little choice.

‘Wolves, can’t you hear?’ Reinar wasn’t around, and Torvig was in no mind to be polite.

‘That’s not wolves!’ Sigurd called to him as Torvig hurried away.

But Torvig wasn’t listening as he left Sigurd behind, running to gather his men together.

The inner wall seemed to be moving now, every howl shuddering it anew.

And then more growling, throaty and deep, as though it existed within them, pulsing in their veins, rendering them captive, imprisoned in the wolf’s thrall.

Up on the ramparts, Reinar turned as lightning shattered the sky, seeing the familiar figure of his brother stuck in the mud. ‘Sigurd! Get back to the hall! It’s coming! Hurry! Get inside now!’

* * *

Mother laughed, and it sounded like a clap of thunder rocking the cottage.

Jumping out of her chair, Falla dropped the drum onto the flames, shrieking in fright.

Mother spun towards her, jaw slack, eyes aflame, thoughts slow and muddled.

She was no longer in the forest, crushing the trees, no longer breathing on those rampart walls, terrifying Reinar Vilander and his men.

She was back in her cottage with Falla.

* * *

The storm retreated like a wave being sucked out to sea. And all those on the ramparts felt the sudden shift in things.

Reinar held up a hand. ‘Hold!’ he called to Tulia, his hoarse voice suddenly loud.

He was wet through, dripping. Confused.

Tulia spun towards him, angry, but she felt it herself: a lightness.

In the pitch-black night, everything suddenly felt lighter.

The trees were no longer moving before them. The rampart walk felt solid beneath her feet.

Something had changed.

She held her breath, eyes on Reinar, waiting to see what would happen next.

13

Sigurd felt confused as he made his way back to the hall; wet through, covered in mud, and irritated. Quickly running out of energy.

And then he saw a flickering light, a warm glow seeping under a door, and he turned, limping towards it.

* * *

‘What were you thinking?’ Mother spat, slapping Falla across the face, knocking her down to her knees. ‘What were you thinking, you stupid little bitch?’

Falla scrambled back to her feet, ready to attack the old crone. She wasn’t about to be beaten like a nuisance dog. Like a weak wife. That was not who she was. Dark hair sweeping across her shuddering back, she curled her hands into fists.

Mother gathered her senses quickly, her mind and body becoming one again. She threw off the wolf hood, leaving it on the ground, incensed, blood surging around her body; hot and angry and ready for violence.

Falla dropped her shoulders, uncurling her fists, quickly realising that Mother was an enemy not worth making. She held her face, wincing. ‘It was an accident.’

Mother spat on the flames. ‘I was not finished!’

Falla could tell. ‘The noise surprised me. I... I got a fright.’ Her thoughts were cloaked in a haze, and they felt disordered, her tongue thick in her mouth. She didn’t feel as though she was making any sense. ‘I thought it was here. Behind me.’

Mother glared at her, hand out as though she was grasping a cup. She stumbled back onto a stool, waiting. And hurrying to the water jug, Falla poured a cup of cool liquid, rushing it into Mother’s hand. ‘Open that door,’ Mother breathed, not wanting the door opened at all. But there was no point now.

It was over.

Falla opened the door, taking a long breath of cold air, feeling the rain on her face, wishing she was in bed with Lief’s giant arm around her, his heart beating steadily beneath her hand.

When she returned inside, Mother was still staring at her.

‘You felt the wolf? You heard her?’

Falla nodded.

‘Saw her?’

Falla shook her head.

‘But she was here, was she not?’

Falla was confused, grasping for the right thing to say. And then her head cleared. ‘Yes, I felt her. She was here.’

Mother smiled, her face finally relaxing. She glanced down at the wolf hood. ‘Yes, she was here. And she was there. And though I did not finish,’ she glowered at her daughter-in-law, ‘they will never sleep easily again!’

* * *

Sigurd pushed open the door, stumbling inside the cottage.

Alys, who was kneeling before the fire, jumped to her feet, helping him to a stool. ‘Are you alright? You shouldn’t be walking about yet.’

Sigurd didn’t disagree with that statement. ‘I’m fine,’ he lied, dropping the broom to the floor, face contorted in pain. ‘I had to see what was happening, though it appears to have stopped now, whatever it was.’ He frowned, eyes on the cat. ‘That was Salma’s cat.’ He didn’t like dreamers, and he had no affection for cats either.

Alys glanced at the cat, who had crept towards the fire, sitting before it, purring, enjoying the warmth and the light. She didn’t know what to say. And glancing around the cottage, seeing the book on the ground, she didn’t know what to do either. ‘The cat led me to that book,’ she whispered.

Sigurd’s frown deepened, his stomach growling. ‘Well, that would be interesting if it were true.’

‘You don’t believe me?’ Alys shook, turning towards the flames, hands out, eyes moving straight back to the book.

‘That a cat led you to a book? And a wolf howled in the night like Ulura herself?’ Sigurd shrugged. ‘I don’t believe those things are possible, no. I don’t believe in gods and dreamers and magical cats.’

‘Why not?’ Alys picked up the book, sitting on the stool, turning the pages. ‘Why don’t you believe in anything?’

‘Oh, I believe in many things. I believe the sun rises in the east, it sets in the west, and then night comes. I believe in summer, winter, spring and autumn. I believe in what I see with my own eyes, not in dreams or visions or whatever dreamers want to have us believe. And I don’t believe in stories.’

Sigurd looked grumpy, angry even, and Alys forgot the book and the cat and the wet dress clinging to her frozen body. ‘What happened to you?’ She wanted to touch him, as though that would help her to see. Sometimes it did. Sometimes when she brushed past a person or held their hand, she saw flashes of their life, past and present. But Sigurd Vilander was like a dark mountain she couldn’t see inside at all.

‘Happened to me?’ Sigurd snorted. ‘I formed my own opinions, made up my own mind.’ He rubbed his hands together, eager for the flames, trying to ignore the cat. He looked at Alys instead. ‘My brother wants you to solve his problems. Help him to make up his mind.’

Alys froze, pieces of her dream returning. She glanced at the bed where Elin Vilander’s bracelet lay beneath her pillow. ‘He seeks answers.’

‘He seeks comfort,’ Sigurd almost snarled. ‘He wants to believe in something. Whether it’s the truth or not won’t matter. He just wants comfort. Assurance. Isn’t that what everyone wants from a dreamer?’

Alys didn’t know. ‘But not you?’

‘I seek nothing. I see life in front of me. I don’t wish to uncover my destiny. I don’t believe anything other than this exists. This moment. Now.’ Sigurd was almost warm, and the rest on Alys’ stool had stopped his leg throbbing.

He wriggled, wanting to leave.

‘So you will ignore the wolf? Pretend it didn’t happen? Go back to the hall and your bed and your woman and close your eyes?’ Alys felt irritated now, amazed by his stubbornness. ‘Not help your brother?’

Sigurd sat up straighter, feeling the pressure she was applying to that old wound. ‘My brother? I’ve done nothing but help my brother. I’ve stayed here for my brother when I should have left. There’s nothing for me here now. Nothing for any of us. But Reinar won’t see it, so I stay here for him. Until he’s ready to go.’

‘But what if he wants to stay? If he believes it’s his destiny to stay here?’ Alys didn’t know what she was saying, or why she cared. She felt the book on her knee, the cat by her side, the warmth of the fire, and Sigurd’s intense blue eyes considering her question. It was hard to look away.

‘Destiny is a story, whatever you choose to believe. Reinar’s believed the same story his whole life, and that story was told to our mother by a dreamer, and likely it was just a lie. But Reinar...’ Sigurd shook his head, trying to stand. ‘I wanted to see if you were alright, but I should be going. Gerda will want to know what’s happening. Agnette too.’

Alys nodded, hopping up, grabbing the book before it dropped to the floor. She reached for the broom, helping Sigurd to slip it under his arm. ‘I will check your wounds tomorrow,’ she said as he grunted, turning for the door.

He stopped, looking back at her. ‘An old dreamer lived here. I don’t know why she came. And that was her cat. Whatever they wanted with Ottby and Reinar...’ Sigurd glanced at the cat, who appeared to be watching him intently. ‘Perhaps they aren’t done yet?’ And swaying slightly, he bent his head, wobbling outside.

Alys watched him disappear, merging into the windswept shadows that rushed past her door.

* * *

They gathered around the fire, confused.

Behind them the hall was packed to the gunwales with wide-awake men and women, all of them wanting to know what had just happened. Gerda had ordered ale and food brought to the tables, though she did it with some hesitation. Trying to appease the twitchy villagers while endeavouring to make their stores last was like balancing on a rolling barrel, and she found herself in a permanent state of unease.

‘It was Ulura!’ Balder, the tanner, called. He stood by the doors, though with one of the loudest voices in the fort, he was easily heard. ‘It must be! It must! She came with a warning. We all heard her!’

Nods and cups banging on tables, mud-thick boots shuffling across floorboards.

Reinar was growing anxious, wondering where Sigurd was. He’d sent Ludo to look for him, though there was no sign of either of them now. Tulia didn’t appear worried as she stood. ‘Who is this Ulura? A myth? A story? You truly think we saw a magical creature?’ She laughed, and it sounded harsh and mocking.

It always surprised Reinar that his brother had found someone just as cold as Gerda. Someone unable to show any emotion but anger and disappointment.

Bjarni shoved Reinar’s leg with his knee, unable to release his hands which were being gripped by a quivering Agnette.

‘We saw something, Tulia!’ Balder called back. ‘And so did you! I see the colour of your face. Like snow, it is! As pale as mine!’

Laughter then as Balder Forness had skin as pale as an ice-lake during the Freeze.

‘I heard wolves!’ Tulia called over the noise. ‘And so did you! Not one but many! A pack! It was a pack of hungry wolves!’

Reinar ran a hand over his beard, fur cloak warm around his shoulders now, brought out by his mother. He was grateful for her fussing for he was frozen solid.

The hall doors swung open and in came Ludo, a muddy-looking Sigurd slumped against him.

Reinar looked relieved.

Tulia glared at Sigurd, wondering where he’d gone, confused by the look in his eyes.

‘Tulia’s right! It was a pack of wolves! You could hear them all around us!’ Reinar’s shoulders relaxed now, his familiar easy-going grin firmly back in place, despite the hour and the terror he could see on his people’s faces; the fear bubbling inside his own chest. ‘You think that noise came from one wolf? From Ulura herself?’ He snorted, heading back to his chair, wanting to shrug it off.

Needing them to see him shrug it off.

There was a lot of mumbling and murmuring. More boot shuffling.

‘Drink up!’ Gerda called, on her feet, finger pointing a servant back to the kitchen for more cups. ‘After that storm, you’re all going to need something to relax you again!’ Her body shivered uncontrollably, her own smile faltering.

Ludo brought Sigurd through the crowd as they started arguing amongst themselves about who had heard what. He saw Reinar heading to the high table, wanting to get away from the conversations.

He knew what they’d be talking about.

Another omen.

Another threat.

Another sign that the gods had cast him out; fingered him as one bound for Vasa’s dark cave.

Sigurd dropped down onto a bench, wet through, eyes on Reinar. ‘A pack of wolves?’

There was no hint of a smile in his brother’s eyes, but his mouth still curled at the edges, lifting his golden beard. ‘A big pack, I’d say. We’ll need to decide what to do about it tomorrow.’

Torvig came to join them, eyes on the crowd. ‘You’ll have hard work convincing them of that.’ He grabbed a cup of ale from the table, shuddering. ‘Fuck it’s cold.’ The wind still howled, the rain still fell, though the eye of the storm had thankfully passed.

And now they were left in the maw of a mythical beast.

At its mercy.

Tulia brought her brother to join them, both of them puzzled.

‘Perhaps the noises were confusing?’ Amir suggested. He was as tall as his older sister; the same deep-brown skin; the same almond-shaped eyes. ‘The drumming... it could have been thunder and wind. Rattling doors. Palings.’ He was reaching, but a few of them nodded.

Agnette wouldn’t leave Bjarni’s side. ‘We all know what that was. All of us.’ She eyed Tulia and Amir. ‘Even if we don’t know the legend and believe in the gods, not one of us here thinks anything else happened but that Ulura came to warn us!’

Reinar wanted to slam his hand over his cousin’s big mouth. He glared at Bjarni, who looked as though he felt tempted, but seeing the panic in his wife’s tired eyes, he took a breath.

‘It doesn’t matter what we might think,’ Bjarni grumbled, eyeing Agnette. ‘It only matters what they think.’ He inclined his head towards the front of the hall where groups of warriors were gathering with their worried-looking wives. ‘We can’t afford to lose any more of them.’

‘But we will,’ Sigurd warned, taking the cup Tulia handed him, sensing her tension. ‘You know it, Reinar. We will.’

‘Maybe you should talk to Alys?’ Ludo suggested quietly. ‘She might know what it was.’

Sigurd looked away, watching Gerda, who couldn’t stand still. He could see the fear in her eyes; the realisation that they would not be able to hang on much longer. Not if more men left. ‘I don’t see what she’ll be able to tell you,’ he grumbled. ‘Any dreamer will only tell you what you want to hear. Look at Salma. She should have told you the truth about what was coming.’

Reinar’s head snapped around. ‘What truth? Your truth, Sigurd? Is that the truth you want me to hear? That this is all a waste of time?’ His voice hissed through grating teeth, barely discernible over the thrum of the hall. ‘We all know what you think, Brother, but this is our home. You want us to run? To hide? Be chased away by Hakon Vettel and his useless cousin? You want two vengeful boys to take Ottby away from us? To take Stornas?’

The argument was old, and Sigurd didn’t want to have it again.

And by the looks on everyone’s faces, no one wanted to hear it again either.

‘Go see Alys,’ Agnette urged, finally unsticking herself from Bjarni, moving towards Reinar. ‘She’ll help, I know it.’

‘Alright.’ Reinar smiled at Agnette, hand on her shoulder rather than over her mouth. ‘Alright. Why don’t you finish up here, then head for bed? I’ll speak with Alys. I doubt anyone will be sleeping tonight.’

* * *

There was nothing to feed the cat.

Alys had not had a cat since she was a girl, and she was struggling to remember what cats liked to eat, besides mice. Though, did they really eat mice, she wondered, her tired mind wandering. Or was it just the game they enjoyed?

Blinking, she tried to concentrate, lifting her hand from the book, feeling a heat beneath her palm.

The writing was fresh, splotches of ink littering the vellum, as though the writer was in a hurry. As though she had woken from a dream, desperate to get her thoughts down before they slipped away.

Alys blinked, surprised by the thoughts that flooded her own mind.

It was as though a door had been opened, light shining in, and suddenly she could see so clearly.

Running her finger down the page, she started reading. It took some time. The owner of the book had taken little care over forming her letters. But it was Alekkan, and she could understand it, almost perfectly.

It was a spell.

A nightmare spell.

Alys froze, staring into the flames, seeing how it had all played out. Wondering who had done it, and why?

The knock on the door had her almost tipping off the stool, book in hand.

‘Alys?’

Alys left the book on the stool, and, with some hesitation, opened the door. Reinar rushed in, shaking rain from his cloak, eyeing her closely. ‘You weren’t sleeping?’

‘No.’

He stepped towards the fire, surprised to see the cat, who knew Reinar well, and as he sat down on a stool, the cat curled around his legs, purring. ‘You’ve found Winter, then?’ he grinned, wet hand smoothing down that sleek white fur. ‘Salma was very fond of her cat. He went everywhere with her. He slept on her bed while she was dying, but he disappeared after her pyre. I didn’t think we’d see him again.’

Alys took a stool beside him. ‘Winter? I think he might want to stay.’

‘And you?’ Reinar turned to Alys. ‘Do you want to stay? Here, in Ottby? Not be sold as a slave?’

Alys was unsettled by the question. Surprised too. She had thought it was decided. ‘I... don’t want to be sold as a slave. No. Nor do I wish my friends to be sold either.’

Reinar smiled. ‘But you don’t want to stay here? I must force you?’

‘Well, I don’t expect you’ll have to try very hard. There’s nowhere for me to go. Not on my own.’ She blinked, seeing Elin Vilander’s face in her mind.

‘What?’

Alys shook her head, dismissing his question. ‘You came to talk about the wolf?’

Reinar moved closer. ‘Yes, but you saw something about my wife, didn’t you? Did you have a dream?’

Alys squirmed, realising that she was going to make a terrible dreamer if she couldn’t mask her thoughts and feelings, even when there was barely any light to see by. ‘I did, though I woke before I found out much. The drumming... it woke me.’

For a moment, Reinar didn’t care about wolves or drums or that most of his men were about to run for the hills. He gripped Alys’ hand. ‘What did you see? Tell me.’

Alys glanced down at his hand, gulping. ‘I saw her talking to someone.’

‘Who?’ Reinar’s tone sharpened.

‘I don’t know,’ Alys lied, not wanting to get Agnette in trouble. ‘It was your wife, Elin, who was speaking mostly. She talked about wanting to go away.’ Alys felt Reinar release her hand, drawing it back to his leg. ‘She worried about your... bad luck, that it would end up... killing her.’

Reinar’s shoulders curled forward, his mouth hanging open. The pain in his eyes mirrored the pain in his heart. ‘She wanted to leave?’ His voice was hesitant.

Halting.

He looked up at Alys. ‘She wanted to leave me?’

Alys nodded. ‘She wanted help, someone to help her find a way to escape.’

‘Escape me?’ Reinar felt numb, visions of his wife kissing his hand, holding it to her heart. Keeping it there, wanting him to feel how it beat for him. How full of love it was. How desperate with need.

She was fearless, bold, eager to be a warrior like Tulia.

She thought she would look good in trousers.

Making him laugh, forget all his worries.

Making him moan...

Reinar blinked.

How long ago had that been?

He shivered, standing. ‘I... ‘ He couldn’t go on. ‘Come in the morning, to the hall. We can...’ He scratched his head, blinking away the tears which burned his eyes, hiding them from the dreamer. Though could you ever truly hide from a dreamer? ‘We need to talk about what happened. About the wolf.’ Reinar didn’t turn around as he opened the door.

Alys nodded, confused by her feelings. She felt guilt and pity, yet this man had stolen her away from her children. Her home.

Reinar hurried through the door, quickly closing it behind himself.

The cat looked after him, before turning back to Alys, head cocked to one side, lifting a white paw to his mouth.

14

No one slept much and those who had woke early, ate quickly and left the hall to take the mood of the fort.

It did not take long.

The mood was darker than a moonless night.

In winter.

In The Murk.

No one had a look on their face resembling hope. No one appeared ready to fight for Reinar and Ottby. Everyone looked far more inclined to pack their chests and leave.

Except for Ludo Moller. He grinned at Sigurd, who was limping beside him. ‘I wish we’d seen something. I thought I had, but Bjarni kept getting in the way. He’s like a bear in that cloak. I couldn’t get past him!’

Sigurd was determined to get walking, wanting to ignore the pain in his leg. There was too much to do. Reinar hadn’t even emerged from his chamber, yet this was the time to be out in the square, getting everyone riled up for what was coming next. Whether it was Vasa’s wolf or Hakon Vettel’s army didn’t matter. If Reinar was determined to cling to this old fort, they needed to be ready to fight. ‘Agnette’s trying to make him as fat as she is,’ Sigurd laughed, watching his cousin waddle after Bjarni, who was hurrying after Torvig.

‘I think she’s succeeded!’ Ludo felt ill, but someone had to put on a smile. Thoughts of the wolf had terrorised him all night. He’d slept occasionally, but mostly he’d just lain there, listening, waiting to hear another howl.

And then Alys was there, walking towards them, and he smiled again, watching the white cat bounding after her. ‘Isn’t that...?’ he said to Sigurd, who sighed in annoyance, limping away from the dreamer and her new cat.

Ludo followed after him, lifting one hand to Alys in greeting.

Alys stopped, her attention snapping to Agnette.

And Agnette stopped, turning around, feeling it. ‘Do you need something? Is it the cottage? I’m sure it still stinks. Perhaps I can find a few bags of rosemary to hang around the walls?’ She left Bjarni to Torvig and walked towards Alys, lifting her hem out of the thick mud. ‘Though, after last night, I’m not sure I can put my mind to anything but sitting in a corner and shaking.’ She smiled, though her lips quivered as she waited for Alys to speak.

‘Reinar wants to see me. To talk about the wolf, I expect. But also about his wife and what I saw in my dream. About you.’

Agnette lifted her head, swallowing some more. ‘Me?’ She glanced around the square, wanting to see if anyone was listening, though with the return of their warriors, it suddenly felt louder. More men roamed the ramparts, calling out to each other. There was a heightened sense of urgency, knowing that winter was coming. Hakon Vettel too. And they were rushing to be ready before both descended upon the fort in an almighty storm of snow and swords.

‘I’d rather not tell him about you, but it will be hard to keep it all hidden. I’ve not seen everything, but I know his wife asked you to help her leave. To escape.’

Agnette rushed a hand over Alys’ mouth, eyes popping open. ‘Ssshhh!’ she implored, trying to think. ‘I... no one knows about that. No one. I didn’t want to hurt Reinar. Never!’ She spoke in breathless whispers, feeling her chest tighten, wondering if she could trust the dreamer to keep her secret. ‘I couldn’t hurt him, but Elin was so unhappy, and Reinar was blind to it. He was so unhappy himself after the babies died, but he wouldn’t talk about it. Not to Elin, not even to Sigurd. I’m not sure he’s spoken a word about it to anyone. I think Elin felt so alone, and her mind... I worried that if I didn’t help her leave, that she’d... kill herself. She had become so strange. Her thoughts were turning dark. Disturbing.’ Realising that she still had her hand over Alys’ mouth, Agnette pulled it away, gasping at a stitch in her side. ‘Elin was my friend since we were girls. I was torn, but I didn’t want her to do anything she couldn’t undo. I thought if she ran away for a while, she’d change her mind. Come back. Be different somehow. Better.’

Alys felt exhausted. She hadn’t been able to sleep at all, so she’d spent the rest of the night with her head buried in the book. And now she wanted to go and see Stina and the Ullaberg women, but instead, she had to trek to the hall in the bitter cold, in her bare feet, through the sloshing mud, littered with thatch and twigs.

Agnette suddenly noticed. ‘You have no boots!’ She felt terrible, her mind a scattered mess. ‘Come on, come with me to the hall. I’ll find you a pair of mine. Come to think of it, you can probably wear Elin’s. She didn’t take anything with her. She didn’t want Reinar to suspect she’d run away.’

‘Oh.’

Agnette hurried on, turning back to Alys with a sigh, blonde hair tumbling out of a yellow scarf. ‘I’ll tell him. I’ll find you a pair of boots, then I’ll tell him everything.’

* * *

Hakon wanted to know everything, but Mother bunched her lips together with a determination not to reveal anything until they were alone.

And sensing how desperately Hakon wanted to be alone with Mother, everyone quickly dispersed, leaving the two of them at the high table, Karolina playing with Anders in front of the fire.

He turned to Mother, hands open, his lack of thumbs on full display. ‘So?’

Mother leaned towards him. ‘What is it that you want, Hakon Vettel?’ They sat at the high table together. There were many seats between them, though neither made a move towards the other.

Hakon was surprised by how surly she was, seemingly unwilling to reveal how it had all gone. It worried him. ‘Did something go wrong?’

Mother considered his question, spitting out a cherry pit. Blood-red juice dripped down her sagging chin, reminding her of the potion, and she shivered. ‘Nothing went wrong at all. I did what I intended. It was breathtaking!’ Her eyes lit up now, and she turned them on her lord.

Hakon smiled, pleased to hear it. ‘So we will attack? Now?’

Mother laughed. ‘You are such a hungry dog, aren’t you? You must have been an annoying child, always wanting to suckle!’ She cackled, her wild curls bouncing, jowls jiggling. ‘But a mother’s milk takes time to come in, just as my plan will. Wait. Just a while longer. You want that bridge? You want to roll right through Ottby, over those Vilanders, then be patient, Hakon. A siege will deplete your resources and your time. Word of that siege will be carried to Ake Bluefinn, and he will return from the West.’ Mother eased her way towards the frowning lord. ‘There are many ways to arrange the pieces of this puzzle. And you, of course, may choose your own path. But do not forget that we made an arrangement advantageous to both our needs. We are hungry for revenge. We want Ake gone. We want you on that throne. Stay with me, and I will get you there.’

Hakon reached for his cup of buttermilk, thinking how right Mother was. He had been an impatient child, always burning his fingers or his tongue, trying food that was too hot, touching cauldrons and skillets in a rush to satisfy his hunger. ‘Well, perhaps you’re right. Or, if you’re not, perhaps I will wait anyway. As you say, Mother, revenge is important to both of us. And if the gods are on our side, if they favour us as I’ve always believed they do, then we’ll be in Stornas before my son is walking.’ His eyes drifted to Karolina, who held Anders up to his father, trying to please him.

Hakon was pleased, seeing those sturdy little legs, and he looked at Mother, who nodded.

‘Yes,’ she said with a throaty growl. ‘I believe you will.’

* * *

Agnette had given Alys a pair of her own boots, not wanting to take Elin’s. Not before she’d told Reinar everything. And not wanting to be around when Agnette told Reinar everything, Alys had slipped out of the hall.

She grew more uncomfortable as she walked. People stared. Red-faced children poked out their tongues at her. Others smiled as they raced past. Women pulled their men away, some gossiping, many frowning.

Alys didn’t know any of them.

It was surreal. And oppressive.

The fort was larger than she’d realised. Its inner wall was high, casting gloomy shadows over the muddy square. Alys felt imprisoned. Ullaberg had been small – more a gathering of cottages along the shore than a true village – and she’d enjoyed brief moments of peace as she walked that beach every morning.

Arnon liked to sleep.

Arnon had liked to sleep, she reminded herself as she passed the training ring, where a handful of warriors were practising with wooden swords. That reminded her of Arnon too. He had been an arrogant man, always fighting bare-chested, shunning the use of armour. Alys shivered, unable to stop seeing the image of her dead husband. Sigurd’s arrow had gone straight through the eye of the wolf tattooed over Arnon’s chest. That evil-looking creature had curled over his belly, up to his neck, down to his waist. She had stared at it for eleven torturous years, always wanting to look away. But she never could. Arnon hadn’t let her.

But Sigurd’s arrow had killed him.

Though now, there was another wolf. And what did that mean?

‘Are you stuck?’ came the abrasive voice of Tulia Saari as she left her brother in the mud, walking to the railings. ‘You seem to have been standing there for some time. Perhaps you are lost?’

Alys was immediately intimidated, pulling one of Agnette’s boots out of the mud, horrified that they were already filthy. ‘No, well, yes. I wanted to see... the women.’

Tulia turned Alys around. ‘The barn’s that way. I’ll walk you. I don’t imagine anyone minds that you’re walking about freely?’ She lifted her wooden sword in the air, calling over her shoulder to Amir. ‘I’ll come back later!’

Alys didn’t know.

‘Well, I expect Reinar will come and find you soon. He likes having a dreamer. Perhaps that’s because he doesn’t know how to think for himself?’ Tulia felt cross, mad at Reinar Vilander, the most stubborn man she’d ever met, which was saying something, knowing Sigurd as she did.

‘Well, a dreamer’s insight is desired by many,’ Alys supposed quietly. ‘At least that’s what I’ve seen. I’ve never been a real dreamer before.’

‘Then why start now?’ Tulia wondered, trying not to stare at the woman. She was not young and silly like some. She seemed mature; the same age as her, perhaps? Pretty to look at, in a simple kind of way, though her hair needed a comb and she smelled a little ripe. ‘Why become a dreamer all of a sudden? Just to save your skin?’

‘Yes,’ Alys admitted freely. ‘I saw the ships coming. I knew they would attack us. I had to say something.’

Tulia nodded at Torvig, who ignored her, eyeing Alys as he passed. ‘Arsehole,’ she muttered under her breath, still smiling. ‘So you spoke up at the right moment, saved Reinar and Sigurd, and now you’re a free prisoner. Not a slave, as such, but bound to Reinar as his dreamer. And where will that lead you when magical wolves are coming to kill us all?’ She laughed, rubbing her eye, trying not to yawn. It had been a disturbed night, but the day would run away from them before they got anything done.

Alekka was like that, Tulia knew, the colder months bringing days so short that you barely had time to open your eyes and make a plan before you stopped being able to see. Her tired eyes sharpened suddenly, focused on a warrior she knew, who was lugging a chest onto a cart, his wife and children beside him.

‘The barn’s up there. You can see the guards. I have to find Reinar. Looks like the first of the departures, though they won’t be the last to run. It’s been that way for months now, but after last night...’ And with a final glance at the dreamer, Tulia spun around, heading for the hall.

* * *

They had not made much progress.

Was that true?

It felt true to Magnus, who was hungry and cold and irritated with his sister, who, since revealing herself to be a dreamer, had become very bossy, always insisting that he was going the wrong way.

‘Lotta!’ Magnus twisted in his saddle, lips clamped together, eyebrows low over tired eyes. ‘I’m the leader!’

‘Why?’ Innocent-eyed Lotta wondered, pink lips pouting, pulling her pony to a stop.

Magnus didn’t know what to say to that. ‘Because you need me to be,’ he decided, eventually. ‘And I can be a good leader, if you let me. And a good leader always needs a helpful dreamer.’ Lotta appeared to be listening more and pouting less, so he went on. ‘I want to take your advice, and I’ll listen to you, but I still have to make the decisions because I’m the leader. Mother wanted me to be. You know that.’

Lotta sighed, shoulders heaving. She was hungry too.

And Magnus was right.

‘I’m just worried,’ she whispered, spinning around, searching the muddy path they had trekked down. ‘We have to get to Grandfather’s cottage. I see bad things coming. I feel them.’ Lotta quickly grabbed hold of Clover’s reins as the pony started prancing forward, wanting to get on. She tugged her to a stop, turning around to stare at her brother, who quickly caught up with her.

‘It’s just hard. Mother’s instructions are not easy to understand sometimes.’

Lotta frowned. ‘Well, if you let me look at them, I could help. I can read.’

‘Of course you can read, I know that.’ Magnus felt himself getting cross again. ‘And what do you mean, you see bad things?’

Lotta closed her eyes, listening. ‘Someone is coming, Magnus,’ she hissed, opening them wide. ‘Someone is coming now! What should we do?’

Magnus spun around, trying to hear what Lotta could.

And then he did.

Horses were thundering in the distance, riders coming down the path.

‘Quick!’ Magnus cried, nudging Daisy towards the trees. ‘Hurry!’

* * *

After spending far too long trying to calm the women down, Alys pulled Stina away to a corner of the barn to talk privately.

‘Do you really believe it was Ulura?’ Stina wondered. She felt exhausted. The nattering, sniffling women of Ullaberg had kept her awake for most of the night. And, she had to admit, she had been sniffling and shaking as much as the rest of them. The sounds outside the barn had been terrifying, the drumming invasive. She could feel it throbbing inside her body, as though the threat was still present.

Which it likely was.

Alys stared at her. ‘No, I think it was something else.’ She looked away, not knowing how to say it. ‘I think it was magical.’

‘Of course it was.’

Alys blinked.

‘I’ve seen magic,’ Stina told her in a hushed voice. ‘There was an old woman who lived in Ullaberg when I was a girl. What she did every season was magic, I’m sure. Blessing the land, encouraging the soil to be fertile. Sacrificing. Sprinkling it with blood, and who knows what else. I think everyone was too afraid to ask!’

Alys had seen similar things herself. ‘Of course, but this was different. This was dark.’

Stina nodded. ‘It felt dark.’

Thoughts floated in and out of Alys’ mind, mostly about Magnus and Lotta, though thinking about them now wouldn’t help her get out of Ottby and back to them. Then one stuck. ‘If this Hakon Vettel has a dreamer, perhaps she’s working some sort of magic? Trying to get rid of Reinar that way?’

Stina stared at her curiously, tucking her dark-brown hair behind her ears. ‘You seem to like this Reinar. Our captor.’ She frowned. ‘Our enemy.’

Alys squirmed, edging away from Stina, shaking her head. ‘I must help him and be useful to him. If I’m not, he won’t release me. And I’m going to try and get him to release you too.’

Stina pulled her closer, smiling sympathetically. ‘You’re a good person, Alys, a kind woman, always trying to help, but see the truth this time, please. The Lord of Ottby or the Lord of Slussfall... they’re only interested in gaining power and gold and killing each other to do so. You must see that? You’re a weapon Reinar wants to wield. And if not him, then someone else. He will not let you go. You can’t believe he will?’

Alys was suddenly conscious of the smell of the barn, and the need for a drink. She wondered where Winter the cat was. Where Magnus and Lotta were on their journey. If they were well fed. Whether Agnette had told Reinar. And then she looked at Stina. ‘I believe I will be free, yes. I don’t know how. Not yet. But I feel that Reinar Vilander is a good man. His brother too. I just need to find a way to remind them of that.’

Stina sighed, squeezing Alys’ hands, knowing there was no way through. Over the years she had tried to convince Alys that Arnon would never change. And now, here she was again, wanting to rescue someone new, make them into what she believed they were meant to be. ‘Well, I hope you’re right,’ she said at last. ‘I wouldn’t mind getting away from Ilene and her sniping!’ And winking at Alys, Stina pushed her towards the door. ‘And until then, maybe you could see about getting us more food? I think our appetites have finally returned. If they want to make use of us or sell us, they shouldn’t try to starve us!’

Alys nodded, wishing she could take Stina with her, perhaps some of the others too. They were not bad women, she just didn’t know most of them well enough. They had always looked at her with pity, and now they eyed her with suspicion and envy.

Swallowing, and ducking her head away from those twenty-five pairs of enquiring eyes, Alys motioned to the guards to let her out of the barn.

And lifting a hand, Stina watched her go.

* * *

The three men urged their horses after the children, who had escaped into the forest on their waddling ponies.

It did not take long to catch them.

‘Why are you running away?’ The oldest of the three asked, his grey-flecked beard so long it touched his swordbelt.

Magnus’ eyes wandered down the beard to the belt, where he noted a number of weapons sticking out beneath a thick cloak just covering the top of a pair of muddy boots. They appeared old but well taken care of, Magnus thought, shivering. He looked up, wanting to be brave for his sister, though the man had a hard face: sharp cheekbones; scars running down the side of a prominent nose, cutting through the top of his upper lip, twisting it menacingly. ‘You were ch-chasing us.’

Long Beard laughed, dismounting, stretching his back with a groan and a fart. They had been riding for days, heading for Slussfall, eager to report back to their lord. ‘You are lost?’

Magnus wasn’t sure.

‘We’re not lost!’ Lotta insisted bravely, jutting out her tiny chin.

Long Beard’s companions dismounted, coming to join him, eyes on the pretty little girl and her red-faced brother.

‘How old are you?’ Long Beard wondered. ‘Five?’

‘I’m nearly nine!’ Lotta grumbled crossly. ‘I’m not five!’

Magnus wanted to tell his sister to shut up. They didn’t need to be talking to these men any longer than necessary. ‘We’re going to visit our great-grandfather.’

Long Beard’s companions looked even more terrifying than him.

One wore a leather eye patch. He had long black hair, some tied in a multitude of tiny braids, the rest hanging down his back in a tangled mess. Tiny blue symbols were tattooed across his nose; across his forehead too. His eyes were small, dark and beady, and he screwed them up even smaller as he considered the two children.

The other man was the youngest of the three, and he was almost handsome, though his hair was mostly shaved off, exposing a head covered in scars and swirling tattoos, that made him appear sinister and threatening.

Both men had swarthy-looking complexions, or perhaps they just didn’t like washing, Magnus thought distractedly. Their swordbelts, which they exposed as they moved their long cloaks around, were stacked just as plentifully as their leader’s.

Magnus felt ill. All three men were obviously hardened warriors.

‘Well, where does he live, then?’ Long Beard wondered, his eyes on Lotta, who seemed fearless as she glared up at him.

‘In Torborg,’ Lotta said. ‘I thought we were on the wrong road, but my brother wouldn’t listen to me. He thinks he knows everything.’

Magnus was horrified to hear her blabber on, revealing all their plans.

‘Well, if you’re heading for Torborg, you can take this road. It’s a little longer, but easier, I’d say. Your brother has the right of it there. Those two beasts don’t look up for much, though.’ He inclined his head to Daisy and Clover, who did appear ready for a long rest. ‘You can come along with us, if you like? We can show you the way?’

Long Beard’s young companion smiled, showing off a few silver teeth.

That made Magnus even more anxious. His father had warned him never to do business with a man with silver teeth, for a man willing to put silver into his mouth like that was surely a madman. ‘Thank you,’ Magnus croaked, almost losing the ability to speak. ‘But our ponies would only slow you down. We’re not in a hurry, so we’ll go our own way.’ He stared at Long Beard, who didn’t blink as he continued to watch Lotta. Magnus tried to think quickly, but his mind was blank, and terror had frozen his limbs.

Their ponies were slow.

He had two knives. One was blunt.

And there was Lotta. And Lotta was a dreamer.

And armed men with eye patches and silver teeth didn’t need to know that his sister was a dreamer.

But Long Beard narrowed his eyes; one dark brown, one almost green.

And he grabbed Lotta from her pony before Magnus could even blink.

15

Reinar’s talk with Agnette had not gone well.

His cousin had always been feisty, strong-willed, and capable. But since falling pregnant, she had become increasingly emotional, and as soon as she’d explained how she had helped Elin escape the fort, she’d burst into tears.

After that, it was impossible to get mad at her, though he was.

He truly was.

Agnette had finally left his chamber, nose blocked from crying, wanting to find Bjarni, and Reinar had remained behind, stunned by the blow. He had always dreamed of marrying Elin, from the moment she’d arrived in Ottby with Torvig and their father. She was ten-years-old, eyes filled with sadness because her mother had died. Agnette had taken her under her wing in a flash, and since Agnette spent all her time with Sigurd and Reinar, Elin did too.

Reinar had spent eighteen years of his life with her. Eighteen years of hearing her voice and seeing her smile.

And now he had lost her.

There were so many things he had to attend to, but Reinar couldn’t move. He sat before the fire which had died down to little more than a single flame now. The chamber was so cold his breath puffed out in white whispers.

He didn’t notice.

Elin was gone, and she didn’t want to come back.

The knock on the door was loud, and Sigurd didn’t wait before pushing it open, popping his head inside. He was with Tulia, leaning on her. ‘We have problems, Brother. You need to come to the square.’

Reinar shook his head, standing. ‘I’m sure we do.’ And turning around with a sigh, he left the flame to die, grabbed his cloak, and followed them outside.

* * *

The men kept the ponies, tying them onto their own horses.

Long Beard threw Lotta onto his horse, sitting her just before the saddle’s pommel. Eye Patch had Magnus in front of him, one arm firmly across his chest.

‘What are your plans?’ Silver Tooth asked from Long Beard’s left. ‘Shall we eat them?’ He poked his tongue out at Lotta, who didn’t even look his way. She felt too scared to do anything but stare straight ahead. There was no sign of her dreams now. She couldn’t stop shaking.

Magnus kept glancing at his sister, hoping she was alright, but she remained silent, hiding beneath her ice-blonde hair. It worried him.

The way Long Beard kept stroking Lotta’s hair worried him too. The man looked filthy, especially his hands, which were almost black. His face didn’t look much better. Magnus wondered if it wasn’t just dirt, but dried blood staining his skin, and the thought of that made him tremble.

‘Can’t imagine they’d make much of a meal!’ Eye Patch laughed. ‘A little bony for my taste. Better to chop up the ponies. Cook them over a fire! Haven’t eaten a pony in many a month, and those two are the plumpest I’ve seen by far.’

Lotta spun around in terror, and Magnus was relieved that she appeared to be alright, though she looked scared. As he was. Yet he’d insisted that he was the leader. And so far, he hadn’t come up with any ideas for how to get them out of this mess.

The men had ridden them back down the road to Torborg and then turned abruptly into the forest, taking them down an old track, far away from Jonas’ cottage.

Magnus didn’t know where they were going now.

‘Well, that’s one option for sure,’ Long Beard smiled. The little girl was like a faerie, he thought, her hair shimmering in the sun before him. Trees bent over their path from either side, creating a tunnel, but the leaves had long since fallen from their spindly branches, and the sun beamed down on them, almost warm.

He felt Lotta still before him.

‘Don’t worry,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll keep your pony.’

Magnus wanted to leap down and pull his sister away from that man, but he couldn’t move at all. He stared at Lotta, wondering if she could read his thoughts like she’d said. Hoping she’d been telling the truth.

‘Don’t imagine Hakon will be pleased about the delay.’ Silver Tooth was the only one of the three who looked uncomfortable with the situation, besides Magnus and Lotta. ‘We’re to report on what we’ve seen. Doubt he wants to wait till first snow. He’s too much like his father to sit still.’

Long Beard kept his sleepy-looking eyes focused ahead, watching a doe skip across their path, disappearing into the forest. ‘Why don’t you go after that beast and stop fretting. Be useful for once!’ But they both knew there was no chance of catching such an agile creature when it had a head start. ‘Besides, Hakon made me the leader of our little crew. He trusts me. I served his father. He knows I’ll get back to him when I can. He wouldn’t expect us to destroy another set of horses. We’ll have none of his silver left before long if we keep buying horses! We can afford to take our time.’

Silver Tooth sniffed, rubbing his nose on the back of his sleeve. His throat hurt and his head was pounding. That was certainly one of the things they’d be able to tell Hakon Vettel: how sickness was ravaging the Eastern Shore, from Orsund to Runvik and beyond. He’d never felt so ill. He glanced at Eye Patch, who was coughing, and at Long Beard whose eyes looked bloodshot.

Perhaps the children weren’t the only reason he’d decided to slow down?

‘We’ll ride till dusk, camp for the night and see how we feel come morning,’ Long Beard said, his rasping voice firm. ‘Perhaps we’ll cut loose for a while then? Make up some time? Be good to get to Akaby. Might find some takers for the boy.’

Magnus blinked, shivering all over, listening to the ragged breathing of the stinking man whose hand pushed against his chest, holding him in place.

Wishing he could hear his mother’s voice.

* * *

The square was noisier than it had been in months.

Though not with trade. Not with training. Not with games.

And certainly not with celebration.

Many were leaving.

‘But why?’ Reinar called to Hartvig, who he’d known since they were toddlers. Their fathers had been friends. Their brothers too. ‘Ottby is your home! I know it’s hard –’

Hartvig spun around from where he was packing his saddlebags. He was newly married, and his morose-looking wife waited on her horse, lips set in a straight line as she tidied up her braids. ‘Hard? Reinar!’ Hartvig was a good man, useful with a spear. A bow too. ‘This is no longer just hard. And it’s no longer whispers either. The gods have spoken! You heard them last night! We all did!’ He turned back to his saddlebags, trying to stuff in another waterskin, which was proving difficult as his horse kept moving away from him, not liking the loud voices. ‘You should leave, Reinar! All of you should! You heard that warning last night. Vasa is coming!’

Alys watched from a distance, Agnette and Ludo beside her.

Agnette poked Ludo. ‘Why aren’t you over there? I think Reinar could use some help.’

‘He’s got Bjarni and Torvig. Sigurd too. And Tulia. I don’t want to get in the way.’

Agnette felt anxious, turning to Alys. ‘He didn’t take it well. About Elin.’

Ludo looked on curiously, eyebrows raised.

‘I helped her to leave,’ Agnette admitted, glancing up at him, guilt in her eyes. ‘She wanted to, desperately, so I helped her. And now,’ she sighed, ‘now they do too. Everyone wants to leave Ottby, it seems. Maybe we’re the fools? Maybe everyone sees something we don’t?’

Gerda strode up to them, eyes blazing with irritation. ‘Agnette! Stellan is sitting at the table, waiting for you. I thought you were taking him for a walk before the rain comes down again?’ She felt tense, eyes on the departing warriors. She had just as many problems in the hall, with some of her servants packing their chests and joining the exodus, leaving with their husbands and children, desperate to get away before Vasa or Hakon Vettel came to claim them.

Agnette turned back to the hall. ‘Don’t panic, Aunty, I’m on my way.’ And glancing at Bjarni whose cheeks were redder than usual, she sighed, bunching up her dress and trekking away through the mud.

‘And you,’ Gerda snapped, peering at Alys. ‘What use are you to my son when you can’t help him keep his people? For without those people, we may as well open the gates and invite the monsters in!’ And yanking Ludo’s arm, she dragged him towards Reinar. ‘Not to mention you, Ludo Moller. We must help Reinar. We must!’

Alys watched them go, gasping, sharp pains assaulting her chest. The sun had abandoned the fort, and she felt cold, sensing rain coming.

It wasn’t that.

She turned around slowly, her skin prickling, as though someone was there.

As though something was wrong.

Tulia’s brother was walking towards her with a man she didn’t know.

It wasn’t that.

And then she felt it.

Magnus.

* * *

When Vik returned from his fishing expedition, shimmering catch strung over his back, Jonas was outside readying his old chestnut stallion, Klippr.

‘You looking to leave?’ Vik didn’t speak much. He was used to living alone. Though, he supposed, he’d never spoken much when he was married either.

His wives had always brought that up.

And though Vik had loved both of them, he found it impossible to change. Women were attracted to his stoicism. To his stone-like certainty and strength. He said what he meant, and left it at that. Though once things had progressed to marriage, his wives had wanted more, not realising that he had already shown them precisely who he was.

A loner. A warrior. A man so skilled in killing that he felt uncomfortable without a sword in his hand. It was what he knew. What felt right.

And yet, it had been many years now since he’d last drawn blood.

Each one of them more uncomfortable than the last.

‘That I am,’ Jonas sighed, turning to his friend, amazed by the amount of fish he’d managed to attach to his string. ‘You’re going to be smoking for days!’ he laughed, feeling wistful, hungry as he was. Vik was an excellent fisherman, and he knew how to smoke a fish to perfection. If only one of them could make a decent flatbread, but they either ended up charred or sticky, never something useful in between. ‘I’m going to head back to my cottage, stay there a while.’

Vik dropped his string of fish to the ground with a frown. ‘You do remember your cottage, don’t you? That great pile of ash? I think the fire pit was still standing, having done all that damage, but I’m sure you won’t fit in it if you’re looking for a bed.’

‘I remember, and no, I’m taking your tent, if you don’t mind? Since you’ll be so busy smoking and drying, you won’t miss it for a while.’

‘Why are you heading back there, then?’ Vik dumped the rest of his load on the grass, slipping off his damp cloak, looking around for something to drink.

Jonas didn’t want to say. ‘Just a hunch I’ve a mind to do something about.’

‘A hunch?’ Vik sat down at a moss-covered table, sniffing the contents of the jug, which happily smelled like ale. There being no cups about, he tipped it into his mouth, taking a long drink. ‘Could that hunch have been a dream, then?’

Jonas shrugged.

‘Thought you didn’t believe in dreams. Or dreamers. Not anymore.’

‘Well, what I believe or don’t believe seems irrelevant these days. Especially when it’s my grandchildren I’ve got to think about.’

Vik wiped his bearded mouth. ‘What’s happened?’

Jonas shrugged again. He felt silly as he left his horse and joined Vik at the table. ‘Alys came to me in a dream.’ He eyed Vik, but his friend hadn’t even moved an eyelid. ‘Eida used to do that. My daughter too. Dreamers, all of them. They have a way of making you know something’s wrong.’

‘And you think something’s wrong?’

‘I do. I really do, Vik.’

Vik saw the fear in Jonas’ eyes, and he glanced back at his shimmering pile of fish. ‘Well, help me get that lot ready, and I’ll come. You might need the help.’

Jonas shook his head. ‘No, no, that’ll take some time. Besides, it’s two children. Alys sent them to find me. That’s what she said. I don’t need help with two children.’ And standing up, Jonas headed back to his old horse, who was happily chomping into an apple he’d pulled off a tree. ‘It may just be my imagination. I hope it is,’ he said quickly. ‘I do. And if not, I’ll be back in a few days with two more hungry mouths, so you’ll need to have that fish ready!’ He grinned, trying to cover his growing fear that something truly was wrong.

‘But why would Alys have sent her children to you on their own? Aren’t they small?’

Jonas was tightening Klippr’s saddle, and he froze, shivers rushing up his spine. ‘Yes. They are.’

* * *

‘Is there nothing you can do?’ Gerda implored. ‘Nothing you can do to make them stay?’ Her hands were on her son’s fur-covered chest, her eyes imploring him to act.

‘I can lock the gates. I can imprison them. But what would be the point of that?’ Reinar didn’t want to deal with his mother. He looked around for Agnette, who was very good at placating Gerda when she was winding herself into a spitting frenzy. But there was no sign of her. He nudged Bjarni towards her instead. ‘Bjarni will take you back to the hall, Mother,’ he said distractedly, eyes on Alys. ‘I need to get things in order. Those who are gone are gone. Those who will leave will leave. I can’t stop them if that’s what’s already in their hearts. I will do what I can, but there are a lot of stubborn people in this fort, and not many of them seem interested in staying for the fight.’ And brushing Gerda aside, Reinar headed for Alys.

The dreamer was looking in the opposite direction, standing perfectly still, hair blowing to one side as though it was trying to pull her away.

She jumped when he touched her, spinning around.

‘Are you alright?’ The look on her face was one of pure horror, and Reinar felt concerned.

Alys tried to catch her breath. Her body was trembling, her mind tumbling. She could feel the children’s panic, certain that they were in trouble. ‘I am,’ she lied, clearing her throat. ‘Fine.’

‘Can you ride?’ Reinar asked, noticing that she had boots on now, but no cloak. No wonder she was shaking.

Alys nodded distractedly.

‘Good. I’ll grab you a cloak, then let’s ride. I need to show everyone there’s nothing to be afraid of. That there’s nothing lurking in that forest at all.’ And he headed for the hall, hoping he was right.

* * *

Hakon and Lief rode after Ivan, who was leading them on a hunt with two of their men. Hakon was happy for Ivan to take the lead as it gave him a chance to talk to Lief, who had, until now, appeared happy to follow Ivan’s command. But Hakon had started to wonder how it was going to work in reality.

For that reality was coming at them like a storm cloud.

‘Mother says the first snow will come early this year,’ Hakon mused, his foul-tempered bay horse walking alongside Lief’s mighty black stallion, throwing his head around. ‘So we must accelerate our plans. Ivan is already doing so. We spoke this morning.’

Lief nodded, spots of pink on his flat cheeks, nose dripping. ‘It will not be easy, snow or not. Ottby is protected by two walls. There’s a reason it’s stood for so long, my lord.’

Lief never called him Hakon. He was a serious man with a dour tone.

Nothing like Ivan.

Hakon watched his cousin, riding up ahead, laughing with his companions, which would hardly allow them to creep up on their prey unannounced. But Ivan was effective, blessed with luck, and vicious in a fight, and more than anything, Hakon trusted him completely.

And despite his years of service to his father, he still wasn’t sure about Lief.

‘I agree. It won’t be easy, but no fight worth having is. I have no desire to claim my throne without tearing my way to victory. I want the songs of our conquest to ring through the kingdom like bells chiming after a slaughter. No one would sing of a battle won with words and handshakes.’

Now Lief did smile. ‘I’m pleased to hear it. That’s the sort of battle they carve onto saga stones, searing it into the memory of time.’

Hakon liked the sound of that. ‘And what will those stones say about you, Lief Gundersen? What tales will they tell of your feats?’

‘I wouldn’t care if they said anything about me at all, my lord. I wish to see you returned to your rightful place. To see the Vettels back in Stornas, where they belong. And with my help, and guidance, you will be.’

Hakon could hear it in his voice: that cold insistence that he should not be overlooked in favour of his lord’s less experienced, less mature cousin. ‘Of course, and I’m grateful to you, Lief. For bringing Mother to me. And dear Falla too. My Karolina does enjoy her company.’ Hakon ducked a ponderous branch, ready to stop for some ale. He had skins packed into his saddlebags; cheese and a leg of pork too. ‘Though, it’s important to remember that Ivan leads our army. He has my support. I trust him fully.’

Lief nodded, gripping the reins tightly. His black horse shook his mane over his hands, and he frowned. ‘Ivan is a skilled warrior. He has proven himself in battle. But not as a leader. Not yet. You trust him, of course, but character comes sharply into focus when you become responsible for others.’ He lifted his eyes to the young men ahead of them. Ivan’s friends. All the same age. Joking with each other as though they didn’t have a care in the world. ‘And perhaps that will cause him problems?’

Hakon frowned, not requiring Lief’s opinion any longer. ‘Mother has prepared everything perfectly. Now, all we need is the key to the door, and then I will open it.’ Hakon nudged his horse onwards, turning around to grin at Lief, wishing he could raise some life in his champion’s ruined eyes.

* * *

They rode through Ottby’s outer gates, down the wide path that led towards the forest, clouds rushing at them, squawking birds scattering overhead, following each other in rhythmic waves of dark feathers.

Despite the noise of the wolf, and the storm that had torn through the night, there was no sign of damage anywhere.

Alys didn’t notice.

She was wearing Reinar’s wife’s cloak, riding Reinar’s wife’s horse.

She didn’t notice that either.

Her children were in trouble, and she couldn’t help them.

The grey mare beneath her was quiet and gentle, and her hooves pounded the muddy path, keeping time with Reinar on his giant black horse.

He turned to stare at her sometimes, struggling to see another woman in that familiar golden cloak. He had bought it for Elin to wear on their wedding day, for they had married in the depths of winter, much to his mother’s horror. But Elin loved the snow and the cold, and she had wanted to marry outside, wrapped in furs, standing beneath trees draped in holly and ivy; winterberries too.

Reinar looked away, tugging his horse to the right, heading down a narrow path, wanting to stop and talk. There was a place he used to go with his friends when they were younger; not married or in charge of anything. They sometimes camped there, just to escape their parents and their chores. And twisting and turning through the trees, his memory sparking, Reinar found his way to a covered clearing; the tree canopy like a tent above their heads; the forest suddenly dark and cold.

He jumped down from his horse, reaching for Alys’ waist, helping her to the ground.

Alys was suddenly aware of how far away from anyone they were, and she swallowed, glancing around.

‘I used to come here,’ Reinar said quietly, leading her to a boulder. It was oddly shaped, as though someone had carved part of it into a table. Smaller boulders had been pushed up against it like stools. ‘With Sigurd, Ludo, and Bjarni. Torvig too. To hide from the women.’ He almost laughed, thinking how differently they had all felt once. Now he couldn’t stop thinking about the woman who had run away with his heart. ‘Sit.’ And waiting for Alys to take a boulder, Reinar took another. ‘Tell me what happened last night. Tell me about the wolf.’

Alys didn’t know where to begin. ‘I can’t say for certain, but I think it was a spell. One of the books in the dreamer’s cottage mentions such things being possible. You can create an illusion so real that you hear and see everything as though it’s happening to you. It’s like being in a nightmare. A waking nightmare.’

‘A dreamer would have to do it, then? Create the nightmare?’

‘Yes. A dreamer who knew dark magic.’

Reinar placed his big hands on the boulder table, thinking. ‘Is that something you can find out? Can you dream of it?’

Alys didn’t know. ‘I have no experience, but I can read more. I can try.’ She didn’t want to think about that dreamer at all. She wanted to find a way to help Magnus and Lotta.

Though, perhaps there were answers to everything in those books?

‘Then you will try, for me. Tonight.’

Alys nodded.

‘And when we discover the truth about the wolf, then, and only then will I ask you to return to dreaming about my wife.’ Reinar saw the surprise in her eyes, but he carried on, not caring what she thought. ‘For I still need to find her. She may have chosen to leave, but I have to know what happened to her. I need to know if she’s safe. If she will ever come home.’

Reinar’s devotion to his wife was surprising, and Alys didn’t want to break his heart further, so she nodded, almost smiling.

‘What you do for me must remain between us, though,’ Reinar warned. ‘My father made a vow to Ake Bluefinn that he would hold the bridge to Stornas. It’s what we’ve always done. There have been threats over the years, but Ottby has remained strong. I can’t lose it now. I can’t have more deserters. Soon there will be none left. No one but Sigurd and Tulia. Bjarni and Ludo. Torvig. Amir. Soon I won’t even have enough hands to crew one ship.’

‘You must find a way to compel them to stay,’ Alys suggested.

Reinar’s eyes lit up. ‘And?’

‘Your reputation... it is –’

‘Ruined. Torn to shreds. Shat on. I know all of it.’

Alys smiled. ‘It sounds that way, yes. So you need to do something to reclaim it. Warriors flock to leaders with fame, don’t they? My grandfather...’ She stopped, images of Jonas suddenly flashing before her eyes. ‘He was a warrior. He cared about the man he fought for. He believed in him.’

Reinar looked envious, inhaling a frosty breath. ‘My father was a man like that. He fought with Ake. He was a giant of a man, but look at him now. He sits in that wheelchair, being fed like a baby, a prisoner of his body. Perhaps the bad luck has not all been mine?’

‘And when did it change?’ Alys wondered. ‘Your luck? When your father took ill? Can you think of what happened around then? Did you do something to offend the gods?’

Reinar snorted, doubting the gods could be offended by something he’d done. He quickly frowned, though, seeing the real concern in Alys’ eyes. ‘I’ll try and think. I don’t know.’ He kept staring at her, unsettled. It was hard to see the dreamer in Elin’s cloak. Reaching out, he touched the fur-lined hood, embroidered with flowers. Always flowers. ‘It’s not the warmest of cloaks, but my wife never felt the cold. She wore it year after year, summer or winter.’ He smiled, wondering if that was because Elin had truly loved it, refusing to swap it for a thick fur cloak, even in the depths of winter.

Wondering if she had ever truly loved him.

Alys squirmed; the way Reinar was looking at her made her want to edge away. It was as though he wasn’t seeing her at all. ‘I’m grateful to have it.’

Now Reinar laughed. ‘How polite you are, Alys de Sant!’ His blue eyes sparkled for a moment. ‘Grateful to be stolen away from your home, having your husband murdered before your eyes. Forced to live in a fort about to be crushed by its enemies, with the unluckiest lord in Alekka!’ He shook his head, standing. ‘We should keep going, for there are dreams to have and books to read and memories to stir. And when you’re done, I’ll bring you riding again. Milka has been lonely these past few weeks. I still can’t believe Elin left everything behind, especially her.’ He held out a hand, ushering Alys back to the horses.

Alys could feel Reinar’s sadness return as he walked behind her, away from the clearing.

‘We can ride a little longer, if you like? I’ll take you the long way back to the fort. It will give us both a chance to think.’

16

Night gathered around them, the temperature plummeting, and Magnus shook all over, one arm around Lotta. He was pleased the men had let him sit with his sister as they ate their meal.

Thankfully, it wasn’t pony.

The men had been busy, killing a pheasant, a grouse, two squirrels and a wild chicken.

It looked like a tasty meal, slightly burned, and if Magnus had had any appetite, he might have eaten something, but he didn’t. Lotta hadn’t had much more, but encouraged by Long Beard, she’d nibbled some charred chicken. He’d tried to feed her a few mushrooms too, but Lotta hated mushrooms so much that she would vomit if she ever tasted one.

Magnus thought he might vomit.

He didn’t know what the men intended to do to them.

Sell them? Touch them? Beat them?

He didn’t know which he’d prefer.

They were arguing now: Long Beard and Eye Patch.

Silver Tooth seemed the more agreeable of the three. No, not agreeable, Magnus realised as the man kicked him. He was less uptight about what was happening, though. Less inclined to try and take the lead. Less frightening to look at too. He was often smiling, showing off his strange silver teeth.

‘What are you staring at, boy?’ Silver Tooth grinned, picking his toes. He’d taken off his right boot and had been busy popping blisters and ripping off toenails ever since.

Magnus jumped, not wanting to draw any attention to himself. ‘I thought I heard a noise,’ he lied. He would’ve loved to have heard a noise. A wolf or a bear. Something that would eat the men and let him escape with Lotta. His eyes drifted to Daisy and Clover, who seemed happy enough tied to the trees they sat nestled amongst; fire blooming in a circle of stones before them.

Long Beard came back with a skin, Eye Patch grousing behind him. ‘We’ll head for Akaby in the morning, see about unloading the boy and one of the ponies. Might get a few coins for that fat beast. More for the boy if he doesn’t bite any customers!’ And bending down, Long Beard yanked Lotta out of Magnus’ arms.

Magnus tried his best to hold on to his sister, who appeared both sleepy and scared. She turned, wanting to stay with him but Long Beard took her away to his bedroll, where he instructed her to lie on it. And lifting up another fur, he laid it over her.

‘Leave my sister alone!’ Magnus cried. He had seen men like that who liked little girls. He didn’t want him touching Lotta.

Silver Tooth kicked him with his bare foot again. ‘Shut your mouth!’ he grumbled, taking the skin Eye Patch handed him. ‘He won’t hurt your sister. And even if he did, it’s none of your business anyway. I’m sure your sister can leave you a curl of that fine hair to remember her by.’

Tears sprung in Magnus’ eyes as he watched Lotta, lying on the ground, tucked up in Long Beard’s fur, her head turned away from him as the man sat down, stroking her hair.

Magnus wouldn’t sleep. He couldn’t.

He didn’t want her to be alone.

* * *

Reinar was in the kitchen with Gerda, though he wanted to be alone in his chamber, trying to think. He’d had no appetite for the food or the company in the hall. It had been a strange atmosphere. There was little noise. And those who were there, enjoying a cup of ale with their friends, appeared awkward, as though they too were planning their escape.

And Reinar needed to think of what to do.

‘You have to send more food to the barn, Mother. If the Ullaberg women sicken and die, what was the point of taking them in the first place? There has to have been a point to what we did.’ The kitchen was hot, two fires blazing, and Rilda, the cook, was looking at him pleadingly, wanting him to do something about Gerda, who had been hovering around, fussing and complaining about everything.

Reinar recognised that look. He saw it regularly, and not just from Rilda.

So, shuffling his mother towards the door to the hall, he turned back to the flustered cook. ‘Send another tray of crispbreads and cheese to the barn. Some of those turnips and beans too. They need something hot in their bellies. It’s not warm in there.’ And pushing his mother through the door, he guided her back to the high table where everyone was still drinking and talking, picking at their food.

Torvig and Tulia were arguing, as usual. Sigurd was sitting back chatting to Ludo, looking more comfortable now. Bjarni was getting told off by Agnette for something he’d done.

And if they weren’t all about to face the wrath of the Goddess of Death or Hakon Vettel’s army, Reinar would have smiled.

Though Elin wasn’t there, and that still felt wrong.

He headed past them to his chamber.

Sigurd was surprised. He lifted his cup of ale, ready to dull the pain, knowing that everything was unravelling just as he’d feared. ‘Not staying, Brother? Not for one more drink? I plan to sleep like the dead, or the pleasantly drunk! No wolf will wake me from my sleep tonight!’

Reinar hesitated, tempted. ‘No. I’ve got some thinking to do, but you carry on. As long as Tulia has her wits about her, we’ll be fine!’ And winking at Tulia, he walked past the high table, shoulders aching with tension, dreading another night alone in his bed.

Gerda followed him. She felt much the same as Reinar, for although Stellan had not disappeared in body, the man she had been left with after his seizure did not resemble the husband she’d once had. She felt the loss of his voice and his reassuring arms deeply. ‘We must talk about what to do, Reinar. I know you have a lot on your mind after the departures today, but it’s just the beginning. I heard the old gossips shuffling from one end of the fort to the other, talking about who would go next, who would stay.’ She sighed, feeling more uptight by the moment. Angry too. ‘Whatever that wolf was, whatever it means, no one wants to stay here now.’

Gerda was whispering, but Reinar didn’t answer until they had left the hall behind and entered the corridor. ‘Are you saying that you’re ready to go?’ He was surprised, though he didn’t know why. Last night had been terrifying, a turning point for many, if not all.

Gerda hesitated, meeting her son’s eyes. He looked so sad, she thought. Those bright eyes were dull with pain and exhaustion. ‘I will not go, Reinar. Not without you and Sigurd. Not without Agnette and Stellan. Bjarni and Ludo too. If we are to go, we will go together. We are a family. We either fight or run as one.’

Reinar thought of his reputation.

His father had been a giant. A big man with a booming voice and a cheeky grin. A man whose command of Ottby had seemed effortless. Who had always had time to sit and talk, eager to listen to the problems of old and young alike. Reinar wondered why he’d never seen beyond that. For now, as lord himself, he knew that there was so much more beyond that. ‘We can’t run. We’re sworn to hold Ottby. To protect the bridge. Father swore it to Ake, and now that oath is mine to keep.’

Gerda scowled, never having thought much of Stellan’s oath to Ake Bluefinn in the first place. ‘He did. When he had a fort full of warriors and chests filled with gold and silver. Men and women with full bellies. Fields high with barley and wheat. That was a promise right in the making, but now?’ Gerda squeezed Reinar’s arm. ‘I doubt Ake would ask this of you now. Perhaps it’s time to send word? Let him know what is coming?’

Reinar froze. ‘Send word? To Ake?’ It made sense, of course. But to retreat, admit defeat? Beg the king to come and save him?

That was not the action of a man looking to rehabilitate his reputation.

‘Think on it,’ Gerda urged. ‘Go and think about everything, Reinar. You must do what is best for all of us now. There will be time to rise again, if that’s what is meant to be, but please, think on it.’ And she turned back to the hall, wanting to ensure that Rilda wasn’t being too generous with her portioning.

* * *

Alys found herself unable to think at all.

The cat purred on the bed beside her, and the texts in the book blurred before her eyes. She shivered, wanting to drag the bed closer to the fire. And then she stood up and did just that. It creaked ominously but held together. She yawned, hoping she would remember to move it back to the wall before she fell asleep.

The flames were welcome, and as she moved the book around, they helped her to see more clearly. Just not to think.

Something had happened to the children. She had felt Magnus’ terror.

She couldn’t get a sense of Lotta now, which was even more worrying.

A giant wolf was stalking the fort, which meant that either the Goddess of Death was coming to scoop them up into her evil arms, or they were being terrorised by a powerful dreamer.

Alys sighed, dropping her head to her hands, feeling tears coming at last.

The walls of terror finally broke open, and pain seeped through, exposing her broken heart. Bending forward, she sobbed, seeing her children’s faces as they turned, running from her on the beach. She saw what they were wearing, saw that Lotta’s long hair was in knots as usual; that Magnus had a bruise on his chin from where he’d been training to fight. He was only ten, but he wanted to learn how to use a weapon so he could defend her, Alys knew.

And she cried for her husband, who was dead. Not because she was sad and grieving, but for the sheer relief of being freed from him at last; spared his cruelty and torture; spared the frantic need of trying to protect her children from him.

Her shoulders heaved, tears dripping onto the book, and realising it, Alys stopped crying, lifting it to the flames, flapping her tears off the pages.

Winter padded towards her, rubbing his head against her arm, his purring like a gentle rumble of thunder, rolling over and over. Alys looked down at the cat, enjoying his company. She patted his head, stroking his fur, and eventually, her fear lessened, and she glanced down at the book again. Her eyes were a blur, though, so she rubbed them, trying to see. The pages had fallen open on something that made her sit up straighter, leaning towards the bright flames.

A spell of protection.

And holding her breath, Alys scrambled off the bed, undoing the purse attached to her belt, looking for the two curls of hair she always kept with her.

* * *

Falla needed to be convinced, though Mother had no patience for it. Still, she wanted the girl’s help, and it would be better if she felt invested in what they were doing. Mother didn’t want her ruining it again. She gnashed her teeth together before trying to smile, though her eyes remained dark and angry. ‘If Reinar Vilander doesn’t have enough men to mount the walls to hold our army out, there will be no need for a siege. And Hakon must avoid a siege. Winter is almost here. He needs to get into the fort before then. We don’t want to be sleeping in tents, do we? And we certainly don’t want to be camped outside that fortress when Ake Bluefinn returns from the West.’

Falla sighed, almost convinced. ‘And what about Ivan? When will you do something about that idiot? Lief should be leading the army. He needs to be by Hakon’s side. We both know that. It’s the next step.’

Mother ran a hand over the thick fur of her wolf hood, eager to begin. She knew how things would unfold when the time came. It was not where her attention needed to be at all. ‘My dear,’ she hissed, ‘we must clear our minds of all but that which is before us. Lief will have his way, as will you, as will I. But none of those things will even be possible if we don’t rid that fortress of its warriors.’ She stood, waddling towards Falla, wolf hood in one hand, lifting Falla’s chin with the other. ‘Understood?’

Falla nodded, sensing the rage building behind that patient wall, ready to burst forth. Mother wasn’t even blinking as her eyes tried to consume her. ‘Understood.’ And picking up the drum, she tried not to sigh, watching as Mother stepped back, satisfied, her eyes snapping to the fire and the basket of herbs which waited beside it.

Ready to begin.

* * *

Reinar felt caught.

His wife had left him, and he wanted to hate her for it, for causing him all this pain and confusion. But he loved her, and he couldn’t.

Ottby was under attack from dark forces, and he wanted to gather his people and run. But he was responsible for defending the bridge, and he couldn’t.

All of it was true. And real.

And all of it was in his hands. He was the lord who was fated to become a great king. The greatest king of all, according to Ragnahild One Eye. And if he couldn’t find a way out of this mess, how would he ever rise to claim such a prize?

He had to act.

But first, he had to decide what to do.

Standing, he left the fire behind, heading to his bed. It was an enormous bed, once slept in by his parents; too big now, he thought sadly, glancing down at the two chests by his feet.

Decisions had to be made, and he was the only one who could make them.

So, bending down, Reinar opened a lid.

* * *

She was a dreamer.

Alys kept telling herself that she was a dreamer. After a lifetime of having to hide, ignore, and pretend that she wasn’t, she was faced with a deep lack of confidence in what she was capable of.

The spell called for a dreamer’s blood.

Alys saw Magnus’ terrified face as she picked up the old dreamer’s knife, slicing across her palm, sucking in her cheeks as the pain bit. The cat watched her from a stool, green eyes blinking, urging her to hurry. Brushing hair out of her eyes with one hand, Alys squeezed her other hand, dripping blood into the bowl.

There wasn’t much in the cottage, apart from the bed, the chest of books, and a small table, but Alys had found a few bowls and knives; a hazel switch; some dried herbs, bones and stones. Salt too.

The spell appeared simple, though Alys worried that she was doing it wrong, certain that there was not nearly enough blood. But she dropped the curls of hair into the bowl, trying not to cry again. And picking up the switch, she started stirring, eyes on the book, which sat on the stool beside her, conscious of the wind playing with the flames.

Dipping her finger into the bowl, Alys read the words on the page, then bent forward, drawing a circle with the bloody mixture, trying to match the intricate symbols from the book. And sitting back on her heels, she blinked, watching the flames burst into life, growing higher and higher, sparks flying up to the rafters like a scattering of golden midges.

And finally, closing her eyes, Alys tried to bring her children’s faces into her mind.

* * *

Magnus had fallen asleep, but Lotta’s cry woke him and he was at first confused, then angry, and finally, worried. She was still far away from him on the other side of the fire, next to Long Beard, who was stroking her hair again, though he appeared mostly asleep, occasionally reaching out a hand to soothe the little girl.

Lotta often cried out in her sleep, though she never woke, and within a few heartbeats, she was quiet again.

Magnus watched her, not moving. He lay on his side, wishing for a fur. It was so cold that he was shivering, so uncomfortable on the ground, lying on all shapes of stones and twigs, that he wanted to move. Silver Tooth sat by him, leaning against the tree, and Magnus could hear him.

‘He won’t hurt her.’

Magnus froze.

Perhaps tiredness had softened his voice, as Silver Tooth almost sounded sympathetic.

‘He lost his daughter when she was a girl. Poor thing drowned. He won’t hurt her.’

Magnus wished he could ask his sister if that were true, but he couldn’t.

Instead, he lay perfectly still, watching, waiting.

Hoping he could think of a way to escape.

* * *

What was real and what was a dream was becoming more confusing by the day, Alys realised as she crept forward, wondering where she was.

It was dark, but she could feel sand beneath her feet.

Cold, familiar sand.

‘Mama! Come and find me!’

Alys spun around, hearing gulls overhead, a hint of sun now, glowing in the distance, just above the horizon. Frothy waves surged up the beach, but no one was there.

‘Lotta?’ Panicking, she started to run, away from the beach, towards the village. But the village kept getting further and further away, and she couldn’t reach it. She couldn’t find her children.

‘Mama!’

Alys couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. ‘Lotta?’

There was still no one on the beach. No one at all.

‘What will you do to us?’ It was Magnus’ voice. He sounded frightened.

‘You mean if we don’t eat you?’

A man’s voice.

Shivers raced up Alys’ spine, her body rigid.

‘We’ll get a coin or two for a weed like you, I’m sure, useful boy that you are. Your sister... she’ll come with us. I’ll take good care of her, don’t you worry. You’ll be safe with me, won’t you, little princess?’

Men laughing. Someone coughing.

‘But where? Where will you take her?’ Magnus cried. ‘What do you want her for?’

Alys didn’t move. She needed to hear more.

‘Nowhere you need concern yourself with, boy,’ came the rasping reply. ‘Nowhere at all.’

Alys shook, sensing everything change.

Darkness again. The sand was mud now, and her feet were stuck in it.

‘And where do you think you’d be if you left here?’ Arnon spat at her, slapping her across the face. ‘Nowhere! You’d be fucking nowhere, you useless bitch! Nowhere without me!’

Alys tumbled backwards, falling into the mud, heart breaking.

Who were those men? Who had taken her children?

Storm clouds blocked out the sun, sinking low, Arnon’s voice like an echo, abusing her, taunting her. But Alys didn’t care about him. He was a distraction.

A wound that would one day heal.

He leaned over her, eyes bulging, lips twisting, and her eyes drifted to his chest and the enormous tattoo of the wolf, a bloody hole where the arrow had pierced its eye.

And then she heard the drumming.

17

Tulia studied Sigurd’s face, hoping to see a sign that something had changed, for if it had, she wouldn’t be forced to make the decision herself. That decision had been coming towards her like a sandstorm for months.

‘Don’t say it.’ Sigurd knew that look. Even in the darkness, he knew that look.

‘I won’t, if that’s what you want.’

Lifting a hand to Tulia’s face, Sigurd stroked her cheek. ‘I don’t want you to leave.’

‘I have to think of my brother.’

‘And I have to think of mine.’

The wind was loud, mournful, and they both listened to it, neither knowing what else to say.

‘Hakon will come soon. Whatever that wolf was, it doesn’t matter. What’s real is that Hakon Vettel and his army will be knocking down the gates in weeks. They have every reason not to hold back now,’ Tulia insisted. ‘We’re weak. Depleted. Their scouts will be riding back to Slussfall with that news before long.’

‘We have our neighbours. Hovring and Vika, Kutbo and Orsa. Reinar has their support. They’ll stick with us. They’re all Ake’s men. They won’t bend to Hakon Vettel. Not to that little shit. Bitter and twisted Hakon Vettel, thinking he deserves a crown that was never his to begin with.’

Tulia bit down on everything she wanted to say.

Nothing had changed.

* * *

After going through Elin’s chests, Reinar had been unable to sleep.

He needed some air, hoping it would help him to think clearly. He needed to escape the torturous memories of his bed too, so grabbing his cloak, he headed for the ramparts, surprised to find Torvig slumped over the inner wall, eyes on the dark forest in the distance. ‘Didn’t know you were on watch.’

‘Well, I’m not. Couldn’t sleep, though. Waiting, I suppose, for Vasa to come.’ He laughed.

Reinar didn’t know what to think about that. Though, it was likely what he was doing there too. ‘You really think she’ll come? And if she does?’

‘Well, you know how vengeful Vasa can be. She’s a collector. She retrieves the forsaken. Takes them to her lair. Gives them to her ravens, who feast on them for all eternity. Isn’t that right?’

Now Reinar grinned. ‘Not the sort of death we’d hoped for. Hardly the destiny Ragnahild told Gerda about.’

Torvig frowned, eyes on the wall of tall fir trees in the distance, watching the blustery wind shunting them from side to side as though they were dark blades of grass. ‘Well, that’s something to hold on to, isn’t it? Ragnahild said you would wear the Sun Torc. She saw that. And you haven’t yet.’ He turned back to Reinar. ‘So we keep going?’

Reinar nodded. ‘We keep going.’

‘And the women?’

Reinar was surprised that Torvig’s mind wandered so quickly away from the danger lurking outside the fort, though Torvig had always been obsessed with women, slaves or not. ‘We hold them until I decide what to do, which means that you keep your hands to yourself. You and the rest of the men.’

Defiance sparked in Torvig’s eyes, though it was dark, clouds masking the moon, and he doubted Reinar could see his anger. ‘Makes sense. However this comes out, we’re going to need more silver, that I do know.’

It had been Torvig’s idea.

When their raids started turning up nothing but empty stores and starved people, it had been Torvig’s idea to start slaving. Being a slave wasn’t the worst thing that could happen, he’d insisted. Slaves were fed by rich masters. Slaves could even be freed in time. And though the thought of it had left a bad taste in Reinar’s mouth, and the act of doing it had turned his stomach, it had helped him feed his people and keep some of their warriors from leaving. He’d even been able to tempt more to join them.

But now it all seemed pointless.

Torvig’s eyes widened as he leaned out over the rampart wall. ‘Did you see that?’ He shuddered, blinking, staring again.

‘You’re going to say it’s a wolf, aren’t you?’ Reinar laughed, though he felt his heartbeat quicken as he tried to see where Torvig was pointing.

And then he saw it.

Like waves rippling through the trees.

Grey fur.

* * *

Mother laughed, head back, on her hands and knees, crawling around the circle, inside its thick line of blood symbols and stones. She felt the wind chill her face, the hungry thirst on her tongue.

The terrified stench of the humans in the fort.

They were still there, cowering in their cottages, waiting for her to rip them to pieces, their minds twisting with uncertainty, wondering who to believe.

Their lord?

His dreamer?

Or what they could hear and see with their own eyes?

The drumming was pulsing in her limbs now, everything blurring as she swung her body around, turning in the direction of the fort.

* * *

Alys threw away the fur, blinking herself awake.

She could hear the drumming again, louder than the frantic beating of her heart. Her dream stayed with her as she hurried around the fire, towards the door. Stopping for a moment, she wrapped her cold fingers around the cold handle.

And turning back, she looked to the book.

Winter was sitting on top of it, where she had left it, on a stool.

He miaowed, hopping down, watching her.

And Alys rushed back to it, wishing for brighter flames, as she quickly flicked through the pages, wondering if there was anything she could do to help.

She could barely see a word, but one page caught her eye, and she saw the corner was bent where she had turned it over the day before, meaning to go back.

The spell of the waking nightmare.

* * *

Bjarni rumbled down the ramparts, nightshirt flapping over his trousers, wrapping his swordbelt around his waist. ‘What?’ He stopped, fumbling with the belt, glimpsing a flash of fur himself. ‘It’s huge! It’s huge! We have to get off the wall!’ Reinar was further away with Torvig and Sigurd. ‘Reinar! We have to get down!’ Bjarni was quickly moving towards them, arms flailing, belly jiggling as he ran. ‘Reinar!’

Reinar felt stuck, oddly indecisive.

An illusion, Alys had suggested. It was just an illusion.

The wolf howled, shaking the ramparts.

It didn’t feel like an illusion.

Screams lifted from the square up the inner wall, panic charging around the fort, and Reinar spun towards Bjarni. ‘Get back down there! Get everyone into the hall. Barricade yourselves in!’ He grabbed Sigurd. ‘Go with Bjarni! You’re injured. You can’t use a bow.’

Sigurd wanted to argue, but his brother was right.

The wolf howled again, and Sigurd was limping towards the stairs, almost knocking Ludo over as he stumbled into him. He peered at his friend, seeing the fear in Ludo’s eyes as he hurried past, bow in hand.

Tulia came towards him. ‘Don’t fall down those stairs!’ And then she was gone, into the shadows, calling the archers into formation.

* * *

Gerda trembled, unable to decide what to do. She stood in the doorway of the hall, Agnette beside her. ‘If that wolf gets in here, we’re all doomed!’

Agnette grabbed her aunt’s arm. ‘Come, let’s get you into the bedchamber. You must be with Stellan.’

Gerda didn’t look so sure.

Agnette was insistent, though. ‘If this is the end, Aunty, you must be with Stellan.’ Agnette was usually clear-eyed in a crisis, though this was like no crisis she’d experienced before. But Gerda was not, and she needed to get her out of the way quickly. ‘Rienne!’ she called, seeing the servants gathered in a huddle by the kitchen door. ‘Come and take your mistress to her bedchamber. Hurry now!’

And not waiting for any arguments, she turned back to the doors, stepping outside. Reinar had the hall guarded every night, and those two men looked confused about what exactly they should be doing. ‘Stay there!’ Agnette ordered, eyeing them fiercely, feeling a stab of pain in her belly.

Just a stitch, she told herself, breathing out slowly. Just a stitch.

‘Come inside!’ she called to those villagers who were running around, causing more panic and hysteria. ‘Come and shelter in the hall!’

A few women, eyeing the ramparts where their husbands had gone, turned her way, terrified children clinging to their legs.

‘Hurry!’ Agnette implored. ‘We’ll lock ourselves in! Hurry!’ She saw Sigurd, hobbling across the square, no broom under his arm now.

And then Alys, running towards him, nearly knocking him down.

‘What are you doing? Get back to your cottage!’ Sigurd’s eyes were insistent; bright blue, even in the darkness.

‘It’s not real!’ Alys cried. ‘I must tell Reinar. It’s not real!’

Sigurd grabbed her arm. ‘Why do you say that? How do you know?’ He didn’t believe in anything much, but that wolf?

Its howl lifted the hairs on his arms, twisting his guts.

‘I need to see Reinar!’

Sigurd stared into her eyes, though it was dark and he had no more answers once he was done, just an overwhelming feeling to believe her. It surprised him, but he let Alys go, pointing her to the guard tower. ‘Run to the tower. Up the stairs. He’s on the ramparts. There!’ And pointing to his brother in the dark fur cloak, he pushed her away.

Reinar was frozen to the spot, thoughts rushing through his head like wind. He needed to make a decision quickly, but he didn’t even know what was happening, so how could he decide what to do?

‘You believe your dreamer now?’ Torvig cried, pulling his bowstring past his ear, feathers brushing his cold cheek.

‘Aim!’ came Tulia’s call.

Torvig could sense movement. Sometimes he thought he saw flashes of grey.

Or was it mist?

Then the trees would move and shake, and he saw nothing but shadows.

‘Where is it?’ Ludo yelled. ‘Where?’

‘Fire at will!’ Tulia cried. ‘If you can’t see it, just fire!’

Reinar’s breath was like smoke, his chest aching beneath his cloak. He stood behind the archers, watching, thinking.

The wolf kept moving through the forest.

Was it really there?

He turned back to the square. Braziers burned along the edges, his eyes snapping to the hall where Agnette was screeching, ushering everyone inside.

‘Over here!’ came a cry from the western side of the fort. ‘It’s over here!’

That made sense of why they could no longer see it before them.

Alys emerged from the stairs, panting, peering along the rampart walk. ‘Reinar!’ And then she tripped over, falling onto her hands and knees, yelping in surprise. It was so dark. Clouds rushed overhead, and though there were braziers along the ramparts, their flames were blowing away from them.

Reinar turned.

‘Reinar!’ Torvig shouted, running. ‘We have to go!’ And he headed to where the cry had come from, urging Ludo and Bjarni and the archers after him.

Reinar blinked at him, then turned for Alys. Dragging her up onto her bare feet, he gripped her arm, pulling her close enough to see her eyes. ‘What is it?’

Alys gritted her teeth from the pain in her knees. She didn’t know what she’d landed on, but it had felt sharp. ‘It’s...’ She tried to catch her breath. ‘It’s not real. It’s a... nightmare. A waking nightmare. It’s not real! It’s a spell!’

Reinar wanted to believe her. Then another howl.

He looked around, trying to ignore it. But the ramparts felt as though they were shaking, the trees rustling in the distance. He could hear cries behind him.

‘There! There!’

‘If it’s not real, what do we do? How do we stop it?’

‘Go out of the fort.’ The thought came unbidden, and Alys felt as surprised as Reinar looked.

‘Out of the fort?’

She nodded. ‘Prove the nightmare isn’t real. Prove it to your people. Show them courage. Show them the truth!’

* * *

The smoke swirled around Falla’s head, and she was no longer aware of Mother. She saw Borg, Frits, Lief; all her husbands before her. Two dead. One very much alive. But all of them appeared to be floating, as though they were ghosts, moving through the flames, hands out, faces pained.

Pained?

Why were they pained?

Because they couldn’t be with her, Falla decided dreamily. Poor dead Borg. Pathetic old Frits. Their bodies were just ash now.

But Lief? Why was he in such pain?

And then a cry, like a wounded animal, and Falla blinked, clearing the vision of her ghostly husbands, seeing the old woman before her, howling in fury.

Mother spun, eyes hidden beneath the wolf hood, spitting at her daughter-in-law.

* * *

Sigurd might not have believed in anything, but he didn’t feel confident enough to let his brother leave the fort. ‘You can’t listen to her! Reinar!’

Agnette agreed. ‘Sigurd’s right. It’s too dangerous!’

Bjarni leaned over the inner wall. ‘Get inside the hall, Agnette! What are you doing out there?’ He shook his head crossly. She was such an impossible woman.

‘Go!’ Reinar told her. ‘Look after everyone, Agnette. You too,’ he said to his brother, who was struggling with his footing, the mud having turned to ice as the temperature plummeted. Reinar laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘If anything happens to me... this fort is yours to care for. All of it. All of them. Keep them safe.’

Alys was there now, behind him.

‘Don’t go!’ Sigurd urged again, glaring at Alys. ‘You don’t have to!’

Reinar shook his head, and with one last look at his brother, he strode to the inner gates, nodding at the guards to lift the beam.

Sigurd spun around, calling up to Tulia. ‘Keep your eyes open, Tulia! Look for a trap! Arrows! Keep your eyes open!’ He limped after Reinar, through the first set of gates, struggling to calm his breathing.

‘Secure the gates as soon as I’m through!’ Reinar called to the guards when he reached the outer gates. ‘Sigurd! Find men to help them!’ He spun back around. ‘Don’t open them again until you know it’s safe. Until you hear from me!’ And watching as the beam was lifted, Reinar Vilander drew his father’s sword, inhaling a long breath.

* * *

‘Oh, the game! The game!’ Mother cackled, angrier than her voice belied. She clamped her rotting teeth together, trapped between two worlds, confused for a moment as to what was real.

As to which was the nightmare.

But now, here he came, the fated one, sword glinting as though he could touch her with it. As though he could strike a beast as magnificent and powerful as Ulura Blood Hunter with a tiny blade like that.

Mother padded forward, edging towards the centre of the circle, heading for the flames.

Falla watched her, shaking her head repeatedly, not sure what to do.

Mother would burn if she got any closer.

Couldn’t she see? Couldn’t she feel the heat of the fire?

* * *

Reinar heard the gates creak closed behind him, the heavy beam scraping back down into its brace, securing the fort. He heard Tulia bellowing from the ramparts, Sigurd ordering the men on the walls to keep their eyes open. And seeing Alys’ face in his mind, urging him on, Reinar stepped forward, boots on gravel, finally taking a breath to steady himself. Eyes on the wall of dark forest in the distance, Reinar kept walking, muttering.

It was a nightmare. A waking nightmare.

Not real.

He heard the howl, felt the frozen ground undulate beneath his boots.

Not real, Reinar tried to tell himself.

The trees swept from side to side before him, almost parting, as though something was coming, but Reinar couldn’t see it, so he kept going, remembering Gerda telling him the story of Ragnahild’s dream. ‘You will wear the torc, Reinar,’ she whispered. ‘You will be the greatest king in Alekka’s history. You, my son. You! You will unite the North and the South. You will become the high king.’

And no man destined to become the High King of Alekka could allow himself to be defeated by a dreamer’s nightmare.

‘Come out!’ he roared, stopping now, eyes scanning the trees, spreading his legs, balancing himself. ‘Come and show yourself! Or are you not there at all? Just a nightmare! Trying to scare us! As though we’re children! You think you can scare us? Is that what you think?’ Reinar gripped his sword, tension in his arm, anticipating everything that might happen next. If Vasa’s wolf was out there, it could devour him in a heartbeat. ‘Come and get me, little dog!’ he croaked, trying to lift his voice. ‘Come on!’

Arrows shot overhead, into the trees, and Reinar’s eyes darted from left to right, searching.

He saw a glimpse of Alys’ face again, and straightening up, he walked forward now, a violent gust of wind flapping his cloak as it rushed past him.

And then nothing.

The trees stopped moving. The clouds stopped swirling.

Reinar held his breath, waiting, sensing a change.

Then a beam of moonlight streaked through the trees before him.

Revealing nothing at all.

18

Alys sensed that the wolf had gone.

The drumming had stopped. The storm appeared to have retreated.

The sky had lightened just enough for her to see the concern on Bjarni’s face as he waited by the inner gates. He was holding his breath. She could feel that.

‘Open the gates!’ came the roar, and Bjarni spun around to Alys and Agnette, relief loosening his body, a look of amazement in his eyes.

‘Open the gates!’ he seconded, waiting while the men hurried the beam off again, pulling open one of the heavy gates as fast as their numb hands would allow.

Alys watched as Reinar stepped into the courtyard, that easy grin on his face again, though she was certain his body was trembling beneath his thick cloak, just as hers was.

‘Nothing!’ he bellowed, slapping Bjarni on the back. ‘Nothing but games meant to trick us! Hoping to make us leave! To abandon the fort so Hakon Vettel can come and claim it!’ He eyed Alys, who was almost nodding in agreement. ‘There was no wolf! No Goddess of Death waiting to steal us away! Just games!’ He kept walking, past his brother, through the inner gates, into the square where those men not on the ramparts had gathered.

Sigurd called to Gerda, who stood by the hall doors. ‘Mother! Bring everyone outside! Let them see the truth! Let them see that it was all a trick of the mind!’ Sigurd wasn’t sure what it had been, but they couldn’t afford any more deserters.

Everyone in the fort needed to see that there was no wolf.

Their men came down from the ramparts, Tulia with them. She left Amir with some of her archers, watching, though, just in case.

‘There was nothing there?’ Bjarni asked, wrapping an arm around Agnette as she hurried to his side, eyes on Reinar.

‘Nothing. Alys said it was a waking nightmare. A dreamer’s spell.’ Reinar had never been happier to think that he’d stolen a woman. The right woman.

And just in time.

She looked terrified, though. Upset. Not relieved at all.

‘Go! Go look outside!’ Reinar encouraged his wary men, pointing to the open gates. ‘Go see what is waiting beyond the walls, for it is nothing!’ He hoped he was right and some giant beast wasn’t about to pounce. But they needed to see. They needed to believe.

They needed to stay.

Alys turned away, wanting to be alone. Her bare feet were frozen, numb, and she slipped on a patch of ice. Ludo, who had just arrived, caught her.

‘Take Alys back to the cottage,’ Reinar said. ‘Help her get a fire going. See what else she needs.’ He wanted to go with her, to talk to her some more; find out what they could do to stop this dreamer terrorising them. But he had to stay. He needed to organise his men and his defenses. He needed to show his people how strong he still was. That his luck was changing.

It was changing.

They had to see that.

Alys watched Reinar turn away, pointing Torvig in the direction of the inner wall, and she felt Ludo’s hand on her arm, tugging her gently along.

He didn’t speak until they were at the cottage and he had ushered her inside, jumping as the cat miaowed loudly, curling around his leg. ‘Where did you come from, then?’ he panted, still in shock.

It had been another strange night.

Alys wanted him to go. She needed to get back to sleep quickly, wanting to discover more about the children. But Ludo didn’t appear in a hurry as he bent down to pat the cat, picking him up, walking to the fire. He was a tall man with a kind face, and he stooped as he walked, the cottage built for someone much smaller. ‘How did you know about the wolf? That it was just a trick? A spell?’

Alys followed him, shivering. She dragged a stool closer to the flames, watching as Ludo dropped the cat back to the ground and picked up the poker, bringing the fire back to life. ‘I read one of the books.’

Ludo was surprised; glad that he’d pointed her to the chest. ‘Perhaps Salma knew?’ He frowned, sitting back on his haunches, Winter rubbing himself against his leg. ‘Perhaps she saw what would happen, and she wrote about it in her books? A way to help you?’

Alys looked surprised. ‘Help me?’

‘Of course. Dreamers see the future, don’t they? If Salma saw you coming, needing help... it makes sense, doesn’t it?’ And standing up, Ludo grabbed another log from the woodpile, frowning. ‘You don’t have much left. I can chop you some more tomorrow.’

Alys wasn’t listening; her mind had returned to the children. She yawned, hoping to encourage Ludo to leave.

‘You need some sleep,’ Ludo said, yawning himself. ‘I think we all do after the last two nights, but hopefully, we’ll wake up to better news tomorrow. After what Reinar did? I can’t imagine anyone would want to leave now.’

Alys’ eyes remained on the flames as Ludo headed for the door.

‘I’ll check on the women in the barn,’ he said softly, turning to her. ‘I check on them occasionally. They seem fine.’

Alys looked up. ‘You do?’

Ludo nodded, bashful. ‘I don’t like that they’re there. That they’re here.’ He dropped his head, dark hair falling over his face. Then, looking up, he smiled, tucking it behind his ears. ‘Come and see them in the morning. We can take them outside, see the sun, if it decides to come out. Get some fresh air. They need that.’

‘I will. Thank you.’

Ludo could hear the lift in her voice, and it made him feel slightly better, though he was still shaking, still unsettled. ‘Get some sleep, Alys. You need to. Likely Reinar will be at your door early, wanting to know what you dreamed about, though after tonight, I don’t blame him!’ And ducking his head, he disappeared outside.

Alys quickly shut the door, locking it. Turning around, she sought out Salma’s book, which had proved helpful already. There was so much she needed to know, but nothing more urgent than whether her children were safe.

So, ignoring the book and the purring cat, she headed for bed, desperate to fall into a dream.

* * *

‘Tell me of your night, Mother,’ Hakon wondered, playing with his son on a pile of furs beside the fire. Anders was growing quickly, and he could sit on his own now, holding his head up so proudly. He was a handsome boy, Hakon thought, with his dark hair and his big dark-blue eyes. A boy to be proud of.

Mother looked as though she’d slept outside in the storm.

Or lost her comb. Or both.

He grinned, untroubled by her muttering. ‘How is our little plan coming along?’

Mother took a seat at the table, reaching for the jug of buttermilk. Her throat was dry, her body aching. She had singed the hem of her only dress, stepping too close to the fire, and the stink of it was strong. ‘Our plan has worked well.’ Hakon didn’t need to know anything. She’d decided that as soon as she’d woken. ‘Very well, indeed. Reinar Vilander’s warriors will leave in droves now. The fort will be yours for the taking.’

‘Excellent! And with my army intact too. What a valuable asset you are, Mother Arnesson. A most valuable asset indeed.’ Hakon felt a jolt of excitement as he smiled at his son.

Once he claimed Ottby...

‘But you have problems,’ Mother warned, supping the milk, her shoulders drooping, relieved to quench her thirst at last. Falla had not stayed with her, and she had been too weak to even crawl out of bed in the night for a cup of water. ‘If you do not kill the Vilanders, they will go to Ake Bluefinn. If you merely run them out of Ottby, they will head for the king. Find him. Warn him. And he will run back to Stornas before you can do much more than knock on the gates.’

‘But won’t Reinar have sent word already?’

Mother spluttered, wiping her chin, eagerly looking around for something to eat, irritated by the noise of the baby, who was starting to whimper. ‘You think he wants Ake’s help? Reinar Vilander? No, he wants Ake’s throne as much as you, despite what he may tell everyone. He’s been raised to believe that it’s his to claim.’ She grabbed a boiled egg, popping it in her mouth, surprised that it was still warm.

Hakon handed his son to a servant and came to join Mother at the table, waiting while she finished eating. ‘So he will hold on, then, until we arrive?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Mother’s mood lifted. That stupid dreamer may have ruined her nightmare spell, but the damage was done. Alekkans were a superstitious people. They would not shake the sounds and visions as quickly as Reinar Vilander hoped. ‘He will die in that pit. A grave he has dug for himself every day since his father took ill. Reinar Vilander will never leave Ottby, I can promise you that. His death has been foretold. Ottby will be the end of him!’

* * *

There was no sun. Only grey skies and soggy drizzle.

And a square full of warriors readying their families to leave.

Reinar couldn’t believe it. After last night? After revealing that the wolf was no omen? Just a dreamer’s trick?

‘But why, Ingmar?’ His hand was on Ingmar’s arm, his eyes searching his old warrior’s face. ‘We’ve fought beside each other in the shield wall. Manned the ramparts together. Enemy after enemy has lain at our feet, dead and defeated. Why now?’

Ingmar looked uncomfortable. ‘There’s nothing left, Reinar. It’s only a matter of time now. You must see that? Your father would, if he could. He’d know what was important, and what was not.’ Ingmar turned back to his horse, checking its bridle.

‘You’re wrong,’ Reinar insisted. ‘My father took an oath to Ake. He’d never break it. And when I became lord, I took it too. You’re wrong to think we should run away, beaten by an enemy we can’t even see. An enemy too afraid to come at us with swords and spears! An enemy who hides behind a dreamer’s weapons!’

Ingmar spun around, anger darkening his usually placid eyes. ‘You don’t think those weapons can hurt us? Hurt our families? That it’s some toothless old woman you’re up against? Is that what you really think, Reinar?’

Reinar stepped away, dropping his hand, letting Ingmar go. He was a respected man, and his experience would be sorely missed, but Reinar knew he couldn’t hold him hostage.

Sigurd put a hand on his brother’s back, trying to get his attention. ‘There’s nothing you can do. You can’t ask people to fight for you who don’t believe. You never could. Let them go. We don’t need them.’ It was the biggest lie Sigurd had ever told, he was sure.

Reinar spun around. ‘You think we don’t need them? Truly?’ He shook his head, attention on the Ullaberg women being led out of the barn into the miserable morning, blinking as though they were standing in bright sunshine.

Bjarni wandered towards them, gnawing a toothpick. ‘And what are we going to do with them?’

‘Train them,’ Tulia said, looking Sigurd over. He almost appeared to be standing comfortably, though squinting a little closer revealed the discomfort in his eyes.

Bjarni laughed as Torvig arrived looking surprised. ‘What’s so funny? With all those warriors leaving? I can’t believe there’s anything funny to find about today.’

‘Tulia wants to train the Ullaberg women.’

Torvig looked bemused. ‘Train them to do what?’

‘Fight,’ Tulia said, perfectly serious. ‘Why not?’

‘The women?’ Torvig was incredulous.

Amir joined his sister, laughing at the look on Torvig’s face. ‘In Kalmera, the women fight. As many as the men. We grow up with weapons in our hands. All of us.’

‘That may be so,’ Reinar mused, eyes on Alys, who was walking with one of the women. ‘But Kalmeran women are raised as warriors, like Tulia. Those women...’ And he pointed in the direction of the slow-moving gaggle. ‘I don’t expect they’ve ever done more with a knife than gut a fish.’

Amir couldn’t deny that that was likely true. They were all shapes and sizes, from teenagers to middle-aged, but the Ullaberg women all had one thing in common: they looked defeated.

And he couldn’t blame them for that.

‘Well, it’s a start.’ Tulia was tired of waiting for everything to fall apart. She still had a decision to make about leaving, but while she made up her mind, it wouldn’t hurt to get the women training. It would give her something to do that didn’t feel like a complete waste of time. ‘And what do you have to lose, Reinar? If you’re going to stay here and face Hakon Vettel, you can’t do it on your own.’

Torvig snorted, turning to Reinar as Tulia strode away, Amir following her. ‘You aren’t going to listen to her, are you? Reinar!’ He shook his head at the sheer madness of it all. ‘We captured them as slaves. They’re not warriors. You may as well put Agnette and Gerda out there!’

Bjarni laughed. ‘I’d like to see what Agnette could do with a knife, though I don’t imagine she could see over her belly to do much damage at the moment!’

‘No, she’d be better with a spear,’ Sigurd grinned, not imagining Reinar would take Tulia’s suggestion seriously; surprised when he caught a glimpse of his brother’s face as he turned around.

And started walking towards Alys.

Who was walking with Stina.

‘And you saw that?’ Stina had not slept a wink and her eyes hurt. She had her hand through Alys’ arm, feeling her shiver. ‘You saw the wolf was just a nightmare? A nightmare we were all trapped in?’

Alys felt awkward; her eyes were up, watching Tulia and her brother approach with Reinar. Stina, she knew, was desperate for her company. Reinar wanted to know what would happen to the fort. And all Alys wanted to do was run back to the cottage and dream about her children. ‘I read it in a book,’ she mumbled, sensing that she wasn’t going to like whatever Tulia was about to say.

‘They look handy enough,’ Tulia said, turning to Reinar, who stood beside her, legs slightly spread in that dominant stance of his, eyeing the women, head cocked to one side.

‘Handy? Well, I’d be interested to see what you can do with them. I imagine you’d like to prove Torvig wrong?’ He enjoyed the puzzled look on Alys’ face. ‘You get to work with them. Alys, you come with me. There’s something I want to show you.’

Stina was reluctant to be left alone with the warrior woman, who was staring at her intensely, but she let go of Alys and swallowed.

‘We’re going to train you!’ Tulia announced, already up for the challenge. The Ullaberg women appeared to have barely a muscle between them, though those arms had been lugging children and animals and sacks of grain for years.

Perhaps a bow wouldn’t be too much hard work?

‘Train us for what?’ Ilene wondered, hands on hips, eyes on Amir.

Tulia smiled.

* * *

Jonas rode with certainty, knowing this road better than any other. He had visited Vik frequently over the years, especially after the death of his wife. He could have ridden it with his eyes closed. And after a wild night of freezing wind and rain, his eyes were heavy from lack of sleep, ready to close at any moment. But he thought of Alys and those children, and he kept going, resisting the urge to stop.

His horse, Klippr, was even-tempered and loyal, chestnut brown and big-bellied, with a white star between his gentle eyes. They had both had a soft life since they’d stopped fighting. Jonas imagined that Klippr missed it as much as he did. He’d seemed happy for an adventure that took them further afield than the forest around Vik’s cottage. His ears were alert, and his energy appeared renewed.

Jonas smiled, wishing he could say the same.

He blinked, trying to wake himself up, his stomach suggesting that he should have rationed more for breakfast.

It was going to be a long day.

* * *

There was a village half a day’s ride away. Magnus couldn’t hear the name of it; the men mumbled as they spoke, and Eye Patch had almost lost his voice. He appeared to be getting sicker, though that was the last thing Magnus was worried about, as the men had argued and compromised and agreed to sell him and keep Lotta.

It wasn’t really a compromise, Eye Patch realised with a surly look, eyeing the little girl, who no one wanted to be lugging about. No one but Long Beard, who wouldn’t be moved. He had a wife, a strange bitch, who hadn’t been able to give him any more children after their daughter had died. In Long Beard’s warped mind, the girl would make up for it, so he was not about to let her go.

Silver Tooth didn’t care either way. Once they were rid of the whining boy, they’d be able to move quickly. They could sell the ponies too. Likely they’d earn more coins from that transaction than whatever Hakon Vettel planned to pay them. For all his ambition and wealth, he was a miserly young lord, just as his cruel father had been.

Sometimes, Silver Tooth thought about killing him.

It was always the same: the high born rising to their positions on the backs of those who scraped through the dirt just trying to survive.

He spat on the ground, hands on the reins, feeling the boy wriggling before him. ‘Won’t be long now. We’ll find someone new to take you. Better than being abandoned by your parents.’ He didn’t know if that was true. ‘Why were you riding alone, then? You don’t look starved or too raggedy. Did you run away?’

‘Our father was killed. Our mother was taken by raiders.’

Silver Tooth knew how that went. He couldn’t even remember his mother’s name. It had been too many years since he’d lost her now.

‘Well, now you’ll have a new home. Think yourself lucky, you could be going to Ulrick’s house! His wife’s a witch for sure. With a nose like this.’ And he lifted his left hand in the air, making a curved shape, his voice rasping in Magnus’ ear. ‘Warts all over it. One eye going this way, one eye going that!’ Silver Tooth laughed, and it rattled in his chest. They were riding behind Long Beard and Lotta. Eye Patch rode further back, struggling to stay upright now.

Magnus was feeling worse by the moment.

He wanted to see Lotta, but she was riding in front of Long Beard whose mountainous body shielded her from view.

‘Maybe you can escape one day?’ Silver Tooth considered, a flicker of empathy in his voice. ‘Go to Slussfall and find her? Though by then we’ll probably be in Stornas. Or Ottby.’ He laughed again, just thinking of it. They had been in Orbo with Jesper Vettel, ending up in Slussfall with his only son. Turning around, checking on Eye Patch, who was bent over, coughing, he wondered how much more was left in them. And clicking his tongue, turning his horse after Long Beard, he sighed. ‘Won’t be long now.’

* * *

Alys felt impatient as she stepped into Reinar’s bedchamber, wanting to get back to the book and her dreams. Nothing more had come to her about the children, and she’d woken up feeling a sense of panic that would not abate, exacerbated by hunger and lack of sleep. Worry for herself too.

‘I thought you should have a new dress,’ Reinar said awkwardly, pointing to the bed. He had laid a selection of Elin’s dresses across the furs. ‘Since you tore your own to pieces for my brother. Since you helped me last night.’ He nudged a speechless Alys towards the bed. ‘There are shoes too. Boots. I know Agnette gave you a pair, but I imagine she’ll need them back soon. Winter can be hard here. And my wife...’ It hurt to speak about Elin. ‘She doesn’t appear to need them.’

Alys ran a hand over a green dress.

She liked green. It was brighter than her own faded dress which she’d worn for more years than she could remember. Her husband had rarely allowed her to have new clothes. And though it didn’t bother her, the thought of wearing something different was oddly appealing. She wanted to burn her old dress; rid herself of the memory of Arnon tearing it off her.

‘You can take them to your cottage. Whatever you like. Take them. There are more in the chests. Take whatever you need.’ Reinar was quickly changing his mind. He turned away, not wanting to look at the dresses anymore. ‘I have to get back to the square before Tulia kills one of your friends.’

‘What?’ Alys spun around after him. ‘Kills?’

Reinar grinned, hand on the door. ‘Oh yes, she plans to turn you all into an army. An army of women. Just what I need to defend us against the Vettels’ skilled warriors. We should be unstoppable!’ And grinning, he slipped through the door.

Alys was too surprised to move. She stared after Reinar for some time, trying to imagine Stina or Jorunn wielding a sword. Ilene always looked ready to kill someone, so she might be useful, but the others?

‘I thought I saw Reinar,’ Agnette muttered, coming into the chamber with a frown. ‘Not that he’s talking to me yet, but I wanted to talk to him. We need to make some decisions, so he can’t be a child –’ She stopped suddenly, staring at the bed. ‘What are Elin’s clothes doing out?’

Alys blushed. ‘Reinar said I could take them. But I...’

Agnette waddled to the bed, remembering when she had almost stood a chance of fitting into one of Elin’s beautiful gowns, though Elin was taller than her, broader too, and they would have swamped her tiny frame. ‘You should. You should, Alys. Elin will not return.’

‘You’re that sure?’

Agnette nodded. ‘She loved Reinar since we were children. They were inseparable. But when she lost her babies, it broke her heart, and she blamed Reinar. She will never forgive him, I promise, so take all the clothes you like.’ She grimaced, gripping her belly.

‘Are you alright?’

‘Baby pains,’ Agnette grinned. ‘Eddeth says it’s perfectly normal. What I should expect now as I get closer.’

She looked anxious, though, Alys thought. ‘You’re worried?’

‘About giving birth while we’re under attack from wolves and dreamers and armies from the North?’ Agnette shook her head, trying to smile. Her face fell, though, and she sat down on the bed with a thump, moving the green dress away. ‘This baby has been years in the making. Eight. Eight long years we’ve waited. I thought Bjarni might give up on me. Or I on him. And now we’re so close. But everything’s gone wrong. Salma, the dreamer, she couldn’t see anything for me. She couldn’t tell me whether it would go well...’

Alys sensed what was coming next, and she wanted to help, but there was just so much she needed to be dreaming of now. ‘I will try... to see something,’ she said nonetheless. ‘Though, I’m new to being a dreamer. Out in the open, at least.’

Agnette’s curiosity quickly overwhelmed her anxiety. ‘Why? Why were you a secret dreamer?’ She patted the bed for Alys to join her, and reluctantly, Alys did.

It was difficult to dredge up the long-buried past, but secrets were becoming hard to keep in Ottby. ‘My grandmother was a dreamer from Tuura. She studied in the great temple before leaving for Alekka with her family. She met my grandfather, and they settled in Torborg. That’s where my mother was born. Where I was born too.’ Alys felt herself drifting back to when she was a girl. To before everything had gone wrong. ‘My mother was the village dreamer, though the lady of the village did not like her. She didn’t like dreamers at all. Bit by bit, she turned everyone against my mother until they accused her of being a witch. Until they killed her.’

Agnette’s eyes were round with horror. ‘Oh. And what about you? What did they think about you?’

‘I was very young. Not a dreamer yet.’ Alys swallowed, wondering what was real and what were stories. She had told herself so many stories over the years. About what had happened to her mother. About why she couldn’t believe in her dreams. ‘I was left with my grandparents, and when my dreams came to me, my grandfather told me that I could never reveal what I was. People were changing, he said. Some did not believe in the wisdom of dreamers anymore. They saw them as both valuable and dangerous. He made me hide my gifts, wanting to protect me.’

Agnette could see how upset Alys was becoming. ‘I’m sorry about that. There are some who don’t believe, I know. Sigurd never has. Tulia certainly doesn’t.’ She scowled just thinking about Tulia. ‘But many still do, Alys. You’ve helped Reinar, and you saved Bjarni, I know that. If you hadn’t seen those ships coming, they’d likely all be dead now, and I’d be facing this alone.’ She rubbed her hands over her belly, trying to quell her rising panic. ‘I have to get back to Stellan. And you need to get changed.’ Agnette struggled back to her feet, motioning to Alys’ torn dress. ‘It’s time for you to look like a dreamer.’

PART III

BROKEN PARTS

19

Akaby was more of a road bordered by a few neglected shacks than a village.

It did not look promising.

Though when Long Beard lifted his eyes and squinted, he could see farmsteads in the distance, and those farmers appeared to have land aplenty.

Rich men.

Men in need of a useful little slave. Perhaps a fat pony too?

He glanced down at Lotta, her hair shimmering in the sunshine. It felt warm against his chest, and he was reminded of his wife and his hearth and his comfortable chair. He felt ready to get home, certain that Hakon would be eager to hear his news.

Turning back to Silver Tooth, he inclined his head towards a narrow path. ‘Might have more luck down there. But let’s stop, see what we can sniff out here first. Stretch our legs. I’m sure we can find a taker for the boy and the ponies.’ Long Beard felt Lotta stiffen in his arms. ‘Just the one pony. We’ll keep yours.’

Lotta loved her pony, but she loved her brother more, and the idea that these horrible, stinking men were about to sell him terrified her. She had hoped to have a useful dream, though she’d dreamed of nothing that would help her save Magnus. Turning to the left, she saw her brother trying to wriggle away from Silver Tooth, who had a firm grip on him, leather-covered arm tight across Magnus’ chest.

Eye Patch was further back, coughing uncontrollably now.

‘You don’t need to sell my brother,’ she tried. ‘He will be useful to you.’

Long Beard laughed. ‘Useful? How?’

‘He knows how to shoot an arrow. And he can fish. He can use a spear and a sword too.’

Long Beard winked at Silver Tooth. ‘You think he could be a warrior? Fight for Hakon Vettel?’

Lotta didn’t know who that was. ‘He could care for your weapons and your horses. He could help you!’

Silver Tooth seemed intrigued by the idea, but Long Beard snorted. ‘You think I need another mouth to feed? No, I’m not a rich man with a hall. You’ll come in handy, but your brother? He’ll give us silver. And a man is always in need of silver.’

Long Beard’s voice rasped in Lotta’s ear like a whetstone running down a blade, and she shrank away from him, wanting to get off the horse; wanting his hand away from her waist. She felt tears coming. But tears wouldn’t save Magnus either.

So squeezing her eyes shut, peering into the darkness, Lotta tried to find an answer.

* * *

Alys walked towards the training ring, feeling uncomfortable. Everyone stared at her, which made her feel even worse. She wanted to turn back to the hall, change out of Elin Vilander’s beautiful clothes and put her own back on. They were ripped and ruined, filthy with dirt and blood, but they made her feel so much more like herself than Elin’s dress, which was made of warm wool, dyed green, embroidered with golden flowers around the neckline and hem, which Alys tried to pick out of the mud, to no avail.

‘Well, I’m not sure you’re dressed for training,’ Sigurd said, eyes sharp, trying not to stare. He could hear Tulia behind him, bellowing at the Ullaberg women, who were so far not at all interested in becoming warriors.

‘Me?’ Alys was surprised. She shook her head. ‘I don’t think your brother would want me to train. I... I’m supposed to help him with dreams.’

‘Yes, you are,’ Reinar agreed, coming up behind her, trying to ignore the conflicting feelings about Elin’s dress. It was important to move forward, he knew, to focus on saving the fort and his people; to protect the bridge and beat back whatever challenge Hakon Vettel would throw at them next. Though his heart broke at the sight of Alys wearing that dress. ‘But you should also know how to fight. Why not?’

Alys spun around, panicking, and Reinar blinked. The dress suited her more than he thought possible. Her skin was light and freckled, her long hair golden, the complete opposite of his wife, and though it had always suited Elin, the dress appeared to have been made with Alys in mind. Everything about it accentuated her natural beauty.

Clearing his throat, Reinar glanced at his brother. ‘Though, what use they’re all going to be, I don’t know.’ He turned back to Alys. ‘Can you use a weapon? Anything?’

Alys squirmed. ‘I can use a... bow.’

Sigurd looked surprised.

Reinar was pleased. ‘Good, well that should make Tulia’s job easier. She seems to be having no luck with your friends so far.’ He saw Torvig motioning him towards the armourer’s hut. ‘Sigurd, take her to Tulia. I have to have a word with Torvig. And meet me up on the inner wall when you’re done. We need to make a plan for tonight.’

Sigurd had been hoping to find a bench, wanting to take the weight off his aching leg for a while, but he nodded, ushering Alys forward. ‘Perhaps you should change?’ he asked, staring at the green dress, but Alys shook her head, just wanting to get it over with. ‘Tulia! Another victim for you!’ And limping forward, he almost had to drag a reluctant Alys towards the training ring.

Tulia’s grin was cat-like. ‘So, Reinar is letting me play with his dreamer? Well, I’m sure we’ll have some fun.’

‘She knows how to use a bow.’

‘Oh?’ Tulia’s dark eyebrows rose in surprise. The dreamer looked as timid as an old woman. She was thin. There didn’t appear to be enough strength in her arms to throw a spoon. ‘Well, come, show us what you can do, dreamer.’

Alys glanced at Sigurd, wanting an escape, but he encouraged her to slip through the railings, while he leaned over them, taking the weight off his injured leg. His eyes drifted to where a red-faced Ludo was trying to teach a group of five women how to hold their bows.

They had plenty of bows in the fort. Buckets of arrows.

Just not enough men to shoot them anymore.

Sigurd wondered what Tulia was thinking, his eyes back on her as she left Alys to choose her bow, and came to join him at the railings.

‘I know that look,’ she smiled. ‘I like that look. It’s very motivating.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You, thinking I can’t do this. That they can’t do this. I like proving you wrong. And I will.’

‘That wasn’t my look.’

‘No?’

Sigurd leaned towards her, touching her face. ‘My look was that I’m glad you’re still here, training them.’ And he nodded towards the shellshocked women. ‘I believe you can.’

‘Ha!’ Tulia was dismissive. ‘So your lips say, but your eyes tell a different story. Besides...’ she murmured, letting him kiss her, ‘I won’t be here for long, Sigurd Vilander, know that. This fort will be empty soon, and those who are left will be dead before winter. And I won’t let my brother become one of them.’ Her face hardened as she stepped back through the mud. ‘I will train these women, and they will help us, but for how long? More men will leave, the women will die, and the fort will stand for a time... and then what?’ She spun around, black hair swirling behind her as she strode towards Alys, who held a bow now, looking nervous. Tulia glanced over her shoulder, eyeing Sigurd, wishing she could get through to him. ‘And then what?’

* * *

Jonas had lost his wife and daughter both. He had lost his beloved granddaughter to a man he feared was not treating her well. And now, her children appeared to be lost to the wind.

He sat on his horse, staring at the blackened remains of his old cottage, wondering what to do.

He tried to convince himself that it had only been a dream. Dreams came and went nightly without him feeling the need to cling to them; without believing they were sent by a dreamer. So why had he left Vik and travelled back to Torborg? Why was he sitting on his old horse like an old fool?

It was a good question, and the answer was staring him in the face.

Because he knew the difference.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he knew the difference.

Jonas turned Klippr’s head, aiming him in the direction of the trees. His abandoned farm had plenty of land, though it was overgrown and neglected now. He had given his livestock away to his neighbours and taken the remains of his stores up to Vik’s.

Perhaps he would ask around? See if anyone had seen two children?

His throat tightened as he nudged Klippr on.

Wondering what had happened to Alys.

* * *

Tulia had been distracted by one of the women, who had tried to run. And leaving Alys with Stina, she’d stormed out of the training ring to yell at Ludo for letting her escape.

‘I can’t do it,’ Stina fretted, mud up her legs, shivering. The clouds hung low over the fort, a dirty grey colour, and the mud was freezing. ‘I can’t even bring the bow back. How can I possibly shoot an arrow?’

Alys leaned her own bow against the railings and tried to show her.

The training ring was big, and Tulia and Amir had quickly cleared everyone out, which hadn’t taken long – more warriors were leaving the fort than wishing to train – and they’d lined up the targets along one end, sending the women back to the other.

‘It takes practice to bend it,’ Alys said quietly, picking up Stina’s bow and showing her how to draw back her arm, fingers and elbow working hard, back muscles flexing. She loosened her hold, handing the bow back to Stina. ‘It takes practice.’

Stina nodded, not convinced that practice would have any impact on her ability to use the bow, but she tried again and found that she could pull the bowstring back further this time. ‘So you’re an archer as well as a dreamer?’ she smiled, kind eyes on her friend. ‘My mysterious Alys. Why so many secrets?’

Alys shrugged, glancing at Tulia, who was trekking back to her, almost eager for the distraction. Her family was full of secrets, she knew. Though she wasn’t sure she knew why.

‘You,’ Tulia grumbled, pointing at Alys, ‘go and practice. And you,’ she said, eyeing Stina, ‘go with the others who can’t even wrangle a bow yet.’ And she pointed them in opposite directions, turning to Amir. ‘There are smaller bows, Brother! Try to find them! Ask Bjarni!’

Bjarni was trying to teach his group of women how to hold a spear. He was distracted, half of him not seeing any point in wasting their time. The other half wanting to know what Torvig was talking to Reinar about.

He didn’t trust Torvig, though Reinar had always held him in high regard. But that was likely just because he was Elin’s brother. And since her disappearance, Reinar had drawn himself even closer to his brother-in-law, seeking his advice more often than Bjarni thought was sensible.

One of the women dropped her spear on his foot, and Bjarni blinked, turning around in surprise. ‘You don’t want to drop a weapon!’ he groused. ‘Not one with a spearhead attached!’ He wasn’t usually bad-tempered, but lack of sleep, worry about his pregnant wife, and the impending doom they were all facing had him on edge. He scratched his sand-coloured hair, looking sheepish. ‘If you’re on the ramparts, if you’re in the square, you can launch a spear a great distance. It’s something you can use effectively without needing to get into a fight.’ He took a breath, trying to sound more sympathetic. The women were no warriors, and he was no teacher. Though, perhaps, he realised, glancing at the straggle of men dragging their sea chests into the square, perhaps Tulia was right, and the women of Ullaberg were their only hope now?

* * *

Silver Tooth and Long Beard had left the children in a wooded area with Eye Patch, who was too ill to follow them around. They’d tied them up first, though, worried that he might simply drop dead and let them run off.

Eye Patch scowled, his one eye on the whimpering girl, who was wriggling against her ropes. ‘You want to run, princess? You think I won’t hurt you?’

His voice rasped, and Lotta could hear the threat in it.

The sound of approaching death too.

Magnus could see the sword Eye Patch was sharpening, the glint of it winking in the sunshine. He nudged his sister’s shoulder, trying to get her to stay still. ‘We just have to be patient,’ he whispered. He didn’t know what else to say, not feeling like a leader at all.

Lotta looked cross. ‘They will leave you here, and I’ll never see you again.’ She was worried about her brother more than herself. ‘And Daisy too. Maybe they’ll eat them? It doesn’t look like a nice sort of place.’

‘Will you shut up!’ Eye Patch growled, wanting some peace. They were continually nattering, and though he knew they were not being loud, their voices sounded like bells clanging inside his aching head. He was shaking uncontrollably now, his body alternating between being unbearably hot, then so cold it was as though he had fallen into the sea.

Lotta shrank back against the tree, watching Eye Patch’s eye close. She bumped her shoulder against Magnus, wondering if she could communicate with him. But he already appeared to know what she was thinking as he wriggled his bound hands, trying to loosen the knots.

* * *

Tulia stood behind her, watching, and Alys gulped, one eye closed.

Her grandfather had taught her many things over the years, including how to use a bow, though she’d always had little confidence in her abilities. Thoughts of her grandfather led to thoughts of her children, and Alys froze, sensing Tulia’s impatience grow.

‘Perhaps the target is too far away?’ Tulia’s accent was strong, and her voice was cold. ‘Perhaps you can’t use a bow at all, dreamer?’

Alys didn’t care to show her either way, but she was never going to get out of the freezing mud if she didn’t fire the arrow. So, aiming for the target, some fifty paces in the distance, Alys released the arrow, feeling the whoosh of the fletching as it flew away from her.

She stood back, head cocked to one side, watching as it hit the skin-wrapped shield, just inside the rim. Frowning, Alys turned back for another arrow, unhappy with that effort.

‘Not bad!’ Sigurd called from the railings. He was impressed. No one else had even managed to get their arrows to fly yet.

Tulia eyed him. ‘Have you nothing better to do?’

And shrugging, Sigurd realised that he could be more useful elsewhere. He headed for Torvig and Reinar, loudly arguing with the armourer, who appeared to have packed his bags.

Sigurd was surprised, and he hobbled more quickly. ‘What are you doing, Oki? You can’t leave!’

Reinar agreed. ‘I’ve been trying to tell him that, but Mariana wants to go, doesn’t she?’

Oki nodded. ‘She does. I can’t make her stay, Sigurd. You must understand that. Mariana’s held on all these months. I told her it would get better. When we tempted more men to join us, I thought it would get better, but it’s only gotten worse. And now with Ulura coming...’

Sigurd was quickly exasperated. ‘It wasn’t Ulura! There was no wolf. No wolf at all. Ask Reinar! He went out there. You all saw that. There was no wolf!’

‘Well, what I think and what Mariana thinks are two different things, it seems. Though, if you’re saying it’s only a dreamer trying to trick us, it makes you wonder what this dreamer is capable of? I’m sure I saw a wolf. I saw fur. I heard it. We all did.’ Oki was a big man with a flat nose, enormous arms, and a strong, barrel-like chest, but he looked ashen-faced and worried. ‘What else is Hakon’s dreamer capable of?’ He said this to Reinar, who ignored him, turning to Torvig.

‘I’ve had enough of this!’ And striding away from Oki, Reinar headed to the hall, needing to think.

* * *

The ale tasted like piss, Silver Tooth thought, draining his cup. Though after so many days on the road, he’d stopped caring. His throat was bone dry, and no matter how much he drank, it never improved. He swallowed, realising that it was starting to hurt too.

The farmer they’d come across appeared a generous sort, and as they stood in front of his large house discussing terms for the boy, he’d ordered his snarling wife to provide them with a tray of pickled herring and flatbreads. A jug of ale too. They’d been grateful for both, though the flatbreads were mouldy, hard to swallow, and as for the ale...

‘Perhaps you’d find some use for a little girl too?’ Silver Tooth wondered, watching the farmer’s wife, who was red-cheeked and frowning as she sat on the porch, churning milk into butter.

Long Beard growled, eyes suddenly sharp, though the farmer shook his bald head, a dirty hand around his cup of ale, cradling it with affection.

‘My wife and daughter cope well enough with the house. It’s the fields I need a hand with. The pony will be useful, and the boy. Come spring, I’ll have them both out there, tilling the earth.’ He pointed to a flat field which had been stripped of most of its crops now. ‘My old horse dropped dead last month, so we chopped her up, salted and dried her. She was a good horse, and now she’ll keep us fed over winter. You say the boy doesn’t eat much?’ He was a rotund, middle-aged man, worn down by life; stuck on the outskirts of a tiny village with just his wife and daughter for company. Not a moment to himself. No peace at all. His back ached, his legs ached, but most of all, his ears ached from his wife’s constant nagging, so he looked at the boy with some interest, keen for the help.

Long Beard nodded. ‘He’s strong enough, but he’s got the appetite of an old woman. He won’t need much to keep him going.’

Silver Tooth caught a glimpse of an ugly girl crossing the yard in a dirty dress. He winked at her, and she stared at him, gaps in her teeth, chicken under one arm, axe in hand. It had been a long time since he’d seen a woman, and his body responded with urgency, his boots scuffing the dirt, considering things.

Long Beard placed a hand on his arm. ‘We’ll get going and gather the boy and the pony. I’ll bring them back, and we can make our trade, friend.’ He eyed the farmer, who seemed wary but enthusiastic.

Not many strangers came his way. Most of the villagers had left, struggling to survive in these challenging times. He’d been thinking for weeks that he’d have to try and head for a town, see what help he could find or buy.

These strangers had brought him some luck indeed.

‘Go kill that chicken, girl!’ he grumbled, flapping a hand at his daughter, who had stopped, still staring at Silver Tooth.

Silver Tooth, irritated by the hand on his arm, eyed Long Beard in surprise.

‘We’ll return shortly,’ Long Beard smiled. ‘Perhaps in time for supper?’

The man looked less than keen for the extra mouths, though his gap-toothed daughter grinned at Silver Tooth, excited by the prospect of some company.

* * *

Magnus doubted Eye Patch was asleep.

The three men were hardened warriors. Experienced. Well-travelled. Not foolish enough to sleep on the job. Surely?

Perhaps it was a trap?

Eye Patch would lie his head back against the tree, close his eye, make some sleeping noises, encouraging them to escape. And then he would leap up and attack them. Hurt them.

Magnus didn’t want to take the chance, but he’d slipped out of his ropes, and now he could run away. Ride away. The ponies were there. He could hear them snuffling nearby, searching for crabapples.

Lotta bumped his arm, struggling with her ropes. Magnus bent down to help her, and within moments, she too was free. ‘We can ride away,’ Lotta whispered in her brother’s ear.

Magnus thought he saw Eye Patch stir.

The men had taken Magnus’ knives, and he had nothing to protect them with, but he could see Eye Patch’s sword lying across his lap, whetstone in his other hand. Keeping his eyes on the man, Magnus nodded at his sister. ‘You must be quiet, Lotta. Follow me. And watch your feet. Don’t make a sound.’

Magnus’ heart was in his mouth. He could barely breathe as he stepped away from the tree, eyes on Eye Patch before spinning around silently, heading for the ponies. He would have to untie them too. He could hear Lotta behind him. ‘Wait there,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll get the ponies ready.’ And turning back around, he reached for Daisy’s rope, fumbling with frozen fingers, trying to loosen it quickly. His ears were open, listening for any noises: for Long Beard returning, for Eye Patch stirring. He heard nothing but the cheerful sound of willow tits and winter jays above, calling to each other; squirrels and mice shuffling around the forest floor, foraging for bugs and nuts; a stream babbling nearby; his growling stomach.

And then the ropes came undone, and Daisy whinnied loudly, excited to be heading off for a ride. Magnus froze, head spinning, but Eye Patch was still leaning against the tree, eye closed, head drooping to one side. Turning back around, he gave Daisy’s rope to Lotta to hold while he worked to free Clover. And in no time at all, both ponies were ready to go.

Magnus felt sick. He didn’t know where they were, or where they should go to get away before Long Beard returned, but he looked at Lotta and knew that it didn’t matter.

They just had to leave.

And then a yelp.

And spinning around, Magnus came face to face with Silver Tooth’s sword tip, watching as Long Beard dragged Lotta and her pony away.

‘And where do you think you’re going, little friend?’ Silver Tooth wondered, teeth bared.

Long Beard ignored the squealing Lotta as he yanked her towards Eye Patch, kicking his leg. ‘Some fucking guard you are!’ he grumbled, watching in horror as Eye Patch tumbled over, falling to the ground, eye still closed, lips blue. ‘Well, more coins for us!’ he grinned at Silver Tooth. ‘Come on, get the boy on your horse. I’m in the mood for some chicken!’

20

Reinar sat before his father, just the two of them, alone in Stellan’s chamber. The fire blazed away beside them, and Reinar removed his cloak, trying to think. Sometimes he wished he could reach into his father and bring him back. Stellan would blink and stare at him as though he was there, and Reinar’s hopes would rise, but in the next moment, he would slump back into his chair, gone again, eyes unable to focus, just staring into the distance, one side of his face oddly limp.

Stellan Vilander had ruled Ottby for just shy of twenty years when his wife discovered him having some sort of seizure in their chamber. No one knew what had happened, but that once reassuring presence in the hall, at the high table, on the ramparts and on the battlefield, had vanished in a heartbeat, and Ottby was less safe because of it.

Nothing had gone right since that moment.

Though Reinar had been raised as Stellan’s heir, he hadn’t imagined assuming that position while his father lived. He touched Stellan’s arm, wanting his father to see him, but he didn’t move.

‘You made a promise to Ake to stay here and hold the bridge.’ He thought he saw his father twitch. ‘But I don’t know how we can continue to hold on. Everyone’s leaving. Everyone. Even Oki Halbor!’ Reinar slammed his fist onto the chair arm, not sure who he was mad at. ‘A dreamer is causing havoc. Playing games. Giving us nightmares. Everyone thinks Vasa is coming. They believe they heard her wolf, so they’re leaving. And now Tulia’s out there trying to train the women I captured. Turn them into archers.’ Reinar dropped his head to his hands, sighing. ‘The right thing to do...’ he muttered. ‘What is the right thing to do?’ And then he felt a hand on his head, and he stilled beneath it as his father stroked his hair. Stellan paused, moving his shaking hand down to Reinar’s chin, lifting it up.

Reinar was afraid to speak, not wanting the moment to end. And lifting his head, he stared into his father’s blue eyes, which looked oddly sharp.

‘Hold,’ Stellan rasped, right side of his mouth twitching with effort. ‘The... bridge.’ His hand dropped away, and his head tilted to the side, the light in his eyes extinguished.

Reinar sat back, staring, mouth open.

Shivering all over.

* * *

‘Once we take Ottby, we must hold it,’ Hakon told his cousin, who appeared to be paying no attention to him at all. ‘Ivan,’ he grumbled, slapping his cousin’s head.

Ivan swung around, taking his attention away from the pretty servant girl, who had the juiciest looking lips he’d ever seen. She was young, always smiling as she worked. She seemed innocent, pure. Not like Falla Gundersen, who strutted around Slussfall with clear intent and purpose.

He wasn’t a fool. He could see through her.

He knew where her ambitions lay.

It didn’t make it any easier to stop thinking about her, though, so he was trying to distract himself with a different kind of woman. One who was not married to his cousin’s champion warrior.

He blinked at the map table Hakon was pointing to. ‘We have enough men to do so. More than enough to man Ottby’s walls.’

Hakon nodded, pleased to hear his cousin sound so authoritative. His attention snapped to Lief, who was nodding.

‘Yes, we do, though your choice of commander in Ottby will be crucial, my lord.’ Lief was becoming irritated by Ivan’s inability to keep his attention on the map. He fidgeted endlessly, eyes jumping around the hall. It was like standing next to a man-sized chicken. ‘That commander will have to keep a lid on trouble, which is bound to flare. Ake’s allies won’t be happy when the bridge falls.’

Hakon was pleased to hear it. ‘No, they won’t.’ He smiled at Ivan, eyes narrowed. ‘But I have plans for them, don’t worry, Lief Gundersen.’

Lief was annoyed to hear it. Annoyed not to be part of whatever discussions Hakon was having with his fidgety cousin. Those discussions were obviously occurring behind his back. He thought of Mother, wondering if she could shed any light on what they were planning. ‘I won’t, my lord. As long as I know what role you wish me to take, I shall happily do my part.’

It was the right thing to say, and Hakon was pleased by Lief’s deference.

Ivan scowled at Lief, eager to stick him with the tip of his blade, right through his mauled right eye; disfigure him so much that Falla would never want to look at him again. ‘Perhaps Lief should remain in Ottby? A man of his experience would be just the person we need in command.’

Hakon looked surprised, but he considered it. ‘It’s one thought, but to fight Ake without Lief by my side?’ He dragged a hand down his pointed beard, thinking. ‘No, there are others who would do a fair enough job, but no one like Lief to fight beside us, Cousin.’

Lief was pleased to hear it, resisting the urge to glare triumphantly at Ivan and his big mouth. ‘As you wish, my lord. My wife will be happy. She is very much looking forward to reaching Stornas.’

‘As is mine!’ Hakon grinned, watching Karolina talking to the cook. She wore a dark-green velvet gown, with a white fur wrap tucked around her shoulders, secured with jewelled brooches, making her look like a snow queen.

His queen.

And soon, Alekka’s.

‘Well, the quicker we get on the road, the quicker we can begin,’ Ivan said, eager to be in Stornas before the first snow. Though by the feel of his frozen toes, he doubted that would be possible.

‘Exactly,’ Hakon agreed. ‘And who knows, after Mother’s fun, we may end up walking into an abandoned fort. I can’t imagine those Vilanders will be brave enough to think they can withstand Vasa and her mighty wolf!’

* * *

Reinar stood at the map table, thoughts wandering to Alys. He hadn’t wanted to stop her shooting arrows.

It had been quite a sight to see her in that beautiful dress, firing arrow after arrow at the target. She had a good eye, and eventually, she’d started hitting the centre of the shield.

Though he wasn’t about to risk her on the ramparts.

Tulia had sent Ludo and Amir to take the women back to the barn while she joined Reinar, Bjarni, Sigurd and Torvig at the map table.

Reinar blinked at her frowning face, realising that he needed to focus. ‘I’ve sent word to Hovring and Vika. There’s no other choice. I know Ake’s away, and his garrison will be enough to hold Stornas, but he may have no men free to help us. Erlan and Alef should be able to send reinforcements. They’re close enough.’

Bjarni frowned. ‘That still won’t be enough, Reinar. Torfinn said he thought Hakon had two thousand men. Siege towers too.’

‘The siege towers will be a problem,’ Reinar agreed. ‘But we can burn them. And with our new archers, we can shoot their crews.’ He grinned at Tulia, who appeared to be biting her tongue.

‘As long as they’re not here too quickly. I’m going to need some time. Only your dreamer is much use so far.’ Tulia said it reluctantly, not liking the dreamer at all.

‘What a surprise,’ Torvig mocked. ‘Women being entirely useless. Who would have thought it?’

Sigurd was the only one of their group sitting, and he was tempted to punch Torvig in the balls which were far too close to his face. ‘That’s hardly helpful. We need help. And they’re useless to us unless we can train them to do something. Even if it’s tipping oil onto Hakon’s men or helping to collect arrows.’

Reinar nodded. ‘And there’ll be some who’ll pick up archery quickly, won’t there?’

‘More than some,’ Tulia insisted, trying to sound optimistic. She glared at Torvig. ‘We have armies of women in Kalmera. What do you think they’re fighting with? Loom weights and wooden spoons?’

Torvig loved to irritate Tulia, and he welcomed her anger.

Reinar didn’t. It was a distraction. ‘Keep training them, Tulia. Pull aside the most promising and work with those. Send the rest to Ludo, and he’ll get them working on other ways to help.’

‘And when it’s all over? If they help us defend the fort?’ Tulia wondered. ‘Will you still sell them?’

Sigurd looked up at his brother, interested in Reinar’s answer.

‘If they help us hold the fort, I’ll reward them with silver,’ Reinar smiled. ‘Silver and freedom.’

Tulia was pleased to hear it. ‘Well, then, I’d better get back to work.’

* * *

Alys had remained behind when everyone else left the training ring.

It was as though she wasn’t in Ottby anymore.

In her mind, she was in Ullaberg, and the target was Arnon, and she was firing arrows into his bare chest, straight through the eye of his wolf tattoo. The centre of the target was the eye, and she kept trying to hit it, over and over again.

‘Getting better,’ Ludo grinned, arms on the railings. ‘We should send you out hunting!’

‘I don’t like hunting,’ Alys admitted, broken out of her trance, at last, dropping her arm, realising that it was aching now. She walked towards the railings, ready to stick her frozen feet in front of a fire. Winter was watching, sitting by a table, licking a paw, and it reminded her of the dreamer’s cottage and the book. Slipping through the railings, she held the bow out to Ludo. ‘I don’t know what to do with it.’

Ludo smiled. ‘I think you should keep it, don’t you? Who knows what creatures will come for us tonight?’

That was a good point, and Alys was pleased when Ludo followed her towards the white cat.

‘I don’t imagine Hakon Vettel’s dreamer would be happy having her trick exposed like that. She’s bound to do something else, isn’t she?’

Alys frowned. ‘Well, it depends on what she was trying to achieve.’ Her eyes drifted to the latest horse and cart heading for the gates. ‘If she was trying to drive more warriors away, I think she’d be happy.’

Ludo looked worried. He lowered his voice as the cat followed after them. ‘But what if you’re wrong, Alys? What if it really was Ulura?’ The thought had kept him awake all night. ‘Because if that’s the case, what will come next is the Goddess of Death stalking us all.’

Alys shook her head. ‘No, it was a trick. I saw that, and so did Reinar. I don’t know what this dreamer wants, but she certainly may try something else. Maybe tonight?’

‘And can you stop her?’ Ludo loped along, determined to walk Alys to her door, though he could hear Bjarni bellowing for him in the distance.

‘Me?’ Alys looked surprised.

‘Can’t the book help you? Tell you what to do?’ Ludo opened the door, shepherding her inside, quickly aware that it was almost colder in the cottage than outside. He set about making a fire.

Alys frowned, eyes on the book lying open on her bed. She felt a tightness in her chest that would not ease. Her children were in danger. She was in danger. And she needed to find a way to save them all.

‘You don’t have to make a fire.’

Ludo grinned, down on his haunches. ‘I think I do. Not sure you’ll have enough strength in those arms to even lift some tinder after all your practice.’ He saw Alys try to lift her arm and wince. ‘Ha! I remember how that goes. No, you sit with the book, see what you can find. I’ll get the flames going, then I’ll go chop some wood. Bjarni can wait.’ Ludo meant it. He wanted to help the dreamer find a way to help them.

She had little confidence in herself, he could see.

But perhaps she was their best chance for survival now?

* * *

Mother Arnesson was in pain.

She sat in the cottage, hunched over on a stool, frosty breath snaking around her. The fire had long since died, the door was locked.

Two nights of casting the waking nightmares had worn her body.

Taxed her spirit.

And she was struggling to hold her focus.

Her breathing was shallow. Rhythmic. Taking her into half a trance.

Ivaar Skalleson had betrayed her sons. Betrayed them all.

And Jael Furyck had killed them.

Her heart ached for them. The loss never receded. It felt like a wave crashing against the shore, never retreating with the tide. It pounded the sand over and over again until Mother felt nothing but despair.

The cry woke her out of her trance.

The cry of her grandson. Borg’s son.

Her blood and his.

She staggered to her feet, heading for the door, pulling it open to see Falla squatting down beside the crying black-haired toddler, who looked up at his grandmother, tears in his eyes.

And gritting her teeth, Mother felt her resolve harden.

Determined to seek vengeance for them all.

* * *

Magnus stood in the farmer’s house, still seeing the image of Eye Patch, dead on the ground, lips blue, slightly open, his body oddly stiff, the whetstone still in his hand.

He wondered how long the man had been dead for, wishing he’d realised it sooner. Wishing he’d thought to try and escape earlier. Maybe there would have been a chance to get away?

Lotta stood by Long Beard, who had a firm grip on her shoulder.

Magnus was trying to wriggle away from Silver Tooth, who looked ready to whack him. He didn’t care; he couldn’t be left behind, sold as a slave. He couldn’t let those men take his sister to who knew where.

Slussfall, that’s right. He wanted to remind himself.

They were taking her to Slussfall.

‘He’s going to take some feeding,’ the woman grumbled, hands wedged into barely-there hips. And though they needed the help, she was not keen on the idea of feeding a growing boy.

‘He doesn’t have much of an appetite, do you, boy?’ Long Beard grinned, mismatched eyes full of threat.

Magnus could feel Silver Tooth strengthen his hold on him. He wanted to scream, but he didn’t like the look of this man and woman any more than he liked the look of Long Beard and Silver Tooth. ‘No,’ he mumbled, ‘I don’t.’ It wasn’t true. His stomach ached with hunger, though he also felt nauseous with fear.

Lotta closed her eyes, listening to the anger in Magnus’ voice. He had started getting angrier, she thought, trying to remember when he was younger and nicer to her. Now he didn’t want to play with her at all. He just wanted to go fishing. And when he’d caught his fish, he liked to smoke it himself. He was not very good at it, though, so their mother was always rubbing a salve on his burns and washing the smoke out of his hair and clothes. But he loved to eat the smoky fish, pulling it off the bone, kindly offering some to his sister.

Lotta’s mind drifted to Ullaberg, shutting everyone else out.

The farmer’s angry wife. The farmer. Long Beard and Eye Patch.

Even Magnus.

She smelled smoke from the fire, remembering the beach, her father and her mother. Her mother, who was lost in the smoke, hidden from her.

But out there somewhere, Lotta was certain, and she closed her eyes.

‘Getting late,’ Long Beard muttered, eyeing Silver Tooth, stomach rumbling. They’d not been offered anything to eat, which had surprised both men, who could see the stew cooking over the fire pit in the centre of the old cottage.

Smell it too.

Hospitality around these parts appeared in short supply indeed.

The farmer nodded, finally wilting under Long Beard’s stare. ‘We won’t have much, not with the boy to feed now, but you’re welcome to sup with us.’ He sensed his wife stiffen, knowing that she was a miserly woman at the best of times, even more so around strangers, but the farmer had a feeling that these men with their plentiful supply of weapons were not the sort of strangers to offend.

Long Beard’s eyes opened as if surprised by the offer, but he accepted it without hesitation. ‘Thank you, yes. You don’t need to feed the boy, though,’ he added. ‘One meal a day will suffice.’

The farmer looked pleased with the suggestion, though not as pleased as his wife, who scurried away to the back room to see how her daughter was faring with the dumplings.

Magnus wasn’t listening, and he didn’t care either way. His eyes were on Lotta, who was swaying beside Long Beard, eyes closed. He couldn’t let her leave. He was supposed to be the leader.

His mother had wanted him to save her.

* * *

Alys curled up on the bed, Winter on her feet, warm and purring, eyes quickly closing. She felt herself drifting away, wondering how long it would be before someone was knocking on the door, dragging her back into the fort with all of its problems.

She didn’t have to wonder for long.

Sighing, Alys rolled over, disturbing Winter, who jumped off the bed, bounding to the door.

Alys yawned, following him, opening it.

To Reinar.

‘You were asleep?’ He looked surprised, then concerned. ‘Were you dreaming?’

‘Trying to.’

‘Well, I’ll go. Let you get back to it.’

Alys felt guilty, knowing that she wasn’t trying to dream about anything to help him. ‘No, I’d struggle to fall asleep now, I imagine.’

Reinar felt awkward, not sure what he was doing at her door. ‘My father says I should stay and fight.’

Alys was surprised. ‘Does he?’

Reinar nodded, still amazed to think that Stellan had emerged from his stupor for one brief moment. It had given him a lift. Some sense of hope. ‘I wanted you to know. Whatever comes now, we’re going to be staying, so I need you to do whatever you can, Alys. Your friends will have their freedom if they help us fight.’

Alys was pleased, then she saw something else in his eyes. ‘But not me?’

Reinar leaned against the door frame, distracted by the dress again. ‘You?’ His voice softened as he stared into her sleepy eyes, reminded of how good she was with a bow. ‘You really want to go back to that place? Your husband is dead. Do you really want to go back?’

Alys sensed him moving closer, and she didn’t know what to do.

The cat was miaowing around her legs, and she felt hot all over, flustered and confused.

‘I...’ She couldn’t look away.

And then Reinar leaned in and kissed her. ‘Do you really want to go back?’ he breathed, the question lingering in his eyes, his lips touching hers.

Alys blinked. ‘No. Not to Ullaberg... no.’

Reinar kissed her again, and Alys felt an odd mix of desire and terror course through her body. He was handsome and gentle and violent and kind and strong and... nothing like her husband at all. His lips were firm but not intrusive. He wanted her to kiss him back, but on her own terms; she sensed that.

Then Reinar pulled away, feelings of guilt overwhelming him.

Confused.

It was Elin’s dress, but she was not Elin.

‘I have to be going,’ he mumbled, scratching his beard, avoiding Alys’ eyes. ‘I have to check on those friends of yours. See how many potential archers we have in our ranks.’ His smile came rushing back, but there was discomfort there now. An awkwardness between them. He backed away, sweeping his black fur cloak around his body. ‘But not you. As I said, I don’t want you up there, Alys de Sant. You’re too valuable as a dreamer. You need to stay in the cottage, with your cat and your books. See how you can help us from here.’ He stared at her, seeing the sadness in her eyes. ‘You will have your freedom too, I promise. If you help me, help us survive what is coming, I will free you too.’

Alys nodded, relieved. Relieved that he didn’t want her to join his band of Ullaberg warriors. She could fire an arrow at a target. She could hit a rabbit or a deer, but the idea of trying to kill a man...

She had considered it. Many times.

Lying in bed at night, face bleeding and swollen, worried about her children.

She had considered trying to kill one man, but perfect strangers?

‘I will read the books. Try to dream. See what I can find.’

She sounded determined, her voice more confident than Reinar had heard it before, her face lovelier. He blinked, shaking that thought away, trying to keep his mind on what he needed to do.

The fort. He needed to protect the fort.

‘I’ll have Agnette organise some supper. You can remain here, in peace.’

Alys smiled. ‘Thank you. It will help, I think.’

‘Good, and perhaps we can go riding again in the morning? Unless, of course, we’re in for more fun tonight?’ Reinar backed away, turning around, the taste of Alys’ unfamiliar lips still on his.

21

Night fell, and the farmer became merry.

His wife ordered their daughter to bed early, leaving her husband to entertain the strangers. She felt uneasy around both of them. Her husband was weak around drink, she knew. Better to let him make a fool of himself without dragging her into anything.

She took Magnus to the stables.

They reeked, and Magnus gagged as she pointed him to a stack of hay bales, not even offering him a blanket. ‘You’ll not get far if you run,’ the farmer’s wife warned. ‘No one cares for children around here. No one will feed you. Likely you’d starve to death before you found your freedom. At least here you have a roof and a bed. Some useful work to put your mind to.’ He was a young boy, she thought, wondering what had happened to his mother.

‘My sister,’ Magnus tried, hearing a touch of sympathy in the thin-lipped woman’s voice. ‘Those men will take her. I don’t know what they’ll do to her. Hurt her probably.’

The farmer’s wife seemed to consider that for a time. The girl was a pretty little thing, not like her own daughter, who could sour milk with her ugliness. But prettiness was more of a curse, she knew. Look at the trouble it had gotten the little girl into. ‘You’re better off worrying about your own prospects now, boy. Work hard, and I’m sure there’ll be some extra food for you. Maybe a blanket too. Winter is coming, and it will get cold out here. Work hard, and forget your sister now. Those men want her. What can you do to stop them?’

It was true.

What could he do?

Magnus swallowed, watching the woman back up to the doors, slipping out quickly, locking them after her. He stood, staring at the doors for some time, aware of how dark it was inside the barn; listening to her muttering as she hurried back to the house.

And biting his lip to stop himself crying, Magnus made his way to the hay bales, thinking about Lotta.

* * *

Tulia leaned against Sigurd’s arm, sensing that his mind was elsewhere. ‘You seem better today,’ she whispered, enjoying her wine. It felt nice, warming her chest, loosening her tension. She hated how cold Ottby was. The whole of Alekka was like a block of ice; summer rushing by in a wet blur, barely lifting the temperature. But now, winter loomed, and they were about to be besieged. They could all sense that.

Unless she took Amir and left.

He would go with her. But Sigurd?

‘I am. Though I’m looking forward to my bed.’ Sigurd ran a hand up Tulia’s thigh.

‘Really? Not tired, though?’

‘After the last two nights?’ He grinned. ‘Not tired at all.’

Tulia looked almost happy, kissing him.

Torvig scowled from across the hall. ‘What does your brother see in that angry woman?’ he wondered to Reinar.

Reinar looked surprised. ‘Tulia?’ He laughed at his friend’s face. ‘Ha! You’d give anything to be Sigurd, and you know it.’

Torvig’s scowl deepened. ‘I know she’s trying to tempt him away from here. And then what will you do without both of them?’

‘I know my brother well enough to know he’s not going anywhere,’ Reinar insisted.

Torvig studied his ale, unsettled. ‘He left once before, didn’t he?’

‘He left for adventure, to explore the Fire Lands. He didn’t leave me. He came home when Stellan took ill.’ Reinar sat back, studying Torvig. ‘Why do you have it in for everyone tonight? We need to come together now, not pull each other apart.’ Bjarni sat on Reinar’s other side, looking ready for his bed, worried and sleepy all at the same time. Reinar nudged him. ‘You’re more use to Agnette than me right now, so go to bed. She’s probably lying there biting her nails, worrying about what will come for us in the night.’

Bjarni swung around with a belch, waking himself up. ‘And you’re not? After last night? I would’ve shat myself doing what you did!’

Reinar laughed. ‘I am wearing a new pair of trousers today.’ He banged his cup into Bjarni’s. ‘Go to bed before Agnette’s out here in her nightdress, telling you off.’

Bjarni smiled at the thought of it, struggling to his feet with a yawn. ‘That’s enough to get me moving!’ And finishing his ale, he left his cup on the table, clapped Reinar on the back, lifted a hand to Sigurd, ignored Torvig, and headed for the bedchambers.

Torvig looked even more irritated, eyes on Tulia who was laughing with her brother and Sigurd.

‘Maybe you should go to bed too?’ Reinar grinned. ‘Might put you in a better mood for tomorrow.’

‘And why are you in such a good mood? After the shit we’ve been through lately? After the last two nights? Terrorised by Ulura. Hakon Vettel breathing down our necks. Warriors breaking for the hills.’ Torvig shook his head, leaning towards Reinar. ‘Not to mention Elin leaving. So why are you in such a good mood, then?’

Reinar wasn’t sure. And then he thought of his father, and he smiled. ‘I just feel different. As though I know what to do now. Before it was a mess, everything falling apart, but now I know what I’m supposed to do.’

‘Because of the dreamer?’

‘Alys?’ Reinar blinked, seeing her in the green dress, golden flowers across her breasts, her gentle eyes so full of fear and worry. ‘She’s helped, of course, but no... I just feel more certain now. Today I decided on the path to take. And now we’ll see where it leads.’

‘Mmmm.’ Torvig was ready for his bed. The thought of going to it alone did not appeal, though there were few women left in the hall, and none he’d consider inviting to join him. ‘As long as that path doesn’t lead us off a cliff.’ And grumbling, he pushed himself away from the table. ‘I wish you a long sleep, Reinar. I’ll check on the men before I head for bed. Those who are left, that is!’

Reinar nodded, ignoring Torvig’s grumbling. That wasn’t new.

The feeling of optimism bubbling inside his body was.

Though he couldn’t help but wonder what would come for them in the night.

* * *

Hakon was enjoying himself.

The feast had been a success, his guests delighted with their host’s generosity.

‘My lord!’ Erlan Stari called out from his place down the table where he sat between Lief and Falla Gundersen, his bloated stomach straining his richly-embroidered tunic. He was a lump of a man in his late thirties, recently risen to the lordship of Hovring; a man who enjoyed the title, the reputation and the trappings that came with it. Having suffered under the thumb of an overbearing father and a mocking mother for much of his life, he was enjoying the attention and encouragement he was receiving from his hosts. His face was a florid red, his bloodshot eyes bright. ‘This wine is exquisite, my lord! I have never tasted such depth of flavour. My senses are exploding! Where did you find it?’

Hakon was pleased with the compliment. ‘My wine merchant in Varis. He is a find, I must say. I have a great store of it in Orbo, though I brought enough with me to see us through a few more months yet. I shall send word to have some delivered to Stornas so we can celebrate when I take the throne!’ And lifting his goblet in the air, he winked at his cousin, whose face he could just see poking through the hair of a rather plain girl he couldn’t remember the name of.

Ivan didn’t appear to either hear or see him, and Hakon frowned, irritated that his cousin wasn’t sitting with him, entertaining their guests. Noticing Lief watching him intently, Hakon quickly removed any hint of frustration from his face. Ivan was family, his choice to lead their men. He didn’t want Lief thinking otherwise.

Erlan Stari was impressed. ‘I’ve never been to Kalmera. Never visited the Fire Lands at all. Hovring has kept me far too busy since my father died!’

Hakon barely heard him. His mind was encased in a thick, wine-fuelled haze, his body fizzing with anticipation for the great battle that loomed on the horizon like a glowing sun; one with Ake Bluefinn himself. Some thought Ake to be the greatest Alekkan warrior of all, but soon they would defeat him, tear his reputation to shreds.

And then...

Hakon frowned, his joy tarnished by regret, knowing that his father had died too soon to witness his victory.

The hall was humming with excited voices. Mead girls navigated their way around swaying bodies holding half-empty buckets; slaves shuffled around silently, offering trays of rolled herring and fermented shark. Hakon caught his wife’s eye as she chatted to Falla. She had worked quickly but expertly to make the dark hall look magnificent, with centrepieces of candles, fir wreaths and pinecones dominating every table. There was such an abundance of candles that everyone appeared to be glowing as they squeezed together on fur-covered benches, laughing and drinking, enjoying the warmth and the company. Karolina smiled at her husband, pleased with the look of pride on his face. And content that he was satisfied, she turned back to Falla.

Hakon, legs wobbling, head spinning, pushed his chair back and stood.

The musicians paused, moving pipes away from moist lips, hands pressing against lyre strings, as one by one every man and woman in the hall turned to their lord with expectant faces.

His goblet was nearly empty, but the moment had seized Hakon, and he did not plan to squander it, so raising his goblet, and steadying himself against the table, he began. ‘Many of us are young, but we are the future of this land! And soon, Alekka will be ours! Ake Bluefinn and his old lords threw our grandfathers, our fathers, and our uncles out of Stornas. Banished us North! Took the throne! Stripped us of our riches and our rights. Took away that which was ours!’ One fist curling now, Hakon’s joy quickly soured, hate tightening the knot inside his heart. ‘But they could never take our desire! And they could never break our spirit! Nor our determination to seek their heads and slake the land with their treacherous blood. Our land! With their blood!’

Those not yet on their feet were scrambling off benches, cups in hand, roaring their approval. ‘My dreamer showed them the wolf! Ulura Blood Hunter! Seeker of the soon to be dead! And they may see it as a dream, or they may see it as an omen, but soon they will see me coming for them! A real wolf with real teeth! Soon they will see us all coming for them! And I promise you that it will be the last thing they ever see!’

The applause was deafening.

Lief joined in, though his eyes remained dead and his clapping was not enthusiastic. He was not a man comfortable with displays of emotion. Not even in battle. He killed with precision and skill. With purpose and intent. None of it was for show. All of it was to achieve whichever goal he had set himself.

And Lief Gundersen had set himself the same goal as his father: to return the Vettels to Stornas, where it was the gods’ will for them to rule the people of Alekka. His father had been by Jorek Vettel’s side, killed with him as he was wrenched from the throne. Lief had been there too, as a young man, watching with Jesper Vettel as their fathers were murdered. They had fled North, stealing ships, sailing to Orbo, determined to start again. Determined that one day, Alekka would return to the hands of its rightful rulers.

And now, here he stood, ready to help his son achieve what Jesper never could.

Lief frowned, annoyed at himself for letting painful memories float up to the surface. He tried to bring himself back into the hall, turning his attention away from Hakon, towards his beautiful wife, who sat beside Karolina Vettel, occasionally leaning towards her, gossiping about their guests.

Karolina was smiling, listening to Falla, though her eyes remained on her husband, who sought her adoration. And she tried to give it to him, though her face ached from making such an effort. She tried to remind herself that soon he would be gone. He would not take her with him. She would remain behind, free, alone, and praying to Vasa every night that she would take Hakon in battle. Not Thenor, Father of the Gods, who liked to roam the fields of the dead, searching for worthy heroes to take back to his fortress, wanting to honour them for their bravery.

No, Karolina hoped that Hakon would be taken by the unforgiving Vasa, who liked to feed the weak and misbegotten to her ravenous ravens.

Karolina’s eyes moved to Ivan, who had his hand up her servant’s dress. And now her smile widened, for if Hakon continued to place his faith in a feckless fool like his cousin, his death was almost certainly guaranteed.

* * *

Steffan didn’t like Torvig Aleksen. Torvig had tried to rape his sister – his married sister – and she didn’t have a good word to say about him.

But Steffan was the younger of the two guards Reinar had tasked with watching the Ullaberg women, and he didn’t feel he could say anything when Torvig slipped Old Ebbert a silver coin and disappeared into the barn.

* * *

Alys sat on the beach, waiting.

She had found her way back into the dream where she’d heard the men who had taken her children. Her heart stuttered at just the thought of it, listening, wanting to hear more. But time passed, the sun sank into the sea, hiding its light and warmth from her, and the only noise Alys could hear was the sound of waves washing up the sand.

And then Reinar’s voice, asking if she wanted to go back to Ullaberg.

She found herself shaking her head, not wanting to be on the beach at all.

Eventually, the sky became pitch black, and Alys stood, needing to disappear into another dream. And then a sweet voice she knew so well.

‘But you can’t leave my brother here. He’s not a slave!’

‘He is now I’ve sold him.’

Alys squeezed her eyes closed, wanting to see something, not just hear voices.

She needed to see!

‘Leave me with him, then. Please! I must stay with him.’

‘My pretty girl... but I won’t be apart from you now. You’re to come with me. I’m taking you to Slussfall. To my house. We will be together. You, me, and my wife. A real family, at last.’

Alys stumbled in the sand, hands at her throat, body trembling.

Slussfall.

But where was Magnus? Where was Magnus?

‘Where are we?’ Lotta asked. ‘How far is it to Slussfall?’

‘You have a lot of questions for a tired little princess. Now, here, lie down. I stole a fur from that drunk old farmer. He won’t miss it. Lie down, and I’ll cover you up. It’s none too warm in here.’

‘But where are we?’

‘Sleep well, my princess.’

And then nothing.

* * *

Stina had been sound asleep when Torvig grabbed her, surprised on both counts. She felt the calloused hand over her mouth, heard the whispered threats in her ear. She saw the knife in his hand, glinting in the rays of moonlight beaming through the smoke hole, and shaking, she stumbled beside him as he took her out of the barn, dragging her across the square.

* * *

Reinar lay on his side of the bed, tortured by desire and grief. He rolled over, hand on the empty space Elin had left behind, thinking about Alys wearing that green dress, listening for the howl of a wolf.

Waiting.

His wife had been gone for twenty-seven days, and he’d already kissed another woman.

He felt guilt, then annoyance that he should feel guilt at all.

Then frustration that his mind kept fixating on any of it.

He had a fort to defend. There was no time to think about women.

Or grief, or loneliness either.

Sighing, Reinar closed his eyes, trying to imagine what would come next.

Hoping to find the answer to why the gods had abandoned him.

Wondering how he could earn back their favour...

* * *

Alys rolled up into a sitting position, shaking.

The cottage was dark and cold, the cat nowhere to be seen. She was surprised by that but too distracted to dwell on it for long. Her dreams floated just out of reach, teasing her as her breathing slowed and her heartbeat steadied itself.

And then she remembered Lotta’s voice, and her eyes burst open.

Magnus was sold, and a man was taking Lotta away.

A man had her daughter. She remembered the voice. He sounded middle-aged, perhaps older. It was a gravelly sort of voice. Hard as rock. Sharp-edged and strange.

Alys shivered, trying to shut it out, needing to focus on what else she had learned. Grabbing the bed fur, she wrapped it around her shoulders. It stunk of smoke, but she didn’t notice as she crept to the fire, reaching for the tinderbox which she’d left on a stool. She thought of Ludo, grateful that he’d brought her a big stack of wood. The night felt young, and she had to see what she could find in that book.

Her mind wandered briefly to the wolf, dismissing it quickly, realising that she had spent far too long worrying about Reinar Vilander and his problems, and not nearly enough on her own.

She had to think about what she could do to save her children.

* * *

Jonas woke with a yelp, legs in a strange position, body twisted uncomfortably. He’d been trapped in a timeless dream, where his wife, Eida, had been young and ravishing and he had been a powerful warrior, battling in the shield wall with Vik. He grinned sadly as the images of youth and love faded, and his aches and pains grew more demanding, urging him to move.

Eventually, he shuffled away from the grassy mound he’d laid his old body down onto, brushing away a stone he hadn’t noticed earlier. Reaching out a cold hand, he yawned, reassuring himself that his swordbelt was in reach, and lying back down again, he closed his eyes.

Memories of Alys came rushing towards him like a storm. They had been inseparable once, since she was an orphaned six-year-old and he was a lonely widower. And now, twenty-two years later, she was so far away from him, and her children were so far away from her.

Was that true?

Jonas felt confused, sleepy and sad. And for the first time in his life, he wanted a dreamer to come to him and show him what he needed to see.

He wanted a dream.

And closing his eyes, Jonas Bergstrom tried to find one.

* * *

Morning dawned through a thick fog. Even the tops of the inner guard towers were hidden beneath the dense mist. It was a freezing sort of fog that had everyone shuddering, heads ducked low against the cold, but Alys didn’t notice as she hurried across the square, trying not to slip over. There had certainly been a frost in the night, for the mud had hardened, turning icy in patches.

Alys held out her hands, stepping carefully as she hurried towards the barn, eager to talk to Stina. She had found something in the book that might be a way to save the children, but she was going to need some help.

The two men guarding the barn looked frozen solid. They stood on either side of the doors, jiggling, hands cupped around bearded mouths, blowing on gloved fingers.

‘Alys!’

Alys froze, not wanting to be delayed.

‘Where are you off to?’

It was Sigurd, who was eager to get moving. After the best sleep he’d had in weeks, he almost felt like himself again, and he wanted to make the most of the day.

Alys reluctantly turned around. ‘I was going to see my friends. I wondered if I could... take one of them to my cottage?’

Sigurd’s blue eyes narrowed, sensing her unease. She seemed unable to focus on his face; her cheeks were flushed pink, her body trembling. ‘Are you alright?’

Alys nodded quickly. ‘It’s my friend, Stina. She wasn’t well yesterday.’ That was a lie. ‘And when I woke, I thought it was so cold. I’m... worried about her.’ Alys braved those searching eyes. ‘I have my fire going. I’m heating some water. I thought I’d bring her to sit with me.’

‘Sigurd!’ Tulia was striding through the fog towards them. ‘How did you get past me?’ She smiled at him, frowning at Alys. ‘What’s going on? You haven’t had another dream have you?’ She peered at Alys, who was squirming away from them both. ‘Or perhaps you’re ready for your next lesson?’

‘Lesson?’ Alys froze. ‘Archery, you mean?’

‘You don’t need to be taught how to use a bow, that would be a waste of my time, but Reinar wants you trained,’ Tulia said, shivering, ‘so I’m going to teach you how to fight.’

Sigurd grinned. ‘I’d like to see that.’

Alys looked horrified. ‘What sort of fighting?’ She saw flashes of Arnon striking her, rushing her, knocking her against the table, dragging her to the bed. She heard the cries of their children, who sheltered in the shadows; Magnus’ eyes filled with tears as he held Lotta to him, wishing he could save her. Alys nodded, blinking her memories away, knowing she had little choice. ‘I would like to see my friend first. She is not well.’ And for the first time, Alys started to wonder if that was true.

‘Well, don’t be long. And send the other women out. We need to make a start. Everyone should be well-rested, ready to begin.’

Amir and Ludo walked towards them, blinking tired eyes open.

‘How can you be tired after all that sleep?’ Tulia wondered, relieved not to be facing another day of arguing about dreams and omens that had no bearing on reality. ‘Ludo, help the dreamer get the women outside. They’ve eaten, I hope?’ She eyed the guards, who both nodded. ‘Good! Then we can begin.’

Alys left them behind, eager to see Stina, feeling strange, and when she saw her, those feelings only heightened. Stina looked haunted, oddly drawn. There was no smile on her face, nothing sparkling in her eyes. She almost shied away as Alys approached. ‘What is it? Stina?’

Stina ignored Alys’ concern, not wanting to worry her. ‘Something I ate,’ she insisted, trying to smile. ‘The food is not the best. I think they’re giving us scraps meant for the pigs. My stomach was griping all night.’

Alys didn’t really believe her, but she was distracted by Ludo, who quickly started ordering everyone to leave the barn. ‘I’ll talk to Reinar about the food.’ She blushed, reminded of the last time she’d talked to Reinar. ‘If he wants to use you to help defend his fort, he needs to treat you better than this.’ The barn still stunk, the straw was damp, the roof was leaking, and there was no fire to warm the women, who looked blue-lipped and frozen solid. ‘You go with Ludo, and I’ll go and find him.’

Stina grabbed her arm. ‘No, don’t go yet.’ As much as she wanted to be alone and hide from everything that Torvig had done to her, she wanted the comfort of Alys’ company. ‘Tell me what they’ll do to us now. Today.’

‘I’m not sure. They want you to help. They’ll train you, isn’t that right?’ She turned to Ludo, who looked overwhelmed by the number of women heading towards him, teeth chattering, most of them with questions and complaints.

Stina, in the end, had proven to be of no use with a bow, so Alys wasn’t sure what would happen to her.

‘Ummm...’ Ludo tried to remember the woman’s name. ‘Stina!’ He smiled. ‘You’re with me. I’m going to show you how to use a spear.’

Stina nodded dully, eyes on Sigurd Vilander, who had limped into the barn. She saw him watching Alys, curious about what the dreamer was doing.

‘Let’s make a start!’ Sigurd called, inhaling the stink with a frown. ‘Training will warm you up!’

The grumbling women did not look impressed.

He didn’t blame them.

Many families had left Ottby over the past few months. Many in the past few days. There were empty cottages everywhere. It was time to move the women. He touched Alys’ arm. ‘Tulia’s going to be working with you, I know, but first, why don’t we go and speak to Reinar? See what we can do about moving your friends before tonight.’

Alys looked around in surprise, but she nodded, and though it was not what she needed to be doing, she followed him out of the barn with a glance back at Stina, who was staring after her with a strange look in her eyes.

22

Magnus was mucking out the stables, which wasn’t the worst task, he supposed with a sigh. The farmer had given him a bowl of something that might have been gruel, with a cup of foul-smelling water for breakfast. Both had made him gag and wonder how it would be possible to survive in this place long enough to escape and rescue Lotta.

Then, remembering what Long Beard had suggested to the farmer’s wife about him only needing to be fed once a day, Magnus had held his nose and swallowed everything down. He needed strength. And he needed to earn the farmer’s trust quickly. For only then would he have a chance to escape and head for Slussfall.

He was never going to forget that odd name.

Slussfall.

Where Long Beard and Silver Tooth had taken Lotta.

He hoped they’d make it, that they wouldn’t die like Eye Patch had.

For he wanted to take their lives himself.

* * *

Flurries of snow dusted Mother’s grey curls as she shuffled along beside Falla. They were heading out of the old stone fort, hoping to find some mushrooms in a densely wooded area to the south.

Falla was happy to leave her son behind. He had been needy, clinging to her like a red-faced crab, wailing about a sore belly. Happily, Karolina had agreed to watch him. She seemed to like children, though not her husband, Falla thought with a grin, slipping on an ice-covered rock.

‘Careful now,’ Mother scolded, eyes on her own path. ‘I don’t wish to carry you back!’ She chuckled, imagining how such a thing would look. It made her think of Borg, who had liked to lift her into the air when he was a boy, determined to show his father how strong he was becoming. He had never been big, much like her, she supposed, but out of all her sons, he had been her favourite.

And though it had been three years since his death, it was often surprising to realise that he was gone.

‘Will you find more of the seeds?’ Falla whispered, for though they had left everyone back at the fort, she didn’t want Lief discovering that she was trying not to get pregnant. He would take it badly, and he wouldn’t understand why. She felt reasonably content in her choice of husband, though she disliked being a mother. She knew that, eventually, Lief would require his own blood son, but she wanted to wait, to delay the horrific event for as long as possible.

‘We will, don’t worry,’ Mother assured her. ‘Seeds and mushrooms, stones and herbs. Everything we can find for the war. For we will be warriors, Falla my girl, just as much as those men. They sharpen their blades and make their arrows, and we, in turn, must prepare our own weapons.’ She felt Falla still beside her as they slipped through the trees, her eyes on the lichen-green trunks, thinking. ‘For our enemy has a dreamer. And we must be prepared to battle her.’ She pushed Falla away with one hand. ‘Now, get on your knees down there, those are just the mushrooms we need. The red ones, the ones with the white spots. But be careful, I don’t want to lose you before you can be of real use to me! Hurry now, for those men are preparing to leave. And we must be ready to go with them!’

* * *

Torvig wouldn’t meet the dreamer’s eye.

He stood near Reinar, who was arguing with Bolli about reinforcing the ditches around the low wall. The old helmsman was insisting they dig them wider rather than deeper. Reinar was convinced that the ladders would be able to reach the wall no matter how wide they made them, certain that depth and stakes was the real answer.

Torvig and Bjarni stood on the sidelines, trying to get a word in.

Bolli was red-faced, hand on his spade, not fancying a day of digging, but wanting to make a start. All this arguing was wasting time.

Reinar looked ready to burst. ‘Dig them deeper! And if you have time, dig them wider too!’ He spun around, eyes on his brother, surprised to see Alys, his temper receding quickly. ‘What is it?’ He glanced at Alys, remembering the softness of her lips; remembering his wife’s lips too. ‘Have you seen something?’

Sigurd was the one who spoke. ‘It’s the Ullaberg women. It makes no sense to keep treating them like slaves. You can’t inspire anyone to help you unless they see a reason to, Reinar. And no beaten animal wants to fight for its master.’

Reinar looked cross. ‘You’re saying they’ve been mistreated?’ He glanced at Alys.

Again Sigurd spoke, his breath forming clouds around his face. ‘They’re in a barn. Snow’s coming, can’t you feel it? And there’s no fire. No furs. No beds. They’re freezing and tired. They need to be in cottages, and we’ve got plenty spare now. If it’s not a joke, what Tulia’s doing, if you truly want them to fight for us, then treat them like you’d treat your men.’

Reinar was freezing, already desperate to warm his numb fingers over a fire, and he felt impatient to get on. ‘See to it, then, Brother. You’re not much use yet, so why don’t you hobble around all day, finding them homes. Ask Gerda to help you.’ Sigurd froze, and Reinar laughed, happy to have poked his brother where it hurt; it made a change from all the fingers poking him.

‘I’m not sure I need to bother Gerda.’ Sigurd was already backing up towards the gates. ‘I can ask Agnette.’

Bjarni chuckled. ‘Not sure Agnette can help you, my friend. She’ll be far too busy caring for your father.’

‘And they need clothes,’ Alys added. ‘When you took us, we weren’t dressed properly. Some of us, at least.’ She blinked away the glimpses of that moment as every man stilled around her, feeling awkward. Except for Torvig, she noticed, who was considering her with hooded eyes. Shivering, Alys turned to Reinar. ‘Some have no boots. No cloak. A few were still in their nightdresses.’

Now Reinar did feel bad. He looked at Sigurd. ‘You’ll need Gerda’s help, as well as Agnette’s. It will take some time to find clothes to fit them all.’ He tried not to notice Elin’s green dress, peeking out from Elin’s golden cloak, both of them now worn by Alys, who he wanted to kiss again. ‘I’m sure you’ll find something, though.’

Sigurd tapped Alys on the shoulder. ‘Well, come on. I’d better get you back to Tulia. She’ll be wanting to get her hands on you.’

Bolli looked up in surprise, eyes on Reinar, who was watching his brother lead the dreamer away. ‘You really think they’re going to be any use?’ he snorted, remembering the wailing women who’d clung to each other in Dagger’s bow. Hardly promising warriors.

‘No,’ Torvig grumped. ‘They’re just a distraction. Tulia’s wasting her time, thinking she can turn Alekka into Kalmera. I don’t know the place, and maybe the women there are born with swords in their hands, but ours aren’t. Alekkan women learn weaving and sewing. They learn how to cook and keep their men happy. How to make a home and raise children. I’m sure they could pluck a chicken and bake a loaf of bread, but hold a wall? Protect the ramparts? Fight off siege towers and Hakon Vettel’s army?’ He shook his head, slamming his spade into the frozen earth. ‘They’re no use to us, and you know it.’

Reinar was surprised by Torvig’s tone, which grated like branches on a window.

Bjarni wasn’t. Torvig was a snake, though Bjarni could never figure out what he wanted. Torvig had left Alekka as a young man, returning only recently, quickly wriggling his way back to reclaim his old place by Reinar’s side. And, after twelve years without him, Bjarni was struggling to find where he fit in. Reinar had stopped listening to him as much, turning to Torvig more and more.

But, Bjarni realised, what did it matter now?

They were childhood squabbles and jealousies. What bearing did they have on their lives now, when they were about to risk everything to defend Ottby and the bridge? He looked down at the solid ground with a sigh.

Reinar stared at Torvig, irritated himself. ‘You think Tulia shouldn’t bother? That we shouldn’t try to do everything we can?’

‘I think we’ve little time to prepare for the Vettels. We should use it wisely. And Tulia’s better out here digging with those arms of hers. All the women are.’

Reinar stared at Torvig, wondering if he was right. ‘Well, we’ll see,’ he muttered. ‘See how she goes today.’ And picking up his own spade, Reinar tried to get the image of Alys’ lips out of his mind.

* * *

Sigurd had left Alys with Tulia, who had taken Ilene out of the larger group of women. She was the only other one capable of using a bow with accuracy and skill. Alys glanced at Ilene, who scowled back at her. She was a plump-looking woman with eyes a little too close together, breasts that she tended to push out, and buttocks so round and pronounced that the men of Ullaberg liked to make jokes about her. Though it had always been hard to feel sorry for Ilene Gislar. She had slept with Arnon often, and though it hadn’t made Alys jealous, it had made Ilene see her as a rival. She had tried in vain to lure Arnon away from his wife and children. Alys wished she had. But Arnon had remained, until his death, loyal to her.

She sighed, distracted by old memories, until Tulia’s voice cut through the fog like a shard of ice.

‘The archers will man the walls!’ Tulia called, pacing in front of the two shivering women. ‘And that may be enough! We may hold them out, but they will likely make it onto the ramparts, or through the gates. And then what? What use can you be to us then?’ She glared at Alys, sensing that Reinar wouldn’t let his precious dreamer anywhere near Hakon Vettel’s men. And turning her attention to Ilene, she looked the girl up and down, noticing her thin nightdress, her bare feet. ‘When those men are in the fort, what can you do to stop them?’

‘Perhaps Alys can put a spell on them?’ Ilene suggested tartly. ‘Now that we all know she’s a witch.’ She smiled at Alys, menace in her brown eyes.

Alys kept her own eyes on Tulia, trying not to reveal how desperately she did not want to be doing this. She needed to be back in the cottage with the book, trying to help her children.

Tulia could sense the tension between the two women, and if she hadn’t been so cold, it might have amused her. ‘We’ll try swords.’

Alys blinked as Tulia handed her one of the wooden swords she’d been holding, giving the other to Ilene.

‘Let’s see what you can do,’ Tulia said, eyes drifting momentarily, squinting through the fog, trying to see how much success Amir and Ludo were having.

She could hear a few exasperated cries, which was not encouraging.

Tulia stepped back, her eyes barely returning to the two women before Ilene had lunged at Alys, sword swinging wildly, cracking her across the neck with the wooden blade.

Alys yelped, slipping on the icy mud, stumbling down to the ground with a thud.

Tulia was impressed, looking at Ilene with renewed interest. ‘What is your name, girl?’

‘Ilene.’

‘Well, Ilene, that was a good show, but what now? You can knock the dreamer down as there’s not much to her. But a man? A trained warrior, body padded in armour and mail, long sword made of iron, shield at his chest, helmet covering his head. What will you do with him?’

Ilene’s teeth were bared as she considered Tulia. ‘I would stick my blade through his balls.’

Tulia laughed as Alys dragged herself back to her feet, noticing Sigurd in the distance as he limped past with Gerda. She was distracted, and, as she stood, Ilene lunged at her again, poking her in the belly with the tip of the wooden blade, kicking her in the kneecap, knocking her straight down to the mud again.

Tulia was enjoying herself. ‘Well, I have one potential warrior here, but as for you...’ And she held out a hand to Alys, helping her back to her feet. ‘Perhaps I should send you back to archery training? Or spears? Maybe axes?’

Breath streamed from Alys’ nose and mouth. Angry, cold breath. She eyed the smug-looking Ilene, feeling an urge to knock her down to the ground. And gripping the wooden sword more tightly now, she shuffled her legs apart, hoping to stay balanced on the slippery surface. She skipped to the left, away from Ilene. And then to the right. Alys was wiry and fast, and though her hips throbbed where she’d fallen, and her impatience to leave was a constant distraction, she managed to keep away from the grunting Ilene.

‘You have a sword!’ Tulia called, moving around them. ‘Use it, dreamer! Try and hit her! Are you going to let her humiliate you? Knock you down again?’

Curious, Ludo came over to the railings, watching Alys, who had a fierce look in her usually placid eyes. The woman she was facing had a fiercer look, though, and in the next breath, Ilene threw herself at Alys, overwhelming her, knocking her down to the ground again, punching her in the face.

Ludo rushed into the ring to pull Ilene off Alys, who was blinking in surprise, trying to avoid Ilene’s fist as it threatened her face again. ‘Best we don’t kill each other yet,’ he muttered, moving Ilene away, though she appeared to be enjoying herself, quickly back on her feet, gripping the wooden sword in both hands, ready for more.

Tulia laughed. ‘She’s like an ursa!’

‘What’s that?’ Ludo wondered, one hand out to keep Ilene away as he pulled Alys back to her feet.

‘My people call women who fight like scrapping dogs, ursa. They fight without fear. Without sense. Just pure fury. You call men like that the bear men, I think?’

Ludo nodded. ‘We do, though I’ve never met one. But you,’ he said, eyes on Ilene, ‘might well be an ursa. Though, you’ll need to learn how to use a sword properly. Hakon’s men won’t be bringing wooden weapons.’ And with a sympathetic smile, he left a mud-covered Alys to Ilene and Tulia, returning to a clearly frustrated Amir.

* * *

Rain was pouring down on Slussfall’s muddy square, though Hakon Vettel, drenched by the rain, unable to feel his fingers or his toes, couldn’t have been happier.

Their weapons’ stores were abundant.

Their siege towers were complete.

Their allies were with them.

And their enemies were weak.

Hakon slapped Ivan on the back, confident that he finally stood on the precipice of everything he’d dreamed of since his father was cut down by Stellan Vilander. Hakon had watched, three years ago, as the Ottby men had pinned them down near Hovring. He remembered the blood-splattered flurries of snow drifting across him in waves, his father’s pained cry as Stellan Vilander’s blade took him in the neck.

His helmet had come off, lost in the fray.

Hakon had found it later, after he’d been dragged away from the battlefield, kept safe by his own men. They had all become his men from that point on. He had returned to claim his father’s body that night. The Ottby men had left it on the field, confident enough in their victory not to need to rub the loss of Jesper Vettel in his son’s face. Or perhaps they thought they were being merciful?

Hakon swallowed, reminded of how far he’d come.

Of how far he was about to go.

‘They look impressive, Cousin,’ he breathed, admiring the deep rows of men assembled in their gleaming armour, stretching from the hall steps, back through Slussfall’s long square, all the way to the gates, and beyond.

And this was not even all of them.

Ivan took the compliment with his usual shrug, as though nothing was ever too great, nothing ever too tragic. Just somewhere in between. It helped him to weather the storm that was Hakon, who was either up or down, never in the middle. It was often hard to predict which way he was going to go, though it had always been Ivan’s job to try. ‘They look ready.’

Hakon nodded. ‘They do. And so do you.’ He poked a finger at his cousin’s mail chest. ‘This is new.’

‘Well, we must all look the part,’ Ivan smiled, running a hand over his moustache, which was itching his nose, needing a trim. ‘Even you!’ He knew Hakon had had a new set of armour made too, and though he was not wearing it, Ivan was well aware that he would be required to heap praise on his cousin when he was.

That was his job too.

Hakon noticed a snow-dusted Mother and Falla slipping through the gates, skirting the armoured men, no doubt heading for Mother’s cottage. He felt his confidence surge. It wasn’t only his warriors who would be waging war on his behalf.

Erlan Stari came to join them. Alef Olstein too. He was slightly older than his Southern neighbour, but just as eager to impress his hosts. His dark hair was tied back from a rugged face in a long braid, and he stood before Hakon in his armour, sharp eyes full of intent. ‘Your father would be proud,’ Alef enthused, his tongue honey-coated. The young lord was Thenor-favoured, and it was in his own interests to keep Hakon happy, for once the Vettels retook the Alekkan throne there was the prospect of more land, and the generous granting of wealth he was sure would flow in the direction of Hakon’s most loyal supporters.

Ake Bluefinn may have been beloved by the long-suffering people of Alekka, but Erlan’s father had always grumbled that Ake was tight-fisted when it came to his lords. According to Herold Stari, those men who had sacrificed so much to put him on the throne had received little in return over the years.

‘I can only hope so.’ Hakon’s smile started to slip, suddenly wondering if that was true. His father had been almost peerless in battle. He had plotted and planned his way down from Orbo for over a decade, only to be felled at the final hurdle of Ottby. A man as skilled as his father had been outthought and outfought by a creaking old has-been and his two useless sons.

If it could happen to him, it could happen to anyone.

‘We will sacrifice to Thenor tonight,’ Hakon said to the lords. ‘Seek his favour for our journey. And tomorrow, we’ll march!’

Lief, who stood to the left of Ivan, watching on in silence, felt a chill wind creeping up his spine, snow flurries twirling to the ground before him.

He was a superstitious man. He sacrificed to the gods often.

It was a sign, he thought, watching the snow, listening as Ivan started joking again. The dolt was always playing to the crowd, as though he was the village fool instead of the head of its great army.

But Lief’s attention was not on Ivan and his childish ways.

It was on the snow sweeping in.

If Thenor had truly wanted them to be successful, he would not be bringing winter to their door in such a hurry.

23

Gerda had ordered Rilda and her helpers out into the square where they started grilling sausages over the braziers. She clamped her dry lips together, unhappy with using the sausages, which she liked to save for Reinar, though the warriors had to eat. They had to believe that there was enough food to sustain them over winter. Those who remained in Ottby needed to be encouraged to keep their chests in their cottages and their horses in the stables.

Reinar had told her as much, sending Gerda on her way with an ill-tempered bark. And Gerda had realised that her son was right. If they were to defend Ottby, those defenders needed nourishment, so she would have to use whatever they could spare. For as long as they could spare it.

Alys could smell the cooking sausages, and she eyed the railings, wanting to escape through them, but Tulia was there, blocking her path. She had her eyes on the women, coordinating who was doing what; moving those around when she could see that they might be better suited to another weapon.

Alys had been removed from mad-eyed Ilene’s clutches, sent back to the archery group. She caught glimpses of Stina, who looked so utterly morose that Alys felt worried about her, and when Tulia finally called for them to stop and warm their hands over the smoking braziers, Alys hurried over to her. ‘Are you unwell?’

Stina looked surprised. She had stumbled through her training sessions, barely aware of anything, just going through the motions, not wanting to be noticed. Not wanting to see a glimpse of Torvig again. Her body ached where he’d grabbed her, inside and out. She felt the shame of it heating her cheeks, the memories rising out of the fog of shock now. And turning away, Stina looked towards the braziers. ‘We should get something to eat before it’s all gone.’

Alys wasn’t hungry, but she nodded, following after her red-faced friend.

They were all red-faced after their morning in the training ring.

Tulia didn’t look pleased, though, as she reached Agnette, who was helping Gerda to portion the sausages. They had the kitchen staff ferrying out plates of flatbreads too. There were trays of cups filled with small ale, though Agnette felt embarrassed to call such a watery beverage anything resembling ale.

‘You seem to be making progress,’ Agnette said, handing Tulia a plate.

Tulia’s eyes were on the gates and then the hall doors, wondering what had happened to Sigurd. She hadn’t seen him in some time, though he had obviously been hard at work, she realised, noticing the stack of clothes on the nearby table.

‘Once you’ve finished eating,’ Gerda said, lifting her sharp voice above the noise, ‘you may look through the clothes over here! Some of you will need warmer things to wear perhaps? Though not all of you.’

Agnette knew how hard Gerda was working to be generous. It was not in her nature at all. But Agnette and Sigurd had managed to convince her that Ottby needed all the help it could get to withstand Hakon Vettel’s forces, and she had finally been swayed by that. Gerda had spent nearly twenty years as the Lady of Ottby, and though for much of that time she had felt confident with her husband in charge and a fort stacked with loyal warriors, she knew how precarious their position was now. The hall had become quiet. The square much less busy.

Even the ramparts appeared empty these days.

Though looking at the ragged women who elbowed each other towards the plates of food with an unbecoming show of hunger, she knew that they weren’t the help Reinar needed.

Reinar almost laughed at his mother, lost amongst the Ullaberg women, doling out her precious sausages with pursed lips. He nudged Bjarni whose eyes were on a clearly-exhausted Agnette as she hurried to keep up with the demand for food.

‘Your mother doesn’t look too happy,’ Bjarni said, starving. Those sausages smelled like food from the gods, though after a morning of trying to dig through frozen earth, he would’ve happily eaten some of Agnette’s cooking.

‘Nothing new there,’ Reinar snorted, eyes on Alys, though he quickly looked away, wanting to remain focused.

Bjarni noticed. ‘No word from your dreamer, then? About the wolf? Whether she’ll return?’

Reinar was quickly irritated, not wanting Bjarni to read his mind, though after all these years, he supposed it was hard to hide much from him. ‘After we exposed it as just a trick? I doubt it. And what difference would it make anyway? Those who’ve stayed have seen and heard all the wolf can do.’

‘But maybe there’s more?’ Bjarni suggested, smiling at his wife, who handed him a plate, though he was quickly frowning, wondering why there was only one sausage on it. And no flatbreads. He glanced around, looking for more.

‘More what?’ Reinar nodded at his brother as Sigurd joined them.

‘More Hakon’s dreamer can try. If the wolf nightmare failed, perhaps she has other tricks ready and waiting?’

Sigurd shook his head. ‘Why worry about dreamers, Bjarni? Dreamers aren’t going to be firing catapults over our walls, assaulting the gates. Dreamers aren’t going to be trying to kill us.’

Reinar hoped his brother was right.

He changed the subject, not wanting to get Sigurd started on dreamers. ‘Looks like you’ve made the women happy, Brother,’ he smiled, watching the Ullaberg women fight their way through the pile of new clothes.

‘I don’t imagine Gerda picked anything more than rags,’ Sigurd muttered. ‘But it should keep them warm.’

‘And what about the cottages?’

‘Agnette’s got that all sorted. She’ll take them down once Tulia’s finished torturing them.’ He grinned as a scowling Tulia approached, looking as though her patience was finally at an end. ‘Unless that’s now?’

‘I think I may kill one of them if I get back in the ring!’

Torvig joined them, chewing a sausage. ‘Ahhh, so you’re admitting defeat, then? What a surprise!’

‘Defeat?’ Tulia laughed. ‘Not at all. But they can’t handle much more today. They’re weak. Hungry. Tired. Cold too. They need rest. Perhaps we’ll try again this afternoon, if the snow doesn’t come.’ She lifted her eyes, trying to sense what the clouds were up to. They looked ominously grey, gathering together like a wall.

Reinar followed her gaze. ‘Looks like snow to me.’ He shivered, happy about that. ‘I’d better get in a ride before it comes.’

‘Taking the dreamer again?’ Torvig wondered, watching irritation spark in Reinar’s eyes, and not minding it.

They all turned to Reinar, who shrugged. And finishing his own sausage, he headed for his mother without looking back.

‘Interesting,’ Tulia mused. ‘Don’t you think?’ She nudged Sigurd.

But Sigurd wasn’t listening. He was watching Alys, who was watching Reinar as he pushed his way towards Gerda.

Reinar left his plate on the table, giving his mother a squeeze. ‘You’ve done a good job, Mother.’

Gerda beamed, pleased to have his approval. It pained her to waste so much food on the women, though it would hardly encourage the gods to change their minds about her son if they let them starve. ‘Well, we need all the help we can get, as you said.’ She leaned closer, lowering her voice. ‘Though I have my doubts. Tulia seems to think every woman should be like her. But she’s not made like anyone else, is she? Not with those manly arms of hers.’

Reinar grinned. Tulia was strong. Clever. And hopefully able to deliver on her promise. He had the same doubts as Gerda, though he didn’t give voice to them, wanting to believe it was possible.

Possible to have some hope.

His eyes accidentally found Alys, and he smiled.

Gerda followed his gaze, frowning, but Reinar was already on his way to the dreamer.

‘Hello.’ Reinar blinked in surprise, not noticing the mess of Alys’ face before. ‘Did Tulia do that to you?’ He turned around, glaring at Tulia.

‘No. Ilene. She never liked me. Though she did like my husband.’

Reinar turned back around. ‘Oh. Well, it’s going to hurt.’ He stopped himself from touching her eye, sensing his mother staring at him. ‘Maybe you should return to your cottage? Do some dreaming instead?’ He said it with a smile, but he could sense Alys taking his words seriously.

‘I need to. I want to.’

‘You do?’ Reinar took her arm, leading her away from the women, towards Valera’s Tree. ‘Why? Has something happened? Have you seen something?’

Alys felt trapped between two worlds: the one where she needed to save herself, and the one where she was desperate to save her children.

And then she did see a glimpse of something flash before her eyes.

‘There is a woman. She is old, but not ancient. Her hair is dark grey. She looks like a troll, round and stumpy. Her nose is round too. Her eyes are big and jumping.’

Reinar’s own eyes sharpened. ‘Is she Hakon’s dreamer?’

‘I’m not sure. Perhaps. She’s... working spells.’ The images faded and Alys shivered, turning to Reinar. ‘Spells to hurt people.’

‘And how do we protect ourselves against that?’

‘I don’t know if we can.’

They reached the door to Alys’ cottage, and she looked back at the square, realising that she hadn’t been able to get through to Stina to see if she was alright.

She wasn’t alright, but why?

Reinar pushed open the door, ushering Alys inside. He thought he felt flurries of snow wet on his face as he followed after her, closing the door.

Torvig watched them. ‘Reinar seems to have forgotten my sister rather quickly. After all those years together, that’s a surprise.’

Tulia had been called away by Gerda, who was trying to break up a fight between Ilene and another woman over one of the better-looking dresses. And that left Sigurd, Bjarni, Agnette, and Torvig, all of them friends since childhood.

‘Well, seeing as how Elin’s the one who left Reinar, you hardly need worry about what she’d think,’ Agnette said sharply.

Torvig glared at her. ‘Know that, do you?’

‘I do, actually. I’m the one who helped her leave. Elin begged to go. She told me she never wanted to see Reinar again. She never wanted to return to Ottby.’

That shut Torvig up. Bjarni and Sigurd too.

‘So, if I were you, Torvig Aleksen, I’d worry about those men on the ramparts, the men out digging ditches and bringing in wood, and I’d worry less about what my cousin chooses to do with that dreamer.’ She poked a finger in Torvig’s direction, feeling her belly tighten. ‘It might just be that Reinar finding Alys will end up saving all our lives!’

Torvig, not about to be barked at by a busy-body like Agnette, turned on his heels, and headed for the gates, deciding to check on Bolli and his ditch digging.

* * *

The day felt longer than any other.

Magnus’ arms fell limply by his sides as he considered the sloppy dung heap he’d made and was now attempting to shovel into the wagon. He was starving, though his guts griped too, and it had become impossible to tell which was the dominant feeling. Mostly, he ignored all of it, and the stomach-churning smell of the dung, and just focused on worrying about Lotta.

She would be far away by now. The men had been woken by the farmer’s wife, who’d wanted them on their way before they tried to eat more of her stores. Magnus had not seen the farmer’s wife all day, though her daughter had brought him a skin of water. He’d taken it with gratitude in his exhausted eyes, looking for some sign of kindness in hers, but the girl had barely looked at him as she’d trudged away, called back to the house by her shrieking mother.

Magnus glanced up at the sky, trying to guess how long it would be before night came to finish the day. He hoped it would come soon; that the farmer wouldn’t keep him working through the night. Realising that it was a possibility, Magnus picked up his pace, his tense shoulders up around his ears.

He heard his mother’s voice in his head, urging him on.

His father had always forced him to do tasks that Magnus didn’t want to do, making him finish while he cried and struggled, begging his mother to help him. But his father would never let her, and, in the end, Magnus knew it was safer for all of them if he just kept going.

His father had been a cruel man. And though Magnus didn’t think the farmer was an especially evil man, he was not a caring one. He had bought a boy, taken him from his sister, watched him crying as they parted, begging him to help her.

And then he’d put him to work as though he was not a boy at all.

Magnus closed his eyes, listening to his mother’s reassuring voice. ‘Keep going,’ she urged. ‘Keep going.’ And opening his eyes, Magnus tried not to cry, wanting to feel her hand on his shoulder.

* * *

Reinar stood with his back against the door as Alys removed her cloak and picked up the book.

He felt conflicted. About everything.

‘All I can do is keep reading,’ Alys sighed, sitting on a stool, ignoring the cold cottage and the ash in the fire pit. Ignoring Reinar too. ‘I have to find the answers I need. There are other books. Two more. I found them wrapped in clothes in that chest.’

‘Then you should stay here.’ Reinar saw the tinderbox, and, unpinning his own cloak, leaving it on a stool, he bent to the ground, setting a fire. ‘Read while there’s enough light. While both eyes are still open. I’m sure Tulia won’t miss you.’

Alys looked up suddenly, surprised to see him there, right beside her. ‘I will, thank you, though you needn’t stay. I can do that. You must have better things to do.’ She edged away from Reinar, ever so slightly. She felt awkward, not knowing what he wanted from her.

Not wanting to be distracted by him.

‘We’ll go riding tomorrow,’ Reinar said. ‘I’ll come for you after breakfast. Your friends will be sleeping in cottages tonight. Fed supper and breakfast too. Free to roam around the fort.’ He frowned, wondering if that was for the best. ‘Well, perhaps not entirely free. For their own safety, I may need to have a few guards watching them. There are some around here I wouldn’t trust.’

Alys wasn’t listening. Her finger remained on the page she had read that morning, before the cocks were crowing, her mind whirring with thoughts of her grandfather, her children, and Stina. She looked up suddenly. ‘You’re going to guard them?’

Satisfied that the flames were going to take, Reinar tucked the flint back into the tinderbox and stood, leaving it on the stool next to Alys, before heading to the woodpile. Carefully placing a log near the new flames, he sat down, warming his hands. ‘For now. I don’t trust everyone here. Not the new men, at least. Rutger’s men. Some of them remain. They’re not as superstitious as the rest of us, it seems.’ He was quiet, then, not sure what to say. ‘I’ll keep them safe, don’t worry.’

Alys nodded, wanting him to leave.

And sensing it, Reinar stood. ‘It’s important that you dream, Alys,’ he said, trying to get her attention, but she had returned to the book. ‘I don’t wish to be a distraction.’

Alys looked up again, watching his discomfort grow. ‘Everything is a distraction,’ she admitted. ‘All of it. The square and the fighting and the noise and the women.’ Her eye ached suddenly, and she winced. ‘I need to stay in here. Alone. Though, perhaps Agnette could bring me some supper?’ She realised that Stina was not the help she needed. Stina didn’t know the fort. She didn’t know how to find the ingredients the spell called for, but perhaps Agnette did?

Reinar nodded, though just the sound of his cousin’s name made him frown, which reminded him of Elin, and he grabbed his cloak, heading for the door. ‘She’d be happy to, I’m sure. And, in the meantime, stay here, stay warm, and enjoy your reading. Though,’ he looked back over his shoulder, touching his own eye. ‘It might get a little hard to see soon.’

Alys stared at him, swallowing. His eyes were a softer blue than his brother’s, but somehow just as intense as they fixed upon her. She didn’t look away, though, and nor did Reinar, and they stayed like that for a moment, neither one breaking the trance.

And then a knock on the door had Reinar blinking, and he grabbed the handle, pushing it open.

To Ludo, who stood there with a fur in his arms, the white cat rubbing himself against his legs. ‘Oh.’ He stared at a flustered Reinar, his eyes quickly moving past him to Alys, who looked just as awkward. ‘I found your cat. Thought you might appreciate another fur too. With the snow coming, it’s going to be freezing tonight.’

‘Thank you,’ Alys smiled as Ludo made to bring it inside.

Reinar stuck out an arm. ‘She doesn’t want to be disturbed. She has to read.’ He took the fur as Winter bounded inside, and left it on the bed, heading back to the door before Ludo could make himself at home. ‘I’ll send Agnette,’ he said, with a quick look at Alys before shutting the door behind them.

Alys felt all the air leave her body as she stared at the door, before jumping in surprise as the cat weaved his cold body around her frozen legs. She was sitting too far away from the fire, and the warmth had yet to reach her. ‘Well, now that you’re here, perhaps we can begin?’ she smiled, turning her attention back to the book.

* * *

They had ridden all day, and Lotta had not spoken more than a few mumbled words. She was busy trying to find answers; ways she could lead Magnus to her.

Ways she could reach out to her mother.

It occurred to Lotta late in the afternoon, that her mother might be dead and not looking for them at all. Or enslaved by bad men, who would not set her free.

She didn’t know.

It frightened her.

Long Beard stopped speaking, having received so little in return. And Silver Tooth had nothing to say himself. He had started coughing, though it sounded more like a tickle in his throat than the deep, liquid cough Eye Patch had been wracked with before he died.

That frightened Lotta too. She worried that her captors would die in the middle of the forest, leaving her lost and alone. She knew how to light a fire. She could hit a rabbit with a stone, if it was an old, slow sort of rabbit. But she didn’t want to think about having to skin the poor creature and cut it up.

She couldn’t imagine that.

And then there was Magnus, left behind with that horrible family, though Lotta was often unsure which of them truly had it worse.

She felt no safer than Magnus was, and at least he had a chance of escaping, she thought, knowing that she had none. Clover waddled along behind them, tied to Long Beard’s horse, but if she escaped, where would they go?

Where were they at all?

‘Feels like snow. Best we get a fire going early, though I’m not sure what use you’ll be,’ Long Beard grumbled, not liking the look of his friend.

‘It’s just a tickle, I told you,’ Silver Tooth grouched, feeling the pain in his chest when he tried to inhale, which told him that perhaps it was more than just a tickle. ‘I need some ale.’

‘Well, I managed to get that stingy old bitch’s daughter to slip us a few skins, so we’re stocked for the night ahead.’

Silver Tooth’s eyes lit up at the thought of sitting against a tree, fire at his feet, skin in hand. He glanced at Long Beard, wanting him to head off the road, which he did, nattering away to Lotta as he tugged on the reins.

‘Wait till you meet my wife,’ Long Beard smiled. ‘She’s been keeping a chamber for you all these years. Untouched, it is. Just waiting for you.’

Lotta, who had almost been drifting off to sleep, lulled by the rocking motion of Long Beard’s horse, stilled in horror. He ran one hand over her hair, and Lotta jerked forward, away from him.

Long Beard didn’t appear to notice as he kept talking, almost whispering now, leading them off into the trees.

* * *

Agnette was eager to sit down, desperate to take the weight off her swollen feet, which were almost bursting through her old boots. ‘It’s almost warm in here,’ she grinned, leaving Alys’ tray on the small table in the corner. ‘Though, perhaps that’s just me?’ she laughed, stretching out her back. ‘Big as a horse and ready to burst!’

Alys could smell smoked fish, and it reminded her of her grandfather, and she felt a pull towards him that she tempered, not wanting to rush Agnette. She needed to get her onside first. ‘How long do you have to go?’ she asked, pointing to Agnette’s belly.

‘You can’t tell? Being a dreamer?’

Alys smiled, shaking her head. ‘Perhaps, if I looked hard enough, touched you maybe, held something of yours? But there are so many things happening in the fort, it might be impossible to find the answer.’

‘I imagine it would,’ Agnette yawned. ‘I think around a month to go. Eddeth thinks so, though I’m not convinced she knows what she’s talking about.’ She felt worried, not trusting Eddeth at all. ‘I... would be grateful if you did manage to find a moment or two to think about me.’ And leaning forward, Agnette stared into Alys’ eyes, her own blinking now. ‘I feel a little worried.’

Alys was surprised. Agnette seemed so tough, but she could see the fear in her eyes now. ‘I don’t blame you.’ She put the book on the ground, edging her stool closer to Agnette. ‘I’ll do what I can. Do you have something I could take to bed with me? Perhaps not tonight as I... must help Reinar.’

‘Ahhh, Reinar.’ Agnette let her worries recede, more intrigued than anything now. ‘He seems happy to have found you.’

Alys turned her eyes to the fire, promptly deciding that it needed more wood. She stood, heading for the woodpile, hiding her face from Agnette. ‘Well, I can’t say the same.’

Agnette was surprised. ‘No?’

Alys placed a log onto the fire, sparks flying. She wanted to change the subject quickly. She needed to. ‘My life suited me well as it was.’

Agnette snorted. ‘Not sure that’s true looking at the state of your face when you arrived. Though,’ she added, peering at Alys more closely, ‘seems you’ve gone and messed it up again.’

Alys grinned, which hurt. ‘I’m not sure why so many people want to punch me.’

‘Perhaps you should let Tulia show you how to stop them?’

‘I don’t think I could do that.’

‘Well, you might change your mind, and in the meantime, I can get Eddeth to make a salve for that. Likely she’s got something brewing, if she’s still here.’ Agnette frowned suddenly, struggling to push herself up. ‘I haven’t seen her in days.’

Alys was on her feet, hand out for Agnette to grab hold of.

‘I’d best be going. Reinar warned me not to linger. Said I should try not to talk too much when I left your tray.’ She snorted again, her yellow headscarf falling over her eyes as she headed to the door. ‘As if he knows me! I’ll send Bjarni with the salve if I find Eddeth. Not sure my feet can take much more walking today.’

‘Agnette!’

Agnette spun around, surprised by the urgency in Alys’ voice. ‘What is it?’

‘I... need your help. Please. I... have a... secret.’

Agnette, full of curiosity, hurried back to the fire, eyeing the stool with some trepidation, but she wriggled back down onto it anyway. ‘Tell me.’

24

‘We’ve got time,’ Tulia insisted, leaning on the table. She was tired. Though she hadn’t spent her day fighting, she was exhausted from trying to teach the women how to.

‘I agree.’ Reinar sat opposite her. ‘The scouts haven’t come across more than a few of Hakon’s scouts themselves. The Vettels aren’t marching yet.’

‘But they will be soon.’ Sigurd sat next to his brother, eyes on Tulia. He knew she didn’t want to be training the women. He knew she didn’t believe they would be of much use. What she wanted was to show him how hopeless it all was, so he would convince his brother to abandon Ottby.

The hall was oddly quiet; they could all feel it.

Gerda fussed around Stellan, eyes on the doors, wondering when Agnette would return. She scanned the long wooden tables, now missing some familiar faces. She doubted those men were spending the evening keeping their wives company in their cottages. They were drinkers, talkers; they would not be absent without good reason.

Reinar felt his confidence waver like a sapling in a strong breeze. He spun around, seeing his father, reminded of what he’d said; trying to hold on to the flicker of hope he’d felt after it. ‘You’re right, they’ll be marching soon. That boy won’t be able to keep his sword in its scabbard through winter. And lucky for us they’ll be marching through the snow by the look of things.’ He grabbed the ale jug, filling his cup, offering it to Tulia. ‘It’s a desperate man who makes war in the winter. That’s what Father always said.’

‘He did,’ Sigurd agreed. ‘And year after year, Jesper Vettel always did it.’

Reinar laughed. ‘He did! And look at what happened to him. I say that’s a better omen than any imaginary wolf. Look at what Stellan did to Jesper Vettel. Left him on the battlefield, lying beside his head, turning the snow red with his treacherous blood.’

Tulia shivered, hating the sound of fighting in the snow. She straightened up, staring at Sigurd, who was gnawing a fingernail with great intent. ‘You’re certain the snow won’t stop them?’

‘I am,’ Reinar said. ‘Hasn’t before.’

Sigurd nodded. ‘Hakon’s as mad as his father. Mad for the throne. For vengeance too. He’s set his course now. He’s coming for us. Nothing will stop him. Not even a blizzard.’

Reinar grinned. ‘I’d like a blizzard, though. Let it freeze half his army before he gets here!’ He felt a lift, realising that though his men were depleted, they had warmth and shelter aplenty, while Hakon’s men would be shaking in their little tents all night; those who he was generous enough to provide one for, and knowing Hakon’s reputation, it wouldn’t be many. ‘Perhaps we should sacrifice to Vesti? Ask her to bring the snow?’

Sigurd’s smile was as wide as his brother’s, and he knocked his cup into Reinar’s. ‘Yes! Let’s do that!’ And standing quickly, he staggered, still unsteady on his wounded leg.

‘What? Now?’ Tulia had only just started to feel her fingers again.

Reinar jumped to his feet, grabbing his cloak from the bench beside him, throwing it around his massive shoulders. ‘Now!’ And clapping his brother on the back, making him yelp and stagger some more, he headed for the kitchen, out to the storage sheds, wondering which animal’s blood Vesti would be thirstiest for.

‘Seems to me your brother is the wrong man to be sacrificing anything,’ Tulia hissed, not standing. ‘If your gods no longer favour him, why would they listen to his plea? Better you do it, or get someone else to.’

Sigurd peered down at her. He put as little faith in his gods as Tulia put in hers, but they needed luck. And Reinar didn’t have any. ‘I’ll ask Bjarni.’ He turned, catching Bjarni’s eye, inclining his head to the kitchen. ‘Don’t wait for me. It may take some time.’ And blue eyes twinkling, Sigurd scooped up his cloak, hobbling away after his brother.

Tulia watched him go with a frown, quickly looking away from Gerda’s enquiring stare, not wanting to be called on to help with her drooling husband.

* * *

Agnette hadn’t blinked in some time. Her eyes were as wide as her mouth, which had dropped open the moment Alys started speaking. ‘But how can I help you?’ she croaked when Alys had finished. ‘What can I possibly do?’

‘This book,’ Alys said, bringing the book up to her knee. ‘It belonged to Reinar’s old dreamer. The one who died here.’

‘Salma.’

Alys nodded. ‘It mentioned the waking nightmare. It talks about dream walking.’

‘Which is?’

‘How you enter someone’s dream. Communicate with them.’

‘But can’t you do that anyway?’ Agnette was suddenly freezing, and picking up the iron poker, she prodded the fire, stirring sparks. ‘If you’re a dreamer, can’t you come and go in people’s dreams as you like?’

‘I don’t know, but I certainly can’t. I want to, and sometimes I think I find myself in someone’s dream, but I can’t tell them what I want to say. I can’t get the answers I need.’

Agnette looked worried. ‘And you do need answers, Alys. You need to know where your children are.’

Alys nodded, trying not to cry. ‘I do.’

‘But why not tell Reinar?’

‘No!’ Alys rose off the stool, book in hand. ‘No!’

‘Why? He’s a good man. I know he took you. All of them did.’ Agnette waved a hand at the door, feeling embarrassed. ‘It was wrong, listening to Torvig like that. Reinar’s a lord, he should have followed his own best instincts which weren’t to become a slaver. That was no path to salvation. He shouldn’t have done it. None of them should. But he is a good man. I’ve known him my entire life. We are as close as if we were brother and sister, and I can promise you that.’

‘Agnette, please.’ Alys sat down, insistent. ‘I can feel all of that, I can. And I hear what you’re saying, but I must keep this to myself. We must. I don’t want my children to become weapons. I don’t want to put them in any more danger than they already are.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘If a dreamer is watching Reinar, I don’t want her finding out about my children. I need to find them, to see that they’re taken care of. Please.’

Agnette nodded, not wanting to upset her further, and besides, they were Alys’ children. It wasn’t her place to tell her how best to protect them. ‘Well, I’m not sure how much use I can be.’ She rubbed her belly, feeling ready to pop. ‘Though I would like to try.’

Alys felt guilty for needing her, but she didn’t have anyone else to turn to. ‘I need some herbs. Some blood too.’

‘Blood? Oh.’ Agnette held out a hand, looking for some help. ‘Well, we should get going, then, if you want to do this tonight. I expect you have to if you’re to catch your grandfather dreaming?’

Alys nodded. ‘I do. If there’s time.’ She pulled Agnette to her feet.

‘Well, we’d better hope that Eddeth is still here.’ Agnette looked worried as she gathered her cloak around her belly and headed to the door, cursing her swollen feet.

‘Eddeth?’

‘The healer. She’s slightly mad, well, entirely mad, but she knows herbs better than anyone. We can ask her to help us. If we can find her!’

* * *

They passed Torvig, who was skulking in the shadows outside the kitchen with one of the servants.

‘What are you doing?’ Sigurd asked, then seeing Matti, he frowned. ‘Are you alright, Matti?’ The girl nodded shyly, but Sigurd peered at her, wanting to be sure she was not under any duress. She was an agreeable sort of woman, but so shy. He doubted she’d have the courage to go against someone like Torvig.

Reinar smiled. ‘Well, I don’t expect you’ll be wanting to help us, then?’

‘Help you do what?’ Torvig kept a firm hold on the young woman, pulling her even further into the shadows, his hand tight around her arm.

‘We’re going to sacrifice to Vesti. Get her to bring on the snow!’ Reinar was merry, slightly drunk, and happy because of it. It felt pleasurable to experience something other than confusion or worry. He felt like a boy again, sneaking around, doing something he knew his father wouldn’t approve of.

Torvig snorted. ‘I wish you luck.’ And he turned away from them, not inviting further conversation.

‘Well, someone has other things on his mind,’ Bjarni muttered, tripping over a rock, knocking into Sigurd, who almost lost his balance.

‘No surprise there,’ Sigurd muttered back. Torvig could always be found pawing some poor woman, most of whom looked uncomfortable with his attention. He was not ugly, nor old and toothless. He was a strong-looking man, in his prime, a face with few scars, eyes that some would consider attractive. He was always well-groomed and smartly dressed, but there was just something not quite right about him.

Always had been.

If only Reinar could see it.

Sigurd turned around, wanting to go and drag poor Matti away, but he heard her giggle, and reassured, he headed after his brother, who had already disappeared into the night.

* * *

Though the sky was dark, it was early in the evening, and Eddeth was wide awake as she swung open the door, ushering the two women inside.

‘The dreamer!’ she announced, pointing to the fire which crackled loudly. ‘Oh, how I have wanted to meet you!’

Eddeth Nagel was a sprightly woman, never able to sit still for long. Her hair, now mostly grey, stood up oddly on one side, hacked short on the other. Her face was ruddy, rumpled with deep wrinkles. She had big teeth, and a wart under her right eye, which she picked at constantly. Her nose was wide, and so was her smile as she grabbed Alys’ hand, dragging her to the fire, indicating to the tree stumps arrayed around it.

Alys blinked.

‘I have seats aplenty! Do sit down, sit down!’ And ignoring Agnette, who was panting by the door, she fussed around Alys, ensuring that she was comfortable, before retreating to her long wooden table which heaved with bowls, all of them full.

The cottage was busy, slightly wild in appearance, much like Eddeth herself. Sprigs of herbs tied onto lengths of string hung from the beams in pendulous loops. Alys could smell them, though there were so many that nothing stood out. The aroma was overwhelmingly pleasant, though. Almost relaxing. Quite unlike Eddeth, who moved constantly, jerking around. ‘I shall make a tea! Lavender, licorice, and... dandelion! What say you?’ She turned around, finally noticing Agnette. ‘Why are you standing there, Agnette Sansgard? Sit down before your baby drops out of you! I’ve only just swept my floor!’

Agnette, used to Eddeth’s odd ways, staggered down onto one of the tree stumps, feeling an urgent hunger, thinking about sausages. She tried to hurry Eddeth along. ‘Alys is after some help with her dreams. She needs some herbs.’

‘Oh?’ Eddeth was gathering cups together on the table, her back to them. She spun around suddenly, one eye opening wider than the other. ‘Which herbs are these, then? Perhaps some coltsfoot? A little dragon’s blood?’ Eddeth’s filthy fingers worked as she spoke, as though she was rustling vellum between them. ‘I have all of those, and many more besides, as you can see, Alys the dreamer!’ And she swept her arms around, exposing her armpits, making Alys blink at the ripe smell. ‘I’m more than happy to help!’ Grabbing the long cloth tucked into her belt, and holding it with one hand, Eddeth lifted the cauldron off its hook, pouring boiling water into three cups. ‘I think there’s some dreamer in me, I tell you. How else did I know to have this waiting?’ And replacing the cauldron, she dropped the cloth and reached for two of the cups, handing them to Alys and Agnette. ‘Though do not drink! Not yet! For we must steep the herbs for their true brilliance to shine!’

Taking her own cup with a sneeze, Eddeth flopped down onto one of the tree stumps. ‘What are you hoping to find in your dreams, then?’ Her eyes didn’t leave Alys’ pale face. ‘A way to save us from the wolf?’ She cackled, lips curled back, big yellow teeth exposed. ‘You think that’s possible with the curse?’

‘Curse?’ Alys glanced at Agnette, who tried not to roll her eyes. ‘What curse?’

‘Oh, Eddeth thinks Reinar has been cursed. She’s been saying that for some time, haven’t you?’

Eddeth ignored her, hearing the scorn in Agnette’s voice, though she was not as mocking as some. ‘Cursed is right! Though no one understands the power of magic as I do. The power of symbols and words and herbs. The power of dreamers!’ And she lurched forward, almost touching Alys’ knees with her own. Her voice boomed loudly, and Alys froze, unsure how to respond. And then Eddeth was smiling again, chuckling to herself, sitting back. ‘But I am no dreamer, just the granddaughter of one, so what would I know!’

‘Your grandmother was a dreamer?’ Agnette hadn’t known that.

Eddeth ignored her. ‘I have her books, you know. She taught me all manner of secrets. About plants. The spirits. The gods!’

Alys was intrigued, disturbed by Eddeth’s odour, enjoying the warmth of the cup thawing her frozen fingers, and impatient to get on. ‘I look forward to hearing all about it,’ she smiled. ‘Perhaps I could come and visit you tomorrow? I would like to talk to you some more. I too had a grandmother who was a dreamer. I had to hide my gifts, though, so I need some help.’

Eddeth trembled all over, fighting the urge to clap her hands, not wanting to spill hot tea all over her lap. ‘Well, help you shall have! My help!’ And delighted, Eddeth jumped off the tree stump, holding her cup aloft, taking it to the table. ‘But tell me, which herbs do you need tonight, for I sense an urgency.’ She turned around, sniffing the air. ‘I sense that we must hurry. All of us!’ And her bulging eyes dropped to Agnette’s belly. ‘There’s not much time left...’

Agnette struggled upright, disturbed by the look in Eddeth’s eyes. ‘Isn’t there?’

But Eddeth had already turned her back on them, scurrying around the cottage, searching for a basket to fill.

* * *

Their father had sacrificed often. To Thenor and Eskvir. To Sigunn and Valera too.

But never to Vesti, Goddess of the Seasons.

Not that Reinar was aware of, at least. Perhaps he had?

Perhaps Stellan had sought help to snow in his enemies, as it did always seem to snow when the Vettels came.

Just the thought of it made Reinar smile, though he considered the pitiful goat bleating before them, wondering at the wisdom of killing a useful creature for a pointless wish.

The gods had abandoned him. They would not listen to his pleas.

He turned to Bjarni, who was yawning behind him with Sigurd.

They were, all three of them, standing around the sacrificial stone, that big slab of rock still bloodstained despite the torrential rain they’d experienced over the summer. The rain had washed away their crops, flooded their fields, but it had not washed away the centuries of blood that had seeped into its rough surface.

‘You do it, Bjarni,’ Reinar said, handing him the panicking goat. ‘I...’ He shook his head, feeling his shoulders slump. ‘Vesti will listen to you.’

Sigurd felt relieved that he hadn’t needed to intervene.

Bjarni looked less happy as he grabbed hold of the wriggling goat. ‘Well, I’m no lord.’

‘No, but you’re a good man, favoured by the gods all your life. Look at how happy you’ve been with Agnette. And now you’ll have a child.’ Reinar stepped back to stand with Sigurd, trying not to think about the traumatic death of his own sons. He felt more sober now, memories rushing back to him, and spinning around, he tried to hear anything out of the ordinary; any snapping trees or growling wolves. But the night was silent, apart from the doomed goat and the faint breath of wind ruffling his cloak.

Bjarni was a steady man with a steady hand, and seeing an image of his very pregnant wife in his mind, he shut away the pleading sounds of the goat. If the gods could help him, all of them, survive what was coming, then he stood a good chance of seeing his child. Not just seeing him born, but watching him grow, and live and be a boy in Ottby as he had been. Running free, protected, making friends, as he had.

It was dark, but Bjarni knew his way around animals, and lifting his blade with his free hand, he brought it up to the wriggling goat’s throat, cutting it open.

The bleating stopped abruptly, the goat’s body twitching for a moment before becoming limp in his hands as he laid it down on the stone, positioning it over the trough, where the blood would flow, draining down into the bowl he had left on the ground.

Bjarni called upon Vesti to shroud them in her frozen embrace, to trap their enemies far beyond the mountains, in rivers of ice and snow, making them impassable barriers. Forcing them back behind their walls.

And, finally, picking up the bowl, filled now with warm blood, Bjarni dipped a finger into the liquid, turning, painting Reinar’s face as Stellan had painted theirs. He remembered the very first time he had done it, when they were boys, thinking they were men. Two lines down from his hairline; three more lines on either side of his face; a dot beneath their lips. And dipping his finger into the blood again, Bjarni did the same to Sigurd, whispering as he did so.

Turning back to Valera’s Tree, Bjarni drew the blood symbol on his own face, feeling it run down his round cheeks, into his beard. He thought of Agnette as he drew, praying that somehow he could keep her and the baby safe.

Agnette watched him from a distance, hand on Alys’ arm, holding her back. The stars were bright, strung across the night sky like tiny lamps, lighting their way. She held her breath, watching as Bjarni lifted his arms in the air, imploring Vesti to help them.

The tree seemed to speak back to him as the wind picked up, rustling the frozen leaves with renewed vigour. And releasing Alys’ arm, Agnette leaned towards her. ‘They’re sacrificing.’

Alys nodded. She could smell the blood.

‘Hoping for Reinar’s luck to turn, I imagine. But whether that’s possible anymore, I don’t know.’

‘Eddeth thought he was cursed.’

‘Eddeth’s mad, as I told you. You saw her!’

‘But perhaps she’s also right? Perhaps it’s not only bad luck but something worse?’

Agnette didn’t want to open the door to that idea. She gripped her belly, rubbing it nervously. ‘We should get to your cottage, Alys, before I fall asleep.’ And retreating into the shadows, Agnette urged her on.

25

His wife stood on the shore, waving goodbye.

She had the most beautiful hair, still golden after all these years. She liked to wear it loose, unlike married women her age. Loose and long it glittered in the sun, and Jonas smiled, wanting to keep that memory with him as he gripped the side of the ship, eyes fixed on the shore.

Golden waves of hair swept behind his wife, and then like clouds rushing across the sky, she was gone, and so was the sun.

Jonas shivered, but he kept staring, wanting to see her again. The sky darkened, though, snow falling, thick and heavy. So much snow that he had to wipe his eyes to see. Now there was no sunshine at all. No warmth. No wife.

His teeth chattered, his bones rattling.

The beat of his heart faded. The sound of the sea crashing against the hull of the ship grew louder.

Jonas didn’t move, wanting to hold on to the image. Not wanting it to slip from his memory again.

‘Eida,’ he sighed.

If he could just hold on...

* * *

Alys read the words of the spell again, worried that she wouldn’t remember them when she closed her eyes. The cottage had quickly filled with smoke; clouds of it lifting from the fire. She was struggling to breathe, struggling to think too.

Agnette had commandeered a drum, and she beat it with vigour. Her mother had taught her the lyre as a child, the drum too. She enjoyed getting her hands on a drum again and had quickly settled into a steady rhythm as she sat on the bed, trying to get comfortable, the drum beside her, eyes on Alys, who kneeled on the ground by the fire. She wanted to offer her help, but though she tried to open her mouth to speak, no words would come out. She saw images of Bjarni flash before her eyes, blood dripping down his face, and she swallowed, trying to keep the rhythm of her drumming steady.

Alys didn’t feel confident, but she knew that Magnus and Lotta needed her to cast aside every one of her fears now. And so, trying to do just that, she inhaled the smoke, running her eyes over everything before her one last time. She had the book to her right, held open with a stone. More stones made a circle around her, and those stones were linked with the blood of a chicken, mixed with drops of her own. She had dipped her grandfather’s arm ring into the mixture, and that sat before her. The spell called for his hair or a piece of his clothing, but all she had was the arm ring.

She hoped it would work.

And, finally, deciding that she couldn’t delay any longer, Alys took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

* * *

There were ways to see farther than anything that lay before you.

Farther than memories or dreams.

Ways to see what was happening now.

Mother knew that. And sitting at her table, she held a small mirror in her left hand, drawing on it in blood. A symbol. One she had learned as a girl, at her mother’s knee. Her mother had been a dreamer, shunned by her own kind for embracing magic; persecuted for her love of those outcast gods who followed a dark path.

Her mother had taught her how to see. And though Mother had relied upon her dreams to tell her everything she needed to know, she realised that now she had an urgent need to seek out more.

Reinar Vilander had a dreamer, and that dreamer had stopped her wolf nightmare. And though, in the end, there had been little consequence for the interference, it would do no good to have this dreamer meddling in her future plans.

So, closing her eyes, Mother drew the symbol by memory alone, feeling the power of Alari, Goddess of Magic, shooting through her body like lightning, surging down into the mirror.

And eyes springing open, Mother smiled.

* * *

The ship took Jonas away from everything he loved. His home. His wife. His daughter. His granddaughter too.

He wanted to turn it around, but there was no one at the tiller.

No one at the oars or working the sail. No one at all.

‘Grandfather!’ Alys stared at him, emotions bubbling in her chest, wanting to rush to him, to fall into those familiar strong arms. He turned to her slowly, blinking in surprise. ‘Grandfather!’

Jonas started walking towards her, stumbling, heart in his mouth.

‘The children!’ Alys felt odd, not sure if she was really in his dream. She could hear the drumbeat. She could hear the waves, the wind. And then she could hear her grandfather.

‘Why have you come? Alys!’ Jonas reached her, grabbing her hands.

Alys felt his touch, and it reassured her. ‘The children are not safe! Magnus has been sold as a slave. Lotta is being taken to Slussfall.’

‘Slussfall? But why? What happened? Where are you?’

Alys swallowed. ‘I don’t know where Magnus is. I sent them from Ullaberg when I was... taken. Raiders, they came to the village, took some of the women. Most of the women. They killed Arnon.’ Her voice lifted. ‘And I’m safe.’ She saw the doubt in her grandfather’s eyes. He looked older but still strong, she was pleased to see. ‘I am. I promise. I will find my way to you when I can, but you must get to the children. You must save them!’

Jonas’ mouth hung open. He felt oddly indecisive; confused.

‘They were on their way to the cottage. Perhaps they got halfway there before the men found them? There’s more than one of them, I think... I heard voices. It was as though Lotta was showing me. As though she was trying to.’

Jonas blinked, waking up now. ‘You think she’s like you?’

Alys hesitated. She had begun to see signs that perhaps Lotta did see things others didn’t. ‘I’m not sure, but I hope so. It may help.’

Dreamers terrified Jonas. He had lost two of them, and now Alys was in danger. ‘You must stay safe until we can find you. I will get the children, don’t worry. I know Slussfall. I can find Lotta, and she will lead me to Magnus. But you?’

Alys gasped, falling towards her grandfather, who had vanished like smoke, and she was tumbling through the air, breath stuck in her throat, falling to the earth with a thud.

* * *

‘You taste like blood,’ Tulia whispered, bending forward to kiss Sigurd again.

‘Mmmm, goat blood,’ Sigurd murmured.

‘Yuck!’ Tulia pulled away, glaring down at him.

Sigurd laughed. ‘You don’t like goats?’

‘You’re the one who killed the goat! I don’t want to drink its blood.’

Sigurd pulled her towards him, grimacing. He was lying on his back, feeling the stitches moving about beneath him. He would have to take things slowly so as not to tear them out. Quickly distracted, his mind drifted to Alys, remembering the feel of her cold hands, the look of terror in her eyes as she’d torn strips off her dress, helping to keep him alive.

And she had. And now here he was, back with Tulia.

Who he loved, didn’t he?

‘What?’ Tulia sensed that Sigurd had gone.

‘Sorry.’ He smiled at her as she leaned over him again, her hair silky against his chest. She had taken out her braid, and her black hair hung down to her waist, covering her breasts. He brushed it away, wanting to look at her. ‘There’s a lot to think about. I... my mind is full.’

‘Or it could be the ale,’ she grinned, licking a finger, wiping it over his mouth. ‘You and your brother nearly fell out of the hall.’

Sigurd bit her finger, keeping it in his mouth, sucking it slowly, before rubbing it around his lips. ‘Now I am clean.’

‘It would appear so, but are you here?’ Tulia wondered. ‘With me?’

‘I am. Of course I am.’

Sigurd’s eyes never left hers, and dropping her face to his, Tulia kissed him slowly, knowing he was lying.

* * *

Alys walked Agnette back to the hall.

They had barely spoken to each other, and now, as they stumbled across the near-frozen ground, heads swimming with smoke, they remained quiet, keeping to their own thoughts. But when they reached the giant doors of the hall, Alys squeezed Agnette’s arm. ‘Thank you. I hope what I saw was real. That it worked.’

‘So do I.’ Agnette’s voice sounded so far away and odd. ‘And don’t worry,’ she added, whispering, ‘I won’t tell anyone.’

‘Tell anyone what?’ Reinar wondered, stopping behind them, Bjarni beside him. He looked from one woman to the other, inhaling the fragrant smoke, noticing how unsteady they were on their feet. ‘What have you been doing?’

Bjarni lunged forward, grabbing his wobbling wife. ‘Agnette?’

‘I’m fine, just a long day,’ she grinned, still light-headed, seeing more than one head on her bulking husband. He looked twice his usual size; like a small bear. He sounded like one too, which made her giggle. ‘But I’ll be asleep when I next blink, so you’d better hurry me to bed, Bjarni Sansgard!’

Reinar pulled open one of the doors, and Bjarni hurried his yawning wife inside.

The door closed after them, leaving Reinar and Alys.

‘What were you doing?’ Reinar asked again.

‘Looking for answers,’ Alys murmured, shivering, ready for her own bed. She felt as though she was at sea, rocking from side to side, remembering her beloved grandfather standing before her, arms outstretched. It was painful to know that he was so far away. That she was so far away from him.

‘Alys?’ Reinar touched her arm, worried. ‘You seem strange.’

Alys swayed towards him, banging into his chest. ‘Sorry! No. I’m just tired. Sleepy.’ And quickly flustered, she pushed herself away from Reinar, hands on his fur cloak. It felt so soft. Distracted now, she stared up at him, just at the moment he was dropping his head towards hers, and they collided, her head crashing into his chin. ‘Sorry!’

Reinar laughed. ‘Are you alright?’ The cold air had sobered him quickly, and he felt momentarily awkward. ‘How are the bruises?’ He frowned, peering at her. ‘Doubt you’ll be able to open that eye come tomorrow.’ And gently touching around Alys’ eye, he felt how puffy it was. ‘Eddeth makes salves. I’ll take you to her in the morning, before our ride.’

Alys wanted to move away, but she didn’t. Reinar’s fingers were cold, but she liked the feel of them on her aching face.

There was so much she needed to do. She had to focus.

She had more problems than she’d realised.

But her boots remained in place, her body rocking as Reinar ran his fingers over her cheek, smoothing away her hair. She felt self-conscious then, knowing that she hadn’t combed it in days. Arnon had always complained about the state of her hair. It didn’t shine, he’d sneered, not like Ilene’s. And thinking about Ilene, Alys’ eye started to throb, and she grimaced.

‘I’ll take you back to your cottage,’ Reinar offered.

The pain in her eye had woken Alys up, and she backed away. ‘No, I... I know the way now, thank you.’ And straightening up, feeling purpose and determination move her in the right direction, Alys spun, with some difficulty, and hurried away from Reinar Vilander.

Who stared after her, holding his breath.

* * *

Mother laid the mirror back on the table, intrigued, ready for bed, drained of all energy.

The dreamer was beautiful. And young. Alluring in a rather predictable way.

Searching for answers to something.

Sad. Desperate.

And very much admired by the Lord of Ottby.

Smiling, she pushed herself away from the table, stumbling towards the bed, not even stopping to take off her boots as she collapsed onto the furs, eager to welcome her dreams.

* * *

Jonas woke in a panic.

Something was in his mouth, and moving quickly, he bent over, coughing, spitting out a bug. Gagging, he crawled to his saddlebags, trying to find something to drink.

He was wet and cold, every part of him aching from his bed of grass which barely covered the stones and pebbles that had dug into him all night. And finding a skin, he drank deeply, happy he’d filled it with ale rather than water. Though after a few sips the ale was gone, and he knew he’d have to head off to the stream just behind the remains of his beloved cottage and fill it up.

But not yet.

Rubbing his watering eyes, Jonas slumped back against a sloping tree trunk, trying to catch his breath. He coughed a few times more, wondering how many bugs he’d swallowed in the night, convinced that one of them was still lodged in his throat.

Closing his eyes, he tried to remember his dream.

The mornings were a time of loneliness. Of needing to rise above the despair.

It was hard to wake up to the reality that he was alone. Without his wife.

His daughter.

And then, sitting bolt upright, Jonas’ heart started pounding.

Alys.

* * *

The cat pawed her chest, his weight a heavy lump on top of her. Alys opened her eyes, or tried to. One of them refused to open at all, and she was filled with the desire to throw Ilene to the ground and wrap her hands around her throat.

Almost.

She blinked, feeling the pain in her eye, trying to ignore it, and pushing the purring cat away, she sat up, eager to get moving. There was a fire to set and books to read. If the dream walking had worked, if she had truly been able to reach her grandfather, then what else could she discover? What else was possible?

There had to be a way to help Reinar.

Reinar.

Reinar was coming!

And panicking, Alys hurried to the tinderbox, numb fingers shaking, breath streaming coldly before her.

Reinar was coming to take her for a ride.

She had slept in her clothes, and looking down at his wife’s elegant dress, she saw how crumpled it was. How dirty. Which was the last thing to concern herself with, she knew. But still, she wanted to try and tidy herself up before he arrived.

She would have to hurry.

* * *

Torvig shook the snow from his hair, grinning as he sat down beside Reinar, who was not enjoying his bowl of porridge, despite the cloudberries his mother had sprinkled into it. Gerda’s good mood quickly disappeared as she left to feed his father. Agnette was not out of bed yet, and Bjarni had insisted that Gerda look after Stellan herself while she rested.

Reinar pushed away his bowl of porridge, helping himself to the last berry. ‘Snowing? How seriously?’

‘Seriously enough that I’m not sure I’ve got any balls left!’ Torvig laughed, feeling good. He’d slept soundly for the first time in weeks, and he winked at Matti as she passed, clearing Reinar’s bowl away.

Reinar looked optimistic. ‘Well, that’s good news. Though if there’s any hope of getting in a ride before training, I’d better get moving.’ And pushing himself away from the table, he nodded at Tulia and Sigurd, who emerged from the corridor, both of them still half asleep.

Tulia rushed to the fire, shivering. ‘Has someone left the doors open?’ She glanced at the hall doors, but both were closed. ‘We may as well be outside!’

‘Ahhh, well, soon you will be,’ Torvig sniggered. ‘You and your tribe of useless women!’

‘Why don’t you do something to help her?’ Reinar said, nudging his friend as he passed, grabbing the cloak Martyn handed him. He smiled at the stooping old steward, pinning it across his chest. ‘What else are you going to do today?’

‘I’ve got ditches to dig, my friend,’ Torvig reminded him, grabbing his own bowl of porridge, adding a splash of buttermilk. ‘Ditches and stakes. You know that.’

‘Well, true, and I suppose you’re better out of it anyway. Can’t imagine those women want you breathing all over them, hands everywhere.’

Tulia eyed Torvig, watching him stiffen.

‘Ha, they could do worse.’

‘Not sure that’s true,’ Sigurd muttered, resting a hand on his father’s shoulder, kissing the top of his head.

Stellan didn’t move, he didn’t look up, but he opened his mouth as Gerda stuck the spoon near it, trying not to spill any more porridge into his beard. It was years since she’d fed her own children, and barely then. Agnette had a much steadier hand and was far more patient.

Reinar reached the door, pulling it open, quickly tasting snow in the air. He smiled, glancing back at his brother. ‘It might have worked, you know!’

‘I hope it did,’ Sigurd laughed, taking his seat, though he doubted Hakon Vettel would be put off by a bit of snow.

An idiot boy like that?

Sigurd shook his head, taking the bowl of berries from a sour-looking Torvig, determined to shut the Vettels out of his mind, wanting to enjoy the day.

* * *

Hakon sat on his heavily-armoured horse, cursing the weather.

Snow fell like rain before him, thick flakes clumping together on the hard ground. It looked as though it might settle, and that thought disturbed him.

Mother would be riding in a covered wagon with Falla, just behind him, on hand to convey any urgent vision that might come to her. The door was shut, and he couldn’t see inside it to scowl at her. And though she did not control the weather gods, he wondered why she had not sought their favour with a sacrifice before they began their journey.

Perhaps she had?

And if so, why hadn’t they listened?

It was a bad omen. Surely it was a bad omen?

‘What are you waiting for, Cousin?’ Ivan grinned beside him. He liked the snow, and though their men did not look enamoured by its sudden arrival, he didn’t feel worried. They had chosen to launch their attack as winter approached, so it was hardly a surprise to see snow. ‘It will blow away as we move. Remember, the further south we go, the warmer the air. It’s always the way. We’ll be leaving the snow behind us!’

Hakon saw the enthusiasm in his cousin’s bloodshot eyes, and it lifted his spirits somewhat. Then, seeing his wife standing on the hall steps swathed in her white fur cloak, his spirits sank again. He would miss her, though she was better staying at Slussfall, taking care of his heir; preparing her garments, her jewels, her staff. For once he reached Stornas and stuck Ake Bluefinn’s head on a pike, he would send Ivan back for her. And Karolina would need to be ready for her new role.

He had kissed her goodbye, worried by how quiet she was.

She looked upset, he thought, staring at her, slightly irritated that she did not try to set a better example.

Rows of women lined the hall steps with anxious eyes, some filled with pride and anticipation, but most were blinking with fear and worry that they were sending their sons and husbands away to their deaths.

Many would be, Hakon knew, though their sacrifice would not be in vain. The blood they spilled would help return the Vettels to the Alekkan throne, and from that blood would grow a mighty empire once more.

‘We will return!’ he bellowed, gloved fist in the air. ‘We will return for you all once we conquer Stornas!’ And nudging his horse forward with leather-clad knees, Hakon smiled at Karolina as he headed for the gates.

Karolina felt as though her legs would give way, watching her husband lead his immense army out of the fort. She had dreamed of this moment for weeks. Heard nothing but talk about it for months. And now, finally, here it was.

She felt elated, relieved to be left alone.

Hoping her husband would never return to Slussfall.

* * *

Jonas was scrambling, wishing he had a quill, ink, something to scratch his memories down onto. They didn’t stick as they once had, and he knew he wouldn’t remember everything as it rushed around his head.

He had nothing more than a knife, though, so he quickly cleared a surface of dirt, wiping away the crispy cover of frost, his gloved-hand numb, his breath smoking. And scratching with the tip of the blade, he wrote in the frozen earth:

Lotta - Slussfall

Magnus sold as slave but where?

Taken halfway between Ullaberg and Torborg

Alys gone

He tried to think. Was there anything else? Anything that had slipped away?

His stomach rumbled loudly, but Jonas ignored it, not caring for food. He tried to stop thinking about Alys too. She’d said that she was safe, and he had to believe her for now. She could take care of herself, he knew.

But those children?

Jonas scratched his beard, listening to the crackle of frost crumbling. Where were Magnus and Lotta?

There would be plenty of time to think when he was on the road. It was some way to Slussfall, and by the grim look of the sky, he was going to be slowed down by snow before long.

He would need to make a start, and quickly.

26

Reinar brought Alys one of Eddeth’s salves, which smelled of lavender and arnica. Alys closed her eye as he dabbed it around the bruise, smoothing it gently over her eyelid as she flinched, trying not to move.

She had read more in Salma’s books, though much of what she’d learned did not apply to anything Alys was concerned with. Some spells talked of how to encourage a good harvest. Others to bring fortune and wealth. Some dealt with love. Many offered advice for childbirth and fertility.

None of those were particularly helpful now.

Reinar stepped away, placing the jar of salve on a stool. ‘We should ride before the snow gets heavier. The horses need a run.’

Alys had brushed her hair and smoothed down her dress, but now, with the sticky salve all over her eye, she felt self-conscious, unsure where to look.

Reinar tried not to laugh. ‘If you think you can see?’

‘I can. I think.’ And striding almost confidently towards the door, Alys grabbed the handle, pulling it open, feeling Winter slip past her legs. ‘I need to find him some food,’ she said, turning back to Reinar, blinking. It was not unfamiliar to have just the one working eye, and she was gradually getting used to it. ‘I imagine there are kitchen scraps I could have?’

Reinar nodded, following her to the door. ‘I’m sure there are, but he’s probably happy to take care of himself, though Salma always had a bowl of milk waiting for him.’

‘Did she?’ Alys felt wistful for the dead dreamer, wishing she was there, sitting on the bed, ready and able to share her knowledge. The books, though useful in theory, were not the same as talking to a dreamer. And though the dream walking appeared to have worked – or, at least, for Alys it had – she wasn’t sure how to interpret everything she’d read. And she needed to. Desperately. She had to help her grandfather get to the children. And she had to help Reinar defend the fort.

Danger was coming.

Despite all that was swirling around her head, demanding her attention, the one thought that stuck out like a full moon in a night sky was that danger was coming for them all.

* * *

Magnus jerked away from the broom attempting to break his ribs.

‘You’ll not earn yourself any supper if you lay about all day!’ the farmer’s wife grumbled, red nose dripping. She didn’t appear to notice, though, as she kept prodding.

Magnus was quickly on his feet, panting, dreams of his mother and Ullaberg gone in a heartbeat.

‘Must be your bed’s too comfortable if you think you can sleep all day! I’ll have to find somewhere else to keep you.’ She sniffed, threatening Magnus with the end of her broom again. ‘Get yourself over there and milk those goats. Can’t you hear the bleating? They’d wake Vasa herself with all that noise!’

Magnus slipped in the sodden straw, trying to avoid another poke, heading for the two old goats banging around their tiny stall. They looked ratty, half-starved, and Magnus wondered how they had any milk in them. But, if he could get rid of the farmer’s wife, perhaps he could take a sip of the milk himself? The morning was ice-tipped, and he shook as he opened the stall door, stomach growling impatiently, trying to ignore the smell. It had been a day since he’d last eaten, and according to the grumbling woman, he would have to wait until supper to eat again.

Magnus thought of his sister, who would surely be having a worse time with those horrible men, and he straightened his aching shoulders, deciding that he just needed to keep going; close his mouth, put his head down, and survive.

Somehow, he would find a way to escape.

A way out of here to find Lotta.

‘What are you standing there for?’ the farmer’s wife snapped. ‘Move!’

* * *

Lotta was starving, and she gratefully took the pieces of piping-hot trout Long Beard handed her. They had camped by a stream, which, as the sun rose and the day began, remained mist-touched. The two men had fished with spears, each of them keeping an eye on her as she stood on the bank, petting her white pony.

But Lotta wasn’t going anywhere.

She knew that Magnus would find her, or her mother.

Perhaps even her great-grandfather.

If she stayed with the men, and let them take her to Slussfall, they would know how to find her.

And Long Beard, though he disturbed her with his habit of keeping her close and touching her hair, wanted to care for her. She didn’t feel safe, but she felt certain that he would do everything in his power to get her to his wife. Silver Tooth was no threat. He had become sicker, his face turning as sallow as Eye Patch’s had before he died.

That was now Lotta’s biggest fear: that both men would die before they got her to Slussfall. For Slussfall was where she needed to be if she wanted to be found.

‘Willow bark,’ Lotta suggested nervously, swallowing her last mouthful of trout. She shook her head as Long Beard offered her his waterskin, not wanting to share anything he’d been drinking from. Both men had a habit of spitting and snotting all over everything, especially as the sickness took hold, and she didn’t want to touch anything they’d been using. It was a memory she held on to from her mother, when a terrible sickness had ravaged Ullaberg. Scores of men and women, and some of her friends had died. Her mother had scolded them whenever they went near the sick; whenever they touched, ate, or drank anything the sick had been near. Lotta was determined to learn that lesson, and she edged away from Silver Tooth, who was spluttering nearby. ‘Willow bark helps fever. That’s a willow tree.’ And she pointed to the drooping tree Clover was tied to.

Long Beard blinked in surprise. ‘A healer are you, little miss?’ He grinned at Silver Tooth, who felt too ill to look interested at all. ‘Well, how about that.’ And turning, he stripped off some of the bark. ‘What do we do with it, then? Chew it?’

Lotta nodded. ‘It may help. Elderberries are good too.’

‘Was your mother a healer, then?’ Long Beard wondered, walking over to Silver Tooth, who took the piece of willow bark with some hesitation.

Lotta didn’t want to think about her mother because she didn’t want to cry. ‘No, an old lady in our village.’ She thought of hunch-backed Ria, who would come to their cottage often with little pots of salve for her mother, to help heal all her bruises.

Lotta frowned, hoping her mother was safe; that no one was hurting her, wherever she was.

* * *

It felt good to escape the fort for a while, but Alys could not escape the noise in her head. It followed her as she rode beside Reinar on his wife’s horse, wearing his wife’s cloak and dress. And suddenly her drifting mind was right back in the forest they rode through, snow flurries sweeping all around them, the sun struggling to break through the thick canopy of clouds.

‘Tell me what you dreamed of last night,’ Reinar said, slowing down his horse. He felt impatient to know everything, though his experience with dreamers had taught him that it was rarely as simple as that.

Alys froze, gripping the reins tightly, realising that she hadn’t even attempted to dream of anything for him, though she had seen a glimpse of something as she dressed. ‘I saw an army, leaving in the snow. They were heading through gates in a fortress. It was made of stone. Set in the mountains, I think. There were a lot of men. Rows and rows of them.’

Reinar pulled his horse to a complete halt. ‘What?’ He turned in the saddle, glaring at her, mouth open. ‘What? Alys! Why didn’t you tell me? I needed to know this. I need to be back at the fort, organising everyone.’ He was cross, but not really at her. ‘I thought we had more time.’

Alys was quickly flustered. ‘I... I... I’m sorry. I forgot.’

Reinar was still annoyed as he spun his horse around, heading back to the fort, barely waiting for her to catch up. Alys enjoyed riding, and she was skilled at it, so it didn’t take long for her to be matching his horse’s stride again, though she kept the mare slightly back, not wanting to talk to Reinar.

He didn’t notice. His mind was whirring, wondering what they could achieve in the time they had left. He’d been talking over ideas with Sigurd, and he hoped there was still time to put them in place.

Spinning around, he peered at Alys. ‘Was it today? Did they leave today?’

The fort’s gates were in view now, and Reinar’s eyes were quickly back on the two walls, checking how many men were manning those ramparts, wishing there were more.

Alys nodded. ‘I think so.’

‘Think?’ Reinar frowned, peering at her. ‘Why don’t you know?’

Now Alys couldn’t think at all. His raised voice had unsettled her; his narrowed eyes, the twist of his lips. Her heart beat faster, and she panicked, memories of Arnon raising his hand in anger surging back.

She shrugged, unable to speak.

Reinar turned back around, spurring his horse on.

Alys followed after him, heart pounding. She didn’t notice the hole in the path, and nor did her horse, who stuck a hoof into it, tipping forward, throwing Alys out of the saddle as she stumbled down to the ground.

Alys yelped, flying through the air, the look of fear in Reinar’s eyes as he spun around, the last thing she saw before she hit the tree.

* * *

Tulia was pleased to see Sigurd hobbling around the training ring. She needed all the help she could get. A few of the women had progressed – those with strong arms, broad shoulders, and a certain determination about themselves – others couldn’t shoot an arrow further than their own boots. But there were eleven potential archers that Sigurd was now helping her to train. And eleven potential archers could do plenty of damage from the walls.

And then there was the mad beast Ilene, who seemed able and determined to rise to every challenge Tulia set her. She had so much potential that Tulia couldn’t decide how best to utilise her, and as she was intimidating all the other women, she’d sent Ilene to train with Amir, who seemed to be enjoying himself as he wrestled her to the ground.

Ludo had been given the gentler task of teaching a small group of women how to support the ramparts. These women were less confident, quieter, mostly smaller. They would be the oil runners. The brazier lighters. The arrow collectors. They would be his extra pairs of hands.

Ludo saw Amir grappling with Ilene, and he grinned, but turning to Stina, who he knew was Alys’ friend, he frowned. ‘Are you alright?’ he wondered, touching her arm.

Stina flinched, jerking around, horror in her eyes.

‘I’m sorry,’ Ludo mumbled, stepping back.

Stina shook, wrapping her arms around her new blue dress. It did not fit her. She hadn’t fought hard enough for the grey dress she’d actually wanted, that appeared to be her size. Ilene had taken that one. Still, it was well made and warm. Though a cloak would have been welcome. The Lord of Ottby’s mother had insisted there were few cloaks going spare, promising to hunt for some furs. Though she’d never returned to the square, and the Ullaberg women continued to freeze, despite their new dresses.

Stina couldn’t meet Ludo’s eye. ‘I’m sorry. I wasn’t listening.’

‘No, but you’re cold. It’s hard to concentrate when you’re cold. Why don’t we stop for a while? I’ll go to the hall, find you all something warm to eat. Might help us think!’

Ludo Moller had a kind face, and Stina blinked, bringing herself back into the moment. ‘Thank you,’ she said, trying to smile.

‘Would you come with me? I might need some help.’

Stina swallowed, wanting to say no, but she saw a glimpse of Torvig walking into the fort, spade in hand, eyes immediately scanning the women. He saw her and grinned broadly.

Stina shuddered.

Ludo followed her gaze to Torvig. ‘Come on, maybe we can find something warm to drink in the hall as well. Sometimes, Agnette makes spiced wine. When Gerda has her back turned! Stellan likes it, you see. Always has. Even now. You can see his face light up when he smells that wine heating.’

Hearing the warmth in his voice, Stina nodded, following after Ludo, head down, not wanting another glimpse of Torvig Aleksen and his mocking eyes. Hearing a shout, she looked up as Reinar rode into the fort, Alys slumped over his horse, golden hair hanging down. ‘Alys!’ And all thoughts of Torvig gone, Stina hoisted up her long dress, running towards the inner gates.

Ludo followed after her. ‘What happened?’

Sigurd, who was moving the archery targets back a few paces, quickly left them behind, slipping out of the training ring, hobbling towards Reinar.

‘Milka threw her. A hole in the path, I think. She went down hard, and Alys hit a tree.’ Alys was unconscious, limp in Reinar’s arms as he gently lifted her off his horse. ‘Ludo, go back for Milka. Check on her. She might be injured. Agnette!’ he called to his cousin, who was moving towards him as quickly as her pendulous belly would allow. ‘Go tell Eddeth I’m coming!’

* * *

Eddeth was lying on her freshly swept floorboards, eyes closed, inhaling the scents of her cottage, trying to decide which herbs she should pick for her morning libation. It was a daily practice, and, living alone, one that had never been interrupted.

The banging on the door gave her such a fright that she bit her tongue, launching herself off the floor in an irritable fluster. ‘What madness is this? Are we under attack?’ She glared at the door, making no move towards it. She was still in her nightdress, socks on her feet.

‘Eddeth!’ Agnette called. ‘Open the door! Alys needs your help!’

‘The dreamer? The dreamer needs my help?’ And eyes darting about, Eddeth started rubbing her fingers together.

‘Eddeth!’

Recognising Reinar’s booming voice, Eddeth woke herself up, striding towards the door with purpose now, unbolting it with speed. ‘What has... oh!’ And moving quickly out of the way, she let Reinar into the cottage, where he hurried to her bed, laying Alys down upon it, shooing away Eddeth’s old grey cat, who was too fat to get down on his own. Eddeth picked him up, stroking him distractedly as he growled. ‘What have you done to her?’ She eyed Reinar with suspicion.

‘She was thrown from a horse. She hit her head on a tree.’

‘Ooohhh!’ Eddeth winced, leaving the enormous cat on a stool. Bending over Alys, she touched her swelling head, running a hand down to her neck, feeling a pulse. It was strong. ‘Sleeping!’ she announced with some relief. And lowering her ear to Alys’ mouth, she listened. Jerking upright immediately, elbowing Reinar and Agnette out of the way, Eddeth moved down Alys’ body, hands rubbing her cloak in wriggling movements, like a worm, until she reached Alys’ muddy boots. And closing her eyes, Eddeth gripped the boots, inhaling a deep breath. ‘I shall care for her now,’ she said calmly, opening her eyes. ‘Agnette, you may stay and help me, if you can stand the smell. It won’t be pleasant, though, for I shall be using wild garlic, and I know how much you hate garlic!’

Reinar stepped back towards the door, eyes on Alys, who remained perfectly still. He could see her chest rising and falling, and he could feel his own chest, which felt tight and uncomfortable, remembering his anger at her; cross with himself for always making everything worse. ‘Come and see me when she wakes, Agnette,’ he said to his cousin, who barely nodded as he slipped out of the cottage.

‘Will she be alright?’ Agnette whispered, eyes on Alys.

‘How would I know?’ Eddeth snorted. ‘That’s the dreamer!’ And turning around, she considered her table, picking the wart under her eye, wondering where to begin.

* * *

They met in the hall, around the map table.

Reinar and Sigurd looked worried. Bjarni was trying to calm Gerda down. Torvig looked impatient, and Ludo, who had just returned from seeing to both horses, was wondering what he’d missed.

‘Before she fell...’ Reinar paused, remembering the sound of Alys shouting out as she flew through the air. He took a deep breath. ‘Before she fell, Alys said she’d seen an army on the march, leaving a fortress. A great stone fortress, in the snow.’

Sigurd’s eyes rounded. ‘Sounds like Slussfall.’ They had been waiting for so long that it felt as though the battle would never come. There had been skirmishes, the attack at sea, but now Hakon Vettel obviously felt confident enough to bring his army to their walls.

And though Ottby’s walls were stronger than most, their army was not. And that worried him.

‘It does,’ Reinar agreed.

Tulia stood on Sigurd’s right, closest to the fire, eyes wary. ‘How many days do we have?’

‘Six.’ Sigurd turned to her. ‘Depending on the weather. And it does appear to be closing in out there.’ Tulia didn’t look pleased to receive that information, and he grinned, turning back to his brother, who was frowning.

‘I need to speak to Alys.’ Reinar glanced at the door, hoping to see Agnette.

‘Reinar!’ Torvig was irritated. ‘We don’t need a dreamer to tell us what to do. We have days to finish the ditches. We can make new stakes, bring in wood. Braziers everywhere. Prepare our inner defenses. Finish the field and the forest. That’s how you win a siege. Not with a dreamer, even if she does live!’

Reinar stared at the map. ‘We’ll do all of that, of course.’ He didn’t say any more about Alys. ‘But we need to anticipate what Hakon will do, however we do it. We can’t afford to lose more men, but I’ll send out two scouts. Beggi and his son. They have fast horses, and they know how to ride them hard.’ He thought of his wife’s horse, hoping she was going to be alright.

Bjarni returned after sending Gerda to the kitchen, asking her to check how much oil they had to hand. ‘I only hope they make it back before the Vettels are here. We need to know what he’s bringing.’

‘Well, Alys could certainly tell you that, couldn’t she?’ Ludo didn’t care what Torvig thought. And he felt worried himself. ‘She’d be able to see how many men, how many siege towers they had with them.’

Reinar nodded. ‘We can’t rely on it, though, and we shouldn’t.’ The map table had been his father’s pride and joy. Stellan had carved the little wooden ships and men and horses himself. He would tinker with it nightly, placing his enemies where he’d last heard of their presence; moving his king back to Stornas, or out West, depending on what Ake’s last note had said. And now, Reinar picked up that painted king and placed him at Ennor. ‘This is where Ake was heading when he left here. He won’t return for this battle, though he’ll be forced to if Hakon gets through us.’ His voice was hushed, not wanting to consider such a fate possible. ‘I’ve asked Stornas for men, though I don’t know if Ake left a big enough garrison to spare any.’

‘How long will it take the Stornas men to get here?’ Tulia wondered. She wanted to know everything as she weighed up whether to leave. Amir was outside, still training the women in the snow. She had cared for him since he was a boy; ten years now of being both his mother and sister. She hadn’t wanted to leave him behind in Kalmera when she’d agreed to come to Ottby with Sigurd. And Amir appeared to have enjoyed the adventure, and the friends he’d made, especially Ludo, but she could not send him to slaughter. For what?

A bridge?

A king?

Tulia inhaled sharply, eyes on Sigurd, whose back was stiff, not turning around.

‘Three days. Three days of solid riding, if the weather’s fair.’

‘If whoever is in charge of that garrison wishes to help you.’

‘I’ve been sending warnings to our neighbours for months. They know Hakon is coming. I’ll send more notes now. If they can’t send men, it will be our fight. Ours alone. We can hold out. You know that, Sigurd, Bjarni. You know that.’

They had survived sieges before, but Hakon Vettel had swallowed up many settlements since capturing Slussfall, and rumours about the size of his growing army kept their confidence ragged.

Sigurd nodded, wanting to support his brother. ‘Our walls have not been breached in years. All the strengthening work Father did? The new gates? Hakon hasn’t been here since we killed Jesper. He doesn’t know what he’ll be facing. And once his balls shrivel up, and he spends night after night in his flapping tent, missing his wife and his bed, he’ll start to wonder what he was even thinking.’

Reinar lifted his head, appreciating the reminder. ‘The snow will make it harder, that’s for sure. He’s an arrogant shit to think he can besiege us in the snow.’

‘Perhaps he’s not planning on besieging us?’ Torvig put in, ignoring everyone but Reinar. ‘Maybe he’s got enough men to crush us outright? Maybe he’s not planning on sleeping in tents outside our gates at all?’

And just like that, all the air went out of the hall.

* * *

Alys heard Reinar’s voice, sharp in her ears.

But no fear trembled her limbs now. No memories of her cruel husband terrorised her. She held out a hand, touching the tree. Its bark was gnarled, rough, silvery-grey, covered in patches of bright-green lichen.

Alys could hear someone else’s voice now.

More than one.

And spinning around, she expected to see Reinar with the horses, but she was staring into a cottage. It was dark, apart from the glowing fire that blazed away in the centre of it.

Voices echoed around her. Snatches of words. Someone pounding a drum.

Shivering, Alys turned back to the tree, heart thudding.

‘I will weaken our enemy!’ came a shrieking woman’s voice. ‘Send him to his knees! Break his spirit, his desire to fight!’

Spitting, snarling, the woman carried on shouting, and Alys spun around, trying to get away. She stumbled, falling, hearing the whinny of a horse.

Everything went dark again and then she was on her knees, before the tree.

Hands on bark. Bleeding.

She could feel the trunk vibrating beneath her hands, as though the woman’s voice was coming from inside it now, and Alys stood, wanting to return to the fort. Then she saw it. Hands removed from the trunk, she saw what they had been covering.

Symbols. Tiny little symbols.

Glowing like embers on the tree.

27

Alys jerked awake.

She couldn’t catch her breath, and panicking, she glanced around, grabbing Agnette’s hand.

‘Alys!’ Agnette looked relieved.

‘You’re alive!’ Eddeth poked her head around Agnette. ‘What good news!’ She stuck out a finger, rubbing salve over Alys’ forehead.

‘Aarrghh!’ Alys tried to escape; the pain was excruciating.

‘Just a little bit,’ Eddeth insisted. ‘Your head is swelling like a cow ready for milking. You won’t be able to sleep tonight if we don’t get that down. Though you’ve been asleep for a while now, so perhaps you won’t miss it?’ And mumbling to herself, she lightened her touch slightly, rubbing the salve over Alys’ lump.

It stunk.

Alys gagged, but Eddeth wasn’t letting her move.

‘How are you?’ Agnette asked, wanting to open the door. The odours in the cottage had been growing more intense, and she was barely able to stomach the smell. She lifted a hand to her nose, blinking.

‘I...’ Alys couldn’t catch her breath. ‘I have to go!’

Eddeth ignored her entirely. ‘I’m brewing a tonic, I am. Full of healing herbs. We can talk about them, if you like? I can tell you all about their magical powers.’

Alys tried to get her attention. ‘Eddeth, please, I will come back for the tonic. We can talk then, but I have to go now!’

Agnette nudged Eddeth out of the way. ‘Put your finger back in that jar, Eddeth Nagel!’ she ordered. ‘Alys needs to go. Where?’ she wondered, peering at Alys, who looked like a beaten warrior now with her black eye, swollen nose, and egg-shaped head.

‘I need to see Reinar!’

* * *

His horse had dropped dead.

Feeling Klippr starting to struggle, Jonas had stopped by a brook, deciding that he just needed a long drink. He’d dismounted, and left Klippr drinking while he foraged in the woods looking for berries and mushrooms, feeling hungry.

Hearing an oddly loud thump, which didn’t sound like any creature he knew of, Jonas had hurried back to the brook, knife out, wondering what was happening, only to discover his beloved horse had fallen to the ground.

Dead.

It was a shock, and Jonas sat with him for hours, hand on his neck, stroking his mane, tears rolling down his cold cheeks, unable to move. Klippr had been by his side for over twenty years. They had battled together, gone hunting together, and for the last few years, they had been happily growing old together.

He felt reluctant to leave Klippr behind, though it was the perfect sort of resting spot, he realised, listening to the gentle rush of water, the chippering birds flitting amongst the trees.

Sobs rose up in Jonas’ chest, his head dropping forward, unable to bring himself to say goodbye.

Loss never became easy to bear. And this loss was catastrophic, for he had not only lost a dear friend, he had lost his way to Slussfall. And with Klippr’s death, Jonas had lost time. He couldn’t cut through the mountain pass now. He would have to head east and find another horse. He half-doubted he’d find anything, but his heavy pouch jingled with silver, and his grief-stricken mind eventually wandered to his poor grandchildren, and Jonas knew he had to leave.

So, unstrapping the saddle, and slipping the bridle over Klippr’s head, Jonas cut a clump of his chestnut hair. And taking one final look at his faithful companion, tears streaming down his face, he slipped away into the trees.

* * *

Agnette helped Alys into the hall against her better judgement. ‘You really should go to your cottage and lie down,’ she insisted.

‘I’m fine,’ Alys insisted right back, though her ears were buzzing more loudly with each step, and as soon as Agnette had helped her inside the hall, she slipped out of her grasp, hurrying to a bench, dropping her head between her knees, trying not to faint.

‘Alys!’ Reinar left the map table behind, stepping around the fire, eyes full of concern, Sigurd and Ludo not far behind him. ‘Are you alright?’

‘I think she’s feeling faint,’ Agnette said. ‘Could be whatever Eddeth rubbed on her head. It smelled so vile I could vomit.’

And reaching his ashen-faced wife, Bjarni screwed up his nose in agreement.

‘I’m fine,’ Alys mumbled, head still between her knees, hair draped over the floorboards. And taking a slow, deep breath, she gradually lifted her head.

Ludo gasped, staring at her. ‘That looks sore.’

Sigurd agreed. ‘I imagine you left a hole in the tree.’

Alys grimaced, her head throbbing. Her vision was blurred, but she could see Reinar, frowning, looming over her like a shadow spirit. ‘I have to talk to you.’

He nodded, helping her to stand. ‘We can go to my chamber.’

Alys didn’t nod, for she didn’t want to move her head at all, and gently easing one foot after the other, she let Reinar lead her through the hall, enjoying the warmth of his hand on hers.

Tulia joined Sigurd, eyes on Agnette, who was ready for a drink of spiced wine to settle her stomach. ‘What does she want to talk to Reinar about?’

Agnette shrugged. ‘She wouldn’t say. Sounds urgent, though. Maybe she had a dream?’

* * *

The march was not going to be easy, and the reality of what lay ahead finally hit Hakon like a dip in an ice lake. He had stopped the army so they could eat and drink, wanting his warriors and their horses to be well-rested when they arrived in Ottby. He didn’t plan on sending a sickly bunch of frozen, half-starved men with blistered feet and no love for their lord into battle. They were unlikely to want to bleed for him after such punishment. Though, Hakon realised, glaring at the bleak sky, he doubted they could avoid being frozen.

‘What did you dream about, Mother?’ he asked, turning his attention to the old woman, who was ripping meat off a pork bone with sharp teeth. ‘Falla told me you were mumbling away to yourself in your sleep. Perhaps you saw our enemy?’ They sat on stools by Mother’s wagon, around a hastily built fire that was barely withstanding the worst of the blustery weather. The snow had followed them, but it was still only flurries, though the air was getting colder and Hakon knew it wouldn’t be long before everything was covered in ice, perhaps even blanketed in snow.

Mother appeared irritated by the question. Talking would interrupt her eating, and she still had half a trencher to get through. ‘I dreamed of problems, but also solutions.’ She smiled at Hakon, teeth full of meat. ‘Nothing I can share, though. Nothing at all. Not yet. Dreamers must percolate their thoughts, for only then will the true path be revealed.’

Hakon nodded as though he was seriously considering her words.

Ivan, who was looking for more ale, burst out laughing. ‘I’m not sure you even know what that means, Cousin!’ He nudged Hakon, who didn’t look impressed. ‘Seems to me a dreamer could say anything, and you’d have to believe her. How would you know otherwise?’

Mother’s eyes darkened, her forehead wrinkling. ‘You, Ivan Vettel, would do well to think before you speak. You may lead a great army and have a powerful lord beside you, but what do you know of your own destiny? I’ve told Hakon about his, of course, but perhaps you would like to know what I see for you?’

Ivan tried to maintain his smile, but it faltered beneath the gaze of those maniacal eyes. Mother was an odd-looking, boulder-shaped creature, with a voice like thunder. ‘I would, yes,’ he said, calling her bluff. ‘Why not? While we sit here, freezing our arses off, why not provide us all with some entertainment?’ He swept his hand around their little circle. Lief sat beside Falla, arm wrapped around her, trying to keep her warm. Mother hunched over next to her, scowling. Hakon was there. Erlan Stari and Alef Olstein, and three of their best warriors too.

They all looked on with interest.

Ivan stood, waiting, eyes on Mother, who slowly put down her trencher and picked up her cup, running a finger around its rim, staring into the dark liquid. ‘You are destined to die by the hand of one you know!’ Her voice rose like the cry of the wind. ‘Your death will be without glory! Without honour! I see that. I see you on your knees, bloody hand extended...’ Mother’s eyes rolled around, greasy fingers in the frosty air. ‘Reaching... you are reaching for your sword, which has fallen from your grasp. Yet do you reach it? Do you earn for yourself a warrior’s death? Do you earn Thenor’s favour?’ Mother’s eyes returned to the cup as she thought of what to say. She had seen few visions of Ivan Vettel. He was not someone she chose to waste much time on. But he was a smart-mouthed fool, and likely a miserable end was foretold for him, for the gods would not honour such a worthless boy in any other way.

Ivan burst out laughing, slapping his thigh. ‘Perfect! Perfect! I like that story very much, Mother!’ He winked at Hakon, who looked disturbed. ‘It will keep me on my toes as I approach the battle.’ He peered at Hakon. ‘Perhaps my killer will be my cousin? Or you, Lief Gundersen?’ Ivan stared at Lief, who looked on with his usual unreadable expression. ‘Or you, Erlan?’ And shaking his legs, Ivan turned away, ready to get back on the road again. The cold had a way of claiming you when you stood still for too long, and he wanted to get away from the exposed cliffs before they made camp for the night. There were forests ahead that offered more shelter, and he was determined to reach them. ‘Come along, Cousin!’ he grinned at Hakon. ‘We can’t sit around listening to stories from old women when we have an enemy to defeat!’ And clapping Hakon on the back, Ivan headed for his horse, not letting his cheerful expression slip until he was a few paces away.

* * *

‘How is Milka?’ Alys wondered, sitting down, shaking her head at the cup of wine Reinar offered her. ‘She went down so suddenly. Is she alright?’

‘Ludo seems to think so. I’ll check on her when we’re done here.’

‘I wasn’t paying attention. I should have seen the hole.’

Reinar looked guilty himself. ‘Could’ve been that we were both distracted. There’s so much to think about. I didn’t help, getting angry like that. I’m sorry.’

Alys blinked, sharp pains shooting through her head. ‘I saw something while I was unconscious.’

‘You did?’

‘Yes. The tree... I remember seeing a tree before everything went dark.’

‘You hit a tree.’

‘In my dream, I was in front of the tree, touching it.’ Alys tried to take herself back there, to the dream, with the cottage and that voice, and the fire. ‘I touched the tree, and when I took my hands away, there were symbols carved into the bark.’

Reinar didn’t register any reaction. He didn’t understand what she was saying.

Alys realised that she should have spoken to Eddeth first. She didn’t know symbols at all, but the words that woman had spoken came back to her, and she was immediately certain. ‘It’s a curse. The symbols are a curse. Can we go back to the tree? Maybe I dreamed it all, and it’s not real, but if those symbols are there, I’m sure it’s a curse.’

* * *

Eddeth’s day felt as though it had been tipped upside down, and despite the often chaotic nature of her thoughts, she was a creature of habit. And once her routines were disrupted, she felt out of sorts, unable to get back on track.

She stood in the middle of her cottage, nightdress too close to the flames, hands on her head, trying to remember what she had been about to do before Agnette had pounded on the door. ‘The tea! The tea!’ she remembered gleefully, eyes on her cat, Rigfuss, who peered at her from under the bed. Eddeth blinked, wondering how he’d gotten under there, knowing that she was going to have to pull him out. And grumbling to herself, she bent down, dropping onto her hands and knees, ignoring his spitting and growling as she tried to grab hold of something that wasn’t going to scratch or bite her.

The knock on the door made her jump, and whacking her head on the wooden bed frame, Eddeth yelped in annoyance, frightening the cat, who whipped out a paw, stabbing his claws into her cheek. Yelping some more, and wriggling out from under the bed with speed, Eddeth sat back on her heels, hoping it wasn’t that nosey Agnette again. ‘What?’ she barked.

‘Eddeth!’

But no, it appeared to be Reinar Vilander. Likely with that dreamer.

Eddeth forgot all about her aching head and her bleeding cheek as she rushed to the door, swinging it open. ‘My lord! And my dreamer! You have need of me, I think? I can tell! Ahhh, yes, I can tell! Sometimes, I do wonder, don’t you?’ She eyed Reinar, who didn’t say anything, knowing from experience that it would have little bearing on what Eddeth said or did.

‘I shall change and be out immediately!’ And slamming the door in their faces, Eddeth disappeared back inside.

Reinar turned to Alys, half embarrassed, half amused. ‘You don’t have to come.’ He saw her swaying, and he slipped an arm around her back. ‘Here, sit down.’ There was a mossy bench outside Eddeth’s house that almost had enough space to sit down upon. Mostly it was filled with old boots. Eddeth liked to leave them out for mice to hide in. Houses, she’d decided. With that many holes in them, and soles flapping, they no longer made useful boots, but they did make good houses for tiny creatures in need of shelter.

‘I need to,’ Alys said quietly, sitting down, head between her knees again, all the pain rushing to the lump on her forehead. ‘I need to see the symbol. To see if it’s there.’

And in the next breath, the door opened again, and Eddeth stood there, wrapped in a cloak, nightdress poking out beneath it. Barefoot and smiling.

Reinar frowned, pointing her back to the door. ‘Boots.’

Nodding, Eddeth scurried back inside, returning with a pair of old boots in her hand that looked in no better condition than the ones on the bench. ‘I don’t want to delay us,’ she muttered, hopping on one dirty foot, while trying to stick a boot on the other. ‘For I fear we must hurry!’

Alys slowly lifted her head, and taking Reinar’s hand, she stood, turning to the healer. ‘I think you’re right, Eddeth.’ And letting Reinar slip her arm through his, she wobbled along beside him, heading for the stables.

Eddeth followed after them, shuffling, sometimes skipping, eyes jumping around, still wondering which combination of herbs she was going to use for her first libation of the day.

* * *

Sigurd and Tulia had returned to the training ring, where Amir seemed to be doing less training with Ilene and more flirting. Tulia shot him a look Amir knew well, and tearing himself away from Ilene and her lustrous blonde hair, he picked up a wooden staff, handing it to her.

Ludo walked past them with his Ullaberg women, on the way to the inner wall ramparts where they were going to take an inventory of the braziers. The braziers would need to be spread out amongst the ramparts on both walls, so each group of archers would have quick access to one. They needed to ensure that enough were left in the square too, to help them see while the catapults were firing.

Ludo frowned, realising that he hadn’t discussed where to position the catapults with Reinar. He would have to go and find him when he was done. ‘Come on!’ he called impatiently, stuck behind the dawdling women. Though perhaps they weren’t dawdling, he realised, knowing that his legs were much longer than theirs. And grinning, Ludo put out a hand, ushering Stina ahead of him. She was just about to be trampled by a flock of sheep being moved into the fort. Now that the threat of attack was well and truly upon them, they were clearing the paddocks and the pasture lands, which would soon make the fort close quarters for man and beast alike.

Again Stina flinched, and Ludo felt terrible. ‘I don’t mean to keep scaring you,’ he said apologetically, slowing down to walk beside her.

Stina looked up at him, trying to smile, her attention quickly drawn to Alys, who was once again leaving the fort with Reinar Vilander. Alys seemed so far away now that Stina didn’t feel as though she could talk to her about anything. She sighed. ‘You don’t scare me. It’s just rather daunting, the idea of fighting for our freedom. I’m not sure we can make much difference.’

‘Well, I think we’re all fighting for our freedom now,’ Ludo admitted, eyes on the guard tower ahead. ‘Just open the door, go inside! Up the stairs!’ he called to Jorunn. ‘Though, this was always our fight. Never yours.’

‘No,’ Stina agreed, trying to lift her head. What had happened was done. Done. She had to tell herself that or she was never going to be able to move forward. ‘But we’re here now. And if we want to live and see our homes and families again, we’re going to have to fight with you.’

Ludo nodded, motioning with his hand for Stina to head inside. And following after her, he looked over his shoulder, watching as Reinar rode his giant black horse through the inner gates after Eddeth and Alys.

* * *

Vik Lofgren was the superstitious type.

He sacrificed to the gods often, though he was sure Jonas didn’t know that.

He’d survived many a battle; more than any man he knew of. His wounds had been few; most, mere scratches. Yet he had fought bare-chested, shieldless, his swords flaying his enemies as though they were part of him. Vik believed it was because he served as a weapon of the gods. Of Thenor himself.

So his nightly practice required him to give thanks.

Even now, as a man approaching old age, he had a sense that his service wasn’t done. He’d hunted and fished. He’d smoked and cured. He’d kept his cottage in good order, and himself too.

And he’d waited for a sign that it was time to rejoin the fray.

It had been a surprise, though, when the sign had finally come.

He’d been running from his smoking shed to his cottage, a storm crashing overhead, and glancing around as he reached the door, he’d seen a bolt of lightning shoot through the clouds, setting his beloved fishing boat on fire.

Burning it to useless ash.

There was little other way to read such an event.

And so, feeling compelled to act by the gods themselves, Vik had packed his saddlebags and headed off after Jonas. Jonas was like an older brother to him. He had taught him how to fight in the shield wall, how to eat the mushrooms that had given him an undeniable strength in battle, how to kill without being killed.

Vik owed him everything.

And now he stood before the heap of ash and blackened logs, where Jonas’ cottage had once stood, debating what to do.

The words were scratched into the path that led to a stone step, and Vik wondered if Jonas had left them for him. He chewed the end of a well-gnawed toothpick, considering things.

Lotta - Slussfall

Magnus sold as slave but where?

Taken halfway between Ullaberg and Torborg

Alys gone

Was it a message or was Jonas himself trying to decide what to do?

And how had he come about all that information in the first place?

Vik’s eyes snapped to Alys’ name. And then to Lotta’s.

Jonas would have gone to Slussfall. They knew Slussfall, or had once. It had fallen to Hakon Vettel in his push south. It was not a safe place to go now. Not if Hakon was still the lord there. He snapped the toothpick in half, throwing it to the ground. And spinning around, checking his swordbelts which he wore slung diagonally over his back, Vik walked to his horse, ready to do Thenor’s work.

28

They had ridden out of the fort, into the forest, and though it was not very far, black patches were flashing before Alys’ eyes as Reinar helped her off the horse.

‘Sit down,’ Eddeth ordered, suddenly stern. ‘You fall down again, and you’ll be in a bad way, dreamer!’ And glaring at Reinar until he helped Alys to a boulder, Eddeth walked towards the tree.

Sideways.

Approaching it as though it was an animal prepared to strike. ‘This is it? The tree you saw in your dream? The one you hit?’ She noted the scuffed up dirt in front of its tangled roots, not turning around to see Alys nod. Reaching a tentative hand towards the trunk, Eddeth followed the rivers of bark down towards the roots, keeping her eyes peeled. Listening. Alys had spoken of hearing voices coming from the tree, though Eddeth heard nothing but birdsong and the constant hammering from the fort.

There was nothing there.

So turning, frowning at Alys, Eddeth continued her hunt.

Reinar joined her, leaving Alys on the boulder, head between her knees again. ‘There must be something here.’ He crouched down, fingers pulling apart the bushes hiding some of the roots, but there were no symbols anywhere.

‘It may not have been that tree,’ Eddeth mumbled. ‘This is the tree Alys hit. But there’s no reason it would have been that tree the symbols were carved into. Keep looking, Reinar!’ And bounding to the left, she pointed Reinar to the right. ‘Keep looking!’

Alys could hear them, their voices growing distant, not as loud as the clanging in her ears which continued unabated. She wanted to lie down, close her eyes, get some sleep. Anything to make it stop.

Her thoughts drifted to her children, as they always did, and she felt a pain in her heart. It ached, tears coming. And closing her eyes, Alys willed them away. It wouldn’t help to dwell on that which she couldn’t change. And she couldn’t change anything. Not yet. Not until she saw more. Not until she could find Magnus and her grandfather and see whether he was hunting for the children. Until then...

‘Here!’ came the screech of delight. And spinning around, Reinar ran through the trees towards Eddeth’s gleeful voice. ‘Here! Here!’

Alys lifted her head too quickly, and she groaned, taking a deep breath. Pushing herself off the boulder, she stumbled towards Reinar, one hand out in front of herself, trying not to pass out.

When she reached Eddeth, she froze, recognising the tree.

Eddeth was on her hands and knees, pointing to the symbols trailing up the trunk. Not many. And not big in size.

They were hidden behind bushes.

Eddeth scrambled back to her feet, her cloak covered in twigs and dried leaves; dirt too. And without looking around, she disappeared.

Reinar turned to Alys as she came forward. ‘Is this what you saw in your dream?’

Alys nodded. ‘It’s a curse. I feel it.’

‘Of the fort?’

‘Yes, I think so. In my dream, the woman talked about weakening her enemy.’

‘So, it’s not that the gods have taken away my luck, that they’re displeased with me? It’s a curse? The fort is cursed?’ Reinar was incredulous, shaking his head. His thoughts were immediately with Elin. She had run from his bad luck, determined never to return. Agnette had said as much, but a curse? If they could remove it, then perhaps she would return?

He blinked at Alys, not seeing her at all.

‘There are more!’ Eddeth cried. ‘More!’ And her voice disappeared as she ran from tree to tree, checking each one for symbols.

Alys let her go, returning to the boulder, but Reinar followed after Eddeth.

He followed her through the forest, checking the trees and boulders, and after some time, they returned to a cold-looking Alys, who had almost given up on waiting.

‘They’re everywhere,’ Reinar breathed, blowing on his hands, head dusted with snow. ‘Everywhere.’

Alys was amazed.

Eddeth was thrilled. She peered triumphantly at Reinar. ‘It is as I predicted, Reinar. Yes?’

He nodded, full of regret that he’d dismissed her mutterings as Eddeth nonsense and not some actual suggestion to be investigated. He cursed himself for listening to his mother, who thought that Eddeth should be put out into the forest and left to wander like the madwoman she was. And Torvig, who’d agreed with Gerda.

They had both been wrong.

Mad Eddeth had been smarter than all of them.

‘Yes, it is, Eddeth, but what can you do? If the curse remains, we’ll surely lose the coming battle, won’t we? We’ll lose Ottby.’

Eddeth liked Ottby.

She liked Reinar too. He was a good lord. A cursed lord. And she wanted to help him. ‘We must cut down the trees. Get your men out here with their saws! Cut them all down. Then we burn them!’ Her eyes bounced back and forth from Alys to Reinar, looking for their approval.

Alys was nodding gingerly. ‘You’ll need to send people deep into the forest, checking every tree. Someone carved those symbols to hurt you. Who knows how many are out there.’

Eddeth was vibrating all over, hair trembling. ‘And who knows who did it. That’s what you should worry about, Reinar. Who did it?’ Lowering her voice, Eddeth crept up to him. ‘Are they still in there?’ And gnashing her teeth together in a nervous fashion, she pointed towards the fort. ‘Or in there?’ Wheeling around, she peered into the forest.

Reinar frowned. There were too many things he had to do, too much to think about now. ‘Alys, let’s get you back to your cottage. Eddeth can stay with you, keep an eye on you. I need to organise everyone to cut down the trees.’ And helping Alys off the boulder, Reinar led her to the horses. Stopping suddenly, he turned back to Eddeth, who was loping along beside Alys, muttering to herself. ‘And will it break the curse? If we burn the symbols, will the curse be done?’

Eddeth blinked. ‘I hope so. Nothing is certain, of course, but yes, I hope so.’

* * *

Falla was surprised by how much she missed her son’s company. Being a mother was tiring and tedious. She yearned to be alone, absent of all the noise and demands, and yet, now, without her boy, she felt oddly bereft; as though part of her was missing, which was only heightened by the irritation of being forced into such close proximity to Mother, and the raven she’d brought along, stuffed into a cage. It squawked constantly, angry at its confinement, flapping its wings in protest.

And it was only the first day.

Mother glanced up from the book she was studying, and Falla bit her tongue, reminding herself that she could read her thoughts. She smiled, biting her tongue again as the wagon hit a rock.

Blood filled her mouth, and Mother cackled.

‘I’d say that serves you right, my girl.’

Falla frowned. ‘I don’t like being stuck in here. For how long? How long will this journey take? I can’t even breathe!’ The wagon had a door on the side, a driver at the front, and one small window, which remained shuttered due to the increasingly dire weather. Snow swept across the marching army, blown by a mean wind, and Mother had insisted the shutters remain closed. She did not wish to die of cold before they’d even made it through the first day.

‘It will take as long as it takes, but it will feel days longer if you intend to moan and wail and complain as we ride. Put your mind to something else. Surely there’s something you can think of to do?’ Mother felt comfortable. The wooden seat she perched on had been thickened with pillows and warmed up with furs.

The wagon appeared weather-proof too, she was pleased to see.

Though there was her miserable companion, who was becoming far more annoying than any cold draft.

‘Do?’ Falla looked confused. ‘What do you expect me to do in here? I can barely stretch out my arms!’ She wriggled, not anywhere near as comfortable as Mother, not having thought to bring her own pillows into the wagon. She thought of Lief, imagining him on the throne of Stornas one day, and her tension released itself at last. ‘I suppose I can daydream.’

‘Well, that would be a good start!’ Mother was pleased, turning her head back to her book, enjoying the silence for a moment. The journey would be over before she knew it, and she would need to be ready with a plan to defeat the Vilanders, for siege towers and men with swords would not be enough, of that she was certain.

* * *

The symbol trees were felled, dragged out onto the wide, flat field that stretched from the fort to the forest entrance, and set on fire.

It was a terrible waste, and they could all feel that as they stared at the burning timber. Houses, fires, fences, ramparts, stakes, furniture. Wood for all of them, burning before their eyes. But they could not risk keeping the curse alive. Not for a stool or a bench. Not even for a catapult.

Bjarni shook his head, watching the trees burn, regretting the waste. ‘As long as it works,’ he muttered, pulling Agnette close. She had been under the weather since the symbols had been found, and he’d been feeling especially protective of her, knowing that the whole fort had been cursed.

‘It will,’ Agnette assured him, working the anxiety out of her eyes. ‘For all her madness, Eddeth seems to know what she’s talking about when it comes to symbols. And Alys agrees with her.’

‘Mmmm.’

‘It will work!’ Agnette laughed, slipping out of his arm, enjoying the heat of the flames as she turned back to the fort with some reluctance. ‘I have to check on Stellan. See if he’s awake.’ She kissed her husband’s cheek, wrapping her cloak around her belly as she waddled away. ‘Don’t be long! Supper will get cold!’

It was dark, and Bjarni watched her go for a moment before she turned into a shadow, merging into the night. He turned back to Sigurd, who was walking towards him with Ludo.

‘Remember when we used to build bonfires out here?’ Sigurd’s eyes were bright; he looked happy. ‘Away from the hall, from our parents?’ He laughed, wanting to be back in that place where none of the responsibility was theirs. Where they could stay outside the fort, young enough to have few cares at all.

Tulia came towards them with cups in her hands, handing one to Sigurd. ‘Those trees will be burning for days!’ Her face glowed, her rich-brown eyes sparkling.

Sigurd hadn’t seen her so happy in a long time. ‘Bet you’d like to sleep out here tonight, wouldn’t you? Stay warm by the fire?’

Tulia leaned forward, kissing his hairy cheek. ‘I would. And you could join me. Sleep under the stars with me!’

‘Freeze in the snow, you mean! It’s not that warm, Tulia. You’re just drunk.’ Sigurd kissed her, pulling her close, both of them forgetting all about their ale, as Bjarni followed Ludo away towards Reinar and Torvig.

‘How do you feel?’ Bjarni grinned. ‘Different? As though the curse is lifting?’

Reinar sipped his ale, watching the sparks fly. The trees were crackling with fury as they burned, the flames devouring them with speed. ‘The only thing I feel is regret. All those trees...’

‘But think about the lives those trees might save if the curse can be lifted?’

Torvig shook his head. ‘You’re too superstitious for your own good. Who knows how long those symbols have been there, Bjarni. Could’ve been years! They were tucked down by the roots, almost entirely hidden. You don’t know the truth of it. Likely never will.’

Bjarni shouldn’t have been surprised that Torvig disagreed with him.

He usually did. But his patience for it was wearing thin.

Reinar wasn’t even listening. He was watching the trees burning, imagining who it might have been. Who had been creeping around the forest, carving symbols into the trees, wanting to hurt them? Someone from the fort? Some of Hakon Vettel’s men?

He hadn’t shared his suspicions with anyone, mostly because he didn’t have a clue who it might have been. And he didn’t want to sow seeds of mistrust amongst his people. Their minds needed to be focused on defeating their enemy, not each other.

Reinar walked away from Bjarni and Torvig, who were picking at each other as usual. He headed for the trees, getting as close to the flames as he dared. The heat surged towards him in waves, and Reinar could feel it warming his face.

Ragnahild One Eye had dreamed of him becoming the High King of Alekka.

She had trekked all the way from her home in the frozen North to tell his mother, knowing that she was dying. Knowing that she had only one last dream to reveal. And she had valued that dream enough to embark on a treacherous journey, all alone.

She had made it to Ottby, told her dream to Gerda and died that night.

Her son, Ragnahild, had said, Gerda’s son would wear the Sun Torc.

That ancient relic, lost thousands of years ago, would finally be found. Reinar Vilander would find it. Reinar Vilander would wear the torc. He was the one who would rise to unite the two broken halves of Alekka.

Blinking, Reinar stared into the flames as they twisted before him in a mesmerising dance of heat and light, lost in the possibilities of what might be.

* * *

Alys had spent her days in Eddeth’s fragrant cottage. She was becoming used to the smell of the healer and her strange ways, though Winter, who liked to accompany her, could not say the same of Eddeth’s cat, who hissed and spat and wedged himself under the bed in a fit of pique.

Eddeth ignored him, deciding that she would only try to pull Rigfuss out if he started pissing all over the floor.

‘Your head is better,’ Eddeth smiled, sitting down in front of Alys, eyes on her forehead, which, though still badly bruised, was no longer swollen. ‘I don’t think you need me anymore.’

‘No, I don’t. My headache has finally gone. It doesn’t really hurt either.’

‘Well, then, what will we have to talk about?’ Eddeth laughed, sipping her tea. ‘Delicious!’ she decided immediately. ‘Exactly as I’d hoped! Can you not smell that perfect blending of herbs? As though they are two bodies, pressed up against each other in the act!’

Alys blinked, trying not to laugh.

‘Reinar loves his wife.’

Alys blinked some more, not feeling like laughing now. She blushed, bending her face towards her cup. ‘Yes, he does.’

Eddeth stopped twitching. She reached out a hand, gently tapping Alys’ knee. ‘It’s a long love, that one. Elin suffered when her babies died. As would any of us.’ Pain was in her eyes then, but Eddeth started twitching again, blinking it away. ‘She never stopped loving her husband, though.’

‘No?’

‘I had many conversations with her.’ Eddeth jumped up, tea splashing her knees. ‘We spoke! Of course we spoke!’ Placing the cup on the table, she hurried to her kitchen corner, fingering through the cramped shelves. ‘I tried to help her, I did, though she would not listen. Many don’t!’ And spinning around, she brought a basket to Alys, pulling out a stone: pale in colour, perfectly round and smooth. ‘This is for you. I should have thought of it earlier. I did! Many times! Thoughts come and go, though, like the wind. I do not claim them all! How could I? I am no dreamer... or am I?’

Alys placed her cup on the floor, running a finger over the stone, turning it over. ‘What’s it for?’

‘Protection, of course!’ Eddeth grinned, belching suddenly. ‘Oh, that milk was a bit ripe this morning, I fear. I may be up all night!’

‘Protection? This stone?’

Eddeth snatched the stone back from her. ‘Not so fast, my dreamer. The stone is merely the vessel. It has been bathed in the glow of a full moon, but I am yet to give it its purpose. Come with me, and I shall show you!’

Eddeth never stayed still, and she had little sense of space, and turning around, she didn’t see Winter, and she tumbled over him, landing on the floorboards with a crack, nearly knocking her head on the bed. She landed far too close to Rigfuss, who lashed out with a claw, scratching her arm.

Eddeth yelped, back on her feet in a flash, nose screwed up in pain. ‘I shall make him into a stew one of these days, the old bastard!’ Shaking her arm in annoyance, Eddeth placed the stone on the table. ‘Although... wouldn’t you know?’ And touching the bleeding stripes on her arm, Eddeth pushed her finger down onto the blood until it had covered her fingertip. And bringing the stone towards her, she painted a symbol onto it.

Alys’ eyes widened.

‘Yes, indeed, you should be impressed.’ Eddeth could hear her intake of breath. ‘For this is magic, this is. The magic of symbols. Symbols that curse, symbols that heal, and symbols that...’ She stopped drawing, head cocked to one side, studying her work with a critical eye before handing the stone to Alys. ‘And symbols that protect us from evil! Now, careful, it’s still wet. Once it dries, I’ll paint one more on the other side.’

Alys nodded, holding the stone by its edges.

‘Good! Now, back to my tea before it gets cold. I do hate cold tea. Bad for the digestion.’ And belching again, Eddeth frowned. ‘That and sour milk!’

* * *

They had crawled along towards Slussfall, battered by rain, wind, and snow, only to discover, in a small village nestled near the foot of the mountains, that Hakon Vettel was already on the march to Ottby. And being caught between the urgent desire to take Lotta to his wife, and the need to report to his lord, Long Beard had reluctantly turned them around, and started the long trek south.

Silver Tooth’s illness was progressing at pace, but Long Beard felt reluctant to leave him behind. They had been friends for years; warrior brothers. Yet he feared that soon Silver Tooth would become just like Eye Patch: a corpse he would have to abandon to save himself. Himself and the princess, who had told him with a sullen pout that her name was May.

He laughed, certain her name was not May.

He would leave it to his wife to give her a new name. She would like to do that, he thought with a wistful smile.

Long Beard chewed the willow bark. He ate elderberries and brewed the yarrow tea the little girl not-called-May had suggested he drink, and his own illness receded. ‘You’ll be able to help Bergit,’ he grinned. ‘She gets poorly in the winter. Aches all over. Especially when it rains!’

It was raining now, though Lotta thought it was hail.

It felt like hail, because rain, she was certain, didn’t hurt.

Long Beard held her close. She had learned not to squirm. He would squeeze her so tightly if she moved that she worried he would snap her in two. It was hard to know if that was his intention or not, but Lotta didn’t feel safe, no matter how much he smiled at her as he spoke.

She dreamed of Magnus often, and it made her both happy and sad.

Happy to have his company, even if it was only in her dreams.

Sad that she didn’t know if they would ever see each other again.

She had to work hard to stop herself crying.

They sheltered in a makeshift tent. The linen flap above their heads was wet through and dripping on them. Long Beard tried to tell himself that they’d be in worse shape without it.

But not by much.

Silver Tooth sat out in the rain.

Long Beard didn’t want him near the girl. In truth, he didn’t want him near either of them. The sickness was going to kill him. He was too far gone; they all knew that. Better he didn’t take them down with him.

‘Maybe you can ride your pony tomorrow? Just for a while. Save my poor old horse having to pull her along.’

Lotta, who had started yawning, was surprised. Happy too.

‘Though, you’ll need to be careful in this weather. You won’t want to go riding apace. That wouldn’t end well for either of you!’

But Lotta wasn’t listening. She was imagining the freedom of not having those hands on her for just one day. And nodding, she closed her eyes, wanting to disappear into her dreams and find Magnus again.

Hoping he would hold on.

* * *

Magnus was still chopping wood as night fell.

There had been no supper for him.

The list of chores from the farmer grew longer with each day.

The amount of food he was being fed, smaller.

Magnus found himself unable to stop shivering. He was outside in the rain, clothes clinging to him, boots sloshing with water, ankle-deep in mud. He would have food in the morning, the farmer had promised.

Unless, of course, he didn’t finish his chores.

Magnus had tried to hurry, but he had been working since dawn and his arms hurt. They hurt so much that every time he lifted the axe, he grimaced. Sometimes, he made a yelping noise, though when the farmer’s wife heard him, she yelled at him to stop his complaining, threatening to halve his breakfast.

Magnus tried not to make any noise, not wanting to give the farmer and his wife any reason to torture him further.

Their daughter occasionally came to stare at him. Once she’d given him a soft apple to eat, and Magnus had devoured it, core and all.

He’d never felt so hungry in his life.

The rain battered his body, and he wanted to sob and throw the axe away; fall into the mud and cry until he died. For he would die, he feared. He would die of hunger, of sickness, of whatever horrors the farmer and his wife had planned for him next.

But he saw his sister’s face.

And, reminded of how strong he needed to be for her, he straightened up his aching back and swung the axe again.

* * *

Alys had stopped by Stina’s cottage on the way back to her own. The Ullaberg women had been sequestered in some of the abandoned cottages now, and after getting lost a few times, and with Ludo’s help, Alys finally found her way to Stina, and they headed off for a walk.

Stina was grateful for the bed and the warmth of the cottage, but she’d been lumbered with Ilene, who seemed to make a point of fighting over everything now. Her newfound strength and the special attention she was receiving from Amir Saari had made her unbearable. Amir had taken such a shine to Ilene that she was bragging about how soon she wouldn’t be staying with the women at all.

Stina rolled her eyes at just the thought of it, though it would mean no more Ilene to contend with, which would be a gift.

‘We’ve barely spoken in days,’ Alys smiled. ‘Ludo tells me he’s been taking good care of you.’

‘Ludo, ahhh, yes. He’s funny. Gentle. Not like the rest of them,’ Stina said, wanting to shut out the memories of what Torvig had done to her, but they came frequently. The pain in her body had relented, but the trauma was digging in deeper with each passing day. Smiling was an effort she saved for Alys.

‘He is,’ Alys agreed, her attention drifting. She smelled the smoke from the trees burning on the field, and it reminded her of bonfires on the beach at Ullaberg. When Arnon was away raiding, she would camp out under the stars with the children; when it was summer, and the air was almost warm. Sometimes, Stina would join them. Turning to her, Alys slipped her arm through Stina’s, pulling her close. ‘You’ll be away from here soon. I feel it.’

‘You do?’

Alys nodded. ‘Once this battle is done, Reinar will take you all back home.’

‘But not you?’

Alys froze. She saw flurries of snow twirling towards them, and for some reason, it reminded her of the children. ‘I won’t go back to Ullaberg,’ she said. ‘I can’t.’

Stina had feared as much. ‘I don’t blame you. And perhaps you have other reasons for staying now? Other than wanting to escape the bad memories?’ Alys hadn’t spoken to her about Reinar Vilander, but she had seen them together.

Everyone had.

Though she hadn’t had a chance to ask Alys what it all meant.

‘Other reasons?’ Alys kept her eyes low as they walked beneath the tree. ‘Perhaps. I like it here.’

‘You do? After what they did? They stole us, Alys. Stole us away from our homes. Killed who knows how many in the process. Who knows what they did to Ullaberg.’

Alys didn’t want to think about any of it. Her children were lost.

An enemy army was on the march.

There was no time to think about what would happen when it was over.

No time at all, Alys convinced herself.

‘I thought that was snow,’ she smiled, looking up as they emerged from the tree, watching the ash drift across the fort.

‘I wish it was,’ Stina added, squeezing Alys tightly as Torvig walked towards them. Past them. Heading for the hall. ‘Snow might stop this Hakon Vettel.’

‘A wolf does not mind the snow,’ Alys said darkly, her thoughts drifting like the ash. ‘A wolf does not mind the snow at all. Not when it gets the scent of its prey.’ And smiling suddenly, she turned to Stina. ‘Come on, let’s get back to your cottage before Ilene takes all the furs!’

Stina smiled, nodding as Alys turned her around, heading back to the cottage, just in time to catch Torvig’s eye. He had stopped outside the hall doors, waiting as a handful of men funnelled out.

And winking at Stina, Torvig slipped inside.

29

It was still raining the next morning when the farmer took Magnus into town.

It wasn’t really a town, but there were tradesmen and a decrepit old hut that sometimes passed as a tavern, where, for a coin, you could get a jug of insipid ale and a big-breasted woman to serve it to you. She was filthy in her threadbare dress, but amenable, and never complained if you stuck a hand up her skirt, or pulled down the front of her bodice to give her a tweak.

Magnus stood in the corner, wondering how long the farmer would be.

He was in no hurry to leave because out in the street it was pouring with rain, and though the tavern was leaking, the fire was still burning, and Magnus could almost feel its warmth. He didn’t move towards it, though, knowing that if the farmer suspected he was experiencing any pleasure, he would quickly send him outside.

‘See how much longer the blacksmith’s going to be!’ the farmer bellowed, flapping a hand at the boy. The tavern was packed with men, and the farmer wanted his turn at fondling Gyda before he had to head home to his frigid wife, who didn’t even pretend to enjoy his fondling anymore. His new horse needed shoeing, and he’d leaped at the chance to get away from the farm. The idea of conversing with someone other than his wife and his cloth-headed daughter appealed beyond words. That and the ale and the serving woman in the threadbare dress.

Magnus wanted to pretend he hadn’t heard the farmer, but if he didn’t hurry, he knew that soon he’d be thrown outside with an aching ear. So, sighing, he turned to the door, pulling it open, and with a shudder, he stepped out into the rain.

The tradesmen’s huts were squeezed together on the right side of the road. The tanner sat next to the potter, and the metalworker, but the blacksmith’s hut was a walk away, and Magnus’ aching shoulders slumped as the rain hammered down on his unprotected head.

He had left Ullaberg in a cloak. His cloak. As had Lotta. But Long Beard hadn’t seen the need to go back for it when Magnus had forgotten to pick it up. He heard his mother’s voice in his ears, scolding him for always losing his things, and shivering, Magnus thought how right she had been. Though, a scolding had usually been followed by a hug and a lecture about why not losing things was important. Sometimes, his mother followed that with some milk and a slice of cake. When his father was away, at least. When Lotta was down the path at Stina’s. When it was just the two of them.

Magnus jumped, nearly falling over as two horses galloped down the road, flinging mud and water all over him. He gulped, shaking, amazed to discover that it was possible to become even more drenched than before. Blinking the muddy water from his eyes, he tried to see. And rubbing them, he spied a tall old man talking to the blacksmith. Someone who hadn’t been there before.

Magnus stiffened, coming to a stop.

And then his eyes popped open, his heart quickening.

He shook his head, closed his eyes, then opened them again.

The man was still there.

Or was he? Was Magnus so tired and ill with hunger and cold that he was having visions like Lotta?

The man turned to him, eyes bursting open just as wide. ‘Magnus?’

And running now, tears falling from his eyes, Magnus ran into his great-grandfather’s arms.

* * *

Sigurd knocked on Alys’ door, but there was no answer. Her cottage fronted the square, and everyone passing could see who waited to talk to the dreamer.

He didn’t want help with dreams, though. He was looking for his brother.

‘Did you want me?’ came a soft voice behind him.

And turning around, Sigurd saw Alys with her bruised head and her bruised eye, and he was reminded of that moment on the beach when he’d torn her away from her home. The guilt left a horrible taste in his mouth, even now.

He shook his head. ‘No, my brother. Thought he’d be in there with you.’

Alys blushed, her pale cheeks colouring a deep pink. She looked down at the basket she cradled against her chest. ‘I’ve not spoken to him in days.’

‘No?’ Sigurd was surprised.

And then, so was Alys. There was too much going on to dwell in one place for long, but Reinar’s attentiveness had become noticeable by its absence. ‘I imagine he has much on his mind, preparing the fort...’ She moved past Sigurd, wanting to get inside.

Sigurd frowned. ‘He thinks he’s chosen, you know. Chosen to be the High King of Alekka.’

‘Yes, you said. I remember.’ She stopped, hearing the concern in his voice.

‘When everything went wrong, with the curse, I almost felt relieved, because he wasn’t thinking about it anymore.’ Sigurd was conscious that they weren’t alone. And though the wind was especially strong, and the leaves on Valera’s Tree were rustling with urgency, he wasn’t keen to be having such a public conversation.

Alys could tell. ‘Come inside. You can help me set a fire.’

Sigurd nodded, not sure whether he wanted to talk to her at all, though there were very few people he could talk to about Reinar; no one without an agenda at least. And ducking his head, he followed Alys inside, shutting the door behind them.

Tulia watched from the training ring, one eyebrow raised.

Dark and sharp.

Feeling more concerned than she would ever let on.

* * *

Magnus couldn’t stop crying long enough to make any sense. He shook and shivered in Jonas’ big arms. His nose blocked quickly, and then he couldn’t breathe either.

‘Ssshhh,’ Jonas soothed, feeling Magnus trembling against him. The boy was wet through, terribly thin. So cold. ‘Let’s find somewhere to get out of this rain.’ And he made to walk towards the rundown tavern.

‘No!’ Magnus panicked, realising that he’d forgotten all about the farmer. ‘We have to leave! Hurry! You need your horse!’ He spun around to where he’d tied Daisy. ‘Hurry! I have to get Daisy!’

Jonas squirmed. ‘Well, that’s why I’m here, I’m afraid. Klippr died.’ The words bit at him; the stark reality hard to bear. ‘I need another horse. Thought I might find one for sale around here.’

‘Take his horse!’ And Magnus spun away, running towards Daisy, who was tied up next to the farmer’s new horse, both of them suffering in the downpour. ‘Hurry!’

Jonas followed him, rain in his eyes, chest tightening. He saw men looking warily at him from the shelter of their porches. The street, as it was, was sloppy with mud after days of solid rain, and Jonas didn’t have a good feeling about any of it. His sword banged against his leg; a sword not used in anger in many a year now.

Glancing again at the men, he headed for the horses tied up along a bowed railing. And hearing a creak, Jonas saw the door to the tavern swing open, an angry-looking man striding out into the street, his bald head quickly slick with rain.

Magnus slid to a halt, heart racing.

‘What’s taking you so long, boy?’ the farmer bellowed. ‘Thought you might have decided to run for it. Though, being such a runt, didn’t imagine you’d get far.’ He hid his relief that the boy was still there, realising that he must have been half-drunk to let him walk out of the tavern on his own. He could imagine the colour of his wife’s face if he’d returned without him.

‘Get your pony, Magnus.’ The rain was loud, but Jonas didn’t raise his voice as he stepped forward, hands in the air, eyes fixed on the farmer.

‘Who the fuck are you?’ the farmer growled, wet brow furrowed.

‘I’m taking the boy with me. He’s my great-grandson. I’m taking him.’

The farmer was livid. ‘I paid for that boy! Paid! In silver! I don’t care if he’s your mother or father, he belongs to me!’ And stomping forward, the farmer lunged for Magnus’ arm. But Magnus skidded away from him, heading for Daisy.

The farmer raised a hand to him, but Jonas unsheathed his sword, aiming it at the man’s barrel-like chest. ‘Do not touch him!’ His booming voice conveyed even more threat than the sword. Jonas didn’t blink, feeling the once familiar thrill of battle stir in his old limbs. And he stepped forward, one purposeful boot at a time, conscious that Magnus was edging closer to his pony.

The farmer moved surprisingly quickly for an overweight, half-drunk middle-aged man who’d never even sniffed a battle. He slid his old sword from its scabbard, jabbing it at Jonas, who jumped back, slipping in the mud, but his head was up, and his balance was solid.

And against this man? Jonas liked his chances.

Magnus’ eyes snapped to the tavern as four men staggered outside. One drunk for sure, and weaponless, who appeared more interested in watching. The other three had axes, short and lethal-looking. Magnus saw their sharp blades glinting in a shudder of lightning, and he gulped, blinking at Jonas.

Jonas almost laughed.

The rain was getting heavier, and the sky was rolling as though the gods themselves had come to watch, checking to see if the warrior they had once favoured so highly was still worthy of their attention.

Jonas hoped so.

* * *

‘Now Reinar knows it was a curse, he feels invincible again.’ Sigurd looked down at his hands, warming them over the flames he had worked to bring to life. ‘And if he believes he’s destined to beat Hakon Vettel, he’s liable to make a mistake. But we still have no men. We’re still trying to train a bunch of useless women to help us.’

Alys frowned at him. ‘Useless women? You mean the women you stole away from their homes and families, and are now forcing to fight to save your lives? Those useless women?’

Sigurd laughed, enjoying the spark in her eyes. He shook his head. ‘I... yes, well, that would be a fair point.’

‘None of us want to be here.’

That surprised him. ‘I thought you did. You seemed to be getting used to us. To Ottby. And with your husband dead... I imagined you’d be staying.’

Alys narrowed her eyes. ‘Did you?’ She felt confused, not knowing what she wanted. She had a growing sense of dread about her children, about Hakon Vettel’s fast-approaching army, and whatever was wrong with Stina. But more than anything at that moment, she felt annoyed that Reinar Vilander, who had brought her to this miserable fort and paid her all that attention, had suddenly cast her aside.

And then she realised why.

‘I expect Reinar will try to bring his wife back now. Now that it’s not luck he’s missing. Now that the curse is broken.’

Sigurd looked up, surprised. ‘I... I’m not sure if that can be undone, what Elin felt. Why she left. According to Agnette, maybe not. But...’ And here he wanted to be as honest with Alys as possible. ‘Reinar and Elin were fated to be together. The moment they met, it was as though the gods had spoken. You could feel it. It was meant to be.’

Alys felt silly. And eager to change the subject. ‘So, what do you want with me, then, Sigurd?’

Sigurd wasn’t sure. ‘I don’t put any stock in dreamers, but Reinar does, so he’ll listen to you.’

‘About?’

‘Turn him away from the torc. It’s what our father always used to do... when he had his voice.’ Sadness dulled Sigurd’s eyes, and he sighed. ‘He would keep Reinar’s feet on the ground, forcing him in the right direction. Gerda... she’s always been the opposite, pushing Reinar towards that fate. But he doesn’t even know if it’s true, or if Gerda was just lying.’

‘Why would she lie about what Ragnahild said?’

Sigurd shrugged. ‘She dotes on Reinar. She was never satisfied with Stellan. He was happy here, being Ake’s lord. He never wanted more. Just to be a loyal man, holding the bridge. It was his oath. Important to him.’

Alys saw a flash of something, and she stiffened. ‘You’re not their son.’ The image was of a moonlit forest, touched by mist, and a man in a hooded cloak picking up a tiny baby wrapped in furs.

Sigurd was quick to reply. ‘Well, not by blood, I’m not, but they are my parents, and Reinar is my brother. Agnette is my cousin. We’re all family here, though Gerda wishes I’d never come back from Kalmera, of course. She was always pushing me out the gates.’

‘Why?’

‘She didn’t know where I’d come from.’ Old memories were still painful, and Sigurd’s voice became halting. ‘I would hear her yelling at my father, wanting to know what sort of low-born peasants would leave their filthy baby out in the forest. In winter. Hoping he’d die. She would shriek it at him, over and over again. Didn’t care who heard. Didn’t care if I did. Likely she wanted me to.’

‘But your father loved you?’

Now Sigurd smiled. ‘He did. He does now, I’m sure. And together we worked to keep Reinar on the right side of his destiny. The Sun Torc is no prize. It’s just a trap, don’t you think? Like a beehive. If you didn’t know what lurked inside it, you might want to stick your finger in and taste all that sweet honey.’

Alys stared at Sigurd, trying to see anything else, but it was all hazy; images of Sigurd and Reinar and their childhood blurring before her eyes.

And then a sudden vision of Magnus.

* * *

The farmer was an annoying obstacle between Jonas and the axemen, two of whom looked more than handy with their weapons. Eventually, they growled at the farmer, knocking him out of the way as they charged towards the old man.

The farmer jabbed his sword at Magnus’ back, making him turn around to watch the death of his grandfather. And when Magnus did, the farmer pulled him close, one arm around his chest, blade at his throat, showing the old man just how many problems he truly had.

Jonas didn’t even look his way.

He swung his long sword at the man on the right: a tall man with two braids, and a freshly broken nose covered in bruises. His older companion came in behind with powerful arms, slicing his blade across Jonas’ forearm. Despite the rain and his rusty skills, Jonas’ senses were sharp, and he dragged his left arm away just in time to avoid anything more serious than a scratch. He gritted his teeth, though, hissing a breath through them, stumbling backwards.

‘Grandfather!’ Magnus wanted to slip out of the farmer’s grasp. He wanted to help Jonas, but the blade across his throat was almost cutting his skin. So staying perfectly still, he held his breath, watching.

Jonas appreciated the reminder of how serious the consequences were, and he moved quickly, striking the third man who was lunging from his left, carving his blade across his waist, listening to the wail of pain as the red-haired man collapsed forward.

Broken Nose came at Jonas again, axe blade scything through the rain, and Jonas darted to the left, just avoiding being cleaved in two. He jumped onto his left leg, feeling it slip through the mud, pushing his boot down, needing to ground himself. And holding that leg there, teeth gritted, he dropped to one knee, bringing his left hand up to secure his grip, slashing his blade across Broken Nose’s thighs, hearing him scream.

The older man roared over the thunderous rain, lunging at Jonas, who rolled away, through the mud, body creaking. Back on his feet quickly, he backhanded his sword, missing the man entirely. The man’s long wet hair was hanging in his eyes, and he grew irritated, struggling to see. He shook his head, trying to budge it, distracted, and Jonas went for him again.

Quickly aware of the threat, the older man forgot about his annoying hair, dragging a long knife from its scabbard, jumping away from Jonas’ blade, looking for an opportunity to finish him off. He wanted to get back to the accommodating Gyda and his jug of ale before someone swiped it.

Jerking his knife with one hand, he swung his axe with the other, aware that Broken Nose was hobbling behind the old man now, bleeding profusely, thigh wounds gaping open.

‘What are you doing? Finish him!’ the farmer called, legs jiggling as he held Magnus tightly, eyes screwed up against the freezing rain. Surely his three friends were more than enough to kill that old warrior?

Jonas ignored him, aware that he had another threat approaching behind, and stepping back, he kept his sword extended, head swivelling, needing to see them both. He glanced quickly to his right, where the third man appeared to be dying, guts exposed, bloody hands shuddering by his sides as he lay in the muddy street.

Broken Nose staggered to the left, his older companion, moving to the right, both of them edging closer to their prey.

Jonas dropped lower, jerking his sword at one man, then stepping back, before lunging again, stabbing at the other. The rain hammered down in sheets, and suddenly just seeing was a challenge. Broken Nose, the younger, more impetuous of the two, grew impatient, taking his axe in both hands, swinging at Jonas’ throat. Jonas Bergstrom was a tall man, but the broken-nosed warrior was even taller, and he aimed to take off Jonas’ head and put an end to things before his injuries took hold.

Jumping backwards, Jonas stumbled into a hole, quickly unbalanced, and down he went, rain washing over him, axe blade swinging for his face.

Magnus screamed, and the broken-nosed warrior grunted, tumbling over, falling on top of a surprised Jonas, who shunted his twitching body away, slipping and sliding back to his feet. Sword out, he blinked into the rain, trying to see.

‘Thought you might need some help.’

Jonas shook his dripping hair out of his eyes, shoving some behind an ear, not sure what he was seeing.

But he knew that voice.

And smiling with a certain amount of relief, Jonas left Broken Nose with a knife through the back of his skull, bleeding in the mud, and headed for Magnus, leaving Vik to take care of the long-haired older man with his axe and his knife.

‘Aarrghh!’ Magnus yelped as the farmer squeezed all the air out of him, dragging him backwards, aiming for the tavern, wanting to get inside. But the tavern owner took one look at how things were about to pan out, and he slammed the door shut, slipping the bolt.

‘Let the boy go, and you can live!’ Jonas called over the crashing thunder. ‘He’s nothing to you!’

‘Except my property!’ the farmer called back. ‘Mine!’

Jonas sheathed his sword, thinking quickly. There was no one else on the street, he saw, squinting. He hadn’t even seen Vik coming, so heavy had the downpour been for a time, but the rain was easing slightly now, and he could see that the only man looking for trouble was the one wrestling in the mud with Vik.

‘What are you doing?’ the farmer panicked. He’d seen Jonas fight, and he knew the old man was a skilled warrior. His grey hair and rasping voice were deceptive for sure.

‘I only want to negotiate!’ Jonas tried, hands open, bloody now, the cut on his arm bleeding profusely in the rain. ‘We can find a way out of this! I have more coins than you paid for the boy!’ And dipping a hand towards the pouch hanging from his swordbelt, Jonas kept his eyes on the farmer.

‘What are you doing? Keep your hands where I can see them!’

Magnus yelped as the blade scraped his throat again.

‘I’m just showing you my coins!’ Jonas called. And in the blink of an eye, he’d pulled out a handful of silver coins, showing them to the farmer. ‘You can take them. Take all of them! Just give me the boy!’

The farmer’s eyes lit up. That handful of coins was many times over what he’d paid for the boy, and distracted, he loosened his hold on Magnus.

Which Jonas saw, and he threw the coins at the farmer.

The farmer panicked, sword arm dropping, his instinct to grab the coins taking over. And quickly slipping his knife from its scabbard, Jonas balanced himself, one eye on Magnus, aiming for the farmer’s round forehead.

Vik had worked the older warrior into a panting frenzy behind them, and he dropped to one knee, lunging, slicing his sword across the man’s bleeding belly. He turned, eyes on Jonas, who had just felled the farmer with a knife to the head. Turning back around, Vik watched as the long-haired warrior gasped in horror, axe and knife falling out of his hands. He reached for his middle, terrified by what he felt, dropping to his knees, toppling into the mud.

The farmer lay on his back, staring up at the thunderous clouds.

His open eyes quickly filled with blood-coloured rain, his mouth wrenched open in surprise, coins at his feet.

Magnus ran to Jonas, who was panting as he wrapped an arm around him.

‘Get your pony, Magnus.’ And turning to Vik, who was sheathing his sword, Jonas tried to find a breath. ‘Where’s your horse?’

‘Where’s yours?’

‘Dead. In the woods some way back.’ Jonas swallowed, shocked that that was true.

‘Mine’s back there. Didn’t know what I was walking into.’

‘Well, I don’t think that man will be going anywhere,’ Jonas grinned, eyes on the dead farmer, relief coursing through his body. ‘So, I think I’ve found myself a new horse.’ The horse itself looked miserable, half-starved, and a little mangy, but he had four legs and a saddle, and that would be enough to get them out of Akaby quickly.

Vik turned, walking back to his horse, knowing that they needed to be on their way before anyone else turned up. He glanced back at Jonas, who had taken a moment to pull Magnus into his arms again, holding him close, before helping him onto his bedraggled pony.

And he smiled.

30

Tulia was pleased with how her archers had responded. She had worked with the tanner and the tailor to provide the women with some leather armour. Old bits and pieces left over or left behind had been quickly stitched together, and now each of the Ullaberg women had a leather vest and arm guards. It was not mail, and it would likely not protect them from a direct hit, but it was something. And it made them look more purposeful.

Reinar nodded, impressed. ‘You’ve done well, Tulia. They’ll be a useful addition to the inner wall.’ He nudged Torvig, who seemed in a chipper mood. ‘What do you say?’

‘About what?’

‘About telling Tulia that she couldn’t do it, yet there we have a row of new archers!’

Torvig snorted. ‘More like targets to aim at, if you ask me. Makes sense. We can afford to lose them.’

The women were standing nearby, and none of them looked happy to hear it, their brittle confidence eroding further.

Tulia strode forward, temper snapping like a dry twig. ‘We are on the same side, aren’t we, Torvig?’ Her voice rose, and her accent thickened as she went on, poking her finger at him over the railings. ‘Because sometimes I wonder whether you want to help or hurt Reinar. You grumble and moan, put everyone down, and do nothing much more than slide about like a lazy worm while everyone else breaks themselves into pieces out here!’

Reinar stepped to one side, leaving Tulia to slip out of the training ring. He thought he might have to peel her off Torvig, but Tulia merely spat on the ground and stormed away, braid snapping behind her, heading for the stables.

The air was thick with smoke and ash, mingling with snow flurries that never threatened to settle. It was bitterly cold, but Torvig suddenly felt hot all over.

All eyes were on him, especially Reinar’s.

‘She’s right.’

Torvig glared at him.

‘Those women will help. You’ve just seen what Tulia trained them to do. Her and Sigurd and Amir. A few days ago they couldn’t even bend a bow. Now look at them. If Tulia hadn’t bothered, we’d be weaker for sure.’

Torvig saw the anger in Reinar’s eyes, quickly realising that he needed to step with care. ‘Alright, alright!’ And holding his hands in the air, he leaned towards his friend. ‘It’s just that woman. Tulia. She’s always rubbed me the wrong way.’

Reinar burst out laughing. ‘You mean she hasn’t rubbed you at all!’ He nudged his red-faced friend. ‘We all know how you feel about Tulia.’

‘What?’

‘You can’t have her, and she doesn’t want you, and it drives you crazy.’ Reinar’s voice was low as he led Torvig across the square, towards the hall. He wanted to find Bjarni, who’d disappeared to see Agnette. She’d been feeling under the weather for days now, and he was worried about her. ‘You know that’s it.’

Torvig’s anger flowed like a river of fire, hot and furious, but clamping his teeth together, he smiled. ‘If only that were true. But no, Sigurd’s welcome to the miserable bitch. I just don’t like her company. She’s arrogant. Acts like she knows more than anyone. Like she knows us. But she’s not from here. What does she know?’

‘Well, she knows how to fight, and now, it seems, she knows how to teach women to become warriors.’ Reinar grabbed a door, pulling it open with a numb hand, his eyes on the golden glow beckoning them inside the hall.

‘Close the door!’ came his mother’s shrill cry. Gerda had become increasingly thin since his father had taken ill, and she felt the cold more than ever.

Reinar shoved Torvig inside. ‘Don’t worry, I doubt she knows the real reason you’re such a prick to her.’ And then he was laughing again, gratefully accepting the cup of ale Martyn handed him. ‘You read my mind!’ he smiled, thinking of Alys.

It had been days since he’d spoken to her, and he was eager to discover if she’d had any dreams.

* * *

Sigurd slipped out of Alys’ cottage, immediately blasted by a gusting wind. He scowled, grabbing his cloak as it threatened to fly away. He’d lost his old cloak pin, but he’d need to find a new one quickly if this was how winter was announcing itself.

‘Not feeling like helping today?’ Tulia looked furious as she stood watching him, holding on to the bridle of her skittish horse, who was not enjoying the wailing wind. ‘Thought you’d just spend the morning sitting around a fire with the dreamer, did you? Having tea? Or was it wine?’

Sigurd knew Tulia had a jealous streak. A flaming temper too.

Though he hadn’t seen her this angry in some time.

‘I was...’ Sigurd glanced around, before lowering his voice, stepping towards her. ‘I was talking about Reinar.’

Tulia didn’t care. She spun around, almost dragging her dappled stallion towards the gates. ‘Well, the women are waiting for someone to train them, Sigurd Vilander! Maybe you should do some work before the snow comes down!’ And throwing herself up onto the fleece-covered saddle, Tulia dropped her hood over her black hair, spurring her horse towards the gates, scattering a flock of ducks who quickly took fright, flapping into the air.

Sigurd watched her go, utterly confused.

Ludo walked past him, laughing, leading Stina, Jorunn, and three more Ullaberg women towards the hall. ‘It’s not you, don’t worry. She had a fight with Torvig. Tore a few strips off him. You would have enjoyed it!’

‘Torvig?’ Sigurd shook his head. ‘Well, things look a little clearer, then.’ He fell in beside Ludo, who was keen to get the women out of the wind. ‘I say we put them in the ring together. Let Tulia kill him.’

Ludo smiled, turning around to motion for some of the stragglers to hurry up. ‘I don’t think there’d be many tears, except from Torvig of course!’

Sigurd laughed, glancing over his shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of Tulia, his eyes meeting Alys’ as she stepped out of her cottage, hurrying away, the white cat running to keep up with her.

And, smile gone now, he frowned, wondering where she was going.

* * *

They rode quickly, until they left the rain behind, and encountered the first flurries of snow. Jonas made them stop when they were far enough away from Akaby. Magnus had been falling behind, looking ready to break a tooth, his teeth were chattering so hard.

They turned off the road, heading down an old hunting track, looking for shelter.

They didn’t find it.

But they did find a thick hedge which offered a break from the wind, and Vik disappeared to find twigs and moss, branches too. They needed to warm Magnus up before setting off again.

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.’

PART 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.

He didn’t know Alys, though, not like he knew Elin.

And Elin would come back to him once she found out the curse was lifted. Once she knew that the gods still favoured him, she would return, and they would try for another child. She would be happy when she was back home with him.

Closing his eyes, Reinar rubbed his feet together, trying to warm them up, seeing his wife’s face.

Hoping to find her in his dreams.

* * *

Alys knew she should be sleeping, but the noise of the wind was so loud and mournful that she found it impossible to relax, and eventually, she wrapped the bed fur around her shoulders, disturbing the cat as she headed to sit by the fire to read.

She thought of Eddeth and her teas, deciding to visit her in the morning and ask for some herbs. Eddeth’s teas were warming and calming, and likely she would know just the right combination to aid her sleep.

The vellum page she was studying had been wet at some stage, for the words had blurred, making it hard to distinguish each letter. Or perhaps it was her eyes, Alys thought, squinting, running a finger under one line, frowning. Nothing was making any sense.

The door rattled, and turning to it, Alys shivered.

She glanced back at Winter, who was not purring. He was staring at the door too.

Hairs on the back of her neck rising, Alys put down the book and picked up the poker, dropping the fur back on the bed as she crept towards the door. Moving the poker into her left hand, she slid the bolt with her right, swinging the door open, hoping it was just the wind.

Breath trapped in her chest, Alys stepped outside, into the square, listening to the rustling leaves on the giant tree. It was mostly evergreen, though the leaves appeared half-frozen, rubbing against each other with vigour in the furious wind, threatening to blow away.

She glanced to her right, listening, but apart from two guards shivering by the inner gates, no one was there.

‘Are you alright?’

Yelping in surprise, Alys dropped the poker on Ludo’s foot. She hopped backwards, banging into the cottage door, arms out in surprise.

‘I’m sorry!’ Guilt and pain contorted Ludo’s face as he helped Alys inside. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. What were you doing outside with a poker?’

Alys shook her head, feeling silly. ‘I thought I heard something. Are you alright?’

Ludo laughed, sitting down on a stool, feeling his foot through his boot. ‘Might be. Nothing feels broken, though, just a little sore.’

‘I’m so sorry. Why were you lurking outside my door?’

‘I had an odd feeling, like a nightmare. Thought I’d check the ramparts, but I saw nothing out of the ordinary. No wolves skulking about.’ He frowned, that odd feeling lingering. ‘Have you spoken to Stina lately?’ He realised that Stina was definitely part of that odd feeling.

‘Stina? Is something wrong with her?’ Alys’ attention had been so fractured that she’d barely been able to focus her thoughts for long, and certainly not on her friend. But something was wrong. She’d seen it in Stina’s eyes.

Ludo shrugged. ‘I don’t know her, so I couldn’t say. She’s very helpful, works hard, leads the other women, but there’s just something about her. She seemed different before, I think. Though,’ he admitted, hands in the air, ‘what would I know?’ He couldn’t stop seeing Stina’s sad face, though, wondering what he was missing. ‘I imagine she just doesn’t like being a prisoner.’ Ludo shook his head, realising how ridiculous that sounded. ‘Of course she doesn’t like being a prisoner!’

‘What are you doing?’ Sigurd stood in the doorway, one hand on the door which had been banging against the cottage. Bringing it in, he stepped inside, looking from one to the other. ‘What’s happened?’ He saw the distress in Alys’ eyes; Ludo with his boot off now, hands on his foot. ‘Are you alright?’

Ludo grinned. ‘Fine. Alys just thought I was some evil spirit lurking outside her door. She dropped the poker on my foot.’

Sigurd laughed, eyes on Alys. ‘So when you’re not getting injured, you’re injuring others?’

Alys looked sheepish.

‘What are you doing here?’ Ludo wondered.

‘Couldn’t sleep.’

‘That seems to be going around tonight,’ Alys said. ‘Neither could we.’

‘Well, if you have some ale or wine, we could sit around, keep each other company for a while?’ Sigurd suggested, glancing at Ludo, who looked happy enough, though his foot was throbbing. ‘Unless you’re too tired?’ He turned back to Alys, eyebrows raised.

‘No, company would be nice. And there’s some wine in the jug.’

Sigurd nodded, heading to the table, where he poured the wine into three cups, relieved to be out of the bone-chilling wind. He could almost feel Hakon Vettel breathing down their necks now, and the thought of it had his mind whirring. Sleep would not come for him in that state, he knew, even with Tulia’s naked body beside him. So handing one cup to Alys, Sigurd smiled. ‘What should we talk about then, Alys the dreamer?’

* * *

Stina hated everything he was doing to her.

Her back was wet, rubbing against the stinking straw as Torvig grunted over her. Sometimes he stopped, bending down to jam his hand over her mouth, holding it there until her eyes bulged with panic.

Stina tried to drift away, to exist outside it all, as though she was not even present. She thought of Ullaberg’s beach; the sound of the waves. Those gentle, rhythmic waves would soothe her to sleep at night. She could hear them through her window.

She tried not to panic, knowing that, eventually, he would finish and take her back to her cottage, wanting no one to discover what he’d done. Though it was hard not to panic when Torvig wrapped his hands around her throat.

* * *

In his dream, Reinar was on the beach at Ullaberg, watching his men rush the women, dragging them away from their families; their husbands charging at them, many unarmed, half asleep. They stood no chance. Not against men with swords and axes, shields protecting their chests, archers at their backs.

He wasn’t sure that he’d noticed Alys before, but she turned around, blonde hair swirling around her face. And he heard Salma’s soft voice.

‘Your new dreamer will come, do not fear, Reinar. I have seen her, and she is beautiful. Pale skin, dappled with freckles. A green dress...’ Salma had stopped, gasping for her last breaths. ‘She wears a green dress.’ She frowned, fading eyes suddenly sad. ‘And bruises, old and new, the poor girl...’

Reinar heard her voice and then Alys’ as she spun towards him, hand out. ‘Run!’ she yelled, trying to make herself heard. ‘Reinar! Run!’

* * *

At first, the wine had just been to make them feel more relaxed, but after one cup, no one had felt tired at all. And as there was nothing to eat and the storm was raging outside, Sigurd poured another round. And then another.

Which did Ludo in. His head drooped onto his chest, empty cup still in his hand.

Sigurd and Alys stared at him, wondering if they should wake him up.

‘But he looks so content,’ Alys grinned, head spinning. ‘Like a boy in a giant’s body.’

Sigurd snorted. ‘Sounds like Ludo all over! I think he was that size when he arrived in Ottby! But he was only a boy. Not a hair on his face!’ He leaned towards Alys, knocking his cup into hers, noticing a strange look in her eyes. ‘What is it?’

Alys felt odd, as though beetles were crawling beneath her skin.

Ice-cold, frozen beetles, leaving trails of shivers she couldn’t shake.

‘I don’t know. Something.’

Sigurd was quickly on his feet, wobbling, bumping into Ludo, who jerked up, brandishing his cup, nearly tipping into the fire.

‘What? What?’ And jumping away from the flames, he yelped, forgetting all about his injured foot. Turning to Sigurd, who was at the door, he tried to wake himself up.

‘Alys heard something.’

‘Not heard something... I think I felt it.’ She put her cup on the floor, regretting having had so much to drink. Now her mind was hazy, and her senses dulled. Trying to stand, she nearly fell over Winter as she headed to the door.

The three of them stepped into the square, Ludo limping, ushering Alys ahead of him, Sigurd in front of them.

They were quiet, listening, each one of them experiencing an odd sensation.

The storm blew past, a dog howled in the distance.

But nothing else.

Sigurd turned around. ‘I think we need some sleep!’

Ludo listened, but he couldn’t hear or feel anything except the demanding pain in his foot. ‘I think we do.’

Alys’ throat was suddenly tight, and she lifted a hand to her neck, struggling to breathe.

‘Alys?’ Sigurd turned back to her.

‘Can’t... breathe,’ Alys gasped, leaning against Ludo. She tried coughing, shaking her head. Her lungs hurt as she tried to drag in a breath, but they felt as though there was nothing to give, and she started to panic, eyes bursting open, hands at her neck.

Sigurd felt himself panicking too. ‘Ludo, take her back inside! We need to give her something to drink!’

Alys pushed Ludo away, stumbling, hurrying towards the tree, trying to listen, certain she could hear voices. But she couldn’t think, couldn’t find the answer.

No air would come.

She couldn’t think at all!

Everything started spinning, and she stumbled, Sigurd and Ludo grabbing her before she could fall.

They hurried her back into the cottage, sitting her on the bed.

Out of the corner of her eye, Alys saw Eddeth’s symbol stone, and she grabbed it, holding it in her right hand. And suddenly, face red, eyes popping open in terror, she could breathe again.

Panting, she drew air into her lungs, wanting to feel ice cold rain on her face.

Sigurd was on his knees before her. ‘Are you alright? Alys?’

Ludo had filled a cup with water, and he handed it to her. ‘Drink.’

Alys felt light-headed. She was trembling, shaking her head, not wanting water. Just air. She just wanted air.

‘What was it?’ Sigurd’s eyes were just as frantic. ‘You couldn’t breathe.’

‘I don’t... know.’ Alys leaned over, throat aching. ‘I don’t know what happened.’

Sigurd glanced at Ludo, who left the cup on a stool and came back to Alys. ‘What about some air?’

Alys lifted her head, nodding, still gripping the stone, and taking Sigurd’s hand, she rose to her feet.

‘Are you alright?’ Sigurd asked, peering at her as he led her outside. ‘Alright to walk?’

‘I think so.’ Flashes of panic threatened to undo her resolve to go outside again, but Alys took a deep breath and followed Ludo out into the square.

The wind lifted her dress, rushing past her with icy fingers. She shivered, embracing it, closing her eyes, mouth open, sucking in breaths of frigid air, shivering all over.

Sigurd watched her, frowning, feeling her hand trembling in his, wondering what had happened.

* * *

Mother sat in the corner of the tent, eyes on her raven.

His eyes were black, deep pits, blinking often.

She was lost, filled with rage, her body thrumming with anger, fists in balls as she remained motionless in the dark corner, watching the raven.

Reinar Vilander’s dreamer was a troublesome bitch.

A nuisance of a problem.

Yet there were always solutions.

Oh yes, she smiled, watching the raven, who squawked at her, blinking some more.

There were always solutions.

32

The morning dawned fine, snowless, and everyone rushed around the fort as though their lives depended on it.

Which they did.

If Alys’ vision about Hakon Vettel departing Slussfall had been correct, then they had two or three days before his army was lined up across the field, eyes on the outer gates.

Despite the lingering frost and the bitter cold, everyone was out early, wanting to use every moment of daylight to finish their preparations.

There was an urgency which was understandable, but after his odd night, Sigurd felt unsettled, moving slowly through the fort. His leg was aching, his back too. He felt like going back to bed. His brother, though, had woken before dawn, running around as though he was being chased by Ulura herself.

‘Reinar!’ Sigurd grabbed his arm, forcing him around. ‘You’re not listening!’

‘To you? About what?’ Reinar’s eyes hopped straight past his brother to where Torvig and Bolli were dragging stakes through the square towards the bridge gates. ‘You must hurry!’ he called, panic in his eyes, wanting to urge his friends on.

‘Why?’ Sigurd didn’t understand. ‘They can’t come faster than six days. They’d be running, not stopping for the night. They’d have no siege towers. No catapults.’

Reinar looked straight through him. ‘Why aren’t you helping Tulia? Is something wrong?’ He didn’t wait for an answer, though, striding past Sigurd to Bjarni, who appeared to be almost running into the guard tower.

‘I feel as though I’m still in a dream,’ Ludo yawned, stopping beside Sigurd. ‘Gerda’s in tears, panicking in the kitchen. Agnette’s out of bed, shooing the servants around, certain her baby’s going to come when Hakon Vettel’s attacking us.’ He looked puzzled. ‘I thought it was supposed to be different now the curse is lifted?’

‘Well, we still don’t have enough men. Our stores are still low. Stellan’s still not there, and Agnette looks ready to pop, so it seems the curse wasn’t our only worry!’ And seeing Alys heading towards them, Sigurd grinned. ‘Did you manage to get some sleep in the end?’ he asked, staring at her neck, frowning suddenly.

‘What?’ Alys looked from Sigurd to Ludo, who blinked in horror.

‘Your neck is bruised, Alys,’ Ludo breathed. ‘Badly bruised.’

Alys didn’t believe him, certain he was making fun of how many bruises she’d collected since arriving in Ottby. She touched her neck, not feeling anything.

Sigurd looked disturbed. ‘It is, Alys. You couldn’t breathe last night, remember?’

Alys did; it had been terrifying. ‘That’s strange. It doesn’t feel sore.’

Neither man spoke. They felt unsettled, even Sigurd, who would have usually laughed it all off.

Reinar stopped beside his brother, staring at Alys. ‘What’s going on?’ He looked from one serious face to the next, gasping as Alys removed her hands from her neck, quickly angry. ‘Who did that to you?’ He turned back to Sigurd and Ludo.

Sigurd held up his hands. ‘Don’t look at us, Brother. Alys couldn’t breathe last night.’

‘Last night? What do you mean, last night?’

Things were getting more complicated by the moment, and Alys felt the need to see Eddeth right away, wanting to know what had happened to her neck. She turned to leave, banging into Ludo, who put all his weight down on his injured foot, hopping in the air with a yelp, knocking Alys into Reinar, who grabbed her.

‘What happened to you?’ Reinar wondered, eyes on a grimacing Ludo.

Alys looked embarrassed.

Ludo and Sigurd burst out laughing, both of them hobbling, leaning on each other.

Reinar didn’t understand.

‘I dropped a poker on Ludo’s foot,’ Alys explained. ‘He gave me a fright. We spent the night talking after that, didn’t we?’ She smiled at Ludo and Sigurd. It had been enjoyable for a time. Comforting not to be alone.

‘All of you?’

The two men nodded.

‘But you didn’t see who did that to Alys’ neck?’

‘No, but you couldn’t breathe, could you?’ Ludo said, not laughing now.

‘No, it was as if someone was choking me.’ Alys shivered, wondering what had happened. ‘I need to see Eddeth. She might know something.’

‘I’ll take you,’ Reinar offered quickly, arm still around Alys’ back. ‘At this rate, you’ll be no use at all soon!’ It was meant as a joke, but Alys could hear the tension in his voice as he walked her across the square, feeling the warmth of his arm touching her back.

* * *

Hakon was thrilled by the smile that brightened Mother’s round face as she emerged from her tent. ‘You had a good night, then? A useful dream or two?’

Mother cackled as she stepped around the fire towards him, gratefully taking the cup he offered her. ‘I did indeed. I anticipate a very productive day!’

‘You do?’

Mother helped herself to one of Hakon’s chairs, ignoring Ivan, who slouched beside his cousin, eating a rolled-up hot cake dripping with honey. Her own stomach rumbled, and she felt ravenous. Magic work tended to drain her. Such powerful spells sapped her energy like a demanding newborn on a tit. And despite her frustration with Reinar Vilander’s girl dreamer, she felt a lift.

A sense of optimism about the day.

Hakon’s servants fussed around their lord, adding more branches to the fire, offering their master the jug of small ale and a plate of eggs. But Hakon had had enough, and he was far more intrigued by what Mother had to say than any food. She seemed to have a secret, though she did not look inclined to share.

Ivan’s eyes were on Falla, who appeared to be arguing with her husband in the distance. The snow was sweeping in again, and everyone’s tempers were fraying. Travelling in winter was always a challenge, but taking the catapults and siege towers over the mountains from Slussfall had been tedious. Nobody was smiling, except for the grunting old woman who sat next to him, threatening to break the chair she had squeezed into.

Mother poked a finger at Ivan. ‘Is there no better use of your time than sitting there drooling over my daughter-in-law? Have you nothing else to be getting on with?’

Hakon laughed, nudging his cousin, who looked irritated, which was new for Ivan. Mother had certainly touched a raw nerve there.

‘I have no need to rush anywhere, Mother,’ Ivan purred, smiling sweetly at the dreamer. ‘My men know their tasks, as you can see.’ And he swept an arm across the vast swathe of snow-covered men who were dousing fires and packing tents; rolling furs and strapping on armour; stamping ice from their boots as they checked the sky, which looked grim indeed. ‘Everything is perfectly under control, wouldn’t you say, Cousin?’

Hakon nodded. Everything was running smoothly, and he had no reason to find fault with Ivan at all. And nor would he. His cousin’s presence was a comfort and a pleasure, and he would never think of replacing him, no matter how much his dreamer disliked him. ‘I would. You stay where you are, Ivan. Enjoy the view!’ And ignoring Mother’s scowl, Hakon pressed her for more information. ‘What did you see in your dreams last night?’

‘An old friend,’ was all she would say, quickly gobbling up the hotcakes Hakon’s servant handed her. ‘A very welcome old friend.’

* * *

Reinar stared at Alys as she made herself comfortable on one of Eddeth’s rough tree stumps, which wasn’t comfortable at all. ‘You’re sure no one did this to you? Someone must have, Alys. You didn’t do it to yourself.’

Eddeth shooed Reinar towards the door. Her cottage suddenly felt full with him towering inside it, stooped over, trying to avoid brushing his head against the drying herbs she’d strung between the rafters. ‘Best you go now. Go! Go!’

Reinar looked annoyed, ready to argue, but he had to get back to the square, and Eddeth had a look in her eye he knew well, so he nodded. ‘I’ll come back for you shortly. I want to hear what you discover.’ And ducking underneath the bags of rosemary and hyssop dangling from the lintel, Reinar disappeared outside.

‘That man!’ Eddeth sighed. ‘Like a boulder. Can’t shift him!’ She was distracted for a moment, staring at the door, trying to remember what she’d been about to do, then spinning around, she saw Alys.

And Alys’ neck.

It was a mystery, and Eddeth shivered with excitement, eager to begin.

‘What do you think happened?’ Alys wondered, listening to the rasp of her voice. Tiredness, she’d initially thought. Or too much wine. But now she realised that her throat felt raw. It was becoming painful to swallow.

Eddeth sat before her, pushing away Rigfuss, who had his paws on her leg, looking to be lifted up. ‘Something I’ve never seen before. A dream come to life! Not just a vision like that wolf, not a trick of the mind, but real. Flesh and hands and strangling!’ She gently touched the marks on Alys’ neck. ‘Someone was trying to kill you!’

Alys froze, thinking of the wolf. ‘Perhaps the dreamer who made the waking nightmare?’

‘Could be. But you have your protection stone. I’m not sure she could hurt you if she tried. My symbols have never been wrong before!’ Eddeth cocked her head to one side. ‘Unless it was just a warning? If the dreamer knows you stopped her nightmare and her curse, which, being a dreamer, I imagine she does... perhaps she’s threatening you?’ Popping a walnut into her mouth, she crunched loudly, mouth open, eyes fixed on Alys. ‘Warning you of what will happen if you come between her and her magic, perhaps?’

Alys touched her neck. ‘But if she can bruise my skin? Try to kill me?’ She felt sick. ‘How can we stop her, Eddeth?’ She remembered the sensation of not being able to breathe more acutely now. ‘I thought I was going to die.’

Eddeth swallowed the walnut, gnawing a dirty fingernail. ‘Well, we shall have to get serious, Alys. Serious indeed.’ She ripped off the nail, twitching her nose. ‘It’s time to open up my secret chest!’

* * *

Ludo had found it impossible to concentrate.

He had positioned the catapults around the square, and was working with his group of women to ensure that everything the crews would need was to hand. The constant blustering wind had wreaked havoc across the fort, and he’d had the women out gathering rocks, weighing everything down, for despite the momentarily clear sky, Ludo was certain there’d be another storm before long.

He frowned. ‘Where’s Stina? I don’t think I’ve seen her all morning.’

Jorunn and Vanya had their heads together, gossiping about Ilene and Amir, which seemed to be the topic of conversation passing through the various groups of Ullaberg women that morning. Ilene was already acting like a lady, as though she was better than any of them, and Jorunn and Vanya had eagerly shared the news with Ludo that Ilene’s bed had remained untouched all night long.

‘Stina was gone when we woke up,’ Jorunn said, wiping her dripping nose with a cloth. ‘But she’s always been an early bird, that one. Likes to walk every morning. Perhaps she just got lost?’

Ludo frowned. ‘In the fort? I don’t think it’s that big.’

‘But the gates were open early today,’ Vanya put in. ‘Maybe she went into the forest?’

Ludo stared at the inner gates, where two of his friends had their heads together. ‘Alright, well, I’ll go and see where’s she gotten to. You take charge, Jorunn.’ And smiling at the older of the two women, Ludo strode away.

Vanya nudged Jorunn, and they both turned to watch him go. ‘Such long legs on that one,’ she smiled. ‘And such big hands too!’

* * *

Eddeth rubbed knitbone leaves on Alys’ neck, which was already turning all shades of purple and yellow. She felt distracted and impatient, for though she felt a duty to care for Alys, her mind was jumping in all directions, eager to get on with solving the mystery.

So leaving Alys on her tree stump with a promise to find the right salve before Reinar returned, she headed for the tiny iron chest she had placed on the bed. It was more of a box really, secured with an enormous rusty padlock. Symbols were inscribed around the edges, tiny and indecipherable for most, but not for Eddeth. ‘This was my grandmother’s,’ she breathed, unlocking the box with a key she’d retrieved from her purse. Lifting the lid with a squeak of excitement, she inhaled a mouthful of dust and immediately started coughing. Barking like a dog, she shut the box, hurrying back to her feet, desperately searching for water.

‘What’s in it?’ Alys wondered when she returned.

‘Conversations!’ Eddeth announced dramatically, opening the box again, revealing a linen package. The linen was a patchy yellow colour, almost in pieces as she placed it on the bed, gently unwrapping it. ‘A book of conversations!’

Alys looked confused, but Eddeth didn’t notice as she removed the thin book from its ancient shroud. ‘Conversations with who?’

‘The gods,’ Eddeth breathed, turning to Alys. ‘My grandmother talked to Valera herself, and she wrote down everything that goddess said!’ Eyes wide, she carefully opened the cover, inhaling the fusty smell of the old book. ‘History! Everything we need to know lives in history!’ She jerked her head towards Alys. ‘Don’t you agree?’

Alys blinked. ‘I...’ She shrugged. ‘I hope so, Eddeth.’

‘Now, you stay there and let me read. It’s very hard to understand, this book. I’ve not read it for many a year, but I’ll find my way through it, don’t you worry. And then we’ll know where we are, won’t we?’ She bent her head low, hair trembling, body vibrating with excitement.

Alys looked from Eddeth to the door, wanting to leave.

Certain she was in the wrong place.

Hoping Reinar would return soon.

* * *

Reinar made his way through the outer gates, where Torvig was supervising the men preparing the field. If Hakon Vettel intended to bring his army across that field, they were determined to make it as unpleasant as possible.

Torvig straightened up with a grin. ‘Getting there,’ he said, pleased with the look of the field, littered with holes, nails and troughs as it was. ‘Wouldn’t you say?’

Reinar’s frown wouldn’t budge. He turned around, his attention moving to the walls behind him, then the gates. ‘We don’t know what they’re bringing.’

‘No, but we can guess. And we can only use what we have, what we can make in time.’ Torvig patted his friend on the shoulder. ‘Don’t worry. We may not have the men, but we have the walls. They’ve held all these years.’

That offered no comfort. Not anymore.

Never did not mean ever.

Reinar nodded anyway. ‘Maybe add some more ship nails. Bang them through pieces of wood. Have them sticking out as spikes. Bolli can help you.’ He frowned, peering at the charred trees lying in the field, trying to imagine what his enemy could do with them. ‘I’ll check on you later.’ And distracted, Reinar headed back into the fort, across the square, eyes on Alys’ cottage door, wondering if Eddeth had found an answer to what had happened to her neck.

Ludo nearly knocked him over as he passed with Amir.

‘What’s happened?’ Reinar asked. ‘You’re running around like a chicken this morning.’

Ludo ducked his head, shoulders slumping. ‘I’ve lost one of the women.’

‘What?’ Reinar was incredulous. ‘How? Who?’ Though he didn’t really know any of the women, he was hoping it wasn’t Ilene. His eyes went to Amir, who didn’t look as concerned as Ludo.

‘Her name is Stina. She’s Alys’ friend.’

‘Oh. Have you checked the forest?’

‘Briefly,’ Ludo said.

Reinar scratched his bearded chin, glancing around, seeing the women waiting for Amir in the training ring. ‘Well, grab your horse and do a proper search. Amir, you get on with things. Ludo, take a good look, but if she’s decided to run away, there’s little we can do now. I can’t afford to lose you for a whole day trying to hunt her down.’ He thought about Alys, who would likely be upset. ‘But try and find some sign of what happened to her.’

Ludo nodded, hurrying for the stables.

Reinar turned to see Amir heading for Ilene, eyes only for each other. He rolled his own eyes. ‘Training, Amir! Training!’ Any optimism he’d felt when they burned the cursed trees had been snuffed out by the cold reality of the day. Now the growing reminder that they were undermanned and vulnerable to an enemy stronger than any they’d faced before nagged away at him.

And staring up at the sky, Reinar prayed for more snow.

* * *

Hakon wore fur-lined leather gloves, specially made for his thumbless hands. He struggled to grip the reins, and his gloves had rivets around the fingers and palm area, giving him some support.

They were warm too.

The rest of him was frozen solid, the snow blowing across them horizontally now, the path almost impossible to discern in the blizzard. It didn’t feel as though they’d left their camp that long ago, and yet the sky was almost dark, the clouds sinking lower and lower, touching the tips of the snow-covered trees they rode through.

Hakon turned in his saddle, jealous of Mother and Falla in their tiny wagon. How pleasant it would be not to feel that cold slap of wind across his face like an icy belt. He gritted his teeth as Ivan rode up behind him. ‘What happened?’ he called, turning away from the roaring wind.

‘Just a fight. Two idiots. I separated them. Nothing to worry about.’ Ivan’s eyes were almost hidden beneath the hood of his fur-trimmed black cloak. His beard was white with snow, his body trembling. ‘Not sure anyone’s enjoying the weather!’

‘Not everyone! But you’re still smiling, Cousin!’

‘Why not? We’re days away from the greatest victory of our lives. Ha! Can you imagine it? Us? Two idiots like us? Hakon and Ivan Vettel, the greatest warriors in Alekka? Soon they’ll be singing about us instead of Ake Bluefinn. Soon new sagas will be written about the Rise of the Vettels!’

‘The Return of the Vettels,’ Hakon decided, shivering. ‘For we will reclaim our rightful place in Stornas. Our place, as the gods have always willed it.’ He gripped the reins tightly, noticing a look in Ivan’s eyes, sensing him stiffen. ‘What?’

Ivan pointed into the blizzard. ‘Hard to tell, but I think someone’s coming.’

* * *

The weather had disintegrated quickly, though after a few good meals and some sleep, Magnus was feeling better, if not frozen solid. Vik had given him his bed fur to use as a cloak, and Jonas had tied it around Magnus with a length of rope. And though the wind flapped it away from him, it was big and furry, and he was grateful for it.

Vik rode at the front, Magnus in the middle, with Jonas bringing up the rear. They wanted to keep the worst of the weather from the boy, though the wind was changing direction with every blink of the eye, Jonas saw, watching Magnus’ fur flapping before him.

He had a profound sense of relief that they’d found him, and a growing fear for Lotta. If they were lucky enough to find her, Jonas believed they stood a good chance of getting her back, now that Vik was with them, but what would happen to her in the meantime? What would those men do to her? He tried not to imagine such things, gripping the reins tighter, missing Klippr.

Trying not to think about that too.

Ahead, Vik stuck up a hand.

‘What is it?’ Jonas called, riding up to him. The snow was becoming blizzard-like now, and he could barely see more than white and grey shapes.

‘Someone’s coming!’

* * *

Hakon sent Ivan ahead to see who it was.

He felt on edge, struggling to discern anything more than shadows, the noise of the wind searing into his ears, making them ache, despite the thickness of his fur hood.

And then Ivan was back with a grin and Hakon could see clearly now.

And he smiled.

33

It was an elk, moving slowly, snow-covered calf beside it, and Vik let them go, in no mood for killing. The day had barely begun, and if they were going to get through the mountains quickly, they had to plough on.

Jonas felt relieved, not wanting any more trouble. His arm wound was painful, the cut deeper than he’d realised, but he had no fear of it bleeding. Everything was frozen, including his lips as he tried to speak. The blizzard swirled loudly and unhelpfully around them, and Magnus’ pony was struggling in front of him. ‘Perhaps we tie her onto me, and you hop on here?’ Jonas called.

Magnus shook his head, not turning around. He didn’t want to leave Daisy alone. The weather was worse than anything he’d ridden in, and he imagined she was feeling scared. He didn’t want to leave her. ‘No!’

Jonas nodded. ‘Alright, but perhaps I’ll ride with you, just to keep her moving!’ His beard was thick with snow, and he ran a hand through it, brushing the wet flakes away. ‘We have to keep going. Slussfall is some distance, and these mountains will go on awhile.’

Magnus had guessed that. ‘We have to keep going!’ he called back, blinking. ‘We have to save Lotta!’ He could see Long Beard’s eyes in his mind. His crafty, mismatched eyes. His ragged hair and his crumpled, stubbly face. Scars and tattoos everywhere. A hard, hard man.

A hard, hard man with a little girl.

Magnus tapped Daisy with his boots, wanting to spur her on.

They couldn’t stop now.

* * *

No one wanted to stop, and yet there was so much Hakon needed to know.

Trying to hear anything Ulrick Dyre said was almost impossible, though.

Still, he had been glad to see the man emerge from the blizzard on his horse; surprised to see him alone.

‘Ride with me!’ Hakon called. ‘We’ll speak when we can. I want to hear everything! Everything you’ve seen and heard!’

Ulrick nodded, giant fur cloak swathed around him, draped over his horse, hood covering most of his bearded face. He spun, hearing the shriek from behind him. It sounded like a flock of birds.

And seeing the wagon stutter to a halt, his eyes narrowed as Hakon’s old hag dreamer squeezed through the door, leaving it banging in the wind. ‘The girl! The girl! Bring me the girl!’

Hakon stared at Ivan, who looked confused, shrugging.

They both turned to Ulrick, who opened his thick cloak, revealing a blonde-haired little girl, blinking at them with terrified blue eyes.

* * *

Alys had been awake for most of the night, and the warmth of Eddeth’s fire was starting to make her sleepy. That and Eddeth’s throaty murmuring as she read, scraping her fingernail across the pages of her grandmother’s book. She hadn’t spoken in some time, and Alys found her heavy eyes closing, unable to stop them.

‘The gods!’ Eddeth announced suddenly, loudly, head up, turning to Alys. ‘The gods and the dreamers! I see it all so clearly now!’

Alys blinked, swallowing. ‘You do?’

‘The gods are just like us, you know. Loyal and scheming. Kind and malevolent. Just as we are.’

Alys shivered suddenly, watching Eddeth’s eyes narrow.

‘We think of them as parents, but they are children.’ Eddeth inhaled slowly, considering things. ‘They have favourites! They play games!’

‘Games?’

‘They like to be entertained, so why not?’

‘And what game are they playing now? With my neck? Is it a game?’

But Eddeth had returned to the book, lips pressed tightly together, one leg vibrating, fingernail scraping under the ancient scrawls again.

Alys tried to think as she sat there, watching the flames. She came from a long line of dreamers. Tuuran dreamers. Skilled women, trained in their craft. Alys felt like a disappointment to all of them. And though her gift was to see, she felt blind, unable to control her thoughts, to focus them in a particular direction.

Reaching a hand to her throat, she remembered how terrified she had felt, as though all the air was being sucked out of her body. And she thought of the wolf.

It made sense.

If Hakon Vettel’s dreamer had discovered her nightmare spell was broken...

Alys’ thoughts skipped ahead.

She had found the symbols on the trees, and with Eddeth’s help, they had hopefully broken the curse. So if the dreamer had placed that curse on Ottby, there was a very good chance she was trying to kill her.

The certainty of that flickered before her like an unsteady flame in a stiff breeze. Alys didn’t feel confident that she had found the answer. But what else could explain it?

What else could it be?

* * *

Ludo felt terrible.

Stina was part of his team of women. His responsibility. And he’d known that something was wrong for days. She had seemed oddly quiet. Sad. The other women had become happier, he thought, looking around, scanning the small groups working together, busy hands, heads together, talking. Despite the fear of what was coming, they had a real sense that soon they would be free to return to their homes, and their faces seemed brighter. Hope lived in their eyes again.

But it had not lived in Stina’s.

‘Don’t blame yourself,’ Bjarni tried, offering Ludo a sliver of salt pork. He was starving, but Gerda had shut down the hall kitchen, insisting that they needed to ration their stores with greater vigour than ever if they were about to be besieged. He sighed at the thought of it, hoping Agnette would ferret away some food for him. ‘You can’t watch them all the time.’

‘No.’ Ludo’s guilt didn’t ease. ‘I’ll have to go and tell Alys.’

‘You look like you’re about to cry!’ Torvig laughed, arms loaded with wood as he stopped beside them, peering at Ludo. ‘What’s happened?’

‘I’ve lost one of the women.’

‘Lost? They’re not boots!’ Torvig sniggered. ‘How do you lose a woman? You mean she’s run away?’ He frowned, not seeing Stina with the rest of Ludo’s group.

‘I suppose she has,’ Ludo admitted, edging away from Torvig. ‘I’ll go find Alys, tell her what’s happened.’ And turning away, he headed across the square.

‘Why do you have to make everything worse?’ Bjarni grumbled. He’d run out of patience with Torvig. The man was always niggling, never truly helping. He wished he’d never returned to Ottby.

‘Worse?’ Torvig eyed him, anger flaring. ‘You think we’d be better off with you by Reinar’s side? Like you always wanted? Ha! But you never were any use, Bjarni Sansgard. I know it, and Reinar knew it, which is why he begged me to come back.’

Bjarni frowned, shoulders tight. ‘What?’

‘You didn’t know?’ Torvig leaned in closer, happy again. ‘Reinar asked me to come, said he needed help. My help. He begged me to return when Stellan took ill.’

Bjarni didn’t let his surprise show in his eyes. ‘Well, he was desperate, I suppose. We all were.’

Torvig licked his lips, eyes sharp. ‘You think you’re better than me?’

Bjarni looked confused. ‘Better?’ He laughed. ‘I don’t think anything about you at all, Torvig.’ And deciding to keep moving before he froze to the spot, he stepped around the seething man, heading for the gates.

A laugh drew Torvig’s attention to the training ring, and he watched Tulia clapping as her brother picked himself up from the ground, wooden sword broken in two. She turned, catching Torvig’s eyes, shivering at the cold look in them.

Sigurd stood beside her, yawning.

Tulia’s smile was gone in a flash. ‘Perhaps you shouldn’t have sat up all night, drinking with the dreamer?’

Sigurd nudged her. ‘No need to get jealous. Ludo was there.’

‘Hmmm.’

Laughing, Sigurd turned back to the women. ‘Again!’ he cried. They each had a quiver strapped across their back, and he was trying to improve their speed now. Many could hit the targets, which was useful, but speed was needed to be truly effective on the ramparts. They couldn’t afford Hakon’s men having even a moment to think as they tried to climb the walls.

And they would.

‘Then we’ll try with fire arrows!’ He winked at Tulia, who was still stewing as she turned back to her own group of women with a scowl.

Sigurd’s amusement faded quickly, though, remembering the marks on Alys’ neck. He didn’t believe in magic or dreamers, but the wolf, and now those marks were both playing on his mind.

* * *

‘Well?’ Reinar wanted an explanation, but he couldn’t make any sense of Eddeth’s splutters. She had her back to him, crumbling dried herbs into cups, making a tea Reinar had insisted he didn’t want. ‘Eddeth?’

‘The gods are a mystery!’ she announced, not turning around.

Reinar glanced at Alys, who looked half-asleep, and just as bemused. ‘That may be so, but it’s not the question I asked. We need to know what happened to Alys. Is it a dreamer trying to kill her? Hakon’s dreamer?’ He felt deeply unsettled. The idea of the wolf was one thing – an illusion, a trick of the mind – but if the woman could reach into his fort and try to kill someone?

Reinar didn’t know what to think about that at all.

Eddeth poured boiling water over her herbs and returned the cauldron to its hook, joining Alys and Reinar by the fire while she waited for the tea to steep. Her attention was on the dance of the flames, her voice low. ‘The gods sprinkle the gift of dreams over those special few.’ There was a hint of resentment in her voice, and she coughed, clearing her throat. ‘Those dreamers are powerful, though not always knowledgable.’ Eddeth peered at Alys. ‘But some dreamers are helped by the gods themselves. Befriended. They learn more than an elder can share. More than any temple holds in its scrolls, any citadel or library. Those dreamers learn the secrets of the gods!’

The fire popped, and Eddeth’s eyes rounded, as though she was seeing something neither Alys nor Reinar could.

‘How do you know that?’ Reinar wondered.

‘Conversations!’ Eddeth exclaimed loudly. ‘Conversations!’ And without even blinking, she left the fire, forgot all about the tea, and returned to her bed where she picked up her grandmother’s book.

Reinar’s shoulders slumped. Eddeth was half-mad, they all knew that. Days would go by where she was lucid, and it was easy to forget how she could be. But it was usually when you needed to know something with urgency that she would ramble incoherently, disappearing back into herself again. He held out a hand to Alys. ‘I’ll take you back to your cottage, if you like? Or maybe to the hall?’ ‘We can see if they found your friend.’

‘My friend?’ Alys stood quickly. ‘Stina? What’s happened to her?’

* * *

Winter was sitting outside a disused shed, peering through a gap in the wooden palings, and Ludo decided to investigate.

With more and more warriors and their families departing Ottby, worksheds, barns, and homes were being abandoned, left to cats and dogs and rodents, who were likely enjoying the freedom to roam. So Ludo didn’t imagine that anything other than a few mice would be making themselves at home in the shed. It was therefore a surprise when he pulled open the creaking door to reveal a swollen-eyed Stina.

She sat on a hay bale, staring at him in terror, before scrambling to her feet, shaking all over.

Ludo’s shoulders dropped in relief. ‘There you are!’ He stepped forward, stopping when Stina started moving away from him. He held up a hand. ‘I won’t hurt you, Stina, I promise. I was just... worried about you. Jorunn and Vanya didn’t know where you were. I didn’t know where you were.’

Stina hadn’t known what she was doing. The sun had risen, and she’d felt the terror of Jorunn and Vanya coming out of the bedchamber. She couldn’t face them. She didn’t want to talk to anyone. It felt as though everyone could see inside her; that they could tell what had happened. But she didn’t want anyone to know. She didn’t want to think about it at all.

‘It’s cold in here. Why don’t you come back to the square? They’re bringing out food. Some hot porridge, I think. Roasted apples too.’

Stina stared at Ludo’s encouraging face, not wanting food, not wanting company. Wishing he hadn’t found her. But there was nowhere to go, nothing else she could do. So, nodding, she stood, squeezing her hands together in front of her thin blue dress as she stepped towards him.

* * *

Agnette wished she felt ill again. It had been so quiet in her chamber with the door shut and Gerda’s voice humming in the distance. Now the hall sounded like a barn of bleating goats, and she was struggling to think.

Stellan didn’t appear to mind as he sat before her, staring blankly past Agnette’s shoulder as she trimmed his beard with a newly sharpened pair of scissors. Agnette smiled, remembering how long she had been trimming her uncle’s beard. Before she was ever a woman. Back when it had been blonde like Reinar’s. Now it was mostly grey, she thought, standing back to check her progress. Still a little fluffy, she decided, moving around to his right, pulling the hair away from his cheek, missing the sound of his voice.

Stellan Vilander was like a father to Agnette; her mother’s twin brother. Her own father had died before she could remember him, and Stellan had been a constant presence in her life. A reassuring one. A kind one. He didn’t deserve to spend the rest of his days like this.

‘Agnette!’ Ludo called, entering the hall, shaking snow flurries from his hair.

‘Yes?’ She didn’t turn around, Stellan’s hair perfectly positioned between two fingers.

‘Have you seen Alys?’

‘No.’

Ludo turned to leave, not even tempted to stop by the fire to thaw out his hands for a moment. He was so distracted as he spun around that he banged into Alys, standing on her foot.

‘Aarrghh!’ Alys cried, stumbling backwards.

Ludo blinked. ‘Sorry! I didn’t see you.’

‘We’re going to have to lock you in your cottage, just to keep you safe!’ Reinar laughed. He wondered if that was true, catching a glimpse of Alys’ neck again.

Alys grabbed hold of Ludo’s arm. ‘What’s happened to Stina? Is it Stina who’s missing?’

Ludo shook his head. ‘Not anymore. I couldn’t find her earlier, but she turned up in the end. My fault entirely.’

Agnette could hear snatches of their conversation, interspersed with Gerda’s yelling from the kitchen, and curious, she left Stellan covered in beard trimmings, wanting to find out what was going on. ‘You lost a woman? How is that possible?’

‘They’re not prisoners anymore, Agnette,’ Reinar reminded her. ‘Not really. We weren’t watching them as we had been.’

‘What happened to your neck?’ Agnette was horrified, her attention snapping to Alys, who felt self-conscious as everyone in the hall appeared to turn towards her.

She grabbed her neck, feeling heat rush up her body.

Reinar was eyeing the doors, leg jiggling. ‘I have to go and find Bjarni. Snow’s coming, and so is Hakon Vettel, so we don’t have long to prepare.’ And with one last look at Alys and her bruised neck, he headed out of the hall.

Agnette followed Alys and Ludo to a table, scissors in hand. ‘Who did that to your neck?’

Alys didn’t know how to explain it.

‘A dreamer,’ Ludo decided. ‘Sigurd and I were with Alys when it happened. She started choking, as though someone was strangling her. And the marks came this morning, didn’t they?’

Agnette was speechless. ‘And you saw no one? Was it...’ She lowered her voice. ‘Magic?’

Alys shrugged.

‘It was,’ Ludo said. ‘It was, Agnette. No one was there, but Alys couldn’t breathe. Someone was choking her. You can see that.’

‘But I thought the curse was lifted? I thought we were turning a corner?’ Agnette peered at Ludo as he struggled back to his feet. ‘And what’s wrong with you?’

‘I dropped a poker on his foot,’ Alys admitted guiltily.

Ludo smiled. ‘You did, but don’t worry, I can walk fine.’ Though his first few steps proved that that wasn’t entirely true. ‘Perhaps you can help me take some food out into the square? I want to make sure the women have a good breakfast.’

‘I’ll help you too,’ Agnette insisted, trying to push herself back onto her feet, but it was getting harder by the day.

‘Agnette!’ came the screech from the back of the hall. ‘You’ve left Stellan half-finished, covered in hair!’

Agnette sighed. ‘Well, perhaps I won’t. But do come back and tell me if you find out what happened to your neck. I’ll help if I can.’

Alys nodded, eager to leave, wanting to speak to Stina.

* * *

There was so much Hakon wanted to know, but the blizzard worsened, and there was no chance of even seeing, let alone talking, and so he ploughed on, driving his horse forward, Ulrick riding just behind him and Ivan, beside Lief.

The girl had been taken into the wagon by Mother, who seemed both delighted and unfazed by her arrival.

Falla remained confused as she sat opposite them, trying to warm up the little girl’s frozen hands. ‘How did you get here, then? All by yourself?’

‘The man st-st-stole me,’ Lotta mumbled.

Falla stared at Mother, who ignored her.

‘Found you, don’t you mean? Saved you?’ Mother eyed the girl, who sat beside her, sullen and shaking. ‘Imagine if he hadn’t? Imagine if you and your brother had been left on your own? Think of what would have happened in this weather!’

Lotta couldn’t get away from the old woman. She was so wide that she took up most of the seat, and Lotta was wedged into the small space between Mother’s generous hips and the wall of the wagon. She swallowed, trying not to pull her hands away from the pretty, dark-haired woman sitting opposite them, next to the caged raven, which kept blinking at her.

But she wanted to.

‘Who is she?’ Falla wondered. ‘Why do you know about her?’

‘This one?’ Mother grinned, touching Lotta’s hair. ‘This one is a prize, aren’t you, girl? A prize and a weapon, both. And once we get ourselves settled for the night, we shall get to work!’

Falla released Lotta’s hands, and she retreated, trying to shrink into a ball, barely caring that she was out of the snow, away from Long Beard.

Very aware that she had just stepped into the mouth of the beast.

34

Alys stared at the fire, shivering.

She had tried to speak to Stina in the square, but the snow had come, and Ludo had ushered the women into the hall, much to Gerda’s annoyance. Alys, needing to think, had not followed them. Instead, she had been drawn back to her cottage, and her fire and the silence, which she hoped would bring some clarity to her muddled thoughts.

She saw visions often, more than she’d ever welcomed before. Usually, she would have dismissed them, knowing that to acknowledge her gifts would lead her down a dangerous path. Her grandfather had always warned her of that, so Alys had lived her life in the shadows, keeping her true self hidden. And now, when she wanted to call on her gifts, to give her the answers she needed, she didn’t know how to.

Winter miaowed, sitting by his empty bowl, and Alys smiled, getting up to pour him some milk. Her table was filled with a generous supply of food, and jugs of small ale and milk to see her and Winter through the coming snowstorm, though not what she needed to help her find any answers.

Her head and eye felt better, but her neck... that worried her.

Returning the milk jug to the table, she picked up the symbol stone Eddeth had given her. She wasn’t dead, the dreamer hadn’t killed her, so perhaps Eddeth had actually saved her life?

But what would the dreamer try next, and how could they stop her?

Alys sat back down on the stool, eyes on the flames, surprised when Winter jumped on her knee, rubbing his face against her arm. Alys looked down at him, stroking his white fur. ‘If only you could talk to me. Tell me what to do.’ Tears came quickly. ‘An army is coming to kill us. My children are taken, lost. And...’ She didn’t know what else, but Reinar’s face flashed before her, his hand touching her eye, his lips on hers. Tears spilled from her eyes, trailing down her cold cheeks. ‘I don’t know what to do.’

* * *

The day ended with everyone gathering in the hall, on edge. Any good feelings after the bonfire of cursed trees had gone, lost in the blizzard. No one looked happy, apart from Ilene, who had Amir right where she wanted him.

Which annoyed Tulia, who was watching her brother out of the corner of her eye. ‘Why has he brought her in here?’ she grumbled, nudging Sigurd, who was listening to Bjarni on his other side.

Sigurd turned to her. ‘He might just like her,’ he grinned. Amir did look happy. Sigurd hadn’t seen his smile so wide since they’d all been in Kalmera together. ‘Why not let him be happy?’

‘With her?’ Tulia looked horrified.

‘You can’t pick who someone loves.’ Sigurd’s eyes drifted to where Gerda was brushing crumbs out of Stellan’s newly trimmed beard. ‘It’s not up to us to choose.’ The hall was warming up, and Sigurd edged towards Tulia until his thigh touched hers. ‘This might be the last time we’re all together. You never know what’s going to come for us out there. When. How. Why worry about Ilene and Amir? Or Torvig? Or Alys?’ He saw her twitch. ‘You don’t need to be jealous.’

‘Jealous?’ Tulia snorted. ‘I’m not jealous, Sigurd. Of the dreamer?’ She was whispering, not wanting anyone to hear. Not wanting anyone to think it was the truth. Wondering if it was the truth. ‘Why would you be interested in her?’ It was a question Tulia wanted an answer to. She had seen the way Reinar looked at Alys. Sigurd too. The dreamer was beautiful, Tulia supposed. Though timid. Shy and quiet. There was no fight in her at all. She was beaten up and beaten down.

So why did she feel so threatened by her?

‘Well, I’m not,’ Sigurd whispered. ‘So we don’t have to talk about it, do we? And if this is to be our last night together, I know what I’d rather be doing than talking about a dreamer.’ He smiled, turning his entire body towards Tulia now, his hand on her face. She stilled but didn’t pull away.

‘I suppose it’s too late to run,’ she sighed, edging closer.

‘You could. If you truly wanted to leave, you could. I won’t stop you.’ Sigurd searched her eyes, looking for clues. He wasn’t sure how he felt about anything anymore, but he knew he didn’t want Tulia to leave.

‘That isn’t what I want to hear, Sigurd Vilander,’ Tulia said sadly. ‘I know you couldn’t stop me. Of course you couldn’t. But do I want you to try?’ And pushing herself away from the table, she stood. ‘I’m going to check the ramparts. Get some air.’

Sigurd looked surprised. Disappointed. He stared after her as she forced her way through the men gathered by the doors, ignoring her brother, who appeared to have his tongue down Ilene’s throat. He blinked, feeling a nudge from Bjarni, who had quickly gobbled down his stew, disappointed there wasn’t any more.

‘The trick with women is to think about them, not yourself,’ Bjarni said with a grin. ‘No matter the woman, they all want to know we’ll fight for them.’

‘You don’t know Tulia. That’s the last thing she wants.’

Bjarni’s eyebrows were up. ‘Agnette’s no warrior, but she is strong. She doesn’t want to be fussed over, even now, but she does want to know that I’d do anything to hold on to her. To keep her by my side. That I’d fight for her. Can’t imagine Tulia’s any different.’ He watched the hall door close. ‘The dreamer’s made everything a little more complicated, hasn’t she?’ Reinar banged his cup into Torvig’s, laughing out loud, and Bjarni turned to peer at him, seeing the sadness in his friend’s eyes revealed as soon as Torvig turned away. ‘For everyone, it seems.’

* * *

That night the wind roared like a wild beast outside the tent that Mother would now be sharing with Lotta. Falla stared at the girl as she fastened the tent flap. The wind was fighting her, though, and it took some time to secure the threads into a knot. She thought of Lief, who would be enjoying the peace of their own small tent, knowing that with the snow turning into a blizzard, she was going to have to spend the night with Mother and her squawking raven.

The thought of that did not appeal.

Mother waddled around, oblivious to Falla’s irritation and Lotta’s distress. Her concern was for the flames and the herbs, the symbols and the stones. The gods were a mystery to most humans. Some dreamers were fortunate to know them personally. Some intimately. It was true that the gods were both fascinated and irritated by humans; equally entranced and revolted. Some saw them as needing their protection; others as a scurge to rid themselves of.

And those were the sort of gods Mother had gone out of her way to befriend.

A dreamer who knew dark magic could be an able assistant to a malevolent goddess who wished to stir up trouble. She closed her eyes, searching the darkness, looking for signs.

‘Would you like something warmer?’ Falla asked, offering the shivering girl a bed fur to wrap around herself.

Lotta shook her head, wanting to retreat into the darkest corner, away from the fire which illuminated every thought that popped into her head. The old dreamer would often stop and peer at her, and Lotta tried her best not to think about anything at all. But it was impossible. As soon as the silence lengthened, her mind wandered to Magnus, to her mother, to her dead father. To her pony, who didn’t like the snow. To the snow itself, and the blizzard outside. To how awful the meal had been, the chicken not cooked through. She could still taste blood in her mouth.

Mother spun around, grabbing her tiny wrist with a meaty hand. ‘You don’t like the snow?’ she smiled threateningly. ‘Not at all? Not one tiny bit?’ Every word was halting, slow, spat out of a twisting mouth.

Lotta tried to drag her arm away, but Mother had a firm grip on it.

‘Well, best you stop all that whining, then, and let me focus, or I shall tie you up outside!’ And dropping Lotta’s arm, Mother straightened up, glaring at a confused-looking Falla, who hadn’t heard Lotta speak. ‘A dreamer must learn how to quiet their mind.’

‘You’re saying she’s a dreamer?’ Falla wondered.

‘Of course she’s a dreamer! Just like her mother. Her grandmother too. A whole line of useless, pointless dreamers in that family!’ Mother sneered, wobbling down to the ground, determined to do the ritual on her knees. There was little space in the tent, which was moving violently in the wind. Stakes had been hammered into the frozen earth to secure it, though she wondered if they had used enough. ‘Though dreamers are useful in any form. Even whining little girl ones.’ And grinning at Lotta, she grabbed her chin, tilting it roughly towards the light. ‘But remember what I said, now. Quiet that mind of yours, or I shall make you sleep in the snow with your frozen pony!’

Lotta was just about to let her thoughts wander to how much more pleasant it would be to sleep in the snow with Clover, but one look at Mother and she bit her lip, clasping her hands together, determined to keep her mind entirely blank.

* * *

Ulrick had been one of Jesper Vettel’s most loyal men, so Hakon had employed him and his men to wind his way down the Eastern Shore to collect information. He was an accomplished warrior, scout, slaver, and an expert at blending in to whichever environment he happened to find himself in.

Silent, careful, ears always open.

And now that he had returned, and they were all settled into Hakon’s tent – Lief and Ivan on one side of the fire, Ulrick and Hakon on the other – Hakon was eager to hear everything he’d learned on his journey.

‘Ake’s army is stretched thin. The trouble up North is spreading like fire.’

Hakon frowned, caught between feeling pleased, and not wanting that trouble on his own border when he became king. ‘What’s the cause of it?’

‘Another uprising, from what I hear. The people appear to have had enough of their lords. Enough of their weather. They’re determined to head South.’

‘Well, there’s more than enough room,’ Ivan suggested. ‘Why wouldn’t Ake let them in?’

Lief thought again that Ivan always appeared smarter when he said nothing. The moment he opened his mouth, he just reminded Hakon of the terrible mistake he’d made putting his cousin in charge.

He tried not to smile.

‘They’re not coming on their own, Ivan,’ Ulrick said calmly, enjoying the warmth of the flames that were almost licking his sodden boots. ‘They’re being led by an ambitious warlord. More than one. Ake’s throne is like a beacon. Everyone’s heading for it. But one man, in particular, may cause him problems. That man sees himself as the chosen one, from what I hear. He has ambitions to become the high king.’

Hakon turned to Ivan, eyebrows sharp. Even Ivan looked intrigued. ‘And you think that’s possible, Ulrick, that this man is destined to become the high king?’

Ulrick was a man who had dealt with many lords over the years, and he wisely shook his head. ‘I think the gods hid the Sun Torc. Broke Alekka in two. They never wanted another high king. I doubt they have an appetite for such a return. For one man to claim so much unfettered power?’

Hakon looked concerned.

Ivan tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Why worry, Cousin? Now? When we’re freezing our balls off? Stuck in this blizzard? If you look too far into the future, you won’t keep your whole mind on what lies ahead of us now. We have to survive the next few days. Get to Ottby. Keep as many of our men alive as possible. It’s getting worse out there.’

For the first time, Ivan looked and sounded serious, and that concerned Hakon more than anything. This was everything they had worked for since his father had died; everything they desired to achieve together. He nodded, eyes on his cousin. ‘You’re right, as always. This man, whoever he is, will be dealt with in time. When I sit on the throne, I’ll have you bring him in, Ulrick. You can do that, I know.’

Ulrick smiled, nodding. ‘That I can, lord.’

Hakon handed around a bowl of nuts, which were almost frozen and a danger to teeth, but the cold and the exertions of ploughing through the blizzard all day had made them hungry, and they each took a generous handful, happy to be chewing.

‘So, Ake is out West, and Stornas is commanded by?’

‘Algeir Tarkel. One of his toughest men. Experienced. Miserly. In complete charge.’

Hakon didn’t look discouraged. ‘But Ake must have taken most of his army?’

‘Algeir has enough men to hold the city. More than enough. Ake always leaves a hefty garrison.’

‘Have the Vilanders asked for reinforcements?’ Lief wondered.

Ulrick turned to him, nodding. ‘I would guess so. Reinar Vilander is in a bad, bad way. His fort is depleted now, so he’s been sending men out begging. I know he’s been asking his neighbours, so he’ll surely have asked Stornas.’

Hakon laughed. ‘What good news you bring us, Ulrick! Just as I’d hoped. And now that your companions are dead, all the rewards will go to you, old friend! As they should!’ And reaching across the fire, Hakon banged his cup into Ulrick’s. ‘Now if only you could do something about that fucking blizzard, I would shower you in gold!’

* * *

The old woman, the maiden, and the little girl.

The three stages of life, Alys thought, watching the hooded figures, all three of them sitting around a fire, hoods up, heads bowed.

Alys had fallen asleep with thoughts of her grandfather and her children swirling around her mind. She was worried about them, wanting to know if they were safe, but in this dream, more than anything, she needed to find a way to protect the fort.

Hakon Vettel’s dreamer was coming.

Alys had felt her.

And that dreamer could kill.

Her illusions and tricks were not just meant to play with their minds. She was trying to hurt them. End them. Remove the threat they posed to her master.

These things Alys knew, unspoken as they were.

But she felt them in her blood, and in her bones too, her certainty growing with every breath she took.

‘Dark magic is a gift!’ came the voice; deep and threatening; rough-edged, rasping. ‘There are spells, potions, curses, so many things one could stumble upon, dreamer or not. You can read a book, hear a chant, and you might believe you could cause harm to your enemies or bring great fortune to your door through evil means. But there you would be sorely mistaken!’ The old woman’s voice rose and fell. ‘For dark magic is a gift from the gods. And not everyone is fortunate enough to have received that gift.’

The shadows of the young girl and the young woman remained perfectly still, while the wide figure of the stooped old woman started to move around them, hips swaying, cloak flapping. Holding her hands out to the fire, she began to lift the flames, making them taller, brighter; watching them twist and spark, lighting up her face.

Alys held her breath as the flames revealed that terrifying face.

Feet still, she forced herself to keep watching, knowing that this was all for her. That this was her enemy.

‘But the gods chose me!’ Mother cackled, hood falling back to reveal a round face, eyes like two full moons. ‘Alari came to me when I was at my lowest. When my sons were burning, killed by that vicious bitch, Jael Furyck. She came to me in a dream. I saw myself sleeping, lying in bed. I stood there watching as Alari bent over me, blowing in my ear, whispering, chanting. She put her hand on my chest, drew a symbol on my forehead, and I was changed. Reborn. No longer just a dreamer, but a dark witch. That is what Alari anointed me. A dark witch! She who has the ear of the Goddess of Magic herself. I am a vessel for her. Her servant!’

Waves of terror washed over Alys’ body.

Every instinct told her to run, knowing that this woman would see her, that she would reach into the fort and kill her.

That she would come for her, awake or asleep.

She had to turn around and leave.

But Alys stilled suddenly, watching as the old woman walked back around the fire to the little girl.

‘And now, I have you, dearest child, my greatest weapon of all,’ she breathed. ‘For what I learned through my own experience with death is how weak we are. That true darkness resides in the ability to take that which someone loves most of all. Our human hearts make us vulnerable... so vulnerable and weak.’ She paused, dragging the little girl towards her, pulling down her hood. ‘Now turn around, Lotta, so your mother can see you!’

Alys froze, mouth falling open in horror.

And then everything went dark.

35

‘Could be today,’ Sigurd yawned, stretching out his leg. It was feeling strong again, and he was conscious of how soon he would need to be fighting off Hakon’s warriors. He didn’t want to be weak before he even began. The wounds in his back didn’t trouble him until he lay in bed at night, or tried to dress or use a bow. Sigurd shook his head.

It was not ideal.

They stood on the low wall, staring at the frozen field that led to the forest, now buried in snow.

Reinar remembered riding into the forest with Alys, and he felt odd.

He remembered riding into the forest with Elin too.

‘Could be. Though the snow might have slowed them down. Maybe even killed a few horses or men.’

‘Ahhh, now you’re just trying to make yourself feel better,’ Sigurd grinned. ‘Likely Hakon has more than enough horses and men not to notice losing a few. Not sure he’d care either way. Not if he’s anything like his father.’

That was true. Reinar’s scouts had been slowly returning over the past few days. He had sent them further inland, hoping those more remote lords would have men to spare, though none had offered their help. All were too worried about the threat posed by Hakon’s men, whether that threat was imminent or not.

‘Father always said you had to pay attention to your own plan. Not theirs. They can defeat you without ever unsheathing a sword or unleashing a boulder.’ Reinar tapped his head, almost feeling Stellan standing between them, one hand on each shoulder as he’d done since they were boys. ‘If they get inside here. If they make you believe in their invincibility. If they make you focus on your weaknesses, then you’ve already lost.’

‘He did.’ Sigurd nodded, eyes dropping lower. The fort was protected by two walls, both thick with stone and ringed with ramparts that offered solid protection for their archers. Built that way to make it nigh on impenetrable.

They had strengths.

Stone and fire. Oil and warmth. Food and shelter.

Arrows too.

They might not have the men to send them in great numbers anymore, but Tulia’s women were getting stronger, and there would be enough arrows to terrorise Hakon’s army for days.

If they could keep them safe.

‘Stellan held this fort for Ake, but for us also,’ Reinar said, turning to his brother. ‘For our family. For who we would become.’

Sigurd nodded.

Reinar swept an arm around the fort, chest tight. ‘Those who remain will fight for us, but we have to lead because Ottby matters to us. To our family. Our father’s oath is our oath. We will hold the fort, and we will hold the bridge.’

Sigurd could sense his brother’s body vibrating, his eyes sharp and determined as he leaned on the rampart wall, and it gave him a lift. A sense of purpose.

‘I know Tulia wants you to leave, but you can’t, you know that.’

‘I do.’

‘We have to fight together, for Stellan.’

‘We will. They won’t get in. We won’t let them.

‘No, we won’t let them.’

* * *

Hakon was astounded.

Thrilled.

He eyed Mother with an open mouth. ‘You did this?’

When it came to his ornery old dreamer and her gifts, Hakon wasn’t sure what was true and what was Mother merely twisting reality into what was most pleasing to her lord’s ears. Her lord’s ears were numb with cold but eager to hear what she had to say.

Mother smiled back, eyes on the melting slush. ‘Well, I put in a... request,’ she chuckled. ‘We are lucky I have such useful friends.’

It was not warm, but the snow was melting so rapidly beneath a generous sun that Hakon didn’t care about his ice-cold face and his numb hands. ‘You are a wonder, Mother Arnesson!’ he announced gleefully, turning to Lief, who could still not raise a smile. His eyes were on Mother’s tent, where a sleepy-looking Falla had emerged with the girl.

For all the help Mother was being, Lief felt uneasy about his wife becoming a part of whatever darkness the old woman was conjuring up. He didn’t want to lose Falla. She was more precious to him than anything, and he’d seen how capricious Mother could be; how quick to anger. He only hoped that Falla would do everything she could to keep the old woman happy.

‘We should move quickly, lord,’ Lief suggested as Falla made her way to the nearest fire where servants were dishing up bowls of hot porridge. ‘We could make great progress today if we head off soon.’

Hakon nodded, his appetite for progress greater than his appetite for the steaming porridge, which he didn’t enjoy anyway. ‘I agree. Where’s Ivan?’ He scanned the smoky campsite, cloak sweeping around him.

‘Still in his tent, lord,’ Lief said, sensing Falla watching him. ‘He’s yet to emerge. I believe he has... one of the servants in there with him.’

Hakon turned away, hiding his irritation. ‘Well, you don’t need my cousin to get your own men moving, do you, Lief Gundersen? And the rest of them surely know what to do!’ He felt incensed. Ivan took his position as head of the army as seriously as he took everything else. He was an exceptional warrior, a talented leader, but he lacked discipline. He gave into every desire and whim, with little thought for consequences.

And though Hakon was generally predisposed to let Ivan be Ivan, now, when everything was on the line, when they were this close to victory, he wanted to kill him.

His eyes remained sharp as he turned to Ulrick, who was looking uncertainly at the girl. ‘Mother and Falla will take care of her,’ Hakon said distractedly, further irritated. He didn’t want to be thinking about girls or women at all. ‘You needn’t worry, Ulrick. The safest place to be in all of Alekka is by Mother’s side. She’s a powerful woman, as you can see by this beautiful sunshine!’ And beaming again, Hakon headed for his horse, shutting all thoughts of Ivan out of his mind.

* * *

Alys found Stina with Ludo and his group of women. He was red-faced and flustered, trying to ensure that everything would work seamlessly, but the women were always bringing up ways to improve upon his ideas, and Ludo was starting to doubt who was in charge.

He hadn’t noticed when Alys had pulled Stina away to go for a walk.

‘She won’t kill Lotta,’ Stina said after Alys had revealed her dream. ‘For what would she hold over you then?’

‘But what does she want?’

Stina didn’t know. ‘To threaten you? To stop you helping Reinar defend the fort?’

They walked to Valera’s Tree, Winter bounding along next to them, his white legs quickly splattered with mud.

‘But if I don’t help him, we may not survive what’s coming.’

Stina looked troubled. ‘What if it was just a dream? Your fears coming to life? Perhaps the old dreamer doesn’t have Lotta at all? How would she have her? It makes no sense.’

Alys started to let herself believe that Stina might be right, but she knew she wasn’t. She smiled, though, not wanting to worry her friend further. Stina looked anxious to leave, pale and fidgety. ‘You’re right.’ She tried to smile, her eyes on Ludo in the distance, who appeared to be searching for his missing crew member. ‘You’d better go back. I have to visit Eddeth. See what else she found in her book.’

Stina wasn’t listening. She had just seen Torvig approaching with Amir, and quickly spinning away from Alys, she hurried back to Ludo without a word.

Alys turned around to say something to her, surprised to find her gone.

‘Ahhh, the dreamer!’ Torvig announced, stopping before Alys, his eyes quickly drifting from her face to her breasts. ‘And what news do you have, I wonder? Will our enemy be at the gates today? Perhaps tomorrow? They must be getting close. Surely you can tell us what you know?’ He’d seen Alys talking to Stina, and it had him on edge, wondering just what the dreamer would discover. He wanted to distract her, hoping to keep her attention away from his little friend until he could think of what to do with them both.

Alys looked to Amir whose attention was on the training ring, searching for Ilene, and spotting her, he slipped away. Alys turned to Torvig, wishing she hadn’t just been left alone with him. ‘They’ll be here soon, I think. Very soon.’ That feeling was surprisingly clear now, like a mountain appearing before her. ‘I must go and see what I can do to help.’

Torvig grabbed her arm, pinching it as she tried to leave. ‘Keep your mind on what you can do to help Reinar save the fort. To keep these people safe. Not on how you can get into his bed and become his new wife.’ He was smiling, as though they were just talking, his eyes twinkling, but his voice was full of warning. ‘He already has one of those. My sister. And as soon as we’re done here, I’m going to help him get her back. And I can promise you, Elin won’t want you here when she returns.’ Torvig dropped her arm, watching Alys with a smile as she stumbled, hurrying away.

* * *

The weather was improving, Jonas thought, eyes on Magnus, who appeared alert. They had worked hard to feed him over the past few days, and his cheeks looked fuller, and his eyes much brighter than when they’d found him. He appeared to have slept well, and now he rode along on his pony, wrapped in Jonas’ bed fur, which looked to be keeping him warm.

It was all they could do, and Jonas hoped Alys would feel comforted if she could see him in her dreams. He thought of his granddaughter often, never imagining that he would have encouraged her dreams with such enthusiasm. But he had never been more grateful to know that she was a dreamer. That she was out there, somewhere, guiding them.

He turned to Magnus with a grin. ‘You really think Lotta’s a dreamer? She’s very young. Not sure I’ve heard of someone so little having dreams before.’

Magnus had been thinking the same thing, and he almost bit his tongue in surprise. ‘Yes, I do. The more I think about it, the more it all makes sense. There were things I saw before, but I didn’t understand them. Things my mother would say, or do, as though she could see inside my head. Lotta’s the same.’

Jonas laughed. ‘I know how that goes. Your thoughts are never your own around a dreamer!’

Vik rode quietly beside them, his eyes constantly sweeping the trees. ‘Do you think these men could make it to Slussfall, Magnus? How ill were they?’

Magnus tried to remember. ‘One looked ill. The other man? The one who had Lotta... I’m not sure if he was ill at all.’ He hated seeing images of Long Beard. It made him angry and impatient, but the days stretched ahead of them like the winding mountains, and Magnus was old enough to know that they could not push their horses too hard. Nor themselves. Not in this dangerous weather.

Vik looked relieved. ‘We can only hope that’s so. Best your sister has someone to care for her, no matter who he might be or what he might do.’ His eyes met Jonas’, and he saw the concern in them.

‘But how far away is Slussfall?’ Magnus wondered, already hungry again. He didn’t want to say so, though, knowing that both men were working hard to feed him before they fed themselves.

‘We’re getting there slowly. We may even be able to start tracking them soon, wouldn’t you say?’ He glanced at Vik, who nodded.

‘There aren’t many roads from here leading to Slussfall. We’ll crest the mountains soon, so we can ask about those men in Vallen. See if there’s been any sign of them. We can’t just ride straight into the fortress. We’ll need to approach it with care.’

Magnus looked hopeful and worried, and everything in between. His mother had tasked him with looking after Lotta, and he had lost her to those men; allowed them both to be captured. He felt terrible, but he knew that the only thing he could focus on now was getting Lotta back.

He tried not to think about his mother at all.

* * *

They were on the road again quickly, and Lotta felt ill.

Mother had burned strange-smelling herbs for much of the night, sometimes chanting, other times muttering angrily. It had been frightening and disturbing, and more than Lotta had ever wanted to see and know about dreamers.

Though, she knew in her heart that dreamers weren’t like this woman.

This woman was evil.

Falla had forced food into her, which she hadn’t wanted. And now, the rocking, creaking wagon was making her sick. They had left the mountains behind and were on flat terrain, but it was a bumpy ride, the road littered with holes from all the rain they’d been experiencing for months.

Falla felt sick too. She blew small breaths out through her nose, trying not to vomit, not wanting to inhale the smell of the stinking bird flapping irritably in its cage beside her.

‘That will be the baby,’ Mother grinned, one arm around Lotta, squeezing her tightly.

‘What?’ Falla was certain she would vomit now. ‘What? But you gave me those seeds. You told me they would work!’ She did not want a child. Not now. Not when she didn’t know how things would turn out. She wanted peace before she thought of such things again. ‘I don’t understand!’

Mother laughed, patting Lotta on the shoulder. ‘Ahhh, being a woman is always the same, no matter how high we rise or how far we fall. We must provide sons and heirs. Always sons and heirs! But that one there,’ she grinned, pointing at Falla’s belly. ‘That will be a daughter. Raven-haired, just like her miserable father.’ Falla looked even more horrified, amusing Mother further. She watched Falla’s pretty face contort itself with fury, before turning to Lotta. ‘Though your mother was pleased to have you, wasn’t she? Another little dreamer.’

Lotta froze, wondering if she had any secrets from the old woman.

Knowing the answer.

‘We must turn our attention to the battle now. To our role,’ Mother smiled. ‘For we will have one, won’t we? We will have the most important role of all.’ She pinched Lotta’s chubby cheek. ‘The famous walls of Ottby will not be broken by men, though it shall be amusing to watch them try. No, we must work hard to find a way into the fort that nobody has thought of before. But do not worry, my little pet, for there are many secrets yet to be revealed. And I am the mistress of all of them!’

* * *

When Alys reached Eddeth’s cottage, Eddeth was outside, watering her herbs. She had a small garden planted along the front of her house in a selection of old wooden buckets, though most of the herbs appeared dead, Alys thought as Eddeth rushed her inside, slamming the door behind her with a sneeze.

‘Oh, the night I’ve had!’ she exclaimed, pulling a damp cloth from her sleeve and loudly blowing her nose. ‘A night of revelations!’

Alys was rattled by her own dream and her conversation with Torvig, and she wasn’t sure she wanted any more revelations. ‘You have?’ she asked hesitantly, taking a stool.

Eddeth rushed over to her cauldron which was stewing something rich and meaty, stirring it with vigour. And adding a few sprigs of thyme, she stirred some more, sniffing. ‘Mushroom and nettle stew! A little bit of rabbit too!’ Eddeth smiled, reading the look on Alys’ face. ‘You can have some if you like.’ She instantly regretted that, feeling ravenous after her long night, but Alys shook her head, and Eddeth looked relieved as she took a seat next to her. ‘You are troubled?’

Alys was surprised that she’d noticed. Eddeth seemed very set on her own path, almost oblivious to others for much of the time. ‘I... had a dream. It was disturbing. Upsetting.’

‘Oh?’ Eddeth waited, but Alys remained silent, hands out to the fire. ‘Well, I expect it can be that way. Dreams often become nightmares, don’t they? Life can become the same. What you think you want often turns into everything you don’t need.’ She drifted away, seeing her own life in fragments, lost for a moment.

‘But you had a good night? You found something in your book?’

‘I did!’ Eddeth jumped off the tree stump, hurrying to her bed, grabbing the book. ‘I did!’ She opened it onto one of the first pages, running a dirty fingernail under a line, squinting. ‘My grandmother said Valera first came to her when she was a child. They became friends. She helped her with her dreams, spoke to her of humans, shared her knowledge. Over the years, she would visit her often, revealing some of the problems the gods had. The rivalries...’ Eddeth sat up straight, eyes on Alys. ‘Just like brothers and sisters, you know! Oh, I hated my brother. He was a stupid boy with teeth like a horse. Could chew his way through anything. Even wood!’ Eddeth shook her head, lost in her memories.

Alys held her gaze, waiting.

Eventually, Eddeth’s eyes sharpened again. ‘Where was I? Yes, oh, the gods! They fight like siblings, my grandmother said, which, of course, I think we know. To a degree, we know this. But what my grandmother reveals in here,’ Eddeth murmured, flicking through the pages, ‘is that some of the gods sought out dreamers to take their side. They endowed them with enhanced powers. Godlike powers!’

Alys swallowed, certain that whatever followed next would not be good. ‘How?’

‘With a spell. Magic. It can be done, you know!’ Eddeth tapped the page. ‘They turned dreamers into dark witches!’

‘Do you think she has these powers? Hakon Vettel’s dreamer?’

Eddeth nodded so urgently that her hair trembled like leaves on a tree. Placing the book on the floor, she hurried back to the cauldron, her stomach rumbling with urgency. ‘The danger grows, Alys!’ she called loudly. ‘I think we need to do more to protect ourselves. More symbols! More herbs! I have books and books of knowledge.’ She tapped her head. ‘All up in here! But what use is it if it stays there?’ And feeling an odd sense of clarity descend upon her, Eddeth grabbed a bowl, lumping a generous serving of stew into it, quickly grabbing a spoon. ‘We must act! Ottby’s walls cannot keep this dreamer out. She has shown us that! Just look at your neck!’

Alys watched Eddeth as she brought her bowl back to the stool and started shovelling the hot stew into her mouth, quickly burning her tongue. ‘I agree,’ she almost whispered, knowing that to do so would surely put Lotta in even more danger. ‘We must act now, before it’s too late.’

36

After finishing her stew, Eddeth left the fort on her old horse, heading for the forest. She had insisted upon being alone, needing to think. For all her enthusiasm, Eddeth did not do well in the company of others for long periods of time, and she had quickly become exhausted with having Alys nearby. So Alys had gone to find Agnette, who was pushing Stellan across the square in his wooden chair. It had been built by Sigurd, much to the relief of Gerda, who enjoyed getting him out from under her feet. Her husband’s constant presence, just staring at her from across the hall was unsettling. And upsetting. Memories she preferred to leave in the past often surfaced, and Gerda would need to escape the hall to try and put her mind to something else.

‘That looks hard!’ Alys called, watching Agnette struggle to reach the handle of the chair over her bump.

Agnette stood back, hands on hips, panting. ‘Didn’t used to be!’ she laughed, feeling a sharp kick in her belly. ‘Ooohhh.’

‘Are you alright? Agnette?’

Agnette nodded, trying to catch her breath. ‘Little wriggler has a foot on him, that’s for sure.’

Alys had a sudden image of a girl; blonde-haired and round-cheeked, just like her mother and father. ‘I’ll push,’ she offered, trying to gently nudge Agnette away from the chair, and nodding gratefully, Agnette fell in beside her.

The chair was heavy. Stellan Vilander was a big man, though not as big as he’d once been, she was sure. He appeared to be wasting away, stuck in his chair, day after day, but still, it was a heavy weight to push across the slushy ground. The snow had started to melt, the sun warming the fort, the frozen ground turning muddy.

‘Something’s happened,’ Agnette said, edging closer to Alys. ‘You look like something’s happened.’

Alys aimed the chair at the inner gates where she could see Sigurd talking to Bjarni. ‘I... had a dream about my daughter. Lotta.’ Tears came quickly, and Alys tried to blink them away.

‘Is she alright?’

‘I don’t know,’ Alys admitted. ‘I fear Hakon Vettel’s dreamer has her.’

‘What? Oh, Alys!’

‘I think she’ll try to use her against me. To stop me helping Reinar.’

That wasn’t what Agnette wanted to hear at all. She saw Reinar emerge from one of the guard towers by the gate, walking over to join Bjarni and Sigurd. ‘But if you don’t help him? If you can’t stop her?’

‘If I can’t stop her, none of us will live.’

‘Can Eddeth help you?’

‘I don’t know. Sometimes I think so. Other times I don’t know if she understands what’s happening.’ She saw the fear deepen in Agnette’s eyes as she gripped her belly, reminded of how vulnerable it felt to carry a child inside you. ‘But don’t worry, I’ll do whatever I can.’

Agnette nodded distractedly as Reinar, Bjarni, and Sigurd approached.

All three of them smiled at Stellan, Reinar patting his head. ‘Come to check the ramparts, have you?’ he said to his father. ‘Making sure we’ve got ourselves prepared for the Vettel spawn?’ He thought he saw Stellan twitch. ‘Not sure we can carry you up there, though.’ And he pointed to the stone ramparts where he could see Amir training the Ullaberg archers.

‘We could try,’ Sigurd grinned. ‘Give him a spear! You’d just need a little help, Father. I’m sure you could launch one at Hakon Vettel.’

Bjarni nodded. ‘Don’t think anyone’s beaten your record off the low wall yet, Stellan.’

They were all worried.

Alys heard it in their voices. She saw it in their eyes, and she felt an urge to get back to her cottage to see what she could do to help. She had to save her daughter and find her son, but neither would be possible if she couldn’t save the fort first.

* * *

Hakon was becoming increasingly frustrated with Ivan.

Suddenly everything his cousin did irritated him. He’d left their camp with Lief and Ulrick for company, furious that Ivan hadn’t even emerged from his tent. But after fumbling and rushing to pack and gather his things, Ivan had made his way up the line, pushing his horse in between Hakon and Lief, sheepish grin on his sleepy-looking face.

Hakon had barely spoken to him, though.

Ivan could almost see the triumphant smirk in Lief’s ruined eyes, as blank as they may have appeared to anyone else. That bastard wanted to get rid of him. He knew that for certain now. But how? By pushing him out? Making him lose Hakon’s trust?

Or by killing him?

Ivan grinned, turning to Hakon. ‘You remember when we last headed this way, Cousin? With your father? Everything looks smaller somehow. Less interesting. Certainly less threatening.’

Hakon muttered nothing Ivan could understand, turning instead to Ulrick. ‘What did you want with that girl?’ he wondered. ‘Why did you really keep her?’

Ulrick had been daydreaming about the softness of his wife’s ample tits, the familiar smell of their kitchen as she bent over the cauldron, round arse in the air. He blinked, sniffing. ‘We lost our only child. A daughter. Years ago now. Bergit could never fall pregnant after that. But a dreamer once told her that she’d have another daughter, so I thought I’d rescue that one. Give her a proper home.’

Hakon smiled. ‘Well, hopefully, you’ll be able to take the girl back to her.’

Ulrick froze, hands tightening around the reins. ‘Hopefully?’ He glanced back at the wobbling wagon.

‘Well, Mother seems attached to her, wouldn’t you say?’

Ulrick had noticed the old woman’s interest in the girl, of course. She had not let him near her. At first, he thought she wanted to care for her, like a woman would. But there was nothing maternal about the dreamer. And Ulrick had seen something else in Mother’s eyes that disturbed him.

Hakon obviously had too.

‘That would be... disappointing,’ Ulrick said haltingly, his displeasure souring his face. ‘Bergit would surely prefer I return with a child than coins.’

Hakon shrugged, brushing off Ulrick’s irritation. ‘But with a chest full of coins you can buy another girl, and get Bergit a son too!’ He met Ivan’s eyes and frowned, looking past him to Lief. ‘And what about you, Lief? Where are your sons? You must be growing impatient?’

Ivan turned to Lief, watching his discomfort grow. Happy to see it.

Lief didn’t like the attention. ‘Hopefully, we’ll have some news soon, my lord,’ he muttered. ‘My wife is looking forward to making a new home in Stornas. It will reassure her to be settled. I’m sure it will help move things along in the right direction.’ He stared at Ivan, realising that Ivan was the odd one out: no wife; no children to speak of; no understanding of how the rest of them truly felt at all. And despite his own discomfort at discussing such personal matters, he almost smiled.

‘I’m glad to hear it!’ Hakon called, enjoying the sight of the treeline in the distance, beckoning them forward. The sun was glaring as it rose in the sky, sending its bright rays into his eyes, and he was keen for some shade. ‘Once we get our wives settled in Stornas, we can start making plans. For all our families!’

Hakon eyed Ivan, happy to watch him squirm.

He knew his anger would fade, his disappointment too. But Ivan needed to realise the privilege of his position. And with them only one day out from Ottby now, Ivan’s position was quickly becoming more important than ever.

* * *

Reinar left Bjarni to finish pushing Stellan around the square while he walked Alys back to her cottage. ‘You look ill,’ he said, opening the door and ushering her inside. ‘Have you seen something? Something about what happened to your neck?’

Alys shook her head. ‘I haven’t, but Eddeth has some ideas in her book. She thinks the dreamer has help from the gods. That they have given her power. Enhanced her gifts.’

Reinar sat down on a stool with a thump. ‘Do you believe her?’

Alys wasn’t sure. ‘I don’t think it matters either way. I couldn’t breathe. Something or someone was choking me. I thought... I thought I would die. So, whatever Eddeth thinks doesn’t matter as much as what we do to try and stop the dreamer.’

‘Walls won’t stop her.’

‘No,’ Alys agreed, opening the tinderbox, eager to warm up the cottage. ‘But maybe symbols and herbs can?’ Reinar looked so doubtful that she felt foolish.

‘Symbols and herbs?’

Alys saw an image of Lotta in her mind, and she blinked it away. ‘It’s all we have. I can try and dream, and I will, but a dream is not a weapon.’ She could hear that old woman’s cackling voice, so triumphant now that she had her daughter. ‘I’ll go and find Eddeth again. She must have returned from the forest by now.’

Reinar nodded. ‘I have to focus on keeping Hakon’s warriors out of the fort, Alys. I can’t worry about his dreamer. I can’t do anything to stop her.’

‘No, I know. I’ll do what I can, I promise.’

‘Your neck looks painful.’

‘It’s not.’ Alys turned her eyes down to the tinderbox, not wanting to see his concern. Not wanting to encourage him at all.

Reinar could sense it, and he stood. ‘Can I get you anything else? Anything you need?’

Alys tried to think as she scanned the cottage. ‘I’ll need more wood. A lot more wood. I... wouldn’t mind some weapons.’

Reinar blinked. ‘Weapons?’

‘Yes, I must be able to protect myself if I feel something coming for me.’

‘But can you? Perhaps you need a warrior with you? Someone outside, guarding the cottage?’

Alys shook her head. ‘No, but knives would be useful. An axe. Some arrows.’

Reinar laughed. ‘Sounds like I should send you to Tulia after all. Perhaps you’d be some use on the wall?’ He was joking, though Alys didn’t smile. ‘I’ll get Ludo to bring you everything you need, don’t worry.’

‘Thank you.’

Reinar stared at her, knowing he had to leave. He had questions, although most of them would be pointless if they didn’t get through the next few days. ‘I am grateful to you,’ he said quietly. ‘And whatever happens, I’m sorry.’

‘Sorry?’

‘That you’re here. Sorry and glad. I...’ He was quickly awkward, dropping his head. ‘I should have made different choices.’ And lifting his eyes, Reinar stared at her. ‘But, I suppose, if I had, you wouldn’t be here, and I’m glad you are.’

Alys felt odd. Her hands, which had been fiddling with the tinderbox, suddenly froze. She looked away, eyes on Winter, who appeared to be watching both of them.

She didn’t know what to say. Reinar didn’t either. And so he headed to the door.

‘I hope I can help,’ Alys said, not wanting him to leave, as much as she was eager to be alone. ‘I’m here for a reason, I know that now. I only hope I can make a difference.’

‘So do I.’ Reinar pushed open the door, taking a deep breath as the noise from the square suddenly filled the cottage, his shoulders tensing. And taking one last look at Alys, he disappeared outside.

* * *

Tulia had her women on the inner wall with Amir’s, making sure they knew their places. They certainly knew the calls now, and they could work in unison, listening to her commands. She felt oddly protective of them as they stood there, worried eyes seeking the invisible enemy in the distance. Some of them would die. Die to save the men who had stolen them away from their homes and families.

She sighed, looking at Ilene, who was the only one with a smile on her face.

Amir didn’t want her on the wall – he’d said as much, more than once – though Tulia couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather stick in the way of Hakon Vettel’s arrows.

Except Torvig of course.

‘When will they come?’ Ilene wanted to know, hand on hip.

Tulia blinked irritably. ‘Tomorrow? The day after? I don’t know.’

‘I thought the dreamer would have told you?’

Tulia ignored her, turning to the other women. ‘You can see clearly from here. And if the sky stays like that, you’ll see the arrows coming. Hear them too. This cover here,’ she said, pointing to the tall, thick part of the rampart wall, ‘that’s where you’ll hide. The arrows will come in waves. We’ll wait here for one to pass, then move into the gap again.’ Tulia usually struggled to be gentle, sympathetic, or particularly understanding, but she felt a responsibility to these women, and she spoke slowly, wanting them to understand her. Sigurd always made fun of her accent, and Tulia knew that sometimes it was hard to get her words out, but she needed the women to hear her. ‘The fire arrows won’t be for you. It’s too much to think about. The flame is a distraction you don’t need. We’ll leave those for me.’

Hulda nodded. Estrid too. They wanted to live. She could see it in their eyes.

They listened intently.

‘Any questions?’ Tulia scanned the group, willing Ilene to keep her mouth shut.

‘What if we run out of arrows?’ Estrid asked.

‘Then head for the stairs. Get down into the square, find more. Most of their arrows won’t hit a target. You’ll be able to collect an armful and hurry back up to the wall.’

Estrid nodded, and Ilene looked as though she was about to open her mouth when Tulia spun away from her, heading for the stairs. The sun was already high in the sky, but the air was crisp and cold, and she was eager to get to the hall.

Away from Ilene.

* * *

Torvig was peering at the map. ‘You shouldn’t put the women on the inner wall.’

‘Well I’m not going to put them on the low wall,’ Reinar frowned. ‘I can’t afford to lose all my archers too early.’

Torvig snorted. ‘They’re hardly archers, Reinar! Most of them have barely held a bow. I know you need all hands on the walls, but you can’t expect much from those slave women. I doubt they’ll live longer than the first assault. What a waste that will be.’

Sigurd didn’t want to agree with Torvig, but he worried that he was right. ‘Well, whether that’s true or not, they’re best deployed on the inner wall. It’s safer. Those on the low wall need sword skills. Once the archers are overwhelmed, once their siege towers reach the walls and their men start to climb, we’ll need a physical presence to knock them back.’

Reinar agreed. ‘They’ll stay where Tulia’s placed them.’ He leaned over the map, moving the wooden archer figures to the inner wall. One for Tulia’s group, one for Amir’s. ‘You’ll have your men down on the low wall, Torvig.’

Torvig looked happy about that.

‘I’ll be with you,’ Reinar went on. ‘Sigurd will be up with Tulia and Amir. Ludo, you’ll run the square, and Bjarni...’ He turned to his oldest friend. ‘I want you here. In the hall.’

‘What?’ Bjarni looked shocked. ‘The hall?’

Reinar nodded. ‘Think it through. They’ll be bringing catapults. They’ll launch boulders if we can’t burn them first. They might crush the hall. I need you to watch everyone in here, especially Agnette and Father. Gerda too. You may have to move them in a hurry to save lives. I’ll send Eddeth in with her salves and bandages. Rienne can help her.’

Agnette smiled, pleased to hear that Reinar was making Bjarni stay close. Terror rose and fell inside her body, and she felt close to tears most of the time. She feared what would come. Feared that she would never get to meet her child, or that Bjarni wouldn’t.

He squeezed her hand, and she turned to him, swallowing.

‘And where will Alys be?’ Sigurd asked, eyes up as Tulia opened the doors, ushering in a blast of cold air.

‘In her cottage,’ Reinar said, his voice almost a whisper, wondering if that was the right thing to do. ‘By herself.’ He was quickly convinced that it was definitely the wrong thing to do.

‘She should be in here with us,’ Agnette insisted.

‘Who?’ Tulia wondered, taking a cup of ale from Sigurd with a weary grin.

‘Alys. She should be in the hall.’

Tulia was quickly frowning. ‘Wouldn’t she be better off dreaming somewhere? By herself?’

‘Perhaps,’ Reinar said. ‘Though I’d rather she had help. If Hakon’s dreamer tries something... if she tries to get into the fort, she’ll need some help.’ He ran a hand over his beard, thinking. ‘Eddeth could stay with Alys.’

Agnette nodded. ‘Of course Eddeth should stay with Alys! After what happened to her neck?’ She shuddered, gripping Bjarni’s hand. ‘What’s to stop the dreamer from doing that to any of us?’ She frowned at Tulia. ‘We need more than archers for this fight, wouldn’t you say? Hakon Vettel’s surely going to throw more than arrows at us.’

* * *

Eddeth bustled into Alys’ cottage without knocking. Once the door was open, she wedged it with a stool, and, without speaking, headed back outside to bring in her baskets. There were three of them, each one heaving with herbs and other items in corked and wrapped jars that Alys couldn’t identify.

The smell was overpowering.

Alys helped her. There were bowls too. A cauldron filled with stew. And a pillow and fur.

‘I shall stay with you!’ Eddeth declared with a lop-sided grin. ‘Reinar thinks he ordered it to be, though little did he know it was my intention all along! For where else would I rather be as the battle rages on than by your side?’

Alys felt grateful for the company. ‘You can sleep in the bed.’

‘Bah! I often sleep on the floor,’ Eddeth insisted. ‘Comfort makes me itch. I prefer to stay in a permanent state of unease. Keeps the mind alert!’ She tapped her head, hurrying back outside. ‘Though I must get Rigfuss. He hates to be alone!’ And she disappeared into the darkness, hoping she wouldn’t find the cat wedged under her bed again.

Alys’ eyes moved to her own cat, quickly surprised she saw Winter that way. Arnon had hated animals with a passion. Magnus had adopted a stray puppy once. A secret puppy. She hadn’t known about it until she found it inside one day, eating from Magnus’ plate. He loved the puppy so much that she didn’t want to break his heart and get rid of it immediately. But Arnon had found it first. He had heard it wailing in the night, lonely and cold in the shed.

He’d wrung its neck to shut it up.

Alys closed her eyes, wanting an escape from the cruel memories.

With Arnon, everything had been cruel. Out of her control.

Yet, she was a dreamer, and according to Eddeth, dreamers could be powerful creatures indeed. Those favoured by benevolent gods and goddesses, at least.

Opening her eyes, Alys wondered what it would feel like to be powerful. She glanced down at the book, eager to find an answer, a way to keep Hakon Vettel’s dreamer out of the fort.

Out of her dreams too.

* * *

Falla had been pregnant for weeks according to Mother. And now that the reality of it was sinking in, she could feel it herself: those slight changes in her body; the waves of nausea she had put down to travelling in the wagon; the overwhelming tiredness and her aching back. So she was not thrilled to be dragged off as the army made camp for the night, into the forest with Mother, who had shoved a basket at her, insisting she stay close.

They had left Lotta behind with Ulrick, who was happy to be with her again. He pulled Lotta to him, looking her over, seeing if the old dreamer had hurt her in any way. ‘Has she fed you? Given you water?’

Lotta didn’t want to talk to him any more than she wanted to talk to Mother. She nodded, eyes returning to the fire they sat before. Ulrick crouched beside her, making a spit out of twigs. He’d caught two rabbits, killed and skinned them, eager to feed Lotta a good meal. She appeared ill in the glow of the flames.

Listless.

‘We’re not in Slussfall,’ he said, almost apologetically. ‘But once we’re done with this battle we’ll head North again, get you settled in the cottage, in your very own chamber. Wait till you see it. It’s got a bed piled high with pillows. Bergit made them herself. Blankets too. She’s an expert weaver, you know. A skilled woman indeed.’

Lotta showed no interest in anything he was saying. She only wanted to hear talk of returning to Ullaberg so she could find her mother and brother. She didn’t want to go with Ulrick to his wife. Tears filled her eyes, and she couldn’t see. Everything blurred around her, including Ulrick’s voice. She heard the fires popping, men yelling to each other as they erected tents and shelter. Horses whinnied behind her, goats bleating too. The smell of cooking awakened some small part of Lotta that was actually hungry, and she was right back in her cottage, sitting at the table.

‘Don’t eat so fast!’ she heard her mother’s warning. ‘Lotta! You’ll burn your tongue!’

Lotta smiled, welcoming that familiar voice, trying to remember their table, her chair, the sound of the waves from the beach, Magnus chattering incessantly beside her.

‘Lotta, please, just hold on. I’m coming.’

Lotta spun around, shivering.

It was her mother’s voice, she was certain.

‘I’m coming for you, my darling, just hold on.’

And clasping her cold hands together, Lotta bent her head forward, watching her tears splash over them.

37

Dreaming was impossible with Eddeth snoring on the ground beside her.

Rigfuss snored too.

Alys rolled over to the wall, realising that she could no longer smell death in the cottage. Now it smelled of herbs and smoke and Eddeth.

The fragrant aromas reminded her of her mother, which was odd, she thought. Her mother had died when she was six; her father long before that.

Alys closed her eyes tight, wanting to remember what it had felt like to have a mother’s love; caring arms, a soothing voice in her ear. That unspoken certainty that she was protected. Loved.

Eddeth cried out suddenly, rolling over, muttering to herself, and Alys was wide awake again.

* * *

Agnette stared up at Bjarni, who was leaning over her, smoothing hair away from her face. No matter how many combs he bought or made for his wife, how many scarves, or leather thongs, her hair was always a wild mess.

He smiled.

‘You look scared,’ Agnette said.

‘What?’ Bjarni frowned at her. ‘I’m smiling, aren’t I?’

Their chamber was bright with glowing lamps. Agnette didn’t like to sleep in the dark, and Bjarni liked her to be happy, so he always made sure there were more candles and lamps in their chamber than Gerda ever realised.

‘Your mouth may be, but your eyes are popping out of your head, Bjarni Sansgard. I know that look. You’re worried. Scared. Fearful.’

‘Alright, alright, I get the point.’ And leaving Agnette’s hair alone, Bjarni flopped back down beside her. Their bed was small, and since Agnette had almost doubled in size, there was barely any room to roll over. He sighed. ‘Things will get tricky soon. Very soon. It’s hard not to worry about you and the baby.’ He gently touched her belly, leaving his hand there, wanting to feel those elusive kicks, which, so far, only his wife had experienced.

‘Nothing much we can do but ride towards the storm.’

Bjarni turned to her. ‘That sounds familiar.’

‘It’s what my grandfather used to say. He survived many a storm, and he always used to tell us that when you’re in a ship, and you see that sky turning black, clouds coming towards you at pace, waves rising like mountains... all you can do is ride towards the storm.’ Agnette felt terror herself, but she didn’t want Bjarni worrying about her. She was perfectly capable of doing that all on her own.

Bjarni sighed, feeling his body loosen ever so slightly. ‘Well, sounds about right. We can’t pick up the fort and run away.’

Agnette laughed. ‘No, so we hold our heads high and face what’s coming. The threads of our destiny have already been woven. We can’t turn around and hurry to unpick them all, hoping to weave something else!’

‘Do you believe that?’ Bjarni moved his hand down towards hers, squeezing it, feeling it tremble. ‘That the gods have already made up their minds about us?’

‘Oh, yes. Our child too,’ Agnette said. ‘The gods know all about him.’

Bjarni closed his eyes, tired now, wishing he knew what the gods did. Wishing he was a dreamer. Though, perhaps not, he decided, for that was a heavy weight to bear. Holding everyone’s destiny in your mind. Uncertain who to save and who to let die...

Agnette could feel Bjarni’s hand twitching, and she smiled. Despite any worries he might be chewing over, he could still fall asleep as soon as his eyes closed.

And there it was... the first gentle snore.

She swallowed, uncomfortable in the bed, wanting to move, her mind alert, her eyes wide open. And slipping her hand out of Bjarni’s, she placed it on her belly.

Staring into the darkness.

* * *

Jonas was pissing behind a tree when he heard Magnus scream out. Jiggling on the spot, he yanked up his trousers, jumping over a log, hurrying back to their campsite, into the tent.

But Vik was already there, Magnus in his arms.

‘Think he’s still asleep,’ Vik mumbled, easing Magnus down onto the grass, laying his bed fur over him. And content that the boy was settled again, he followed Jonas out of the tent.

Puffing out a smoky breath, Jonas collapsed beside the fire, hands out, rubbing them together. He had no idea how late it was, but neither man felt tired. They were on edge, knowing they had some way to go to Slussfall; both of them worrying that they would miss Lotta somehow.

It was unsettling to know how much they needed her captors to stay alive.

Yet, what would those men do to her in the meantime?

Vik threw a branch onto the fire. The flames sparked and spat at them, but they were both grateful for the warmth. It had snowed off and on during the day, but nothing too heavy now, and they hoped that would continue. ‘I’ve been thinking we should head west.’

‘You do?’

Vik nodded. ‘Those men sound like old hands. The way Magnus described them?’ Vik could almost picture them. ‘They talked of Hakon Vettel and Slussfall, as though they knew him. Maybe they travelled the other road?’

‘They talked of Stornas too, that’s what Magnus said. Stornas, Ottby, Slussfall.’ Jonas’ mind was whirring.

‘The Vettel boy’s been stirring since Stellan Vilander tore off his father’s head. Both him and that fool cousin of his. That’s what I hear.’

‘To kill the Vilanders?’

Vik shrugged. ‘Likely more, wouldn’t you say?’

‘Ake should have ended the Vettel boys all those years ago.’

‘Well, they were children,’ Jonas said. ‘He couldn’t bring himself to do it. Could you?’

‘I could. You could too, Jonas. We did worse, I’m sure, in our time. The Vettel line needed to be burned like a wound. Cauterised. Ended. Just a scar on the landscape, forgotten over time.’

‘Hakon Vettel took Slussfall with speed from what I hear. Killed hundreds. Women and children. Everyone. His cousin right by his side.’ Jonas had been to Slussfall many times over the years. Sirrus Ahlmann had been a loyal ally to Ake, but he hadn’t been able to stand in the face of the Vettels, and their swelling army bent on revenge.

‘Tells you something about the boy and what Ottby will face, then. Though, he shouldn’t be too confident going up against those walls.’ Vik smiled, remembering Ottby. Stellan Vilander had been part of their brotherhood. One of Ake’s best men. He had commanded a double-walled fortress of stone, and that fortress had held back every assault from the Vettels over the years. It hadn’t just been the Vettels who sought to take Ake’s throne either. The King of Alekka had been embattled by his Northern enemies since wrenching Stornas from Jorek Vettel’s bloodthirsty grasp. Those north of The Rift were mostly a rag-tag bunch of warring tribes, though, never rising above their own rivalries long enough to mount a sustained campaign.

‘Not just Ottby’s walls either. With Hovring and Vika to support them, Hakon Vettel doesn’t stand a chance. He can’t go around them, he can’t go through them, and he won’t get over them.’ It was nice to talk about those things they’d left in the past now. It made them feel young for a moment.

‘I hope you’re right,’ Vik murmured, yawning, eyes back on the tent. ‘Though, they’ll struggle without Stellan leading the line. His boys are useful enough, I know. Both of them. Good men too. But they’re not their father, are they?’

Jonas tucked his cloak around himself, catching Vik’s yawn. ‘No, they’re not, but Stellan raised them well. They’d do anything not to let him down.’

* * *

Tulia lay naked in his arms and Sigurd was reluctant to move, though she had all the furs and he was freezing. The fire had gone out, but the lamps burned low, and as he smoothed hair away from her cheek, he could see the bronzed glow of her skin. The serenity of her face when she was sleeping was a constant surprise. She looked content and peaceful.

She never looked that way when she was awake.

He tried nudging her gently, hoping to encourage her to roll over on her own, but Tulia merely sighed and moved towards him. Sigurd smiled, giving up, deciding that he’d rather freeze than lose the feeling of her body resting on his.

He felt guilty for bringing her to Ottby. She hated it. The cold, the bleak skies, the stone fortress. She came from a place where the horizon was expansive, the land covered in sand. And sun. Golden, warm sun, beating down overhead like a fire. The nights were cold, but the days were bright, the sky so blue you wanted to swim in it.

Sigurd missed it himself, and though he often thought he’d reached a decision to leave Ottby for good, he could never make the final break. The fort was more than his home; just like Reinar, it was his reason for being. They had been raised to believe that Ottby and its walls mattered. That they mattered to the safety and survival of Alekka.

Sigurd had been saved by Stellan from a certain death. Given a home and a family that he loved with all his heart.

He held onto Tulia tighter, feeling sad, knowing that whatever happened, he couldn’t abandon Reinar and Ottby.

Not now.

* * *

Sleep would have been useful, Reinar thought as he stood before Valera’s Tree, leaves rustling loudly overhead. That sound had given him nightmares as a child; lying in bed, listening to the wind racing through the branches, scratching them together; imagining shadow spirits creeping through the fort, into the hall, waiting outside his door.

During the day, the tree was a place to hide and explore, a place to seek guidance and ask questions. Some believed that Valera herself came to the ancient tree to help those in need. She was both the Goddess of Fertility and the Goddess of Love. Her favour and wisdom were always in great demand, even by the Lord of Ottby himself.

Reinar held a hand to the trunk, placing it flat against the rough bark, wanting to feel some sense of certainty, some clarity about what lay ahead, though he felt nothing but the cold wind trying to tear his cloak off him.

He froze, hand quickly off the tree, moving to his sword, head spinning. The leaves rustled loudly, covering any noise, but Reinar was sure he’d heard something.

And then a shadow moving.

Stepping around the tree, Reinar cut it off.

Torvig felt his heart lurch up into his mouth.

Reinar had seen Torvig heading for his cottage hours ago, yet here he was, fully dressed. ‘What are you doing?’

Torvig peered down at Reinar’s hand, still on the hilt of his sword. ‘You looking to start the battle now?’ he grinned, trying to steady his breathing. He had dragged Stina back to her cottage after he’d finished with her. And he was glad he had, or else he might be having a very different conversation with Reinar now.

Reinar moved his hand away, letting his cloak fall over his sword. ‘Not quite, but it pays to be careful after what’s been happening lately.’

Torvig nodded. ‘It does, though I think being lord of this fortress, you could find someone else to keep watch. Or is this what you do every night, and I just didn’t know it?’

Reinar shook his head. ‘Not every night, no. But without Elin here, there’s less reason to stay in bed, I suppose.’

Torvig stared at him. ‘She’ll be back. I know it. I feel it.’

‘You do?’

‘Of course.’ Torvig’s confidence lifted, and he encouraged Reinar back to the hall. ‘She loved you the moment she saw you. Couldn’t stop telling our mother about how she was going to marry you one day. I remember that.’

Reinar liked to hear stories about Elin. He remained silent, encouraging Torvig to continue, which he did, knowing that the more he filled the silence, the less opportunity there was for Reinar to ask where he’d been.

‘Something happened to her after the loss of the babies. You know that. It wasn’t because of you. She didn’t stop loving you. It was Elin. The heartbreak caused something to go wrong with her head. She made a bad decision. I imagine she knows that better than anyone now.’

‘After this is all over, after Hakon comes, and we beat him back, I’d like to try and find her. See if you’re right.’

‘Good! We can go together. It may be that I can find her. Or that dreamer of yours can. Not that Elin would be happy to find her here, trying to take you away from her.’ Torvig sensed that Reinar had stopped, and he turned back to him with a grin. ‘Perhaps I’m imagining that, of course. Seems to me the woman’s looking for a way to make herself a new home. A new place. That Ullaberg was nothing, was it? Imagine coming here, finding a handsome lord who’s lost his wife? Imagine the things she’s been planning for herself...’

Reinar knew what everyone thought of Torvig. He’d thought the same things himself, many times. But he’d always been loyal over the years, often against his better judgement, knowing that he was Elin’s brother; aware of how much she adored him. ‘No need for you to worry about the dreamer, Torvig. She’s useful to me, just as Salma was. Nothing more. She has a home here for as long as she wants it. For as long as I find value in her dreams. And come tomorrow, or the day after, we might both find out how valuable she can be.’ And turning abruptly towards the hall doors, Reinar left Torvig alone in the dark.

* * *

‘Best sleep I’ve had in years!’ Eddeth declared with a sneeze.

She sneezed a lot, Alys thought, watching with one eye as Eddeth bustled around the cottage. She was still half asleep, barely seeing any sign of light yet. And closing her one open eye, she lay her head back on the pillow, enjoying the low murmuring sounds Eddeth was making. As long as they remained low and murmuring, she might just be able to fall back to sleep.

‘What did you dream of, then?’ Eddeth wondered, peering down at Alys.

Alys opened her eyes again, jerking away from Eddeth, who had leaned so far over her that their noses were almost touching.

‘You have skin like the underbelly of my cat,’ Eddeth breathed. ‘So soft!’ And she ran a hand over Alys’ cheek before turning back to the fire. ‘My mother said I had skin like an old man’s ballsack from the day I was born. No matter what she rubbed on it, it always felt the same!’

Alys pushed herself upright, shivering. Eddeth appeared to be doing half of everything as she moved around the cottage. The tinderbox was open, the kindling stacked in the fire pit. But she had rushed over to the kitchen area, fussing around her rows of jars, fingering through the baskets of herbs. Then there were the two cats, who had been promised a jug of near-frozen milk, two bowls sitting on the ground, side by side, but Eddeth had forgotten to fill them.

She spun around, eyeing Alys. ‘Did you have any dreams, then?’

Alys swung her legs over the side of the bed, unsure.

And then everything rushed back to her like a crashing wave.

‘Yes,’ she breathed, heart thumping in her chest. ‘Yes, I did!’

* * *

Mother had been up before anyone, slipping into Hakon’s tent, urging him to get his men moving before dawn had even broken. She had dreamed of his success. Of a great battle that would burn and break the Vilanders’ fortress for good.

He needed to march.

Now!

Hakon liked his sleep almost as much as Ivan, but he had rushed out of bed and into his armour with speed, emerging from his tent, yawning steward trailing after him, surprised to find Ivan waiting there, fully dressed.

‘Are you ready to leave?’

Hakon shook his head, beaming. ‘Cousin! I knew you wouldn’t let me down. I knew it!’ And taking Ivan in his arms, he patted his armoured back. ‘We’re in this together, you and I. For my father. For our family. We will do this together!’

Ivan was nodding, but he wasn’t thinking about their family. He was thinking about his reputation, which he would burnish with this victory. About his image, carved into tall saga stones from the North to the South, throughout Alekka and beyond. ‘Of course we will, Hakon. We’ve gotten this far together, haven’t we? We’ll crush those Vilanders together too, I promise. Leave their heads draining from their famous walls!’

It was the perfect start to the day. And as the sun rose, Hakon’s optimism rose with it. There wasn’t even a hint of a cloud in the sky. No snow in the air.

Nothing standing in their way.

Mother waddled past on her way to the wagon, Falla and the little girl following after her like miserable ducklings. Lief walked beside Falla, kissing her goodbye. Ulrick stood to one side, watching the old woman, wondering what sort of a problem she was going to become.

‘You should be on your horses!’ Mother bellowed. ‘All of you! We must make haste. Now!’

Hakon wondered what the hurry was, but he wasn’t about to argue with Mother.

If she saw victory on the horizon, he wasn’t going to argue at all.

* * *

Eddeth plonked herself down on the bed, nose twitching. ‘What? What did you see?’

Alys wasn’t sure. It was no simple image but a mess of many. ‘I saw fire. I heard screams. Bodies. A lot of bodies. Panic.’

‘Here?’

Alys nodded. ‘It was as though the sky itself was in flames.’

‘As though the gods were at war!’

‘Well, more likely catapults and arrows, I imagine,’ Alys said gently.

But Eddeth was already taking Alys’ words and weaving them into a more elaborate tale. ‘And death?’

‘Yes, death. But I...’ Alys closed her eyes, trying to see anything else.

Tulia. She saw Tulia.

‘Yes?’

Alys shook her head, feeling a cold certainty grip her body. ‘They will be here today.’ And standing up quickly, she stared down at Eddeth, blinking. ‘They will be here today!’

38

Jonas and Vik turned inland.

Magnus kept riding in between them on Daisy, not really conscious of anything until he realised that they were starting to climb. He felt Daisy straining beneath him, her stubby legs working hard. The landscape was becoming more mountainous again. There were fewer trees to see now, the forests falling away beneath them. ‘When will we get to Slussfall?’ He could see the sun rising above the sweeping mountains in the distance, and squinting, he turned to his great-grandfather, impatience in his eyes.

‘Well, days is unfortunately the closest answer, Magnus. I’m not sure. We may not be aiming for Slussfall at all. It depends on where we come across them. Those men who took Lotta were ill. We may be able to catch them before they get anywhere near that fortress.’ Jonas leaned forward, patting his new horse, still surprised that it was not his old horse. His grief for Klippr continued to burn like a hot flame.

Magnus nodded, but he felt concerned.

Vik pushed ahead as the path narrowed, trees shrinking in on either side of them, making a frosty tunnel.

‘What is it?’ Jonas wondered. ‘Something’s gnawing away at you over there.’

Magnus didn’t know his great-grandfather as well as he wished. He felt safe with him, happy to be with him, but worried about him. ‘The men who took us... they are... younger than you.’

Jonas burst out laughing, surprising Vik, who turned around, eyebrows raised.

‘My grandson, here, is worried that we’re too old for the job! That these men will tear us to pieces!’

Magnus’ pink cheeks flushed a deep red. ‘Well, I...’ He heard Vik laughing too.

‘Perhaps your mother never told you about me? About my friend, Vik? About who we used to be?’

‘She did.’

Jonas was surprised, his face blank. ‘Oh. So you know we’re warriors with reputations around these parts? We’re two of Ake Bluefinn’s men, the both of us. We stood beside him against the Vettels for years. Crushed those bastards with our own swords. Gave our blood to save our country from tyranny. And yet you don’t think we can handle two poorly thieves?’

‘Leave the boy alone, Jonas!’ Vik called out, turning back around. ‘All he can see are a couple of greybeards, creaking and farting around. Who could blame him for thinking our reputations are all we’ve got left, dust-covered as they are!’

Jonas smiled at Magnus. ‘He’s right, I suppose.’ It was hard to admit, because he didn’t feel old in his mind, and he never wanted to believe that a day would come when he couldn’t be effective with a sword. Though he thought back to Akaby, and how relieved he’d felt when Vik had shown up.

The path widened, and Vik slipped back to join them. He was a man of fewer than few words, but he spoke when he felt there was something to say. ‘Your grandfather and I will kill these men, Magnus. For what they did, taking you and selling you like that. For taking your sister away. We’ll kill them both. Quickly too. You needn’t worry about that.’

Magnus nodded, hearing the certainty in Vik’s voice. And he turned to Jonas, who smiled at him.

‘And then we’ll go and find your mother!’

* * *

Reinar felt impatient, but he didn’t want Alys to reveal her dreams in the hall. His mother was flapping about like an angry goose, and he wanted to avoid sending her off again. So he took Alys to his chamber, Torvig’s voice still ringing in his ears.

He motioned for her to take a seat by the blazing fire, not wanting to sit himself. ‘What have you seen?’

‘They will be here today.’

Reinar felt both surprised and relieved. ‘No snow holding them up, then?’

‘No. They are marching quickly now. I see no snow. Maybe just frost.’

Reinar blinked, irritated, wondering again if the gods favoured him at all.

When Alys had woken, her dreams lingered just out of reach. She had barely been aware that she’d had any. But then she had seen the flashes of fire, heard the terrifying noises, seen visions of Tulia’s pained face.

She’d seen everything.

Including Lotta, trapped with that old dreamer.

Gripping the arms of the chair, Alys tried to focus, sensing Reinar’s tension. ‘They have many men. Thousands, I would guess. Their rows stretched back as far as I could see. Speartips and banners, the red ones with the boar on it, just like on those ships. Their horses were armoured. The men riding them were heavily armoured too.’ She took a quick breath, closing her eyes, wanting to bring more images into her mind. Her eyes sprang open. ‘The dreamer is with them. She rides in a wagon...’ Alys stopped herself from going any further. ‘They have many catapults. I saw towers on wheels, pulled along by oxen. In my dream, the sun was shining, and they could see our walls.’

If he’d had the men, Reinar would have set upon Hakon before now; ended it before he’d ever caught a glimpse of his walls. But he didn’t. So he’d had to sit and wait and hear about his conquests along the Eastern Shore. He’d had to wait like an animal stuck in a trap.

He took a seat beside her. ‘What else?’

‘Fire. I saw a lot of fire across the sky. Inside the fort too.’

Reinar nodded. ‘We’re prepared for that, don’t worry.’

‘People were dying.’

Reinar stared at Alys, wanting to ask who. But he didn’t. He had to do his best to protect everyone. ‘I think you should come into the hall. Eddeth too. It’s best if you’re all together. Agnette and my father. My mother, as well. Bjarni will be in charge, but he could use some help from you.’

‘I think you’re right. We’ll gather our things.’ Alys stood to leave, but Reinar grabbed her hand.

‘Take care of yourself first, though. I’ve seen you, Alys de Sant. You look like you want to disappear, not be noticed by anyone. That you don’t matter. I saw what your husband did to you too.’ He stood, looking down at her, lifting a hand to her face. ‘But you do matter. And you can help a lot of people today. You can save lives.’ Reinar pulled his hand away, his eyes remaining on hers. ‘Don’t forget that. Take care of yourself, and when the times comes, don’t be afraid to fight.’

* * *

Lotta had been moved onto the opposite seat of the wagon, next to Falla, though that meant she was forced to face Mother, who stared at her constantly, when she wasn’t chanting, eyes closed, swaying around.

Falla peered at Mother, who had slumped slightly to one side, elbow on the raven’s cage, mouth ajar, snoring. She sighed. Bored. Hungry. Cold. Ready for it all to be over. The thought of her husband returning to her victorious was appealing, though the thought of being inside a house with a bed, table and chairs, walls and soft furnishings was far more desirous.

She touched her belly, feeling annoyed. This was the wrong time and the wrong place to be with child. She glanced at the girl. ‘What do you see then, little dreamer? Is she right?’ Falla kept her voice low, leaning towards Lotta. ‘Is there a baby growing inside me?’ She knew Mother well enough to fear that her eyes would pop open at any moment.

Lotta was surprised by the question. ‘I don’t know.’

Falla sighed. ‘Well, what sort of dreamer are you, then?’

‘I don’t know if I’m a dreamer at all,’ Lotta admitted sadly. She wanted dreams of her mother and Magnus, but they didn’t come. She wanted to see a future where she was older, safe, with her family, back in Ullaberg again, but all she saw was Long Beard’s grinning face, and it frightened her.

‘Well, Mother thinks you are, and she would know. There aren’t many dreamers more powerful than Mother Arnesson.’

‘Is she your mother?’ Lotta wondered.

Falla tried not to laugh. ‘No, she was my husband’s mother. My second husband. I don’t know her real name, though she had so many children once that everyone started calling her Mother.’

Lotta’s eyes were wide with curiosity now. She liked to know things. ‘How many children did she have?’

‘Eleven, I believe,’ Falla whispered, almost enjoying talking to someone who wasn’t a sharp-tongued old witch. ‘Though by the time they got through childhood, there were only three boys left, and one of them was my husband.’

‘What happened to him?’

Falla was quiet for a moment. ‘He was killed.’ Her nostrils flared, and she felt the absence of her son again. ‘Murdered by a woman who will one day pay for it. That’s why we’re heading south. To see that she does.’

Lotta wasn’t sure what she thought. She didn’t mind Falla, who was pretty, though she had a mean look in her eyes sometimes. But she was preferable to any of her other captors, so Lotta sat back on the seat, closing her eyes, trying to find a dream.

* * *

‘On the gates?’ Ludo and Amir glanced at each other, confused. ‘You want us to paint this symbol on all of the gates?’

‘Of course all of the gates!’ Eddeth was getting cross, which was most unlike her. ‘Big. Make them big! Paint them in blood!’

Ludo peered at Alys, who nodded in support of Eddeth’s idea. ‘Alright, but you’ll have to come with us, Eddeth. We need to know we’re doing it right. I’ve never painted symbols before.’

Eddeth was instantly cheerful again. ‘Yes, yes, I would be delighted to! I’ll go and kill something. We’ll need a lot of blood. You’d best come with me, Alys. Bring that miserable friend of yours. She can help.’

Stina was standing near Ludo, arms crossed, too anxious to notice how cold she felt; how hungry and tired too. Alys touched her arm, and she jumped. ‘Sorry?’

‘Come with us,’ Alys smiled. ‘If you’d like? We need to go –’

‘We need a goose!’ Eddeth shouted over her. ‘We’ll kill it before the tree. Make a proper offering. It’s what we should do!’

Stina looked sick at the thought of it, but she nodded, traipsing after Alys, and Eddeth, who was already bounding ahead like a cat.

Ludo turned to Amir. ‘We’d better find some tools. Amir!’ But Amir was heading towards Ilene, who had come down from the ramparts, eager to catch a moment alone with him.

Tulia rolled her eyes as she strode towards Ludo. ‘You might try to keep an eye on him,’ she grumbled, heading for Sigurd. ‘And whatever you do, keep him away from those ramparts when Hakon’s men come! He’ll be too busy drooling over that girl to see anything coming!’ She reached Sigurd, her eyes searching his face. ‘What is it?’

‘Alys sees them coming today.’

‘Good.’ Tulia shut away any tremors of worry. They weren’t as prepared as she wanted them to be, but it was better to get on with things. There would be no ending without a beginning, and she was eager for it all to be over. ‘We’re ready on the walls. Well, ours, at least. With that idiot Torvig running things on the low wall, who knows what a mess he’s made.’

Sigurd grabbed her arm, trying to get her attention. ‘Reinar will be there. He’ll be in charge of that wall.’ The thought of that made him anxious. The low wall had been Stellan’s. He had always kept his sons behind him on the inner wall, knowing it was the safer place to be.

‘Hmmm.’ Tulia wanted to go. She needed to find her helmet.

‘Now’s not the time to grumble about Torvig. This might be our last day. We shouldn’t waste time on him.’

Tulia couldn’t agree more. ‘Well, how about we go into the ring, then? I’ll beat you with my sword until you beg for mercy. Or we could go back to the chamber? Get naked?’

Sigurd laughed, kissing her. ‘You look too happy about this possibly being our last day together. Maybe you’re thinking you’ll slip away while all the fighting’s going on? Run down to the ships?’

‘Might do. Depends how things are going.’ Tulia smiled, pushing him away, quickly frowning again. ‘And did the dreamer say anything about that? About how it would go?’ Not one part of her wanted to acknowledge that she very much wanted some clue herself. She felt anxious about Amir and Sigurd, wanting some assurance that they’d be alright.

‘Ha! You really want to know, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes. You’re desperate to know but too stubborn to ask!’

Tulia had quickly had enough of Sigurd, and she headed to the nearest table, helping herself to a jug of – she poured it into a cup, sniffing – ale. The taste was not to her taste, but Tulia tipped it down her throat anyway, eager to get on. ‘So, what you’re saying, Sigurd Vilander, is that you believe the dreamer now? You believe the gods? You believe in the visions they send to these chosen women?’

Sigurd followed her, frowning. He didn’t know the answer.

He had always hewn to a path where the only things that were real were what he could see before him, or touch with his own two hands. But after the wolf, and the bruises on Alys’ neck, he’d felt a subtle shift, a change stirring inside of him, though he wasn’t ready to leave behind a lifetime of mistrust and cynicism just yet. ‘I believe only what I’ve seen. And Alys didn’t make those bruises herself. She didn’t make that wolf either, so... I believe some things. Just some.’

‘And has she seen anything about you?’ Tulia wondered, softening slightly.

‘Not that I’m aware of.’ Sigurd moved closer, eyes narrowed. ‘But I’d rather talk about you and me than Alys. About your plan... the one that involved us getting naked.’

Tulia laughed, spinning away from him. ‘Well, if we make it through the day, Sigurd Vilander, I shall come looking for you to celebrate!’

Sigurd stared after her with a grin, watching as she walked past Torvig, who scowled at her. Shaking his head, he turned and walked towards the hall, wanting to see his father.

* * *

Hakon felt his father riding with him.

He remembered what it had felt like to accompany him into battle. Against his step-mother’s strenuous objections, Jesper Vettel had taken his son into battle from the age of ten. He’d insisted that the boy needed to experience the noise and the fear of war. Jesper wanted it to wash over him like water, until he was bathing in it. Until it became so familiar to Hakon that when it came time for him to pick up his own sword and join the fray, he would be thirsty for the blood-letting, craving it like wine. Jesper had seen too many boys who thought they were men shit their trousers and cry for their mothers as battle swallowed them whole. He had been determined that his son would never be so ill-prepared.

So the thought of what was coming only excited Hakon. He did not feel either fearful or anxious. He had a dreamer, a powerful witch dreamer, who would alert him to any problems. He had an army bigger than his father had ever commanded behind him, men he could trust on either side of him, and an enemy he had weakened to the point where it was almost cruel to wage war against them.

But the cruelty was the point, his father growled in his ear.

To crush, rather than defeat. To twist the knife, rather than leave a clean wound.

The point was to be so cruel and merciless that your enemies – those you let live to tell the tale – would warn others away from ever bringing their armies to your door. Those terrified men would share and spread the tales of your viciousness, and your reputation for cruelty would grow.

Hakon sighed, thinking about his father. It was hard to be doing this without him. But the only thing that mattered, Hakon knew, was that he did it right.

That he made his father and his son proud.

Turning to Ulrick, who sat on his horse beside him, he smiled. ‘A good day for a battle!’

Ulrick nodded, feeling well-rested. His faithful sword was sharp, sitting proudly in its sheepskin-lined scabbard. Any hint of the illness that had killed his friends was no more than a tickle in his throat now, and when he turned around, he felt heartened by the stream of warriors riding and marching behind them. ‘It will be, my lord, though it may not be true battle for some time. Ottby’s walls are a real bitch.’ He remembered how many times he’d been pushed back off those unforgiving walls over the years. He had the scars on his face, on his arms, and on his back to remind him.

Hakon dropped his shoulders, lifting his head. ‘But a bitch dog can be tamed, Ulrick. And without men on those walls, what use are they but climbing practice for us?’ He was not about to have his confidence dented. Mother had seen a victory as decisive as any ever witnessed. Old hands like Ulrick were always harking back to the past; seeing every new challenge through their fading eyes; trying to invent reasons for why they might not be able to meet it.

But Hakon was not an old man, and he saw perfectly.

As did his dreamer.

Victory lay ahead.

Only victory.

* * *

‘Can you talk to her!’ Agnette sighed, her aching feet and her aching back not as painful as the continual high-pitched shriek of her panicking aunt. She glanced at Alys, who had extracted herself from Eddeth’s ritual, deciding instead to head to the hall with Salma’s books.

Agnette had cleared out a spare chamber, sending Bjarni to help Alys bring the rest of hers and Eddeth’s things over. But even away from the main hall, Gerda’s voice still rang in her ears. ‘She seems to think I can be in three places at once. At least three! And in my condition?’ Agnette’s face was bright red, her hands wedged into her hips when she wasn’t trying to help Alys move something around.

‘What should I say?’ Alys wondered, feeling intimidated by just the thought of speaking to Gerda Vilander.

‘I don’t think it matters.’ Agnette lowered her voice, glancing at the open chamber door. ‘It doesn’t need to be the truth. Just reassure her. She’ll believe you. Gerda is a great believer in dreamers. Just reassure her that we’ll be safe in here. That nothing will happen to Sigurd and Reinar.’ And nudging Alys towards the door, she pushed her into the corridor, quickly turning around, wondering what else they were going to need.

Alys hesitated, before realising that it was probably useful to try and reassure Gerda. She wasn’t helping anyone to calm down. And as she walked back into the busy hall, she could see the panic was reaching a crescendo, Gerda in the middle of it all, flapping hands pointing in every direction. She saw Alys and didn’t even blink before heading towards her.

‘Well, now that my niece has seen fit to relieve you,’ she hissed irritably, ‘perhaps I may have a word with you myself?’ And without waiting for a reply, Gerda took Alys to the private chamber just before the kitchen that Reinar usually kept locked, filled with chests of his dwindling silver as it was. She inclined her head to the four chairs sitting around a disused brazier, and as Alys took a seat, Gerda took one opposite her. ‘I need to hear about Reinar. About Sigurd. About what will become of them.’

Having heard what Gerda thought of Sigurd, Alys was surprised to hear him mentioned in the same breath as Reinar. ‘I’ve not seen anything about them,’ she admitted. ‘No more than flashes of battle.’ Gerda looked displeased, and Alys hurried on. ‘Which is encouraging,’ she insisted. ‘If something important had happened, I’m sure their faces would have come to mind.’ She thought of Tulia, whose face had definitely come to mind, wondering if she should warn her or Sigurd, but knowing that neither of them would welcome it.

Gerda sighed, her body vibrating. She couldn’t stop it. She could barely sit still. ‘And the fort? What of it?’ Her mind wandered to Stellan. When he’d been in command of his wall, she’d felt secure. He had stood there with all his loyal men, sending every enemy on their way, many of them headless. But Reinar had few such loyal men now, and she worried what would happen to her husband if the Vettels breached the walls.

Alys had no idea what to say. ‘The fort is strong,’ she tried. ‘And your sons have the advantage, don’t they? They have stone walls. Two of them.’

Gerda was nodding, sensing how nervous the dreamer was. ‘My son, Reinar, he is fated to become a great man, you know. Ragnahild One Eye said he would become the high king himself.’ She eyed Alys, watching her carefully, but Alys didn’t appear to even flinch.

‘I’m not an experienced dreamer,’ Alys admitted. ‘I’ve not seen it myself, though nor have I seen your son dying. If Reinar is fated to become a king one day, he will certainly survive what is coming, won’t he?’

Gerda leaned forward, hand extended across the empty brazier, touching Alys’ arm. ‘Not a king, the king, and you would do well to remember that if you want to remain by his side, Alys. You could become the dreamer to a great king if you take care of Reinar, watch over him, keep him safe.’ Her eyes grew desperate now, tear-filled. ‘You can’t understand, of course, what it is to be a mother. To stand by helplessly while your children walk towards the enemy, not knowing if they will live, or if you’ll ever feel their arms around you again.’

Alys swallowed, trying not to feel anything, but Gerda’s fear and pain were palpable, and she could almost feel her children’s familiar arms squeezing her own waist.

‘With my husband like he is, I can’t have anything happen to them. I can’t!’ Gerda stood, wanting to get back to the hall.

Alys did glimpse a vision of Reinar then, his face turned towards her, eyes aflame. And he was screaming.

Then everything exploded in bright lights.

Gerda tapped Alys’ arm. ‘Did you see something?’

Alys shook her head. ‘No,’ she said, trying to stop shaking. ‘No, nothing at all.’

39

They stopped for a break. The sun was surprisingly warm, and the stream was too enticing to simply cross.

Hakon felt impatient to move quickly, sensing the excitement in Mother’s eyes as she hopped around the bank, dragging the little girl after her, though he couldn’t deny that his horse and his men needed the water.

Ivan stretched out his back, lifting his arms above his head. ‘Not long till we see the impenetrable beast rising in the distance.’

Ulrick’s eyes were on Lotta. ‘And she will rise. Those walls come at you like cliffs. There’s no escaping them.’

Hakon snorted, looking at Lief to give him some confidence.

And reading his lord’s eyes, Lief did. ‘From what you’ve said, Ulrick, there will be few manning the walls now. I imagine Reinar Vilander’s wishing he had a smaller fort. A simple fort would hold us out. There’d be no gaps. No holes for us to penetrate. But they’ll have to spread so thin. That fortress will be like an open door, inviting us in.’

‘Exactly!’ Hakon agreed, his confidence lifting. He wanted to be at Ottby before nightfall, though they were some way away yet. ‘But perhaps they know it? Perhaps there’ll be no fight at all? Just a white banner flying, gates open?’

Ulrick laughed. ‘I doubt they’ll be that generous, my lord. I’m sure those Vilander boys are hoping to cover themselves in glory before you cover them in their own blood.’

‘Glory?’ Hakon sneered. He didn’t plan on sharing glory with anyone. ‘I doubt that. But they can try.’ His eyes sharpened as Mother approached with the girl, who was wet up to her knees, face covered in berry juice. ‘You have news?’ He could see it in the dreamer’s crazed eyes, which always popped open whenever she had new information to impart.

‘I have a desire to get moving, Hakon Vettel, that is what I have!’ Mother cried. ‘We have drunk, we have eaten, and now we must prepare for war! You must ready your weapons, and I shall ready my own!’ She squeezed Lotta’s hand tightly, and the little girl yelped.

Ulrick glared at the old woman. ‘Perhaps you should let her ride with me? We are old friends, she and I, soon to be family once I get her back home to my wife. She enjoys riding, don’t you, princess?’ He crouched down, one hand out to Lotta, who froze, caught between the enemy standing beside her, and the one right in front of her. But she hadn’t even decided whether to nod or shake her head before Mother bustled past, finger wagging.

‘This girl is of no concern to you,’ she growled up at Ulrick. ‘And never will be, I can promise you that. She is mine! Mine alone. Mine to find useful or discard as I choose. Neither of which require you to have anything to do with her.’ And lifting her head high, she turned it to Hakon, daring him to disagree.

Now it was Hakon’s turn to feel caught. He laughed awkwardly, glancing at his horse. ‘A discussion for another time, I think, for now, we must get to Ottby!

* * *

Eddeth’s chin still had blood from the sacrifice smeared on it, and though Alys tried to point it out, Eddeth was too busy fussing around her herbs to listen.

‘Do you think the symbols on the gates will help?’ Alys wondered. They had decided to escape the noise of the hall and the chaos of the square, locking themselves in their new chamber, though Alys found it impossible to stop asking questions, which was odd, she realised, as she had recently become the one everyone asked questions of.

‘I think they’ll send a message to Hakon’s dreamer,’ Eddeth mumbled, adding two bay leaves to the bowl. She was working hard, grinding her ingredients into a powder, and though Alys had asked what it was for, Eddeth had refused to say. She was concentrating hard, her usually scattered mind focused on that singular task.

Alys realised that she should stop talking, for whatever Eddeth was doing might be helpful.

‘We want that dreamer far away from us, don’t we?’ Eddeth grinned, looking up for the first time in a while. She blinked, her vision blurry, trying to see just one of Alys. ‘And this will help. I’ve been reading all about it. How to block a dreamer’s sight. How to keep their prying eyes fixed elsewhere!’

Alys looked on curiously, but Eddeth had quickly turned back to her powder, grinding the herbs together, lips clamped shut. ‘I...’

Eddeth stopped, sensing that if Alys didn’t get out what she really wanted to say, she would never be able to get on. ‘I may be no dreamer, but you look weighed down by worries. Weighed down!’ And she left her pestle and mortar behind, dragging Alys to the bed. ‘You must tell me everything, for how can we work together if one of us keeps secrets?’

Alys peered at Eddeth, wondering whether she could read her mind. Or perhaps she was just hopelessly transparent? ‘I... Hakon Vettel’s dreamer, she... has my daughter.’

Eddeth blinked rapidly, then promptly sneezed all over Alys. ‘Well, that’s unfortunate! How did she get her, then? Your little girl? How did a woman like that get her hands on your daughter?’

‘I don’t know.’ Alys bit her teeth together not wanting to cry, though there was so much relief in being able to talk about Lotta that it proved impossible, and her eyes quickly filled with tears. ‘When Reinar took me, I sent the children away, told them to escape, to find my grandfather, who would look after them.’ She saw Eddeth’s eyes peel open further. ‘I have a son too. Magnus. He’s ten. Lotta is eight.’ She rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands, though her tears kept coming. ‘Though it all went wrong. Men took them, I heard it, though I don’t know how Lotta ended up with Hakon Vettel’s dreamer. I don’t.’

Eddeth pulled a damp cloth from her sleeve, offering it to Alys, who took it with some hesitation. ‘That is some secret indeed! You are right not to have told anyone, but somehow the dreamer saw, didn’t she? Somehow she saw! And now she has your girl.’ Her eyes were still blurry, full of worry.

‘What will the dreamer do to her?’

‘Use her.’ Eddeth sneezed again, eyeing her damp cloth. ‘To hurt you.’

Alys froze, knowing she was right.

She handed Eddeth’s cloth back to her, looking away as she blew her nose with vigour, wanting to let all thoughts slip out of her mind now.

Desperate to see some sign of Lotta.

* * *

Ivan could tell that Ulrick was stewing over the girl.

‘Why do you care so much about that child?’ he wondered. ‘There are many children you could take back to Slussfall. Why do you want that one?’

Ulrick’s smile was a sad one. ‘She looks just like my own daughter. That hair. I used to brush Gala’s hair every night by the fire while I told her stories of my battles. She liked to hear of warriors fighting. Of the gods fighting too.’ His voice faded quickly, and he remained silent, lost in the past.

It surprised Ivan, who had known Ulrick since he was a boy, though he had no memory of his daughter. ‘I’m sorry for you, and Bergit, but I think you need to look for another girl.’

Ulrick’s attention shifted from Ivan to Lief, and Hakon, who rode some way ahead of them. ‘Or not. I’ve defeated lords and monsters of every kind up in The Murk. That old bitch doesn’t scare me.’ He stared Ivan down. ‘I won’t let her keep the girl, know that.’

Ivan smiled. He hated Mother with a passion, and he was growing certain that she didn’t care whether Hakon became the King of Alekka at all. It was only the throne she wanted; the men and the power and the fleet of ships. Though Ivan knew he would have a hard time convincing his cousin of that. Hakon had invested all his hopes in the dreamer. He would not cast her aside easily.

‘Well, I imagine the girl would rather be with you and Bergit than stuck with that stinking crone.’ Ivan turned in the saddle, watching the wagon clattering behind them. No matter how far away Mother was, he felt her eyes on him. ‘But how would you get her away? That dreamer sees everything. Even inside your head.’ Ivan felt even more disturbed now, eager to change the subject. ‘Though you never know what will happen at Ottby. We may all change our minds about things after that.’

Ulrick could sense Ivan’s unease, and he shared in it, but the girl was his. He had found her, and whatever he had to do, and whoever he had to fight, he was going to take her back to his wife.

* * *

Magnus looked sad, his head drooping as the afternoon wore on.

‘What is it?’ Jonas asked, handing the boy a hard biscuit. ‘Watch your teeth on that. Think I shook one loose!’ He winked, but Magnus didn’t smile as he took the biscuit, nodding his thanks. ‘Something’s eating you. Lotta maybe?’

Magnus shook his head. ‘No, my mother. I keep thinking about what they’re doing to her, the men who took her. She doesn’t deserve it. She’s a good woman, you know.’

Jonas nodded. ‘I know, and no, she doesn’t. She’s been through a lot, with your father, with what happened, but you needn’t worry about her. She can take care of herself. She can protect herself.’

Magnus snorted.

‘You don’t think so?’

‘I’ve never seen her fight back. I saw what my father did to her. I...’ It was hard to see the images; hard to hear his mother’s cries of pain and fear. ‘You’re wrong,’ he insisted. ‘She can’t fight.’

Memories flitted towards Jonas like butterflies, making him wistful for the past once more. He blinked, trying to focus. ‘I taught her how to protect herself. Vik helped.’ He nodded at Vik, who was busy trying not to break his own teeth on a biscuit. ‘How to hunt and use weapons. She knows many things.’

Magnus looked stunned. ‘She does? But... I don’t understand. Why didn’t she fight my father, then? Why didn’t she make him stop?’

Jonas felt anger heat his body like flames. The idea that Arnon de Sant had hurt and terrorised his precious granddaughter made him furious, though the man was dead, shot through the chest, his cruel reign of terror finally over.

Though, Jonas knew, thinking of Alys, the scars would remain.

‘I don’t know, Magnus. Your mother is gentle, and fighting is not in her nature. But she knows how, don’t you worry. She knows how.’

* * *

Leaving Eddeth to her powders and potions, Alys went for a walk around the square, wanting a moment to think. The noise was just as intense outside, which was surprising, she thought, with far fewer people in the fort than before, though those fewer people were still rushing around with purpose, creating an ear-splitting din.

One of them was Tulia, who grumbled as she hurried past, muttering something about Alys moving out of the way.

‘Wait!’ Alys called, turning after her. ‘Tulia!’

Tulia’s frown was intense as she spun around, holding a full quiver of fire arrows in her arms. ‘What? I have to get to the wall.’

She didn’t move.

Alys walked towards her, nervous now. ‘I... saw you in my dreams last night.’

Tulia’s frown relaxed slightly, a hint of worry in her eyes. ‘And?’ She wanted to know everything and quickly, but she couldn’t bring herself to ask.

‘I don’t know,’ Alys admitted. ‘I don’t know why or what it meant, but you were in pain, I think. You were screaming.’

Tulia blinked. ‘Well, there are many reasons to scream, and not all of them are bad.’ She squared her shoulders, scowling at Alys. ‘Why not keep your dreams for Reinar? He seems to like receiving them. Perhaps he has use for them, but I certainly don’t.’ And swinging around, Tulia strode towards the guard tower.

Alys stared after her, sharp pains shooting into her chest.

Ludo stopped beside her. ‘Tulia is... interesting,’ he grinned, following her gaze. ‘Sometimes, it’s hard to see what Sigurd does. Other times, it’s easier. She has a heart, I think, it’s just hidden.’

Alys wasn’t convinced that was true. She turned to Ludo. ‘How’s Stina? She’s barely speaking to me.’

‘Me either, though I don’t expect her to want to talk to me, of course. The other women seem more alert, I think. But Stina...’ He felt odd because she was his to care for, though he doubted Reinar or Sigurd would see it that way. But Ludo did. He enjoyed watching over his group of women. He cared about keeping them safe.

Alys saw Stina in the distance, but someone was calling her name from outside the hall, and she sighed. ‘Please watch Stina for me,’ she pleaded. ‘I can’t talk to her now, there’s too much to do.’

Ludo nodded, noticing that the sun was starting to sink. ‘You’re sure they’ll be here today? Not much left of it now.’

Alys was beginning to wonder that herself. ‘If my dreams are to be believed, they will be.’ And then she had a sudden realisation. When the army was here, the dreamer would be here.

And so would Lotta.

Feeling her hopes both rise and fall, Alys turned away from Ludo, almost running back to the hall.

* * *

Desperate to get away from Mother, Falla had made Lief find her a horse, and she rode towards the stone fortress beside him, away from Hakon and Ivan, who were riding ahead with Ulrick.

The trees were dark and thick, the canopy dense above their heads, and despite the rattling, thumping, creaking noises of their long column, it almost felt private.

‘I am with child.’

‘What?’ Lief had not been expecting that. ‘What?’ His dour face lit up, his mouth open, eyes unblinking. ‘You are?’

Falla took no pleasure in his pleasure. She didn’t love him. She desired him at times, enjoyed his company occasionally, and she needed him to protect and support her and her son. But Falla didn’t believe she actually loved him.

She had not wanted a child yet. She had wanted to wait and see.

Forcing a smile, she touched her stomach with her left hand. ‘Mother says so, and who am I to argue with that woman?’

‘You’re not happy?’ Lief was sharp-eyed and intelligent. He saw more than Falla ever realised. ‘Perhaps you did not want another child?’

Falla shook her head quickly, brightening her eyes as she turned her face up to his. ‘No, it’s not that. It’s the moment we are in, here, before a battle. That’s how I ended up pregnant and widowed last time. I wanted to wait. I wanted a home.’

Lief could see that, and it eased his worry. ‘The battle won’t be long, my love. They don’t have enough men for a siege. We will break in with relative ease, I promise.’

Falla wasn’t as confident, her sharp eyes focused on the fort in the distance now. ‘They appear to have a lot of walls. High ones too.’

‘We have everything we need to climb those walls. Archers, arrows, spears, catapults, towers. We’ve brought everything we need. Even an old dreamer.’ Lief did feel confident. Ivan was a fool, but a masterful warrior and their men liked him well enough to follow him to their deaths if necessary. Hakon was no fool, but he was young and still inexperienced in leading men to war. He had been boosted by their resounding defeat of Sirrus Ahlmann and their capture of Slussfall. But that had gone to his head, and he didn’t see that some fights would require more than just battering their opponent into surrender.

Falla glanced back at the wagon, knowing that Mother would do everything in her power to make them successful. And her powers were great indeed. ‘Then you should not fail, should you, Husband?’ Reaching a hand towards Lief, she clasped his. Falla was a strong woman, but she did not wish to be left alone by another husband. Not with only Mother and her son for company. She needed a man, and for the moment, that man was Lief Gundersen.

Ivan tried not to look around, but knowing that Falla was riding just behind him proved irresistible. He glanced at Lief, who was barely looking where he was going. His eyes were all over his wife, though there was not even a hint of a smile on his face.

The miserable prick.

Lief could find a frown on the brightest of days, on the drunkest of nights. But Ivan doubted that even Lief would be able to keep that frown going as they toasted their victory over the Vilanders.

If he lived to see it.

Ivan’s attention drifted to Falla, who looked especially delightful in her red cloak. He hadn’t seen that one before, constantly surprised by how many cloaks the woman had. Not disappointed, though, for every new one seemed to complement her more than the last.

Hakon elbowed him. ‘At this rate, you’ll be leading our men with a knife in your back!’ he laughed, feeling a lift as the walls of Ottby came into focus. He had dreamed of this moment for three years, and he thought of Anders, wishing he’d brought him along, wanting him to feel the pride he had felt as his own father led his men into battle.

‘You think I couldn’t kill that old man? Ha!’ Ivan sneered, confidence surging at the thought of what lay ahead. ‘If you think that, you may as well put Lief in charge. Why do you need me?’ He cracked his neck from side to side, eyes on the fortress.

‘Don’t think I haven’t thought about it.’

Ivan laughed, turning to his cousin, who eyed him coldly, no hint of humour in his strange blue eyes. He was reminded of his uncle, Jesper Vettel, a man so heartless that he’d killed Hakon’s mother for some small slight, some mere hint of impropriety. And yet, Hakon still idolised the man. As did Ivan, if he were honest. Jesper had been a peerless warrior and a leader.

Though as a man...

Hakon was just like him. Only victory would slake his thirst for vengeance, and only victory with no mercy would be tolerated.

‘Well, Cousin, then I will have to remove all doubt. I will have to show you why you were right to choose me in the first place.’

Hakon nodded, pleased that Ivan had spoken the words he’d needed to hear. He didn’t want doubt or regret.

He only wanted an end to the Vilanders.

* * *

Reinar stood on the low wall, watching the mounted horses emerge through the mist-touched forest, wanting to see how big Hakon’s army truly was. In his mind, it was either small or immense, never something manageable in between.

Sigurd stood beside him, hands on the wall.

The fort was quieter now as the sun began to set, the sky awash with orange and red hues, bleeding into each other like flames; all of them leading down to the ever-growing mass of warriors forming in the distance.

‘He’ll have the Slussfall men. His own from Orbo. The ones he picked up in Valma and Osten too.’ Sigurd barely blinked, waiting, watching as the mass thickened.

‘Those he didn’t kill. If he’s anything like his father, perhaps there won’t be many?’ Reinar’s body hummed with tension and excitement. He clenched his jaw, watching. ‘He won’t attack tonight.’

‘You’re sure?’ Sigurd was surprised.

‘I wouldn’t, would you? A long march and then a battle?’ Reinar shook his head. ‘He’ll wait till dawn. That’s what I’d do.’

Torvig made his way down the rampart walk towards them, barely looking where he was going, one eye on their enemy in the distance. ‘The hall’s locked down. Bjarni’s taken care of it. Guards inside and out.’

‘Water? Is there enough water?’ Reinar wondered, remembering what Alys had said. ‘Thatch will catch quickly in this wind.’

He was right, Sigurd thought, worried about the hall. Its roof was tiled. Wooden. But it was no less vulnerable to fire than those cottages and outbuildings covered in thatch.

‘Least it’s all a bit soggy after the past few months,’ Torvig mumbled, eyes on the field. ‘That’s filling up fast.’ He could see the banners flying, small as birds beneath the vast expanse of the shadowy forest.

‘Maybe.’ Reinar’s expression barely shifted. ‘But he wouldn’t have come if he didn’t have the men. He’s waited all this time, gathering a big enough army.’

‘And now he’s here,’ Sigurd breathed. ‘He knows we’re weak. He can smell blood.’

‘Well, like his father, he’s a predator, so yes, I imagine he can. But he can also see our walls. These walls have defeated many an army over the years, haven’t they, Brother?’ Reinar turned to Sigurd, patting his shoulder. ‘And they will again.’

The mass of men forming in the distance seemed to halt.

‘Mattias!’ Reinar called. ‘Ring the signal bell. Let’s be ready!’ And eyes immediately back on the army, Reinar ignored his brother’s raised eyebrows. ‘I might be wrong,’ he admitted. ‘They might attack. I’d rather be wrong than make a mistake now, though.’

Sigurd was pleased to hear it. ‘Well, I’ll go, then.’ He felt emotion surging, twitching his body. ‘Good luck, Reinar.’ His brother turned to him again, pulling him into his big arms.

‘And to you. Remember, we’re the Vilanders of Ottby. This bridge has never left our hands. We’ve never broken our oath.’

Sigurd felt Reinar squeeze him tightly, clapping his back, and taking a deep breath, he let go. ‘You think I’d ever forget that?’ And grinning now, he started walking backwards, eyes bright. ‘I’ll see you for our victory feast!’

‘That you will!’ Reinar called after him, watching as Sigurd turned, heading for the stairs. ‘That you will, Brother,’ he breathed, waiting until Sigurd had disappeared, before moving his attention back to their enemy. ‘Are you ready then, Torvig Aleksen? Ready to wipe every last Vettel off the face of the earth for good?’

PART V

SIEGE

40

Hakon had thought to attack immediately, but there was still some distance to get within range of the walls, and as they moved forward, he could tell that the field was boggy. Not a place to get stuck in as night was falling. The sky was clear and red-tinged, promising a sharp frost. The morning would provide a better opportunity to begin well.

Lief agreed.

Ivan, Hakon could tell, did not.

‘They know we’re here!’ Ivan insisted as they stood by their horses, debating what to do. Ivan couldn’t believe they were debating anything. It was supposed to be his decision. ‘You’re just giving them time, Hakon. Time to see our strengths.’

Hakon ignored him, turning to Lief. ‘We’ll make camp. Post lookouts. We’ll be at those walls before we next see the sun. Every man will sleep in his armour. Every horse will remain saddled. We’ll be ready to move at a moment’s notice.’

Lief nodded, turning away, black cloak swirling behind him.

Ivan didn’t watch him go. His eyes remained fixed on his cousin.

Hakon felt oddly indecisive. Unexpectedly so. Everything he’d thought of was right before him, all as he’d imagined, but it needed to be perfect. They had not arrived early enough for an attack to be effective, and their first assault would set the tone for the siege, he knew.

That first assault could not be a failure.

‘A good leader can adapt, Ivan,’ he smiled, eyes on a bustling Mother, who was heading their way. ‘You remain in charge, of course, but realise that I will override you when necessary. Such as now. Prepare your men, and yourself. We need a good sleep. A good meal too. It will put our minds and bodies in the perfect position for tomorrow!’

Ivan stared at his cousin with tight lips, jaw clenching, unwilling to speak even one word. It was not the time to argue, nor cause trouble for himself. He knew Hakon well enough to know that he wouldn’t even make it through the night if he made a fuss now. Nodding, he turned away. ‘I’ll see to it.’

They were camped amongst the tall trees, mostly fir and dark, reaching up to the sky, casting shadows over the Slussfall men and women as they worked to erect tents and set fires, before heading to the stream to collect water.

Mother passed Ivan, sensing his tension, hearing the angry words stampeding around his head. ‘You are not attacking?’ She looked at Hakon in surprise. ‘But there is still light!’ Her impatience was surging. After all this waiting, why wait any longer?

‘I am not, no.’ Hakon could sense that he was going to have a lot of trouble if he didn’t assert himself quickly. ‘And as it is neither your decision, nor my cousin’s, I don’t feel the need to explain myself further.’ His eyes were sharp, narrowed on the old woman, who held his stare without blinking.

‘My help and guidance led you to this place, Hakon Vettel,’ Mother hissed, furious at being spoken to as though she was some warrior of no significance.

Some servant who mucked out stables.

She was the most valuable asset Hakon had. How could he not see that?

‘And I am grateful. I don’t deny that your help has been invaluable.’ Hakon didn’t want to have this conversation out in the open, but there was nowhere to go. He tried to lead Mother away from where his steward was organising his tent. ‘But I do not wish to win this war with magic and dreams. You must understand that?’

Mother froze, standing perfectly still as Hakon moved ahead.

Realising it, Hakon turned back to her.

‘You no longer want my help?’

Hakon smiled, wanting to smooth everything over quickly. ‘I do, of course I do! But Mother...’ He took her arm, trying to encourage her to walk with him again. ‘A king must be a man both feared and admired. For his ruthlessness, for his skill, for his legendary feats in battle! I refuse to rule in Stornas as a king who won with magic. As though I was too afraid to use my sword. I will not win victory by cowering behind my dreamer, an old woman!’ Hakon could almost see his father nodding his approval, and he pushed back his shoulders, feeling his confidence surging now. ‘Dreamers are valuable, and I cherish you, I do. All that you’ve done for me?’ Hakon shook his head. ‘I’d still be in Orbo without you. Still trying to find my way here.’ He didn’t believe that, but his eyes were insistent, and his voice was earnest, hoping he’d convinced her.

He hadn’t. ‘I see.’

‘We must fight as equals now, the Vilanders and the Vettels. As our fathers fought. There can be no war of magic, for who would fight on their side? And what use would that be to me?’

‘They have a dreamer! Or have you forgotten?’ Mother snarled.

‘You said she knows nothing. What threat could she be?’ Hakon waited, but Mother didn’t speak, so he started walking again, growing irritable with having to placate the old woman like a parent coaxing a child out of a tantrum. ‘You have done enough, Mother. They are outnumbered. We are strong. You have weakened them, seen ways that we can hurt them. And we will. But now is the time for you to step back. For you to watch.’

Mother was growing more incensed by the moment. ‘Why bring me along, then? Why drag me on this horrific journey, in that prison on wheels if you had no use for me? Why am I here at all?’

Now Hakon squirmed, not wanting to admit the truth. ‘I am not so arrogant to think I won’t need help.’

Mother’s eyes sharpened. ‘Oh, I see. You will wheel me out if it all goes wrong, will you? Send me into the fray to save you?’

Hakon stared at her. ‘You are my dreamer, Mother. If you no longer wish to hold that position, I cannot force you to stay with me. I wouldn’t. A woman as powerful as you? I don’t imagine I could stop you at all. But if we are to achieve our goal, we must each understand our place.’ Hakon’s voice was heavy; iron striking iron. He wanted her to know that there was no more to say.

No more for her to do, unless by his request.

This was his war to win now.

* * *

The signal bells ringing from the walls reignited the panic in the fort; everyone rushing about, wondering what they might have forgotten; wanting to find loved ones to say goodbye to; trying to catch chickens and geese, who flapped around freely, getting in everyone’s way.

Sigurd strode across the square towards the hall where Bjarni was talking to the two guards. ‘Looks as though they’re not coming tonight.’

‘No?’

‘They’ve retreated into the forest, making camp. You can hear it. See glimpses of it.’ Sigurd saw Alys step outside with Agnette, both of them desperate for a breath of fresh air. With the fires burning high and Gerda full of nervous energy, the hall had quickly become oppressive.

The late afternoon air was bitter, and Agnette shivered, tightening her woollen wrap around her belly, anxious eyes searching Sigurd’s face. ‘You’re sure? Sure they’re not coming tonight?’

Sigurd shrugged. ‘No. Might be a trick.’ His eyes met Alys’, looking for some sense of how she saw things. She looked terrified, which didn’t fill him with any confidence. ‘But we’re alert to that. Reinar will stay on the wall most of the night, though I imagine they’ll come early tomorrow, before the sun.’

Bjarni jiggled on the spot, unable to keep still. As much as he wanted to stay with Agnette, keeping her safe, he was desperate to get to the walls to see what was going on with his own eyes. Reinar needed his advice, he told himself, struggling to keep his boots where they were.

Agnette could sense it, and she gripped his hand firmly, eyes sharp. ‘It will be as it will be,’ she insisted. ‘Tonight or at dawn. Whenever they come we’ll be ready for them.’

Sigurd saw the fear in her eyes, and he wondered again at the wisdom of staying. If the reinforcements didn’t arrive, what would happen to Agnette and Gerda? To his helpless father? To Alys?

‘They will come at dawn,’ Alys said quietly. ‘In the dark. I see the sun rising behind them.’

Sigurd blinked, wanting to believe that was true. ‘I’ll get a message to Reinar. Let him know. It gives us more time.’

Bjarni nodded. ‘Hopefully, men from Stornas will come soon.’

Sigurd didn’t reply. His eyes were on Gerda as she pushed open the door, pulling up quickly, surprised to see everyone milling outside the hall.

‘What is it? What’s happening?’

‘Nothing yet, Mother,’ Sigurd promised her. ‘Alys said nothing will happen till dawn.’

Gerda peered at Alys. ‘Well, if you’re that confident in what the dreamer sees, why don’t you all come down off the walls, then? Have some supper? Head for your beds?’

Alys was immediately flustered. ‘Well, I wouldn’t do that. I don’t think everything I see is real.’ That came out wrong, and she cringed, not wanting to say any more.

‘Is that so?’ Gerda snapped. ‘Then how can we believe anything you do say? Any advice you give? How can we?’ She blinked rapidly, eyes jumping back and forth between Alys and Sigurd.

‘No dreamer can guarantee everything, Aunty,’ Agnette said calmly. ‘You know that. They see what they see. We interpret it as we do, hope the worst is not as bad as predicted, and pray the best comes true. You can’t blame Alys for being unsure. She’s new to this.’

‘And we’re lucky to have her,’ Bjarni put in. ‘Reinar certainly thinks so.’

Alys felt embarrassed. ‘I’d better get back to Eddeth.’ And she turned for the doors.

‘Wait, Alys.’ Sigurd touched her arm. ‘I wanted to talk to you.’ He stared at her, eyes flickering nervously, waiting as she turned back around.

She nodded, ignoring a curious Gerda, and followed after Sigurd, who led her away from his family, through the darkening square.

* * *

Mother stormed back to Falla and Lotta, bursting with irritation. All her plans, all her hopes, all of them dashed! She was to be put aside. Shut up in her wooden box! Left with the useless women and girls to just twiddle her fingers and clutch her hands, praying the men would save them all.

She kicked out at a branch, grimacing at the pain in her toe.

‘What is it?’ Falla almost didn’t want to ask. She grabbed Lotta, pulling her out of Mother’s way.

‘It?’ Mother spat. ‘It is our noble lord, the little boy named Hakon Vettel. The one I have nurtured and guided and pushed and pulled to this very place. It is that he has chosen to go forward without me now. Without us! As if we have no part to play!’ Her face was quickly turning purple, the whites of her eyes bright and full. She tried to catch her breath, to calm down, realising belatedly that they were not as alone as she’d imagined. Lotta was peering up at her, watching in horror. Falla’s mouth hung open, not sure whether she should attempt to calm Mother down, but taking a quick breath, Mother tried to do it herself. ‘We shall hold our place,’ she insisted. ‘Here. Here is where we shall be. Ready to act. For I guarantee you that boy is going to need my help soon.’ Her eyes were on Lotta, darkening now. ‘And when he calls on me, I shall be ready.’ Turning away from their campsite, Mother stomped towards the wagon, wanting to collect her things. She would need her book. Her stones. Her herbs. Her raven.

She would be ready. Waiting.

For the time would come when she would be required to act, whether Hakon Vettel realised it or not.

* * *

Sigurd walked Alys to Valera’s Tree.

People milled around it, but no one stood beneath its branches, or near its broad trunk. There was a quietness here, an almost private place, where the branches hung low, keeping them hidden. Sigurd glanced around, uncomfortable with asking for help. He told himself that he wouldn’t believe anything she said anyway, but he had to know. ‘Do you see Stornas men coming? Perhaps Algeir didn’t send any? He’s always been a tight-fisted bastard, and without Ake in Stornas to guide him...’

Alys scratched her nose. ‘I haven’t seen any sign of them, no.’

‘Oh.’ Sigurd dropped his head.

‘But, that’s not to say they won’t come,’ Alys insisted, touching his arm. ‘There are many things to see. Too many. I can’t see them all. I feel things, sense them floating just out of reach. Sometimes they drift into my mind. Other times I feel I must sleep to find them.’

Sigurd stared into her eyes, lost for a moment. ‘I don’t know what to believe. Ragnahild One Eye? What I see with my own eyes? You?’ He felt disloyal for being there, as though he was going behind Reinar’s back. Though Reinar would never talk of doubts, he would never speak of running. But Sigurd had to ask. ‘Should we leave?’

Alys knew Lotta was out there. The dreamer had her.

She did not want to run away from her daughter.

But if they stayed and were all killed? How would she ever get Lotta back then?

‘Reinar believes the walls will hold.’

‘And you, Alys? What do you believe?’

Alys’ shoulders slumped. ‘I fear they will not.’

All the air left Sigurd’s body in a great rush. He nodded, turning away. ‘You need to find answers. You need to find a dream.’

Alys watched him go, hearing the tree rustle above her head as the cold wind strengthened, branches rasping like angry voices. She closed her eyes, listening, wanting to hear something useful, some sign as to what was coming. But all she saw was the same thing: fire and chaos; screaming men rushing through the fort.

Tulia’s face.

Opening her eyes, Alys looked down as Winter wrapped himself around her legs. She bent down, picking him up, pleased to see him, but he wriggled out of her arms quickly, skipping away.

Alys watched as he stopped, turning his head to her.

And blinking in surprise, she followed him.

* * *

Hakon’s men seemed happy for the rest, though he saw the hunger for battle burning in their eyes as he walked around the fires with Lief and Ivan, ensuring they all had enough to eat; that their weapons were sharpened, their horses secure.

The smell of roasting meat and rich stews wafted towards them, and Hakon felt ill. He was neither hungry nor tired. He did not want to rest or sit. He barely wanted to speak to another soul, but he knew that a lord must be seen to care, to be interested. For if that lord wanted men to sacrifice their lives for him, he had to be worth sacrificing for.

‘The weather appears to be holding,’ Lief murmured, eager to get back to Falla. He was glad he’d brought her along; surprised he felt so strongly about having her close. But then he remembered the baby, and his heart swelled. It would not be easy to leave her. Fear that he would not see his child born started to take shape in his mind, and he blinked it away quickly, not wanting to even consider such a fate.

‘Lief?’ Hakon asked again. ‘Do you agree?’

Lief nodded, though he had only been half listening. ‘It is a smart plan, my lord. Not something they will be expecting, I hope.’

‘You hope? You think they’ve had word?’

Lief shook his head. ‘No, but they have a dreamer, don’t they? Who knows what she may have seen.’

It was true, Hakon realised, his confidence shaken. ‘We’ll have to ensure we’re on our way well before dawn, then.’

Ivan had not said a word. Not a single word since they’d started walking the camp. He’d ensured lookouts were stationed all around them. He’d sent men further into the forest, looking for spies from the fortress, searching for any clandestine attack. He didn’t imagine he’d find any, for Reinar Vilander wouldn’t have a man to spare. Not after Mother had had her way with Ottby. So Ivan had listened, letting his temper simmer at a steady heat while Hakon entertained himself talking to Lief. Though, eventually, it proved impossible to hold his tongue. ‘They’ll still expect us.’

‘They’ll expect some things, I’m sure,’ Hakon grinned. ‘And we’ll have plenty to show them, won’t we? Now, come on, Ivan, this is our last night. Our last chance to toast to our success tomorrow. Stop sucking your thumb and let’s have a drink!’

Ivan could barely raise a smile, but he nodded. ‘That’s the best thing you’ve said all day.’

Hakon laughed, slapping him on the back, eager to get to his tent.

Already thinking about taking off Reinar Vilander’s head.

* * *

Winter led Alys away from the square.

She was certain now that the cat was trying to show her something.

To take her somewhere.

Night had fallen over the fort like a black curtain, stars shimmering, a moon full and ringed in yellow glowing high above her head, as Alys crept down the narrow alley between two rows of rundown cottages. Here, it appeared, was where the poorer folks of Ottby lived; the servants and slaves who had little say over their own miserable lives, and no resources with which to change them.

The stink down here was intense, Alys thought, trying not to gag. It smelled as though every latrine in Ottby had been built in the same place. Eyes watering, she blinked, realising that Winter was no longer in front of her.

‘Where you going?’ came a sharp voice.

And turning to her left, Alys saw a toothless old woman watching her from a doorway; another face at the window beside her, peering out just as curiously. Shadowy and dark though it may have been, Alys could tell that they looked filthy. Famished.

‘I’m just looking for my cat.’

The old woman laughed. ‘Likely someone’s tooken it already. Had it for their supper!’

Alys hurried on, not wanting to fall even further behind.

The smoke was getting stronger; she could hear more voices now, louder, rougher. And turning the corner, Alys swallowed, wondering if Winter had merely been running away.

‘Are you lost, dreamer?’

Alys spun around, recognising the voice, shivers running up her arms. ‘No. I’m looking for my cat.’

‘You have a cat? Well, you are making yourself at home, aren’t you?’ Torvig sneered, coming closer.

‘What are you doing here?’ Alys asked, backing away. The alley was narrow and dark, and she felt frightened. The moon shone down on Torvig’s head, distorting his face with shadows, making it look gruesome. Menacing.

She wondered if it was a distortion at all.

‘Me? Well, that would be none of your business. Though, being a dreamer, isn’t that something you should already know?’ Torvig stepped forward, until he was close enough to touch her, and reaching out a hand, he grabbed her arm. ‘Why don’t I help you back to the hall? You do seem very lost.’

Alys tried to move, but his grip was firm. She felt hot all over, panic flooding her body as Torvig leaned his face down to hers. ‘Reinar will be expecting me!’ she blurted out, trying to pull away from him. ‘He’ll wonder where I am!’

It was the wrong thing to say, and Torvig laughed. ‘Reinar’s on the wall. Will be for hours yet. He won’t be expecting you. No one will be.’ And keeping one hand wrapped around Alys’ arm, he raised his other hand to her face. ‘No one will miss you at all.’

Alys was immediately back in Ullaberg, in her cottage, Arnon before her, towering over her, eyes aflame with anger, and she couldn’t move.

She needed to run, but she couldn’t move.

Her heart beat faster, her ears buzzing.

‘Alys?’

Alys turned her head. ‘Ludo!’

Ludo was there quickly, but Torvig had already dropped Alys’ arm, stepping away from her.

‘Appears the dreamer got herself a little lost down here. Not quite the place for it,’ Torvig laughed, moving around Ludo, ready to leave. ‘Reinar really should clear this shit heap out once and for all.’ He rubbed his nose. ‘Since you’re here, though, you may as well help her find her cat.’ And bobbing his head at Alys, Torvig slipped around the corner.

‘Alys?’ Ludo stared down at her. ‘Are you alright?’

But Alys wasn’t listening, for she had seen a flash of white fur. And body trembling, she ran away from Ludo, towards the cat. ‘Yes! Fine! I’m fine!’

Winter led her towards an outbuilding.

The moon shone brightly overhead, and Alys could see a plough, which appeared to be in pieces; some tools, rusty and abandoned. The straw reeked, and she was reluctant to step inside, but Winter had sat down now, staring at her.

‘What have you got there?’ she wondered, unsure whether to feel foolish or intrigued. She was chasing a cat, believing it had something to show her. Something important.

A cat?

Alys approached it cautiously, one hand out in front of her, feet shuffling through the straw with trepidation, not wanting to stand on something sharp.

The cat bounced away, revealing... hay bales.

Alys turned to scowl at Winter, who stared at her from a distance now. He didn’t budge, and so she ventured forward, hands in the hay, rummaging around.

They weren’t hay bales, Alys realised quickly, just clumps of hay covering something. She pulled them away, throwing them onto the straw, staring at a small iron chest. It was not large, but it did look ancient. And placing a hand on its lid, Alys felt a jolt, as though something familiar existed inside.

Shaking her head, she tried to focus. The night was cold, and her teeth were chattering, and she was suddenly worried that Torvig might not have gone away.

Swallowing, Alys lifted the lid, listening to it creak, both relieved and surprised when it opened. She glanced around, conscious of how loud the creak had sounded. But Alys couldn’t see anyone. She couldn’t hear anyone either. And turning back, she reached into the chest, running her hands around, grabbing hold of something.

Rocking back on her heels, she lifted up what appeared to be a cloak.

She dug back inside the chest, confused. The cloak was black, hooded, and long. It didn’t appear extraordinary in any way, and Alys felt a profound sense of disappointment sink her hopes. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but whatever it was, it was most certainly not a smelly old cloak.

Turning back to the cat, she was surprised to see him come forward, sitting beside her now, watching her.

Perhaps he just wanted some milk?

She folded the cloak, ready to stuff it back inside the chest, but Winter jumped up at it, catching his claws in the fabric, snatching it out of Alys’ hand.

Alys’ surprise quickly turned to amazement as she looked down at the cloak Winter had pulled open, seeing the tiny symbols embroidered across its lining.

41

Alys placed the cloak over the end of the bed. The chamber in the hall was bright and surprisingly large for a room not in use. The bed was generous in size – enough for two people to enjoy – and she turned to Eddeth with a smile. ‘You should sleep in the bed too.’

Eddeth had her eyes closed, lying on the floor, a pillow beneath her head, fur pulled up to her chin, exposing her bare feet. ‘I don’t like wriggling.’

Alys tried not to laugh. ‘You’ve never shared a bed with anyone, then? You never had a husband?’

Eddeth opened one eye. ‘Oh, I had three.’

‘Three?’

Eddeth closed her eye again, scowling. ‘Useless sods, all of them. I gave up after number three ran off with my neighbour. Never been happier!’

Alys stared at her, wondering what it would feel like to be happy.

Wondering if she knew.

‘That cloak is special,’ Eddeth murmured, her body entering a slumberous state. She sighed deeply. ‘So special. And tomorrow, I’ll show you how.’

Alys sat down on the bed, watching her for a time, then turning to the cloak, she lifted it open, running her fingers over the stitching. Alys was transfixed. The tiny symbols were so fine it was as though they had been woven with spiderwebs.

And yawning now, she slipped into the bed, rolling onto her side, closing her eyes, trying not to think about Reinar.

* * *

Reinar knew that standing still would only make him colder. The brazier in front of him had burned down, and he couldn’t feel any heat from it at all.

Yet he didn’t move.

He stared at the dark lump of forest in the distance, trying to imagine what Hakon Vettel was doing; wondering if he was sleeping or creeping through the trees with his men, preparing their assault. Reinar smiled, doubting he could even move a frozen arm to reach for his sword if he was.

He was tired and his eyes hurt, but the thought of traipsing back through the fort only to lie in his empty bed all alone wasn’t appealing. Thinking about his bed reminded him of his wife, and he wondered if she was safe. Agnette had been worried about what she would do; worried that she would hurt herself. Reinar hoped she wouldn’t, though he couldn’t blame Elin for feeling drowned in grief. Sometimes it was hard to keep it at bay. He knew that himself. But he was the Lord of Ottby, responsible for the safety of all those who called the fortress their home. Responsible for his family and his friends too. For holding the bridge to Stornas, and keeping Alekka safe from those who sought it harm.

He was not the only man grieving, but his grieving was for another day.

Reinar closed his eyes, feeling the cold night rattling his bones.

Seeing Alys’ face.

* * *

Her nose felt like a block of ice.

Alys had slipped her hand out of her woolly mitten, feeling around, checking that it was still there, attached to her face.

‘Put that back on!’ her mother scolded with a smile. ‘Here.’ And taking her hand from around Alys’ back, she tugged the mitten back on. ‘Whatever happened to the other blue mitten?’ she wondered softly. ‘Now you don’t match at all. One blue, one green. Like the sea.’ And wrapping her arm around Alys again, she resettled the furs, pulling her closer.

Alys didn’t know where they were going, but she lay her head against her mother’s arm, watching the trees rush overhead like shadows. It was so quiet, she thought, just the sound of hooves drumming against the snow, the sleigh whooshing beneath her.

They were being taken somewhere.

A man had sent the sleigh, Alys remembered.

‘We must be careful,’ her mother warned, tucking her in close. ‘So careful, my darling. The wolf is always lurking. Waiting. Watching.’ Her eyes were on the trees, blurring before her, wondering what was out there, watching them.

‘What wolf?’ Alys wanted to know. She wriggled, eager to sit up. She was small, five years old. She couldn’t see over the edge of the sleigh.

But she wanted to.

‘What wolf?’ she panicked, heart racing now.

‘The one sent to kill you.’

Alys swallowed, everything going dark, her mother lost, all warmth gone now. She didn’t know where she was, just floating, feet dangling, drifting in the darkness. Moving now, up and up, a slow, torturous climb, before falling, tumbling down in a rush.

She felt sick; waves of darkness not letting her go.

Then a light, like sun hitting the water, glinting before her, and she was on a ship, bare feet touching wooden boards.

He was laughing, pointing to the village in the distance, happy. He wrapped an arm around Alys’ back. ‘Now we’re free!’ The arm was like ice. It was strong and hard. Alys was not free. The arm held her tightly.

She was not free at all.

‘Come to me, my love.’

And turning, feeling the arm release, Alys saw Arnon standing before her. He was younger; no scars on his face. His hair was longer, lighter. He looked at her with desire and need, and she walked towards him, unable to stop.

Tears fell from her eyes, but she knew she had to go to him.

Her children.

She had to go to him.

They were standing in front of a bed. Not their old cottage. Another place they had first taken together. Barely the size of a chamber.

Arnon was grinning, slipping off his tunic, wriggling it over his head. ‘Come on,’ he laughed, throwing it on the floor. ‘We can try out the bed. I won’t hurt you, I promise. You’ll like it.’ He pulled back the furs, patting the mattress, turning back to her. ‘Come on!’

Alys froze, eyes on the enormous wolf tattoo curling over his torso, up to his neck.

‘Beware the wolf, my darling,’ her mother whispered, ‘for it was sent to kill you.’

* * *

Torvig relieved Reinar, who was too tired and cold to do much more than grunt in passing. He rubbed his eyes as he walked back to the hall, finally ready to fall into his bed, but not for long. He knew that a little sleep would help him think clearly, though he almost doubted he could.

He saw the familiar shadow of Tulia just ahead, and hearing footsteps, she turned around, waiting for him.

‘Sigurd’s up on the wall?’

Tulia nodded. She could barely speak, too cold to stand around talking for long, so she started walking towards the hall again. ‘Who took over from you?’

‘Torvig.’ Reinar heard her growl. ‘You don’t have to like him, but he’s on our side. Not our enemy. Sometimes I think you forget that.’

Tiredness made it harder for Tulia to speak with care. ‘Sometimes, I think you choose not to see what’s right in front of you.’

Reinar stopped, hand out. ‘Meaning?’

Tulia shook her head, waking herself up. ‘We need sleep. Both of us. There’s no point starting something now.’

‘About Torvig?’

And then Tulia couldn’t stop herself. ‘You don’t see what everyone else does. How he really is. You must be one of only a handful of people who can even stand to be around him, Reinar. No one knows why.’ She shook her head. ‘I suppose they do –’

Reinar cut her off. ‘You’re right, no point starting something now. Best we sleep on it. I can’t even hold my eyes open.’ He felt irritable, tired of people complaining about Torvig, though most didn’t usually do it to his face. ‘Hakon will be at the walls soon. Torvig shouldn’t be on either of our minds, Tulia.’ And he stepped away from her before he said any more.

Tulia watched him go, too tired to be annoyed. She looked around, eyes on the tall inner wall, thinking about what Alys had said. Wondering why she’d been screaming in her dream.

Trying to imagine what dawn would bring.

* * *

It was still dark when Lotta heard the first sounds of movement outside.

She lay on the ground, on her side, staring at the tent flap, listening to horses stirring, boots crunching frost-covered earth. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted, and she saw a glimpse of Magnus, lying next to two men. She closed her eyes, squeezing them tight, trying to see who the men were, wanting to know if Magnus was safe. But she saw nothing more.

Feeling tears coming, she opened her eyes, trying to blink them away.

Mother had muttered loudly for most of the night, as though she was talking to someone, and Lotta had struggled to fall asleep. She felt sick, and her throat hurt, which worried her, though likely it was only from all that stinking smoke.

The tent flap opened slowly, the familiar face of Ulrick Dyre peeking inside. Lotta closed her eyes quickly, not wanting him to find her awake.

He froze, barely breathing, eyes on the tiny bundle on the floor, ears alert to any movement. The old woman lay on a cot bed; he saw the enormous mound of her in one corner. Lotta lay nearer the entrance, and if he could just...

‘Ulrick!’ Ivan hissed from behind him. ‘That’s not going to end well for you!’

Ulrick spun around, letting the tent flap drop. In the darkness, Ivan was just a shadow, but an annoying one. He sighed. ‘I suppose not, but you can’t expect me to just walk away from the girl. I found her. She’s mine.’

Ivan headed to the nearest fire, hands out, yawning. ‘If I were you, I’d forget you ever saw her. Don’t tangle with that dreamer. I’ve seen what she can do. You take something of hers, you’ll live to regret it.’ Ivan tripped over a rock, just keeping to his feet. ‘Or possibly, you won’t live at all. She’s not in a very good mood from what I hear.’

Ulrick followed him to the fire, shuddering with cold. He felt as though his beard had frozen in the night. His limbs certainly had, and he walked stiffly, not wanting to hear Ivan’s advice.

Hakon waited with Lief, both of them jiggling legs, trying to warm themselves up. Falla fussed around the fire, begrudgingly stirring a cauldron of porridge, wishing she was still in bed.

No one wanted porridge.

‘Ale would be good,’ Lief said to his wife. ‘Feels like my tongue’s frozen to the roof of my mouth!’

Hakon grinned. ‘Feels like my balls have frozen to my leg!’

Ivan’s foul mood had been soothed by sleep and the warm company of his servant, whose naked body had draped over him like a fur all night. He smiled, looking forward to returning to her to celebrate their victory. ‘You should have kept them moving last night,’ he smirked. ‘I’m sure there were many willing takers to warm them up!’

Hakon laughed, pleased to hear Ivan sound like Ivan again. He took a cup of ale from Falla, ready for another three.

‘Let’s be quick about it,’ Ivan said, turning to his horse. ‘I want to go before they’re awake and waiting. Before the sun reveals everything.’

* * *

Eddeth didn’t want to disturb Alys, who she’d heard tossing and turning for much of the night, but she was fascinated by the cloak. She had lit the lamps early, though they were not bright, both of them emitting just a dark-orange glow. The floor creaked as she moved towards the bed, hand out, wanting to touch it, to run her fingers over the delicate symbols embroidered inside.

Alys jerked awake, sitting bolt upright in bed, staring at her, and Eddeth jumped back so abruptly that she fell over with a thump.

Alys barely noticed as she launched herself out of bed, running for the door.

* * *

If it hadn’t been so cold, Sigurd might have fallen asleep. He stood on the inner wall, hands over a crackling brazier, yawning. The sky was still as black as a raven, revealing nothing but stars and shadowy shapes, none of which looked like an army on the move. He listened, though, wanting to hear any sign that Hakon was launching his attack, for surely night was ending, and dawn would soon arrive. He heard nothing but the whistle of the wind as it swept past him, disturbing the brazier, blowing his hair. Reaching up to his topknot, he took out the leather thong, deciding to secure it into a tight braid instead.

Hearing a noise, he glanced down into the square, watching Alys rush out of the hall, green dress flying behind her. Her voice rose sharply as she ran to the men guarding the gates. ‘Holgar!’ Sigurd called to the old helmsman, who was leaning on the ramparts, staring out into the night. ‘You’re in charge!’ And quickly tying up his hair, Sigurd ran for the stairs, heart thudding.

Alys was almost ready to give up when Sigurd emerged from the guard tower, hurrying towards her.

‘What?’ White breath smoke almost consumed his face as he panted, grabbing her arms. ‘What happened?’

‘I need to see Reinar!’ Alys was shivering, her bare feet red and numb as she waited impatiently on the icy ground.

‘Open the gates!’ Sigurd ordered, taking off his cloak and wrapping it around her shoulders. ‘Hurry!’

* * *

There was no snow, but frost dusted the trees, so it felt as though they were trapped in the depths of winter; white smoke streaming from red noses.

Hakon stood before his men, watching the sky change ever so subtly from pitch black to a deep indigo as he raised a hand to Ivan, who was looking on down the line.

And taking a deep breath, Ivan lifted his own hand, urging his men forward.

* * *

Reinar turned at the sound of the gates creaking open, squinting into the darkness, quickly recognising Sigurd and Alys. He waited impatiently for them to run across the inner courtyard to the guard tower and up the stairs.

Bolli stood beside him, blowing on his hands, wishing he could pop on his favourite old woollen gloves, but he needed to feel skin on his bow. He needed a steady hand. ‘What does she want, I wonder?’ he muttered, frowning.

But Reinar was already stalking away from him, heading for the stairs, waiting for his brother to bring the dreamer to him. Alys had dreamed something. He could feel it.

‘Reinar!’ Alys was breathless, wrapped in Sigurd’s cloak which swamped her as she came forward.

Gripping her arms, he stared into her eyes. ‘What have you seen?’

‘Banners!’ Alys couldn’t catch her breath. She was almost too cold to make her lips move. ‘I saw banners!’

Reinar glanced at his brother, who lifted his eyebrows. ‘Whose?’

‘I saw the angry boar.’

Turning to the trees, Reinar could see those banners as tiny shadows fluttering in a light breeze, the sky lightening further now.

‘I saw a flaming spear.’

Sigurd looked horrified.

‘A dragon too.’

‘What?’ Reinar released Alys’ arms, stepping away. ‘But...’ He shook his head, wanting to hear more. ‘I don’t understand.’

Sigurd was quickly by his side, shaking his own head. ‘No,’ he insisted. ‘That can’t be right. Erlan wouldn’t betray us. Nor would Alef. Their fathers were Ake’s men through and through. Both of them! They wouldn’t go over to Hakon. Their families fought to remove his grandfather. They know what the Vettels will do to Alekka if they take that throne again!’

Reinar wanted to see the sun, hoping that Alys was wrong. He saw the shadows of Hakon’s army take shape, but it was impossible to see more in the darkness. ‘Go back to the hall,’ he said, turning to her. ‘I’ll send word when we know.’

Alys nodded, handing Sigurd his cloak.

He took it, not even thinking as he turned to his brother, eyes peeled open. ‘It can’t be. It can’t.’

Reinar had a decision to make, and he made it quickly. ‘If she’s right, you’re leaving.’

‘What?’ Sigurd shook his head. ‘No!’

Reinar grabbed him, whispering in his brother’s ear. ‘You’ve no choice. If Hakon has Erlan and Alef with him, we stand no chance. None. Especially without those reinforcements from Stornas. We can’t let Agnette die. Her child. Mother and Father. We can’t! Find Ludo, get him to help you. Start taking everything down to the ships at my signal. Check them first, see that they’re ready.’

‘But what about you? What about Ragnahild’s dream? It was real, wasn’t it? What she saw for you? You can’t die here, Reinar. You go! Take the ships and leave. Let me stay. She never saw anything for me, did she?’

Reinar brought his brother into his arms. ‘You will go, Sigurd. I have looked after you your whole life, and I’m the lord here now. And as the lord, I’m ordering you to save our family. You will. You will save as many people as you can.’

He pushed a reluctant Sigurd towards the stairs, turning back around.

‘Go! And look for my signal!’

42

‘We must prepare!’ Eddeth cried as Alys entered the chamber. She had quickly drunk two cups of lavender and lemon balm tea, but they had failed to calm her nerves, which flickered like lightning. ‘The enemy is at the gates, and we must be ready to face them down!’

Alys didn’t want to tell her that it was worse than any of them had feared.

She didn’t want to believe that it was worse, but her thoughts scattered quickly, flittering away from her like ash on the wind. ‘Prepare?’ She felt confused.

‘Your cloak! Our symbols! We must be ready with our weapons, Alys. Yes indeed, we will defend this fort together!’ Inspired into action by own words, Eddeth hurried a pair of trousers on over her nightdress. ‘These were my favourite husband’s, though, that’s not saying much, him being as big of an arse as the rest of them. But they’ll come in handy with all the running we’ll do today. I brought you a pair!’

‘What?’ That was the last thing Alys had been expecting. ‘I... don’t need trousers.’

Eddeth shoved the folded pair of blue trousers at her. ‘You’re a little skinny, but you can tighten your belt over them.’ And digging into her basket, Eddeth pulled out a dark-grey tunic. ‘I took this from Sigurd’s chamber. Might be a better fit than anything Reinar’s size.’

‘Eddeth!’

Eddeth ignored Alys, tightening her belt. ‘We need to be ready, don’t you understand? That dreamer won’t be waiting! You think she wants to be left out?’

‘How do you know she’s here?’ Alys slipped the baggy trousers on, feeling odd. They smelled musty, though they were surprisingly warm on her legs, and she undid her belt, moving it over the waistband, tightening it again, cold fingers fumbling awkwardly.

‘The dreamer? Oh, I think you know she is. I see it in your eyes.’

Alys knew she was right, she did feel it. ‘But what can we do? She’s powerful. Symbols won’t keep her out, will they?’

‘Maybe not. But we have more than symbols. We have our sight! We can see!’ And shrugging her dead husband’s tunic over her head, Eddeth wrinkled her nose, reminded of the foul smell of him.

* * *

Sigurd found Tulia, and they hurried through the fort, heading for the bridge gates. Tulia felt anxious about leaving her brother on the inner wall. He generally made poor decisions without her, and she was eager to get back before he did anything silly. If they were going to leave, she wanted to make sure Amir came with them, even if he had to bring that annoying girl. ‘Wait! Sigurd!’ Tulia tugged his arm, pointing to the ramparts above the bridge. The men on the wall appeared disturbed, hands flailing, moving around.

Sigurd tried to think quickly.

If Hakon had somehow managed to get men around there, that would have cut off their only chance of escape. He hurried into one of the guard towers, storming up the stairs, bow and quiver banging on his back, Tulia right behind him.

‘Sigurd!’ came the cry as he turned left, then right. ‘Sigurd!’

And Sigurd followed the arm of one of his friends, who was pointing to the bridge where armed men were marching towards them, led by rows of helmeted warriors on horses, banners flying. At least a hundred of them, Sigurd thought quickly, turning to Tulia with a smile. ‘Ake’s men! They’re from Stornas!’

Tulia didn’t know how to feel about that. The men would be useful on the walls, but there were not nearly enough of them to make a real difference. Not if Reinar’s neighbours had betrayed them to side with Hakon Vettel.

Sigurd’s face lit up, though, as he held up a hand in greeting. ‘Open the gates!’ he yelled down to the guards. ‘Hurry!’

* * *

Hakon Vettel’s army kept multiplying before Reinar’s eyes. And those eyes were screwed up in fury now, watching the banners flying.

Bolli was speechless beside him, having fought alongside the Stari and Olstein families for decades. He shook his helmeted head, irate, fists in balls by his sides. ‘How could they? How?’ Blinking at Reinar, he could barely keep himself still.

‘No one knows.’ Reinar felt his hopes and dreams shattering, leaving a single thought: to hold the wall long enough for Sigurd to get as many people away to safety as possible. ‘You have to leave, Bolli. I need you to find Holgar. Get down to the ships. Sigurd’s gone to check on them. Gather what you need quickly. As many helmsmen as you can. Find Sigurd and Tulia.’

Bolli was incredulous. ‘You want to run? Leave?’

‘No, I want you to leave. I won’t be going anywhere.’ The fire arrow flew up into the sky. Just the one, Reinar saw, as the wind carried the arrow towards the fort with a whisper, dropping it some distance from the low wall. Reinar let out a small breath, hand on Bolli’s shoulder. ‘Get going now. Go on!’

Bolli was fully dressed in his armour, prepared for the fight. He didn’t want to run away. He didn’t want to leave Reinar behind. ‘Who will stay with you?’

‘My men. I’ll send who I can. We just need enough here to make them think we’re all staying. Now, go!’ Hakon’s army was moving away from the forest, and Reinar needed to concentrate. He saw Torvig coming towards him, surprised by that, certain he’d only just left for a sleep. ‘Check the braziers! Check the water! Get the arrow runners ready!’

Reinar watched as Hakon’s army fanned out even further, knowing they’d be hoping to spread his men thin, stretching his defenses. He waited, counting in his head as the army edged forward, watching as the front rank stepped past a boulder his father had named the lucky mark. Turning back to the inner wall where Amir stood waiting for his signal, Reinar nodded, pointing at him, watching as Amir spun away, looking down into the square, yelling at Ludo. And within moments, the first boulders were flinging overhead, aiming for their enemy.

‘Archers!’ Reinar bellowed. ‘My archers! Eyes forward! Light your arrows!’ The second wave of boulders flew over his head, and Reinar could smell the stink of fish oil in the air. ‘Nock!’ He waited, eyes on the packed heart of Hakon’s army, before darting to the flanks. Ludo had the catapults positioned in three directions, all of them creaking away.

‘Aim!’ The archers lined the inner wall, to the north, east, and west. ‘Release!’

The lucky mark did not sit on the boggy field alone. There were other boulders positioned between the edge of the forest and the fort’s low wall, marking the different ranges.

The fire arrows shot through the dawn sky, flickering brightly, landing nowhere near Hakon’s army. Reinar could almost feel the relief ripple through the rows of men who were moving forward slowly, careful on the field, sensing it was laced with challenges they could not yet see.

The fire arrows hit a long trough of oil running across the front of the low wall, which quickly burst into flame.

Torvig’s face was glowing as he headed back to Reinar. ‘Where’s Bolli going?’

Reinar thought of his conversation with Tulia, and he almost didn’t want to say. He blinked at Torvig, before turning at the shout from behind him, recognising his brother’s voice. And eyes on the inner wall, Reinar froze in surprise, seeing the banner Sigurd was waving.

* * *

The flames leaped up to form a wall of fire, men screaming all around Hakon as the boulders soared over the walls, crashing onto the field, sowing panic and confusion.

‘Back! Back!’ Lief urged. Horses had been left in the forest with their servants, and Lief was already regretting that he hadn’t pushed Hakon and Ivan to rethink that decision. He was struggling to see how much damage those boulders were doing; struggling to get a sense of who was holding, who was breaking.

Hakon nudged Ivan, who had eyes like a hawk. ‘Whose banner is that? Can you see?’ He pointed to the tall inner wall, frowning.

Ivan was distracted, though, motioning for his men to hold, listening to the pained wails of those injured by the falling boulders. The wall of flames lit up the inky sky, showing how many were being crushed, how many burned.

‘Ake’s,’ Ulrick answered from behind them. ‘That’s Ake Bluefinn’s.’

‘What?’ Hakon had quickly moved back himself, his long mail shirt glinting in the hot flames rising before them. ‘I thought Ake had no men to spare!’

Ulrick shrugged. ‘He owes Stellan Vilander a great debt. He’s protected Stornas for years from this fort. I imagine he had a word with that stingy Algeir Tarkel.’

Hakon didn’t care. ‘Bring the catapults up! Now!’ he screamed at Lief and Ivan. ‘I doubt Ake sent an army, so let’s break them quickly!’

Ivan was growing more irritated with his cousin, who had praised his ability to lead and inspire their men, yet done nothing but dominate every moment since they’d begun. Ivan had barely been able to open his mouth. ‘We need to get the archers in range!’

‘Well, do it!’ Hakon’s eyes were sharp with fury, his body vibrating. He touched his pommel, wanting to rip his father’s sword from its scabbard and hold it to Reinar Vilander’s throat. He could barely contain his seething rage as it jerked inside him, demanding a release. But stepping back, away from the flames, he knew that they needed to get inside the fort first.

* * *

Reinar couldn’t leave the low wall now, but he trusted Sigurd to know what to do. Stellan had taught them everything about the fortress since they were boys. Sigurd would know where to put the Stornas men.

He would anticipate that Hakon would try to outflank them.

Sigurd could see his brother, hand in the air again as he signalled Amir, who called for another round of boulders. He hurried down from the inner wall, needing to get back into the square to Algeir, commander of the Stornas men.

Who didn’t look happy to be there.

‘It’s good you’ve come!’ Sigurd was breathless as he stopped, eyes still moving. ‘We’ve been betrayed by Erlan Stari and Alef Olstein. They’ve gone in with the Vettels. Their men are out there now, attacking our flanks!’

‘What?’ Algeir was horrified, quickly far less upset with being dragged up to Ottby. Losing Hovring and Vika weakened the Eastern Shore considerably. Ake would be furious. ‘You’re sure?’

Sigurd nodded. ‘Take your men through to the low wall. We have to stop them there first. Take two thirds with you. Take all your archers. Leave the rest with me!’

Algeir heard the snap and groan as the catapults swung again, flaming boulders lighting up the morning sky, and turning back to his men, he started shouting orders.

Bjarni had come out of the hall, wanting to know what all the noise was about, amazed to see Ake’s familiar horse banner flying from the ramparts.

‘Get back inside!’ Sigurd yelled, realising that they had to stay now. He felt both relief and fear wash over him, knowing that though they had reinforcements, Hakon Vettel had a vast swathe of armoured men out there. Giant siege towers too.

Bjarni hurried back to the hall as Algeir quickly organised his men into groups, and once ready, he followed Sigurd to the inner gates. After ensuring that Algeir and his men were let through, Sigurd grabbed the remaining Stornas warriors, heading for the guard tower, eager to get on the ramparts, wanting to see how everything stood.

* * *

Mother sat in her tent, listening to the screams in the distance, ignoring the terrified girl, who jumped every time another boulder hit the earth. ‘When children play games with men,’ she murmured, eyes lost in the flames of her blazing fire. ‘When children play games with men, they get their fingers burned.’ She turned to Lotta, who appeared to be shivering. ‘You are cold?’

Lotta shook her head. She felt numb. She felt nothing at all.

‘Well then, stop all that shaking. I don’t want to hear it!’

Swallowing nervously, Lotta placed her hands on her legs, trying to still her body. She closed her eyes, hoping to focus her mind on a different noise, but all she could hear was Mother, who appeared to be chanting. And opening her eyes, Lotta watched as the old woman started sprinkling something over the flames, seeing them spark and spit. She couldn’t understand what she was saying, the words made no sense, but Lotta was sure it was evil. And she started shaking even more, squeezing her eyes shut. And then a tug, and she opened them in horror to find Mother sawing off a clump of her hair with her gleaming knife.

‘Perfect!’ she grinned. ‘Just what I need!’

* * *

Alys felt silly wearing the black cloak inside, though she didn’t deny it was cold enough in the hall, but everyone kept staring at her, especially Gerda.

Agnette hurried over, having spoken to Bjarni. ‘Stornas men are here! Reinforcements!’ Her voice carried over the worried hubbub of the hall, her news greeted with cheers of relief.

‘How many?’ Gerda called, leaving Stellan to hurry to Agnette’s side. ‘How many?’

‘One hundred, Bjarni thought, didn’t you?’

‘Give or take a few,’ Bjarni mumbled, eyes on the hall doors. ‘I think so.’

Gerda was speechless. ‘That many?’

Bjarni winked at Stellan, who sat mutely behind his wife, eyes fixed on some unknown place in the distance. ‘Well, Ake owes Ottby a lot. I’m sure he’d have sent more if he could have.’

‘So we will stay?’ Agnette asked quietly, knowing what Alys had said about the betrayal of their neighbours.

‘Yes,’ Bjarni nodded, wrapping an arm around his wife. ‘We’ve got more hands. More archers. More everything. More surprises for that little shit Hakon Vettel too.’

Alys stumbled beside Agnette, banging into a table.

‘Are you alright?’ Agnette wondered, turning to her. ‘Alys?’

But Alys was in a dream, lost in the clouds, hearing Lotta’s voice. She blinked suddenly, turning towards the corridor, needing to see Eddeth.

* * *

‘Forward!’ Ivan shouted, eyes popping open in fury. ‘Forward!’

The flaming wall of fire ran across the front of Ottby’s main gates, but not around the sides of the fort. Likely they didn’t have enough oil, he thought to himself, wishing he’d kept his horse, wanting to see more clearly what was going on.

That had been a mistake.

Now he couldn’t see the contours of their flanks. They seemed to be shifting sideways like a snake, back and away, just as he needed them to move hard to the front. ‘Lief!’ he bellowed at the dark-haired man who was further to his left. ‘Move them forward!’ But Lief didn’t even turn his head, whether because the noise of their panicking, burning men was so loud that he couldn’t hear him. Or perhaps, Ivan thought with gritted teeth, wanting to scream, perhaps he was simply ignoring him?

‘Forward!’ Hakon urged from the centre of their front rank. ‘We must break the fire wall! We can’t stay here, pinned in place! Get the range! Bring the towers forward! Hurry!’

Lief wasn’t sure what Hakon was thinking, but he was too far away to argue, so he ordered his men to hold, and ran towards Hakon, arms flailing. ‘My lord! Wait!’

Hakon spun around, irate. ‘You need to be over there, moving your men!’

‘After we fire the catapults, lord! After! We agreed that we needed to attack from the back. Remember?’

Some memory of that flittered into Hakon’s scattered mind, but he dismissed it quickly. He just wanted to be at the gates so badly. It was all he could think about. It was as though his sword was calling to him, urging him to move forward. The boulders flew, scattering the army, flames rising up all around him, the screams deafening now, but all Hakon could hear was the call of his sword. He stared straight ahead, eyes on the wall of fire, ignoring Lief.

‘We must approach this in steps, lord!’ Lief implored. ‘We must distract them as we planned!’ He didn’t know what had happened. Hakon had placed his slightly more experienced cousin in charge of their army, and then run through everything they’d discussed, making a mess they would now struggle to contain.

Hakon Vettel seemed intent on getting them all killed.

Ivan had run back to his cousin, having sent two of his men to gather horses for him and Lief. Hakon looked out of control, his eyes peeled back so far that he appeared to have no eyelids at all. ‘Cousin! We must fire the catapults! The Hovring and Vika men won’t move up on the flanks until we do! And they’re right! We can’t change our minds now!’

Another volley of boulders crashed down onto their rattled warriors, and the three men jumped away as a flaming rock rolled towards them, stopping quickly. Ivan fell into another man, both of them tumbling to the ground, helmets clashing. He rolled over, back on his feet quickly, stumbling towards his cousin, ears ringing. ‘You must listen to me, Hakon!’ He could see Lief picking himself out of a pile of men, shaking his head. ‘We outnumber them, so let’s act like it!

* * *

Tulia watched the field with a smile.

Hakon’s army was in disarray, which was a promising start. After her hopes of an escape had lifted and then been quickly dashed, she’d turned her attention back to the inner wall and her Ullaberg archers, who shuffled nervously on either side of her. ‘We’re the second line of defense!’ she called, wanting to knock some confidence into them. ‘The second line!’ And strolling back and forth before the women, one eye on Sigurd, she lifted her voice, making herself heard over the screaming panic on the field, and the flurry of noise down in the square. ‘There’s nothing for us to do but wait! Check our arrows! Check our bows! Ensure the braziers are burning! That water is nearby!’ Tulia almost felt tempted to send the women down into the square to help Ludo with the catapults or into the hall with Bjarni, but she had trained them. And some of them were more than useful now, taking pride in what they’d learned.

They deserved a chance to show it.

‘We wait!’ she called as Sigurd strode towards her. ‘Wait for my call!’ And turning to him, she searched his eyes. ‘How are the Stornas men?’

‘Tired,’ Sigurd grinned. ‘They marched hard, through the night.’ He saw the look in her eyes. ‘You thought we were gone, didn’t you?’ He turned his focus to Reinar, who was busy running the low wall. Always moving. Continually checking their flanks. Looking back up to the inner wall, one eye on his brother.

‘Ahhh, who wants to live anyway?’ she murmured in his ear, turning with a smile as she headed away to speak to Amir.

* * *

‘She’s going to kill my daughter!’ Alys panicked, gripping Eddeth’s hands. ‘Lotta is terrified. I feel it. I saw the woman. She was threatening her life!’

Eddeth was oddly calm. Not one part of her moved.

‘She won’t kill her. Why would she?’ And pulling Alys towards the bed, Eddeth pushed her down onto it, sitting beside her. ‘Think it through. If you take a hostage, you have leverage. If you kill the hostage, you have nothing. No bargaining power at all! That old bat won’t kill your girl. Not unless she’s thick as a block of wood, and I doubt that can be true. Casting that wolf spell? Bruising your neck like that?’ Eddeth shook her head. ‘No, she won’t kill your girl. But she wants to hurt you. Distract you. If you’re worried about Lotta, you won’t be thinking about how to stop her, will you?’

Eddeth sat back, brimming with confidence.

Her mind was usually like a stuffed chest, and she struggled to remember anything, let alone order her thoughts. But the new day had brought clarity. Or perhaps it was the tea, she thought on reflection. She had added some valerian, which had certainly tasted like damp socks, but the result had been nothing short of staggering. ‘The day lies ahead of us, Alys! The men out there will throw rocks at one another until they grow bored or run out. They will fire arrows into the sky until there are no more. Hakon’s men will assault the walls, and Reinar will try to stop them, and us?’

‘Us?’ Alys turned to her, needing some reassurance.

‘We will be ready for what comes after. For that is where our destiny lies!’

43

‘You’re sure you know where you’re going?’ Magnus wondered as the trees closed in around them again. It no longer felt as though they were travelling on a road at all, but traipsing through the woods, which was pleasant, though slightly unsettling.

Jonas laughed. ‘You remind me of your mother! She never had any faith in my sense of direction either. I’m not sure why, I don’t remember ever getting lost!’ He rode behind Magnus, with Vik out in front. After the Ten Year’s War ended, Vik had disappeared for months, lost in the wilderness, needing to get away from death and killing, from people altogether. He had vanished like smoke, disappearing into the forest, exploring every corner of the Eastern Shore; going further inland, up North too. He knew more about how to get around Alekka than anyone Jonas knew of. ‘But don’t take my word for it. Vik’s the one who knows where he’s going. All you and I need to do is sit back and enjoy the scenery. Listen to those birds. Look out for supper!’

Magnus’ stomach was already growling, and the thought of supper distracted him for a while. He didn’t want a squirrel. Maybe he would see a pheasant or a rabbit. Perhaps a boar? That thought terrified him, though. He’d been on one boar hunt with his father, and the noise those creatures made was frightening; that and their enormous teeth. He nodded, quickly leaving those memories behind, never wanting to think about his father again.

‘We turn here!’ Vik called, hand in the air.

Jonas squinted, seeing nothing but walls of thick fir trees, deep green and sprinkled with frost. It felt dark within the wood. Ice cold too. He had no idea where they were, but hopefully, they would see the sun soon.

* * *

The sun was being swallowed by the gathering clouds as Reinar watched his enemy from the low wall. The wind had strengthened, blowing into his face with an icy determination, and he shivered as he ran his eyes over the field. They had a healthy supply of boulders, he knew, but it would be important to hold some of them back, and so, the catapults had gone quiet as they waited for Hakon Vettel to make his next move.

His men seemed disorderly, his leaders absent.

There was little formation on the field, which surprised Reinar, who had known Hakon’s father as a man of precision in battle. Jesper Vettel had been vain and vicious, with grand ambitions of reclaiming his father’s throne. He had done everything in his power to realise that ambition, though in all his years of trying, he’d been unable to get through Ottby.

Reinar briefly saw his own ambitions flash before his eyes, wondering if he too was a vain man for ever entertaining them.

‘He’s acting like a boy!’ Torvig laughed beside him. ‘A boy who’s seen a piece of cake. And everything else has gone from his mind. He just wants the fucking cake!’

Reinar’s smile was barely discernible. Torvig was right, but perhaps it was all a game? Perhaps Hakon was planning to lull them into a sense of complacency? Especially now that they’d received reinforcements. ‘Well, he’s welcome to try and take a piece. I wouldn’t mind. But he’s got a long way to go to get here, and a lot of men who won’t be happy being pushed forward now. Not through those flames.’

Torvig was struggling to stand still. He needed to eat, sleep, and splash some water onto his face to wake himself up. His mind wandered to Stina, realising that it wasn’t all he needed. ‘When will we send the signal?’ Torvig asked, eager to take his mind off the Ullaberg woman. His need for her was growing. She was like a helpless animal.

It excited him.

Reinar blinked. ‘Soon. Don’t worry, I’ll do it soon.’ He walked away from Torvig, digging a deep frown between his eyebrows, wanting to know if he’d thought of everything. Doubting he had. His traitorous neighbours had been inside the fort as guests many times over the years. They had sat at his table, fought in his shield wall, even attended his wedding. And now they stood out there, proudly flanking the enemy of Ake Bluefinn, both of them betraying everything they had all fought so hard for.

Reinar’s anger festered as he paced up and down the wall, wishing Alys was there. He wanted to talk to her. See her. Know what she thought. It surprised him how easily her face came to him now, how quickly he felt distracted by her. Thinking about Alys cleared his mind for a moment, and he strode back to Torvig, feeling more decisive. ‘Send the signal. Do it now!’

And nodding, Torvig pulled his bow over his head, leaning forward to retrieve the long arrow he had set aside from all the others.

This ones fletching had been dyed red.

* * *

The chaos had not lessened, and Lief was just about to suggest they retreat and regroup, far out of range, when an arrow came shooting towards them. They were beyond the fire wall, and none of the men even flinched, but it was curious, that single arrow as it dug into the ground, mud sucking its tip into the frosty earth.

Lief frowned, eyes on the red fletching.

Ivan looked irritated as the arrow had interrupted his promising conversation with Hakon, who quickly became distracted again.

‘A single arrow? Red? What does that mean?’ Hakon turned to Ivan, demanding an answer.

‘It means that until we move into range, they can’t hit us, Cousin,’ Ivan said calmly. ‘Not with their arrows, at least. Though we should be prepared for more boulders.’

‘You think it’s wrong to make them use them all up?’ Hakon challenged, blinking rapidly.

‘Well, use them all up is one way to say it. Or killing our men, that’s another!’

Hakon glared at him, stepping forward, jutting out his bearded chin.

Lief intervened. ‘It’s a signal. A sign.’

‘To who?’ Hakon spun around, but Lief was already walking away from his lord, cutting a path through the wounded men, around the flames, past the boulders. He stopped, turning, eyes back on the fort, then up to the sky, which was free of arrows, but thick with clouds now. ‘I say we move back, lord!’ he called, hairs rising up his arms. ‘Out of range of their catapults at least.’

Hakon nodded, embarrassed that he had sown confusion, overriding his commanders. He had no idea what had gotten into him. It was as though he couldn’t control a single thought in his head, nor his legs or arms. Everything appeared to be working independently of him. ‘We move back!’ he called, embracing a moment of clarity, to the relieved sighs of Lief and Ivan, who wanted to get the injured to safety, and themselves out of the path of the killing boulders. Those servants who had healing skills waited just before the tree-line where tents had been erected to treat the wounded.

Ignoring Ivan, who stood in front of him, Hakon instead turned to Lief, looking at him to lead the way.

Which Lief quite naturally did.

And with his typical long stride, he encouraged the army to form behind him. ‘We move back!’ he bellowed, turning from side to side. ‘All fall back!’

Ivan fell in beside Hakon, looking for some sign that his cousin had truly calmed down. But Hakon didn’t acknowledge him at all. He started moving up behind Lief, leaving Ivan in his wake, confused.

Ivan bent down to help one of his warriors lift a wounded man off the ground. The young man had lost a leg, the bottom half of which was trapped under a boulder, and he appeared not to realise it. The shock made the man confused and angry, and he tried to get away from them, wanting to walk on his own. Arms flailing, he whacked Ivan in the mouth.

Ulrick was there, behind him, grabbing the wounded man. ‘Here, I’ll take him. You should get up there, talk to Hakon.’ He was concerned with what he’d seen from the young lord so far. Hakon had caused more trouble than a fox amongst the chickens, and now they were running away before the sun had reached its peak. He shook his head, knowing that Jesper Vettel would never have acted with such petulance. ‘A moment to think will do him good,’ he muttered to Ivan, who walked alongside him, arms constantly moving, encouraging his men to turn and follow him. ‘Might clear that fog in his head.’

Ivan hoped Ulrick was right, amazed at what a mess Hakon had made.

And then the first wave of arrows shot towards them from the forest. First the whistles, then the sickening thuds as they struck men in the muddled front ranks, piercing arms, chests, faces. And the surprise and shock of it sparked even more panic.

Ivan’s head went up, and then his shield.

He was shorter than many of the men in front of him, and he struggled to see what was happening; though he felt relieved not to be on his horse or he would have been an easy target.

Another wave of arrows, and now the men started turning, running back towards the fort, banging into those who were retreating.

‘No!’ Lief screamed, watching the chaos intensify. ‘Hold!’ The arrows were coming from the trees. From inside the forest. But where? Not at their camp, he hoped, his mind immediately with Falla. ‘Shields! Shields to the front! Shield Wall!’

Ivan was quickly beside him, shield overhead, Hakon on his right. ‘Archers!’ He turned, bellowing. ‘Aim for the trees! Fire at will!’ But before he’d even closed his mouth, more arrows shot from the forest, giving him a better sense of where they were coming from. ‘Watch your flanks!’ Ivan shouted, shield above his head, feeling an arrow smack into it, splitting the wood.

Screams. Flames bursting behind them, hot and angry. Wounded men, begging to be helped, left writhing on the field.

The stink of death rising up around them.

And smoke.

Lief spun, catching Hakon’s eye. Hakon was sniffing the air, turning back to the wall of fire, which still burned with hunger. But that smoke was blowing away, towards the fort.

‘It’s coming from the forest!’ Ivan cried. ‘The forest’s on fire!’

That shot a bolt of fear through Lief, who now couldn’t think about anything but his pregnant wife.

‘They wouldn’t burn the forest!’ Hakon sneered. ‘Their own forest?’

‘Well, likely they didn’t do it on purpose,’ Lief frowned, trying to see through the thickening smoke. ‘But we need to hurry back to camp! Quickly!’

Hakon nodded, following after him, Ivan behind them.

The smoke intensified, billowing towards them now, slowly engulfing them in great choking waves.

They couldn’t see.

They couldn’t breathe.

‘Keep going!’ Lief insisted, coughing. He had no thought of reaching the fort now. He needed to get through the smoke and find his wife.

* * *

Falla stood outside Mother’s tent, sniffing the air. ‘Something’s happening!’ she called, wishing the old woman would come out. She’d only had gossiping servants for company since the men had left, and none of them had any information or insight about what was happening at all. Falla felt blind and anxious, hearing voices in the trees. Sensing movement.

The horses were unsettled, and the men guarding them looked concerned too. Sometimes they would send one of the boys who helped them care for the horses further into the forest to see what was happening. The warriors guarding the camp did not leave their positions, but Falla could tell they were worried.

Everything sounded so strange.

Eventually, Mother pulled back the tent flap, emerging into the campsite. The air was smoky, windy, the sky a dull-grey above the tree canopy now. ‘I imagine we’ll see them soon,’ she smiled. ‘Running back home with their tails between their legs. Little puppies, all of them!’ She turned around, encouraging Lotta outside. ‘Take a breath of air, my child. Falla will find you something to eat, I’m sure. And then we’ll prepare for the return of our conquering... oh no, that’s right, not quite. Not yet. And not without me!’ And turning away, she waddled back into the tent, letting the flap close after her, eager to get back to her fire.

Falla stared at the blinking girl, who appeared confused but relieved to be away from Mother. Falla didn’t blame her. ‘What do you see? Anything?’

Lotta nodded. ‘Smoke. It’s coming.’

* * *

Sigurd had joined Reinar on the low wall. ‘Is the boy an idiot? What’s he been doing all morning? Running in circles? Chasing his tail?’

Hakon’s men had run out of range. Away from the lucky mark.

Their catapults couldn’t hit them now.

The archers they had planted in the forest could, though. There weren’t many, for he couldn’t afford to be without even one. But it was important to get the upper hand early, to create at least the illusion of danger and threat. To not let Hakon see Ottby as merely a series of walls to climb over with ease.

Reinar didn’t plan on making anything easy for the boy who would be king.

‘Looks like he might be.’

‘Well, more luck for us, then. Elin wouldn’t recognise you now, would she? Your luck has surely returned, Brother.’ Sigurd clapped Reinar on the back, handing him a cup of ale. It was freezing as they stood around the glowing brazier, the wind playing havoc with its flames. ‘Might be a storm coming.’

‘Well, that would dampen things a bit,’ Reinar mused, sipping the ale. ‘I’d rather it held off while we have our fun, though. We’re just getting started!’

It felt good to be on top, though they wouldn’t be on top for long. They didn’t have the men. But they did know the fort and the forest, and they knew how to play games with a powerful enemy.

Stellan had taught them that.

And lifting his cup in the air, Reinar called on Thenor to grant them a reprieve from thunder and lightning. ‘Just a while longer,’ he insisted. ‘Just a while longer.’

* * *

Hakon and his men were trapped on the field. The smoke pumped towards them from the forest, but to escape it meant turning back to where the flaming wall burned and then they’d be within range of the catapults again.

That gap between smoke and flames was shrinking fast.

Erlan Stari was already regretting his decision to abandon all reason and put his men behind Hakon Vettel’s banner. The man had acted like a boy, placing them all in danger, not just of being humiliated and laughed out of every hall in Alekka, but in real danger of dying on the field where they had fought all those years beside the Vilanders.

Erlan’s choice stuck in his throat, and he couldn’t swallow.

More arrows, piercing the smoke.

Men, gasping and grunting in shock, tumbling to the ground. Screams rising, panic following.

‘This way!’ came a voice. ‘This way!’

Ivan followed the voice, though he didn’t recognise it, and it was quickly lost in another flurry of arrows and shrieking cries of pain. ‘Hakon!’ he screamed, losing sight of his cousin. ‘We need to move! Follow me!’ He bent over, coughing, gagging, trying to breathe. Dropping to the ground, Ivan rubbed his hand on the frosty mud, lifting some of it back to his face, smearing it over his nose, cheeks, and mouth. The cold, moist frost woke him up, helping him to breathe, and he was quickly back on his feet, searching for his cousin, eyes stinging, trying to see.

‘Here! Ivan! Here!’ came Hakon’s voice. ‘Follow us!’

Ivan spun back to where he wanted to go, thinking it the quicker route back to their camp, but he didn’t want to be left behind. In the carnage and chaos Hakon had helped to sow, it would only make things worse if they lost each other now. And so, hands out in front of him, trying to see, Ivan ploughed on through the smoke, following Hakon’s voice.

* * *

Reinar’s men, who had been hidden in the forest, wafting smoke from the herb-laced wattle towers they had constructed, left their posts now, slipping through the trees, following after the archers, who had sat in wait all night at Reinar’s command. They were out of arrows now, and there was nothing more they could do to cause trouble. They had to head back to the fort, skirting the field and the enemy, awaiting the next assault.

Ulrick watched Reinar Vilander’s men silently creeping through the smoke.

He did nothing to stop them. They had wreaked havoc, and now they would retreat back to the fort. And he would let them.

For he had other plans.

* * *

Mother could see in the flames.

She dipped a finger into the bloody mixture she’d been working on all morning, painting symbols on her hands, sweeping them over the dancing fire.

Burning, burning, dancing fire.

She had been sipping a potion since dawn, and now, the clarity was astonishing. Her mind jumped from one place to the next, revealing everything she needed to see.

Hakon was running, lost in the smoke. That victorious lord, Reinar Vilander, stood gloating on his wall. But not for long. ‘Not for long!’ she hissed at the flames, watching them writhe like angry snakes before her. ‘For once Hakon has been tamed, I will need to step in, wouldn’t you say?’

Mother was never alone. Her sons were always with her, around her. Dark-haired Borg and Rolan; blonde-haired Toki, who had not been her husband’s child. Though her husband had been skilled with an axe, he had also been a fool and had never suspected a thing.

She let those thoughts float away and herself with them.

The girl. Lotta. Blonde-haired little Lotta. Such a pretty thing.

And no idiot, Mother realised. She was no idiot at all.

Looking down, she saw the clump of hair on the ground. Something for later, she smiled. For when Hakon was before her, begging for help.

She would keep that for later.

* * *

The smoke smelled strange, Hakon thought, stumbling, tripping over the tangled tree roots marking the path back to camp.

Everything was a mess.

The smoke stung his eyes, clogging his throat. He was struggling to breathe; struggling to see or think as well. Lief was beside him, and sometimes he turned, urging him on, his eyes oddly dark, bigger than Hakon remembered. He hurried along, losing his balance often, arms out. The trees jerked into view, crowding him. He yelped, afraid they were toppling, sawn through, falling on top of him. He heard snapping, cracking, noises so loud he wanted to put his hands over his ears, but he would surely lose his balance then.

‘My lord!’ Lief couldn’t grab Hakon, who kept moving away from him. ‘My lord! This way!’ His ears were ringing, eyes watering, and though Lief knew there was something in the smoke, some herbs burning in it, he couldn’t stop inhaling it.

Men were yelling, but he couldn’t tell where they were. He couldn’t tell whose men they were.

Stopping, he drew his sword, swinging around.

Who was there? Someone.

Someone was going to attack them. Kill Hakon.

He wondered if it was him. He didn’t believe in the boy lord. Didn’t want to follow him at all. He was not the right man to be king; Lief knew that in his heart.

‘Hakon!’ Ivan screamed. ‘Hakon! Where are you?’

Lief blinked, sheathing his sword, needing both hands again, the smoke thickening now, making him dizzy.

Ivan bumped into him, grabbing Lief’s arms. ‘Where’s my cousin? Where is he?’ His head was spinning. He’d found Hakon, held his arm for a moment, but now he was gone.

‘The smoke!’ Lief rasped, struggling to speak. ‘We have to move!’

Ivan nodded, though he was suddenly looking at more than one Lief. He blinked repeatedly, trying to see clearly. And then Lief was gone.

‘Forward!’

‘Hakon?’ Ivan stumbled onwards, hands trying to part the smoke; panicking now, heart racing. ‘Hakon!’

44

Eddeth had run back to her cottage for a pair of boots, not happy with the ones she’d brought with her. Alys barely noticed she had gone. Agnette was talking to her on one side, Gerda on the other, the hall filled with a heady optimism, mingled with a sense of desperation for more news.

Word about Reinar and Eddeth’s plan with the smoke had raced through the fort, and everyone felt a lift, hearing how Hakon Vettel’s army was in tatters. But there was still much more to go.

So much more.

Suddenly, Agnette gasped, gripping her stomach.

In the press of bodies and the clamour of demanding voices, Alys hadn’t heard the splash of water on the floor, but Agnette had felt it. She gripped Alys’ arm.

Alys turned to her, seeing her clenched jaw and the terror in her eyes. ‘Your baby?’

Agnette nodded.

‘Gerda!’ Alys tried to interrupt her. ‘Stop! Please! Agnette’s child is coming!’

‘What?’ Gerda looked horrified, and slightly irritated. ‘Now? Agnette, surely it’s just something you’ve eaten? Surely it’s not coming now?’

Agnette wanted her baby to come even less than Gerda, and she felt herself panicking, hot all over.

‘I’ll take you back to your chamber. Bjarni!’ Alys spun around, trying to see his familiar thick thatch of blonde hair. ‘Bjarni!’ She pushed herself onto her tiptoes, looking for him, surprised when he emerged from the kitchen, chewing a mouthful of walnuts.

One look at his wife gripping her belly, face contorted with pain, and he swallowed the nuts in a big gulp, hurrying forward.

‘Where’s Eddeth gone?’ Gerda demanded, grabbing a servant who was rushing past. ‘You wait there, my girl.’ She stared at Alys. ‘Eddeth?’

‘She went back to her chamber for some boots.’

Gerda turned back to the servant. ‘You will go and find Eddeth. Drag that woman back here quickly. Do not let her mutter on or wander off! Tell her Agnette needs her!’

Everyone had frozen to the spot, stunned by the terrible timing of Bjarni and Agnette’s child.

‘Let’s get you to your chamber,’ Alys smiled. ‘Eddeth will want to have a look at things, I imagine. Best you’re lying down.’

Agnette nodded, shaking. ‘He can’t come now. Not now.’

Bjarni was by her side, arm around her back, walnut stuck in his throat. ‘It will be some story to tell, won’t it? Born during a battle? Our son!’ He tried to turn feelings of terror into excitement, smiling at his wife with a forced grin, his eyes bright with worry. And coughing, trying to clear his throat, he led her through the crowded hall towards their chamber, following after Alys.

* * *

Falla ran to her husband, who emerged through the trees, dark eyes blinking. And relieved to see her, he bent over, coughing, his men slowly filtering in behind him.

‘Why are you back? Is the forest on fire?’

The smoke was certainly drifting, spreading like fog, and it was impossible now to tell where the sky ended, and the smoke began. The smell was overpowering, and Lief knew it wasn’t a simple forest fire.

Needing something to drink, he rushed to the nearest tent, rummaging around on the ground, finding a waterskin. Swigging until the water was gone, he hurried back to his wife, panting, wiping a pale hand over his dark beard. ‘It all went wrong.’

Falla looked horrified. ‘Already?’

Lief shook his head. Her voice sounded so far away. His mouth wouldn’t make the right shapes, and he could barely get his thoughts in a straight line. Throwing the skin to the ground, Lief pulled her to him. ‘We have to move. I have to get you away from the smoke. Don’t breathe!’

‘Lief!’ Ivan stumbled down to the ground beside him, coughing. And grabbing the waterskin, he lifted it to his lips, disappointed to find it empty; his throat felt filled with dust. ‘Where’s Hakon?’ he croaked. ‘I thought he was with you?’

Lief shook his head, coughing some more. ‘We have to keep moving. Move the men away from the smoke!’

‘It will disperse,’ came a steady voice.

And through the clouds of smoke waddled a dark-cloaked Mother, hood over her hair, hanging low. ‘It’s only a little smoke, and that wind is getting stronger. Can’t you feel it? Best thing you can do is stay in one place. Rest, drink what you can find, wait for it to float away.’

Lief wasn’t inclined to believe the old witch, but Ivan grabbed his arm. ‘Gather the men into the camp. Keep them together. Keep them calm. I have to find Hakon!’

Lief nodded reluctantly, clinging to Falla. Ivan was still the head of the army, and he could hardly go against him now. And, he realised, Mother was likely right. His panic was slowing as more and more confused warriors stumbled into the clearing. He knew he needed to keep them in one place now; he didn’t want to lose them before their lord returned.

Lief watched Ivan go, before pushing Falla away. ‘Go and find as many skins as you can. Jugs of water, ale, anything. Cups, bowls. We need water! Send the servants to the stream!’

Ivan heard him as he ran through the trees. Voices raised in panic rang out all around him, and he felt confused, disoriented, not sure if they were his men at all. Sword drawn, he swung around, surprised to see a red stag canter past him, nostrils flaring. Ivan tried to calm his breathing, to focus his mind; not on the smoke, which made him want to vomit, but on finding his cousin.

It would do their chances no good to lose their lord now.

* * *

Reinar had left the low wall, leaving Torvig in charge, wanting to see how things were going in the hall. When he got there, he was pleased with the cheers, though he barely showed it, knowing that this was little more than a beginning.

Gerda ran up to him. ‘It’s Agnette! The baby is coming!’

Reinar’s mouth fell open, his eyes scanning the hall, seeing no sign of Bjarni. ‘That’s early.’ He couldn’t see Alys either.

‘Baby?’ Eddeth entered the hall behind him. ‘Oh, well that’s rather inconvenient!’

Gerda pointed her to the chambers at the back of the hall. ‘Hurry and see how she is. Her waters broke all over the floor. I’ve had to have someone clean it up.’

And frowning, Eddeth twitched all over, pushing her way through the hall, disappointed that she was going to be stuck delivering a child instead of helping the dreamer protect the fort.

‘How are things going?’ Gerda led her son over to the table where Stellan’s chair had been placed, wanting her husband to hear what Reinar had to say. Despite it being over a year since Stellan’s seizure, since everything had changed, she kept thinking he would come back. That he could hear what was happening. That somehow, he would be able to help his son. ‘Is it a success?’

‘So far, Mother.’ Reinar was impatient. He hadn’t meant to stay long, and now he’d need to find someone to help Bjarni with the hall. He was going to be distracted for sure. Memories flashed before his eyes of the horrific birth of his own sons, but he quickly shut them away, knowing he couldn’t afford to lose focus. ‘I’ll check on Agnette, then I have to get back to the wall.’ He was surprised when his father moved a hand towards him.

Gerda didn’t notice. Rilda had come out of the kitchen with problems.

Reinar put his hand over Stellan’s, staring into his eyes, watching his lips, but his father didn’t speak, and eventually, Reinar smiled, patting his hand and heading for the bedchambers.

Alys crashed into him as he rounded the corner. ‘Oh! I’m sorry!’

Stepping back, Reinar blinked at her. ‘How’s Agnette?’

‘Eddeth’s just arrived, so I don’t know, but she seems a little worried. It’s not the best time, is it?’

Reinar peered at Alys, who stood beside a flaming sconce. ‘What are you wearing?’ She looked strange in the black cloak. It was too big for her, touching the floor.

‘I found it. I think it was your old dreamer’s.’

‘Really?’ Reinar had never seen Salma wear such a thing. ‘Where are you going now?’ She was standing so close, and the way the flames lit her hair reminded him of the first moment he’d seen her on board Sigurd’s ship. And he felt guilt for capturing her, and guilt for desiring her. And ignoring both, he leaned in and kissed her.

Alys froze in surprise, Reinar’s lips on hers, not kissing him back at all.

And noticing it, Reinar pulled away with a sad smile. ‘I’m sorry.’ He shook his head, turning down the corridor.

Alys’ mouth hung open, the feel of his bristly lips still on hers.

Closing it, she walked towards the hall, feeling her heart skipping wildly in her chest, trying to remember what she’d been about to do.

* * *

Hakon didn’t know what to do.

Voices taunted him: his father’s, Ivan’s, Mother’s.

They danced around him like little children, keeping him trapped where he was, not knowing which way to turn. He was in the forest, dressed in his armour, smoke in his mouth, smoke in his eyes. They stung and burned. As did his throat. He thought he heard a stream somewhere, Mother’s voice cackling like crows, but he couldn’t move. Shivering and shaking, he sank to the ground, pressing his back against a tree, bark against mail, boots scuffing the moss-covered roots as he dragged them closer to his body, wrapping his arms around his legs, head down.

Wanting to disappear.

* * *

Agnette didn’t appear in any distress at all, and after a quick chat with Bjarni, Reinar had left them to it, desperate to get back to the wall, eager to see what Hakon Vettel would come back with.

Agnette watched the door close, wanting to head out after her cousin. ‘I don’t want to be stuck in here when everything’s happening out there!’ she complained loudly, trying to get out of bed.

Bjarni pushed her down. ‘Do you want the baby to just drop out while you’re running around?’ He looked at Eddeth, wondering if that was possible.

Eddeth looked nonplussed. ‘It’s Agnette’s choice what she does. If she wants to get to work, she should. I’m sure we can clear an area when it’s time.’

‘Good!’ Agnette declared, wriggling towards the edge of the bed. ‘Then I will. I’ve barely had a twinge since my waters broke.’ She groaned, a pain winding its way through her belly like burning fire. ‘Aarrghh!’

Bjarni smiled. ‘You were saying?’

‘I was saying,’ Agnette grumbled, taking a breath, ‘that you’re needed in the hall, so get on your way, Bjarni Sansgard. I’m going to keep busy till the time is near. And,’ she snapped, eyes on Eddeth, ‘it’s nowhere near yet!’

Eddeth nodded. ‘Near is when you can’t speak, but you seem just as chattery as usual, Agnette, so I’d say you have some time yet.’ And she quickly headed to the door as Bjarni helped Agnette to her feet. ‘I’ll only be down the corridor if you need me.’

Bjarni looked worried, not wanting her to go. ‘Agnette,’ he pleaded, ‘I’ve a lot to take care of out there. I can’t be worrying about you too.’

‘No one’s asking you to! I’ve been able to take care of myself since I was a girl. And this child will make up its own mind about when it’s coming.’ She saw the fear in his eyes, and it softened her. ‘I’ll listen, I promise. I’ll get Eddeth when the time comes.’

Bjarni nodded, though he doubted it. He knew his wife better than anyone. Still, he helped her towards the door, trying to stop frowning. ‘I’ll be in the hall, listening out. One scream and I’ll carry you back in here!’

Agnette snorted, laughing as she waddled beside him. ‘I’d like to see you try!’

* * *

‘Hakon!’ Ivan dropped to the ground beside his cousin, who appeared asleep, hunched over before a tree, head resting on his knees. ‘Hakon!’

Hakon looked up at Ivan, terror in his eyes, his cousin’s voice clanging in his ears. ‘Where have you been? Where has everyone gone?’

Ivan’s head was less muddled than Hakon’s, and he quickly helped him to his feet, dragging one of his cousin’s arms around his shoulder, feeling him go limp. ‘Let’s get you back to your tent. We’ll wait for the smoke to clear, then we’ll start again.’

Hakon stumbled beside him, muttering to himself, visions of Mother tormenting him.

Mother and her triumphant smile.

* * *

Emerging from the tent again, Mother was almost delirious with pleasure, though seeing the scowl in Falla’s eyes as she organised water and ale for the men, she tried to look more concerned, less gleeful. It would hardly help her cause to be seen crowing over their humiliation.

The smoke did not bother her as she walked around the camp, eyes scouring the hunched over, coughing men. Some were bleeding, injured, others in a panic, going slightly mad with the smoking herbs. Mother recognised the familiar aromas of salvia and jimsonweed. She doubted Reinar Vilander’s dreamer had thought of that. That woman appeared far too inexperienced to know anything about herbs; about how to terrorise and seduce; to befuddle weak minds. And they were all weak, Mother knew, glancing around, eyes seeking the weakest one of all.

And there he was, with the useless layabout that was Ivan Vettel.

Blinking even a hint of happiness from her eyes, Mother hurried forward. ‘My lord! Hakon!’ She coated her voice with something resembling sympathy; a motherly touch, she hoped; a balm for his frantic state.

Hakon rushed to her in desperation. ‘Mother!’ And reaching her, he almost collapsed into her arms, eyes bulging with madness.

Mother frowned. ‘Help me take him to my tent. A tonic! I’m sure I have a tonic to help him. The smoke has affected him badly. I suspect Reinar Vilander’s dreamer has been playing with you all. Twisting your minds with her spells! She appears far more dangerous than I realised. Far more dangerous indeed!’

Ivan limped along, Hakon’s weight leaning on him, grateful when Lief caught up with them, holding up Hakon’s other side.

‘What’s happened to him?’ Lief wondered, anxiety rippling through his own mind. His confusion had receded now, only to be replaced by shifting waves of panic and fear. He felt unsettled, as though they were about to be attacked, yet unable to form a plan of what to do about it.

‘The smoke!’ Mother declared. ‘It was poisoned with powerful herbs! Designed to make you forget yourselves. A dreamer’s weapon!’

‘You must help us, Mother,’ Hakon almost whimpered, staggering into her tent. ‘Protect us from this dreamer. How can we take the fort with all that smoke?’ His head felt almost clear for a moment, the screeching voices receding slightly. The darkness of Mother’s tent helped; the soothing sound of her fire.

He started shaking, realising how cold it was.

‘Of course, of course I will,’ Mother murmured. ‘Sit him there, in front of the flames. He’s shivering!’ She poked a gnarled finger at Ivan. ‘Find your cousin some wine. Something strong. And you,’ she growled at Lief. ‘You will retrieve Falla and the girl. I need them to assist me.’

* * *

Falla had gone to the stream to fill the empty skins, eager to get away from the smoke and the noise in the campsite. There were too many men needing help – panicked, injured, burned men – and she had quickly grown irritated with the role of healer. She was neither skilled nor inclined to help anyone, so she was happy to escape them all, taking a moment to herself, enjoying the cool water on her face.

Kneeling before the stream, she bent forward, splashing water over her cheeks, rubbing it down her neck, into her cleavage. It felt like ice, but it woke her up and cleared her mind. And standing, she wiped her hands on her lilac-coloured dress, before bending down to collect the full skins, looking up suddenly, hearing the sound of twigs snapping, horses blowing.

Across the stream, on the other side of the bank, she saw a glimmer of blonde hair as two horses moved away into the forest.

Falla stood there for a moment, watching, before dropping the waterskins and turning away to vomit.

Lotta spun around at the noise, eyes on the crouching woman, recognising Falla. She thought about calling out, begging for help, but she remembered the look in Mother’s eye when she’d cut her hair, and she realised that the dreamer meant to kill her. Lotta had seen inside her soul, and it was dark and evil, and though she had no desire to be Ulrick’s prisoner again, she knew she had to get away.

Ulrick knew they had to get away too, but he wouldn’t leave Lotta’s pony behind. He didn’t want to make her unhappy. ‘That old witch will be tearing the forest apart looking for you soon. We have to move quickly now.’

Lotta sat before him, nodding, feeling the horse increase its pace, hoping Clover would be able to keep up; tears falling down her cold cheeks, knowing that she was leaving her mother behind.

* * *

Eddeth grabbed Alys’ arm. ‘You’re not listening, dreamer!’

Alys almost bit her tongue. She was remembering giving birth to her daughter. Lotta had been late, well overdue, showing no sign of coming at all. But when she finally came... Alys smiled sadly, reminded of how all joy of that moment had been erased by Arnon’s fury that she had given him a daughter.

‘We need to be ready. Up on the wall.’

‘What?’ Alys blinked, back in the chamber. ‘Why the wall?’

‘To see. Far and wide! To smell. To taste the wind!’ Eddeth grinned, shuffling to her basket. ‘Those herbs of mine will have tangled Hakon Vettel’s army in knots. It will take them a while to get back to themselves. A while longer to think of a way forward. I know how it goes!’ She chuckled, handing Alys a tiny packet.

‘What’s this?’

‘Flying powder.’

‘I...’ Alys didn’t know what to say. She almost didn’t want to ask.

‘Hurry, hurry!’ Eddeth implored. ‘I’ll explain on the way to the wall!’

They left their chamber, emerging into the noisy hall which appeared much fuller as those men and women on the walls and in the square came inside to take a break, get some food, find something to drink.

Alys saw Stina. ‘Are you alright?’

Stina nodded. She was numb inside and out, but it had been good to feel useful, to keep herself busy. Ludo stood behind her like a faithful dog, and turning to him, she almost smiled.

‘She’s been working hard. They all have.’ Ludo was pleased, though anxious. They did not have an unending supply of boulders. And flinging a dead carcass or two would hardly do much damage to an army on the attack. ‘We’ve come to find what else we might launch at Hakon’s men.’

‘Pitch,’ Eddeth said, one hand on Alys’ elbow, wanting to move her along. ‘Fill a jug or a jar with pitch. They won’t like being covered in that.’

Ludo agreed. They had buckets of pitch on the low wall, but it would be smart to use the catapults to drown Hakon’s army in as much of the liquid as possible. ‘Good idea,’ he smiled, heading for the doors.

Alys watched Ludo and Stina go, yelping as Eddeth pinched her arm.

‘We have too much to occupy that mind of yours with already, don’t you think? Not worrying about everything right now would help, hmmm?’ And with a firm nudge, she moved Alys in the direction of the doors.

* * *

Lief had found his wife sitting in the forest by the stream, head between her knees, trying to stop the waves of nausea that would not recede. He had helped her to stand, convinced her to sip a little water, and together they’d walked back to their camp.

To where Mother emerged from her tent, glowering at them.

‘All day I’ve been waiting! All day!’

Lief’s head still felt thick with smoke, but he knew that wasn’t true. ‘Falla was ill.’

Mother glared at her, not caring, though she could see the ghostly pallor of her face in the smoky gloom. She glanced around. ‘And the girl? Where is she?’

Guilt flushed Falla’s face a bright pink, and she leaned on Lief, slumping slightly. ‘I don’t know.’ That was true enough.

Mother couldn’t read any lies in Falla’s eyes, though they darted about in fear. ‘Is that so?’

‘I couldn’t watch her all the time!’ Falla insisted crossly. ‘I was ill. Vomiting.’

‘Well...’ Mother’s lips pursed and twisted into all sorts of shapes while she considered things. ‘You did your best, I’m sure.’

Falla looked up, surprised, watching as Mother simply turned and walked away.

‘Well, come along, Falla dear!’ she called over her shoulder. ‘For I am going to need your help to get our afflicted lord back on his feet again. We can’t let those Vilanders think it’s all over, can we? Oh no, I can assure you, this battle is only just beginning!’

45

Sigurd and Tulia joined Reinar on the low wall to discuss how the rest of the day would go. Their enemy had not reappeared, and thick waves of smoke still hung over the field, from the wall to the forest.

Reinar turned at the sound of laughter.

‘They will need to sleep it off!’ Eddeth chuckled, emerging from the stairs, almost reading his mind. ‘I know that only too well. A good night’s rest and they’ll be back on the field come morning.’

‘You think it will affect them that badly? That they won’t try something tonight?’

‘I’m no dreamer!’ Eddeth snorted. ‘You’re asking the wrong woman there.’

Reinar’s attention moved from Eddeth to Alys, who had just emerged from the stairs herself, eyes quickly on the field where smoke masked the bodies and the boulders, though some flames could still be seen burning. The smell was intense. ‘Do you see them coming again today? Tonight?’

Alys considered it. Her feelings about how it would all go kept shifting.

Her fears were growing, and she felt a pull towards the darkness, as though it was trying to claim her. And she didn’t know if she was strong enough to withstand it.

‘Alys?’ Reinar looked concerned.

‘I think Eddeth’s right. I sense a lot of confusion. A new day will give them another chance.’

‘You should have sent me with some men to attack them in the forest,’ Sigurd frowned. ‘We still could.’

‘It’s tempting, of course.’ Reinar turned as Torvig came to join them, not noticing Alys’ discomfort. ‘But there’s little room for surprise now. They’ll have men on their perimeter. It’s too risky. Though if they’re going to sleep all night, we can make sure we’re restocked and ready for the morning. Sigurd, go check the boulders. See about getting more. I’m sure we can slip in and out of the bridge gates while they’re lost in the forest, finding their minds again.’ He winked at Eddeth, who appeared pleased to have been such a help.

‘Boulders are useful, yes indeed,’ Eddeth mused, hands on the rampart wall, peering at the trees in the distance. ‘But they will not stop the wolf.’

Tulia looked confused. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘The dreamer in the forest, she’s the one who brought the wolf to life. And she’s in there. Alys can feel it, can’t you?’

Alys nodded, thinking of Lotta. ‘She is.’

‘She will not sit on her hands. Not likely. A woman that powerful?’ Eddeth shook her head. ‘That woman will not sit in a corner and watch. So gather boulders and arrows and pitch, but know that none of it will protect you against her.’ Her eyes rounded as she spun back to Reinar.

Who turned to Alys. ‘Can you do anything to stop her?’

Alys blinked at Eddeth.

‘We can! And we will! Of course! Of course! That is why we’re here, so Alys can see. The dreamer has eyes. She does not need to be asleep to see!’ Eddeth grabbed Alys by the shoulders, pointing her towards the forest. ‘She’s in there, the dreamer. And you need to close your eyes and find her.’

Tulia stopped herself from rolling her own eyes and turned for the stairs. Sigurd headed after her, leaving Reinar and Torvig. But Torvig was already smirking, not seeing the point in any of it, and he left the women, looking for something to drink.

Alys shut them all out, closing her eyes.

She didn’t want to find the dreamer in the forest at all; whether she was a wolf or an old woman. She wanted to find her daughter. And breathing deeply, Alys took herself into the forest. She had ridden through it now a few times. She knew the smell of the place, the noise of the trees swishing in the wind, the sound of hooves striking the earth beneath her. She remembered the symbols, buried low, hidden where roots met trunks.

Paths rushed towards her, birds calling to each other, squirrels rushing up bark with sharp claws. Alys followed the paths deeper and deeper into the forest as everything became darker, heart thumping in her chest like someone pounding a drum.

And then she saw it: a glimpse of hair; ice-blonde; long.

A tiny face, turning towards her.

‘Don’t worry, Mama. Don’t worry.’

Alys gasped, eyes popping open. Back on the wall.

Eddeth hovered beside her, sneezing. ‘What did you see? The dreamer? Did you find her?’

Reinar looked concerned on her other side.

‘No.’ Alys didn’t want to disappoint anyone. ‘I didn’t see the woman, but I did feel her.’ She shivered, the clouds seeming to sink lower in the sky, darkening as the afternoon disappeared. ‘She’s in there, preparing. I feel that.’ It was true, Alys was certain. She had a strong sense that something was coming.

Eddeth was right.

The dreamer would not linger in the shadows for long.

* * *

Hakon’s senses were returning. He could still smell the strange smoke, but his head had cleared thanks to Mother’s tonic. She had poured him two cups of the foul-tasting brew, and he had drunk greedily, desperate to wet his parched throat; desperate to grasp hold of reality again too.

But when he did, his heart sank.

He peered at the old woman as she fingered through her baskets of herbs, searching for something, stooped over, muttering to herself.

‘What happened?’

Mother turned her head, eyeing him. ‘You have returned, then? From the dark haze?’

Hakon wasn’t sure. ‘I feel more like myself again,’ he croaked. ‘I can’t hear those voices in my head anymore.’

‘Well, that’s a start, but you will need sleep. You all will. What that dreamer did to you was powerful indeed.’

‘The smoke? A dreamer did it?’ Hakon rubbed his eyes, sitting back. A headache was forming behind his ears. It felt as though someone was squeezing his neck. ‘I... I ruined everything.’ That was the truth, and it was hard to admit. He didn’t know how he could face Ivan and Lief. Ulrick. All his men.

What had he done?

‘Reinar Vilander had men in the forest. Hiding. They were wrapped in protective spells. I couldn’t penetrate them. Couldn’t see what they were planning.’

Mother had seen the men, but she hadn’t said a thing.

‘I did try to warn you, Hakon. You are not only battling men with weapons, but a dreamer with magic. Any hope for success will depend on whether you live through what that dreamer has planned.’ Her voice was laced with warning, and she watched Hakon’s eyes with interest. ‘She will try to humiliate you further now. Take your dreams from you! Turn your men against you! Can’t you see how precarious this all is? How dangerous?’ Mother stretched out her aching back, returning to the fire and a stool. ‘Those men out there, your men, they will follow you willingly, despite whatever mess you made today. But the lords of Hovring and Vika? They tied their fate to yours, abandoned longstanding loyalties to Ake Bluefinn, believing that you were the future of Alekka. And this is what you’ve shown them?’

‘But...’

Mother held up a sooty hand. ‘They will care nothing for excuses. Perhaps they will listen, nod, agree, that of course you had been poisoned, tricked and cursed. But they will grumble to each other, and their minds will wander back to the man they used to fight for. A man who made no excuses. He just won. Battle after battle as he crushed your grandfather and pronounced himself the King of Alekka, stealing your family’s throne!’

Hakon thought of his son, and his heart ached. He felt sick. And not just from the smoke and Mother’s tonic. Voices drifted to him from outside the tent. Food was cooking, the light seeping into the tent growing duller.

Had the day really gone?

A day lost in a muddle of cursed smoke?

Lifting his head to Mother, Hakon narrowed his eyes. ‘Will you... help me?’

* * *

Agnette writhed around at the table next to Bjarni, teeth clenched, body wracked with pain.

‘Perhaps it’s time?’ Gerda wondered, peering up from her bowl of cabbage soup. She had barely taken a mouthful, feeling too agitated to eat. ‘You should want the child to come, Agnette. Not sit around here, acting for all the world as though it’s not happening.’ She glanced at Stellan, who Agnette was attempting to feed. ‘Here, give me the spoon. You get to your chamber. Bjarni, take her. Don’t listen to any arguments!’

Agnette was about to argue, but another stabbing pain took all the air from her lungs, and she could only gasp as her husband led her away from the table, towards the chambers.

Sigurd looked after them, thinking how close they had come to leaving. It would have been hard to cope with a newborn at sea. Harder still with a woman giving birth.

Gerda lifted a full spoon of soup to Stellan’s lips, trying to nudge them open. Eventually, he did pry them apart, but barely, and Gerda dribbled most of the soup into his beard.

‘Here,’ Sigurd offered, grabbing a napkin from the table, and hopping up to wipe it away. He smiled at his father, sitting down beside him.

‘Where is Tulia tonight?’ Gerda wondered. ‘Still on that wall?’

Sigurd nodded, hearing the familiar disapproval in her voice. ‘I’ll relieve her later.’

‘With those Ullaberg women, no doubt.’

‘No doubt,’ Sigurd grinned. Tulia was surprisingly protective of the women she had trained. Proud too, he could tell. It almost made him wonder what sort of mother she would be. They had rarely discussed marriage or children, though she had never sounded against either. It was more that he felt reluctant. He often wondered why his real parents had abandoned him in the forest. Was there something he didn’t know? Something about his future they had seen?

Something about him?

He would never say a word to Tulia about any of it, but it lived within him. Unspoken. The fear of who he really was.

‘Sigurd.’ Gerda looked ready to cry. ‘I’m not sure we should stay.’ She thought she saw Stellan flinch, and it surprised her. ‘If the fort were to fall...’ Putting down the spoon, she grabbed her husband’s hand. It felt so oddly limp in hers, devoid of all strength now. ‘Hakon will hurt your father. Torture him. Cut off his head.’ Tears spilled into the crevices of her wrinkled cheeks. ‘I can’t let that happen. I can’t. After all he did, all these years, it can’t end like this. He doesn’t deserve it.’

Sigurd swallowed, unused to his mother speaking to him as though he was a person, and not just an inconvenience foisted upon her all those years ago. ‘He wouldn’t want to run, though. If he could talk or walk, he wouldn’t choose to run. I think you know that, Mother.’ Sigurd didn’t move, though part of him almost wanted to reach out a hand and pat hers. Instead, he touched his father’s shoulder. ‘He would tell you that it’s important to face destiny head-on. Not try and escape it.’

Gerda didn’t want to hear that, though it was not unexpected. They were all the same: warriors with their pride and their oaths, their commitment to dying with glory draped around them like a shroud. And likely it would be a shroud by the time it was all done.

She swallowed, listening to Agnette shriek in the distance. ‘I should go and see where that horrid Eddeth has gone. Never has a woman been more averse to work than that one!’ Standing up, she sighed, staring at her silent husband. ‘Will you sit with him awhile? I’ll find Martyn. He’ll take him back to his chamber.’

Sigurd nodded as Gerda disappeared, muttering to herself. He glanced at the doors, wondering if Reinar would come in and grab something hot to eat. As soon as the sun had gone down, the temperature had plummeted further, and everything was starting to freeze. ‘Lucky you, tucked up in here,’ he grinned, pulling up the fur Gerda insisted was permanently draped over Stellan’s knees. Most thought it was for warmth, but Sigurd was sure it was her way of hiding his father’s wasting legs, and any indication that he might have wet himself.

He thought about what Gerda had said. She was right. Hakon Vettel wanted the throne, but more than that, he wanted to avenge his father’s death, as he would in his place. And Sigurd didn’t know if they stood any chance of stopping him.

* * *

Eddeth had been dragged back in to help Agnette, who appeared to be making some progress. She was more inclined to sit or lie down, and she clung to Bjarni with some force now.

Alys had checked on her before deciding to go for a walk, making sure not to stray far from the square, not wanting to run into Torvig again. She tried not to think about Reinar, though her mind wandered as she walked, wondering if he was warm enough on the wall.

The ground felt icy underfoot, and Alys started to walk more cautiously now, feeling an almost immediate ache in her legs from the cold. She tucked her hands into her cloak, trying to warm them up. The cloak smelled strongly of musty herbs, so strongly that she felt like taking it off, but Eddeth had insisted she wear it at all times for protection. Alys smiled, wondering how much information Eddeth possessed. A lot, it seemed. A lot more than she did.

Alys’ mind was mostly filled with chambers; locked and sealed up. Many parts of her life were shut away. Forgotten. Too painful. Others were lost memories she didn’t know she had at all. Not much stood out before she went to live with her grandfather, and then, only flashes of life with him before she’d run away with Arnon.

It wrenched her heart to think what a fool she had been. But, she reminded herself, she wouldn’t have her children if she hadn’t. And sighing, Alys lifted her head, seeing Lotta’s little face in the darkness.

Braziers burned along the edges of the square. Hakon Vettel’s men could attack at any time, and those catapult crews needed to be able to see.

‘Alys?’

Alys spun around, surprised to see Stina emerge from the shadows. ‘You’re not still working out here, are you?’

Stina looked sheepish. ‘There’s a lot to prepare. It’s the best defense we have, isn’t it? The more boulders and pitch we can throw at them, the better. I was just gathering all the jars together. We’ll fill them in the morning when Ludo brings more pitch. It’s too heavy for me to carry.’

Alys had noticed Stina’s discomfort around Ludo, and it confused her. ‘Ludo seems nice. Kind. Not like the rest, but perhaps not to you?’

Stina squirmed, glad it was so dark. ‘He is kind, yes, of course. It’s not him. I... I have no problem with Ludo.’

‘No?’ Alys stepped closer. ‘Then what is it? You haven’t been yourself for some time. I know you. Something’s wrong.’

‘Can’t you read my mind? I thought dreamers could do that?’ Stina wasn’t sure whether she wanted Alys to read her mind at all. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to say. She felt scared and lonely, and most of all, embarrassed.

Alys laughed softly. ‘I’m discovering how much I don’t know about being a dreamer. My mother and my grandmother were dead before I ever had a dream.’

‘And they left you nothing? Nothing to help you? No books?’

‘No. Nothing.’ That was odd, Alys realised, remembering how insistent Jonas had been that she never reveal her gifts. Perhaps he had taken them? Burned them? She closed her eyes, wondering, but no images would come.

‘Well, when we get away from here, you can find someone to help you. Teach you.’

Alys thought of Reinar and Eddeth. Sigurd too.

Magnus and Lotta and her grandfather.

Lotta...

She grabbed Stina’s hand. ‘I fear what will happen to the children. Fear that I can’t save them. That they’re lost.’

Stina pulled Alys into her arms, feeling her tremble, forgetting her own worries for a moment. ‘You’ll find them, of course you will. You can see in the dark, can’t you? Find your way out of a forest? If you close your eyes and dream... I know you can.’ Pulling back, she squeezed Alys’ hands, smiling. ‘I’ll come with you. When all of this is done, I’ll come with you, and we’ll find them.’

Alys nodded, trying to see Stina’s eyes, but they were hidden in the darkness. ‘I would like that. I’ve missed you.’

‘I’ve missed you too. All our walks along the beach, just talking, dreaming of a different life. Not quite like this, though.’

Alys laughed. ‘Not quite like this at all. Come on, I’ll walk you back to your cottage. You can’t stay out here all night. You look ready to fall down.’

‘No.’ Stina stiffened. ‘No. I promised Ludo I’d stay. He’ll be back soon,’ she lied. ‘We just need to finish what we’re doing. Don’t worry, I’ll head back to my cottage soon.’

There it was again: the tension in her voice that had Alys worried. She shivered, wanting to push further, ask more, but Lotta’s face flashed before her eyes again, and Alys knew she had to find some space to think. ‘Well, I hope so. You won’t be much use if you’re asleep on your feet.’

‘Don’t get too cold now!’ Stina warned, wishing Alys on her way. She had no intention of going back to her cottage. Not when Torvig could unlock the door. Not when he could slip inside and drag her away again. Shaking, she raised a hand, trying to smile. ‘Sleep well.’

‘You too, Stina,’ Alys said. ‘You too.’

* * *

After Hakon felt in full control of his senses again, he headed outside. Not one part of him wanted to. He felt foolish, aware of everything he’d said and done while in the dreamer’s grasp. She had played with his mind. Her and her smoke, and more, Mother had insisted. He had been more affected than any of them because Reinar Vilander’s dreamer had been trying to humiliate him; to undo any confidence his men had in his leadership. She wanted to splinter their alliance and render them a weak mess – which she had momentarily done, of course – but now Hakon had another chance. And Hakon had realised the error of his ways.

He was going to need Mother’s help.

And despite her reluctance, she had agreed to do what she could to stop the dreamer. Though she had insisted that he start listening to her, stressing the importance of working to her plans from now on.

Hakon didn’t know how he felt about that as he sat down beside Ivan, who was staring at the flames with wide eyes, cooking a sausage on a stick. ‘Not the sort of day we’d been planning all this time.’

Ivan didn’t look around. He didn’t say anything. He felt confused. It was hard to see where they would go next. With Hakon trying to be and do everything and making a mess of all of it, it was going to be hard for Ivan to lead.

‘I’ve spoken to Mother. She explained everything,’ Hakon sighed, trying to loosen the tension in his shoulders. His body felt as though he’d been in a battle rather than just running around in the smoke like a fool.

‘Everything?’

‘The smoke. What their dreamer was doing to us. I’ve never felt anything like that smoke.’

Ivan wasn’t convinced. ‘You weren’t right before the smoke, Hakon. Everything we talked about, you forgot it all the moment we got to the field. It was as if you were on your own. That I wasn’t there at all!’ He turned his sausage over, scowling. ‘I don’t think I can lead the men tomorrow. Why would any of them listen to me now? You may as well take charge.’ He hunched away from his cousin.

The men loved Ivan. Everyone loved Ivan.

They feared Hakon. He was like his father: more aloof; dangerous.

And perhaps their men would fight for him out of fear? But fear was not the greatest motivator, Hakon knew, desire was. And the desire to win needed to be stronger than the fear they would be defeated. He saw Erlan and Alef heading for their fire, and straightening up, Hakon forced a smile. ‘You’re my commander, Ivan,’ he hissed. ‘I haven’t removed you, and only I can, so you will be ready to lead us in the morning. A good sleep is what we need. You’ll see things more clearly after some sleep.’ The smoke lingered in the darkness. He could hear men coughing all around them, and he felt grateful that night had fallen so quickly, still too embarrassed to face his warriors. Though he had no choice but to face Erlan Stari and Alef Olstein. ‘My lords!’ he exclaimed. ‘What a day!’

Both men looked stunned by Hakon’s smile and his exuberant manner.

‘It certainly was,’ Alef said through tight lips. ‘Not quite what you had led us to believe would happen. Not at all.’ He ran a dirty hand through his long beard, eyes never leaving Hakon’s face.

His voice was an angry rebuke and Hakon bristled, not about to be spoken to as though he was a boy; ignoring the fact that he had just behaved like a small child. ‘I challenge you to do any better in the thrall of a dreamer! In that smoke?’ He spat at the flames, angry now, though the smoke was still strong in the air, and the smell of Ivan’s sausage was making him nauseous.

Sensing how things were about to unfold, Ivan stood. ‘My cousin’s right. We were bewitched out there. Can you explain what happened? What that smoke did to us? The voices in our heads? The hallucinations?’ He stood beside Hakon, eyeing the two men, neither of whom appeared convinced.

‘You’ve put your lot in with us now,’ Hakon added. ‘The first day is done, and it was not a good one for us. But I would rather falter first, than fail with my last breath. Victory will come. You have no need to fear. Mother has seen it, and she will help us tomorrow. She will take care of their dreamer, leaving us free to assault their walls.’

‘And will you try to take charge?’ Erlan wondered. ‘Or will your cousin lead your men? It makes no sense to have so many leaders. It’s like trying to ride a two-headed, eight-legged horse. We all need to be heading in the same direction!’

Ivan wanted to nod, but he stood silently beside Hakon, who did enough nodding of his own.

‘And we will, we will!’ Hakon insisted, suppressing a yawn. He felt his body swaying, and aiming for a stool, he tried to make it without passing out. ‘Now bring some ale and share a cup with us! I would like to hear your thoughts on what tricks you think those Vilanders might come up with tomorrow.’

* * *

‘There is an end coming. And at this most beautiful end, I will take your daughter’s life.’

Alys shuddered, listening to the woman who stood before her, eyes bulging out from the wolf hood perched upon her head, enjoying the terror she could no doubt feel.

She was a dreamer, Alys knew.

Hakon Vettel’s dreamer.

And she had come into Alys’ dream.

46

Reinar leaned on the rampart wall, eyes sometimes drifting closed. ‘You should get some sleep,’ he muttered to Torvig, who laughed.

‘Me? Both my eyes are open, so I’ll be more use than you up here tonight. If we’re still standing tomorrow, you can take the night watch.’

Reinar nodded, not wanting to leave the wall just yet, though a quick nap would be welcome. ‘Eddeth thinks they’ll sleep through the night, but don’t be too sure. Keep your eyes peeled. Not everything Eddeth says or does makes sense.’ He grinned, still amazed at how well her smoke had worked. But it was only one day. And it was only one moment. He stared at the long, dark shape of the forest in the distance, at the lumps littering the field, highlighted by ever-shrinking flames, knowing that once Hakon got his catapults within range, he would be almost unstoppable.

‘Don’t worry,’ Torvig insisted. ‘Yours aren’t the only pair of eyes that can see.’

Reinar laughed. ‘True. I’ll be back before dawn.’

Torvig watched as he turned for the stairs, relieved to be alone. He sighed, moving towards the brazier, warming his hands, trying to imagine what would come next.

* * *

Agnette’s moans of discomfort came and went throughout the night, disturbing many in the hall, waking them out of their sleep. Eddeth lay on the floor next to the bed, sleeping fretfully, concerned that the baby didn’t appear in a hurry to come out at all.

She thought of Alys, in the chamber down the end of the corridor, hoping she had remembered to wear her cloak to bed, suddenly realising that she hadn’t talked to her about the flying powder.

* * *

Alys was lost in those eyes. They were bigger than a wolf’s, rounder and more pronounced, and somehow, much more threatening.

Though she was a woman, Alys reminded herself.

Not a wolf.

‘I will kill your daughter with my bare hands!’

Alys blinked, back in the forest. The woman stood some ten paces away from her, on the other side of a spitting fire. Flames lit her face from below, casting shadows that disfigured her, making her look even more frightening. ‘Why?’ Her voice was a whisper, and she felt disappointed, wanting to sound different somehow.

The old dreamer laughed to hear it. ‘Why? Why do you think? Because you stand in the way. A threat and a problem. And I very much dislike problems. So, unless you remove yourself from my path, I shall tear your daughter to pieces. Limb by pretty limb.’

Alys’ breath came in rushed bursts, panic engulfing her.

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!’

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.

Eddeth was glad to see her as she flung open the door, surprised by the bloody symbol in the middle of Alys’ forehead. And pleased. ‘It worked, then? My powder?’

Alys didn’t have time to congratulate her about that. She glanced at Agnette, who was bent over, hands on the bed, Bjarni beside her. ‘I need Bjarni. Agnette, I’m sorry, Eddeth will stay with you now.’ She wished that wasn’t true as Eddeth was a steady hand beside her, but she needed to ensure that both Agnette and her child lived.

‘Go!’ Agnette grunted, unable to utter anything else.

Bjarni looked torn, but he kissed his wife’s head. ‘I’ll return as soon as I can.’

Agnette was moaning low like a mournful creature stuck in a trap, body hunched over, wanting it to end, unable to reply.

With one last look at Eddeth, Alys disappeared outside with Bjarni, hoping the flying powder would keep working a while longer.

* * *

They had the catapults positioned around the square, anticipating an attack on their flanks, but the pre-dawn darkness was hampering the efforts of Ludo’s helpers, who were struggling to see him or hear his calls, their ears still ringing with the piercing cries of the raven. They stumbled around, knocking into each other, confusing his instructions, making a complete mess of things.

Ludo was no better, unable to hear Sigurd, who flailed his hands from the inner wall. He was unable to see what he meant either. And then there was the terror of the boulders as they flew ever closer to the square.

Ludo could hear the panic above him as Tulia ran the Ullaberg women with Amir, and Sigurd tried to cobble together as many archers as he could. Some had fallen into the inner courtyard and the square, the fall killing them, though most had left their bows behind.

‘We have to keep their catapults back!’ Sigurd shouted at Amir, who nodded, just managing to make out what he meant. ‘Hit them hard now! Fire-arrows!’

Tulia was bellowing at the women, arm in the air. ‘Again! Nock!’ The steady stream of mail-piercing arrows would surely keep those Slussfall men on their toes, halting any assault they planned to make on the gates.

But Hakon Vettel’s men were not content with simply flinging catapults their way, and now, the first waves of enemy arrows started flying. Tulia heard it late, her ears still ringing, but she screamed. ‘Down! Get down!’ Too late for one of her women, who got an arrow through the arm, falling back with a shriek. ‘Stay down!’ Tulia warned, eyes seeking Amir in the darkness. He was lying on the rampart walk, hand on Ilene, and he rolled over, winking at his sister before growling at the women.

‘Up! Now!’

Alys heard the shouting from the walls, the thunderous booms of the boulders as they smashed into rock, shattering it, deadly shards flying through the air.

Bjarni blinked in horror at the sight of the inner wall, which had already sustained some damage, eyes widening at the bodies scattered beneath it. ‘I need to watch the hall!’ he panicked, turning back to the doors, wanting to keep his wife safe.

‘I need your help, Bjarni!’ Alys’ mind skipped quickly, seeing so many possibilities all of a sudden. And lifting the basket she’d taken from her chamber, she shoved it at him. ‘We can help them! But only if we hurry!’

Bjarni looked down at the herbs, and sniffing, he smiled.

* * *

Mother may have taken the first line of archers off the walls, but there were more than enough still up there doing damage to their men. Hakon felt confident, though, knowing he had men to spare. He swung his shield up, deflecting an arrow meant for his head. They certainly appeared to be concentrating their firepower in his direction.

He felt flattered.

‘Loose!’ Ivan was yelling from his limping horse, sword in the air, constantly moving and bellowing, working their men with confidence. He glanced around at Hakon, as he did every few moments, pleased to see that his cousin was holding his place.

Everything was flowing seamlessly around them now, as it always should have done.

The catapults swung back and forth in a devastating rhythm, sending burning boulders crashing into the stone defenses in a hail of fire. He could hear the screams coming from before him now, instead of all around him, and Ivan’s confidence soared. ‘Forward!’ he urged. ‘Move forward!’

* * *

Bjarni and Ludo worked quickly, commandeering as many hands as they could to quickly roll the ropes into boulders, slathering them with sticky pitch and more rope, wrapping them in Eddeth’s herbs. The hastily-made boulders were rushed to the catapults, loaded into their spoons.

‘Aarrghh!’

Alys jumped as a boulder crashed straight through the inner wall ramparts, sending everyone flying. Ludo lunged at her, knocking her out of its path, both of them rolling as the boulder landed in the square, breaking off the outer branches of Valera’s Tree, setting it alight.

‘Water!’ Bjarni shouted as Ludo pulled a shaken Alys back to her feet. ‘The tree! The tree!’ Eyes sweeping the hall doors, Bjarni felt sick, hoping Agnette was alright.

Ludo was bellowing at the remaining catapult crews, who were yelling at each other to watch out as boulders rained over them. Two catapults were smashed. More screaming. One man was killed instantly, lost beneath the giant rock.

Alys’ chest was aching. ‘Hurry!’ she implored, her hand on Ludo’s arm. ‘Hurry!’ And turning away from the square, she ran back to the hall, needing to get to her chamber.

The hall guards stepped aside with speed, and Alys hurried, eyes down, pushing her way through the crush of bodies. More and more people were making their way into the hall now, carrying the injured, escaping flying boulders and flaming cottages. Gerda was up on a table, sounding oddly calm, taking charge, arms moving in every direction.

Eddeth was pacing the bedchamber when Alys burst in.

Alys was surprised. ‘What are you doing here? What about Agnette?’

‘I found Irma Darri. She can birth a goat or a cow, so I’m sure she can birth a baby. I fear that dreamer witch will try something else, and you need my help to stop her! Don’t deny you do!’ Eddeth bent over, scooping up her grandmother’s book which lay open on the floor. ‘There is this.’ She shoved it at Alys, pointing to a spell. ‘It’s not going to be easy. Likely impossible! But we should try, yes?’

Alys looked down the page, reading quickly, not really understanding. ‘But how can I bind her to me, the dreamer isn’t here. I have nothing of hers to use.’

‘Yes, there is that problem.’ Eddeth scratched her wart, thinking, but the pounding of boulders assaulting the fort had her nerves twitching, and she couldn’t get to the thought she so desperately knew was waiting for her.

Alys flicked through the pages with trembling hands, doubting there was anything they could do. She froze. ‘This! What about this?’ She bit her tongue as the chamber shook, glancing up at the rafters, dust sprinkling down on her head.

Eddeth lifted an eyebrow, scanning the list of items required. ‘Oh, so you think you can wrangle this? My, my... wouldn’t that be something.’ And rubbing a hand over her chin, her eyes widened, seeing the possibilities. ‘I have everything. More than everything we need. Except blood! You’ll need to go and kill something. I can get to work in here, prepare the potion for you.’ She drew her knife from its scabbard, aiming the haft at Alys’ chest. ‘Here. Get the first beast you can find. Take it to the tree. I’ll meet you there!’

Alys nodded, trying not to think. She would just do.

It didn’t matter if it seemed impossible.

For if they couldn’t get rid of Hakon Vettel’s dreamer, she would kill them all. And then she would kill Lotta.

They had to hurry.

* * *

Sigurd took an arrow in the shoulder. ‘Oh, fuck!’ he screamed furiously, spinning back behind the rampart wall, teeth gritted.

‘Sigurd!’ Tulia ran to him, worry in her eyes. ‘Here! Hold on!’ And dropping her bow, she grabbed the arrow shaft in both hands, snapping off the end.

‘Aarrghh!’

‘Now try not to get any more!’ she warned, bending to pick up her bow, running back to the women, some of whom were panicking now. Even Amir looked daunted by the task that lay ahead of them, as more and more boulders devastated the fort. ‘Nock!’ she yelled, her voice hoarse, sensing they were running low on arrows. And leaning over the rampart wall, she called down into the square, to the children who were collecting the fallen arrows with some of Ludo’s women. ‘More arrows! Hurry!’

Reinar heard her as his archers nocked their own arrows. The low wall was bearing the brunt of the attack, some parts of the ramparts completely devastated now. He would have to signal the retreat into the inner fort soon. And though he could sense that was coming, he wasn’t prepared to give up his wall just yet.

‘Watch out!’

Reinar heard the call too late, his ears still reverberating with the sound of screeching birds, and he moved slowly, the boulder smashing through the wall, hitting Reinar on the shoulder, knocking him down to the rampart walk.

‘Reinar!’ Sigurd saw his brother fall. ‘Reinar!’ He spun away as another wave of arrows hissed towards him; waiting for them to pass before turning back, eyes on the low wall, but there was no sign of his brother.

* * *

Mother drew symbols in the dirt with her bone-handled knife.

Human bone.

She smiled. Her trusty knife had been passed down through generations of dreamers who knew the power of herbs and symbols and chants. Dreamers who hid in shadows and came together in secret to share their dark knowledge. To grow stronger. More powerful. To unite as one force.

To battle the light.

It was always a battle of dark and light, Mother knew. Though, in these unsettled times, darkness had never had a better chance of winning.

Leaning forward, she squeezed the last drops of blood into the bowl, and dipping her knife into the mixture again, she finished her circle.

The noise of the battle was a hum in the distance now, the beat of her heart in perfect harmony with Falla’s drumming. ‘You will not stop. If you do, I will kill you.’ And meaning every word, Mother lifted the bowl to her mouth and drank the potion, licking her lips when she was done.

Smiling now, she took her position inside the circle, starting her dance.

* * *

Hakon watched the destruction of Ottby’s walls with glee, his father’s face in his mind, thinking of how proud he would be. All thoughts of the day before had gone now. He could almost taste victory as his men surged forward behind Ivan. His eyes snapped to Alef Olstein, who was bringing up their right flank with his Vika men. Their left flank was moving too. They would enclose the fort from three sides, grabbing hold of the walls in a pincer move until they crushed it like an egg.

And then he could taste something else on his tongue.

He could smell it in his nostrils.

The familiarity of that smoke sent shivers down Hakon’s spine. He spun around, seeing the smoke rising from the ground in thick waves again. Heart thudding with panic, he sought out his cousin. ‘Ivan! Ivan! The smoke!’ But his voice was lost in the screams as more boulders soared over the walls, flames flying.

Lief heard him, though, and he saw the smoke lifting from the field. Wheeling his horse around, he pointed to his men. ‘Move back!’ he cried. ‘Move back!’

‘Ivan!’ Hakon tried again, spurring his horse through the crush of bodies and burning catapults.

This time Ivan heard him, and he spun his horse around, but not in time to avoid getting an arrow in his upper right arm. He yelped, trying to grab the reins tighter, but his arm wouldn’t work, and then another arrow thudded into his back. Lief powered through the men, kicking his horse sharply, riding for Ivan, who had slumped forward in his saddle. The smoke was thickening, and he could feel his thoughts starting to drift away from him again. Twisting around, Lief yelled at Hakon. ‘Get everyone back!’ And reaching Ivan’s horse, he grabbed its reins, pulling it through the smoke, away from the catapults which had suddenly slowed, the men panicking again, not knowing what to do; some standing, some running. It was quickly becoming chaos.

Lief, eyes on a frozen Hakon, could feel everything falling apart.

And then the wind came rushing towards them across the field, blowing from the forest in an almighty gust, knocking Lief off his horse, still clinging to two sets of reins.

Sweeping the smoke away from the field, towards the fort.

48

‘Reinar!’ Sigurd had left the inner wall and hurried through the gates to find his brother. Instead, he found Torvig, who had dragged Reinar down the stairs of the guard tower, unconscious, his face bloodied, his left arm hanging awkwardly by his side. Sigurd grabbed Reinar’s other arm, and together, they helped him back into the fort, across the chaotic square.

‘We’ll get him to the hall, then you have to bring everyone off the low wall! They need to get inside!’ Sigurd yelled, his head spinning suddenly, fragrant smoke strong in his nostrils.

‘Reinar!’ Bjarni came rushing over. ‘I’ll take him.’ And freeing up Torvig to head back through the fort, Bjarni helped Sigurd get his brother into the hall. ‘Smoke’s coming back at us!’

‘What?’ Sigurd shook his head, ears still ringing. ‘What?’

‘Alys and I used Eddeth’s herbs. Stuck them to the rope balls with pitch! Sent them over the walls. But the wind! Move!’ Bjarni yelled at the men and women milling around the hall doors. ‘Get out of my way!’ And struggling inside, they found a bench and laid Reinar down.

Gerda shrieked, rushing forward. ‘Reinar!’

Sigurd turned to Bjarni. ‘We have to get everyone off the low wall! Help me!’

Bjarni nodded, hearing the roar of the wind as it tore through the fort. And grabbing hold of Gerda’s arm, he tried to get her attention. ‘We need cloth around our faces! Quick!’ Bending down, he tore strips off her dress, ignoring her complaints. And standing up, Bjarni handed a piece of cloth to each of them. ‘Tie these around your faces. Now!’ And with one worried look at Reinar, who had not yet opened his eyes, he headed out of the hall, Sigurd following after him.

* * *

The wind hit his face like a splash of cold water, and Hakon felt clear-headed; refreshed even. And as Lief ordered two men to take Ivan away, back to the tents where the healers were working hard, Hakon was busy pulling his men together, aiming them once again at the damaged walls. Thick smoke was shrouding the stone fortress now, and he knew that soon those men would be suffering just as badly as they had the day before.

It was time to make them pay.

* * *

Mother wasn’t satisfied with the wind.

She had to work quickly now. Any advantage gained would be lost once the smoke dissipated. So, bending over, she picked up her second bowl of potion, tipping the thick liquid down her parched throat.

Falla watched her, trying not to gag, hoping Mother could save the army, hoping she could lead them to victory. She didn’t trust any of those men out there, who seemed obsessed with whatever the victory meant to them personally. But it didn’t matter to Falla who became a famed warrior, or who was chosen by Thenor, feted by the gods. She just wanted her husband to live. To live and return to her so they could get out of this horrible place where they were scraping in the dirt, terrorised by smoke and war.

Eyes on Mother, she felt her tension ease as the old woman lay on the ground, closing her eyes. For all that she feared and loathed the dreamer, there was nobody she trusted more to save them.

And closing her own eyes, Falla tapped the drum, listening as Mother started chanting.

* * *

‘Fall back!’ Sigurd shouted until his voice broke. The arrow was still sticking out of his shoulder, blood soaking his tunic, occasionally oozing, but the pain had dulled now. Whether that was the strong smoke or the chaos swirling around him, he didn’t know. But his mind was focused solely on getting everyone inside. They had to abandon the low wall. It was hard not to let that undo their confidence.

Everyone was starting to panic.

He’d yelled up to Tulia, showing her the cloth tied around his face, and she’d quickly ordered everyone on the wall to tear their own tunics. It would help, he hoped, though Sigurd could still feel the smoke weaving around his mind, trying to undo his thoughts. ‘Fall back!’ he yelled again as Bjarni struggled past him with an injured man, both of them coughing.

There were many injured men.

Sigurd could hear the first boom of a battering ram striking the outer gates now. ‘Pull the barricades in place!’ he shouted, pointing to the last few men. ‘Get them in front of the gates! Hurry!’ Bending down, he scooped up a handful of arrows. ‘Grab what you can!’ And turning away, Sigurd headed for the inner gates, jaw working hard, eyes blinking, trying to keep control of his mind.

* * *

Alys and Eddeth worked their way through the hall, baskets and bowls in their hands.

‘The smoke!’ Eddeth screeched. ‘The smoke!’

Alys could smell it, though there was little time for regret now. ‘But we have to get outside. We need to go to the tree!’

Eddeth spun around, dropping her baskets onto a table, tearing off the bottom of her tunic, dipping it in the nearest cup of ale. ‘Turn around!’ And she pulled the dripping cloth across Alys’ face, tying it tightly across the back of her head. ‘My turn!’ And quickly ripping off another wide strip of cloth, Eddeth dipped it into the ale, securing it around her own face. ‘We must hurry,’ she mumbled, screwing up her nose in annoyance. ‘Or that woman will ruin everything!’

Alys’ attention was drawn to Gerda, who she could suddenly hear sobbing. And then she saw why. ‘Reinar!’ she cried, seeing him lying on the bench, and she ran forward, Eddeth beside her. ‘Reinar! What happened?’

‘Sigurd brought him in,’ Gerda sobbed. ‘He’s been badly injured. He won’t wake up!’

Eddeth snorted. ‘He’s just sleeping, Gerda. Taking a rest! Though who can blame him, it’s been a long few days.’

Gerda looked insulted that Eddeth would suggest that her son, the Lord of Ottby, would sleep through a battle that threatened the lives of every person in the fort. And then even more horrified when Eddeth picked up a jug of ale and jerked it towards Reinar’s face.

Ale splashed all over Reinar, soaking his tunic and he sat up, gasping for air as the ale went up his nose, down his mouth. ‘What... happened?’ Everything started spinning, and he had to close his eyes quickly against the pain in his shoulder. ‘Aarrghh!’

‘Reinar!’ Gerda forgot all about being cross at Eddeth and simply threw her arms around her son, who yelped some more. ‘You’ve been injured, you need to stay here. I will find someone to look after you.’ She looked pointedly at Eddeth, not inviting her help, which Eddeth was grateful for as she didn’t want to give it.

Not now, at least.

Eddeth tugged Alys’ sleeve. ‘We must go! Sigurd’s in trouble out there.’

‘Sigurd?’ Reinar opened his eyes, trying to move his left arm. Unable to do much with it, though, he pushed himself off the bench with his right. ‘What’s happening?’

Gerda looked at her son in horror. ‘You can’t go anywhere, Reinar. You’re covered in blood!’

Reinar could barely hear her, aware that Eddeth was tearing his tunic. He took the wet cloth she handed him, holding it up to his face as she leaped onto a bench, tying it behind his head. ‘Mother, keep everyone safe,’ he mumbled, and turning after Alys and Eddeth, Reinar headed through the doors, right hand out in front of him, trying not to topple over.

* * *

The low wall was deserted now, and Hakon Vettel’s men were working hard to get the abandoned gates open. They had been strengthened over the years, but it was impossible to keep a battering ram out, especially as there was no one left on the low wall to douse those rammers with pitch and flame or pummel them with rocks.

Hakon’s catapults were flinging boulders further into the fort; the inner wall under furious assault now.

‘We need more arrows!’ Tulia cried. She had a snapped-off arrow sticking out of her forearm, another in her upper right arm. The smoke had made her slow, careless, and in quick succession, she’d been shot twice. Head back against the stone wall, she tried not to inhale, but that just made her light-headed.

Sigurd nodded. He glanced down into the square, knowing that they were running out of boulders too. All those men from the low wall who were still standing and able to use an arm had joined them on the inner wall. And now it was apparent that there were not enough arrows to go around.

‘I want more arrows up there!’

Sigurd saw his brother striding around the smoking tree, heading past the catapults towards a guard tower.

‘And my slingers! It’s time for you, boys! Everyone who isn’t on the catapults or collecting arrows, get up on the wall!’ Looking up, he saw Sigurd staring at him. ‘You’re facing the wrong way, Brother!’

Sigurd realised that he was lost in the smoke. He couldn’t stop staring. His body felt heavy, and there was no desire in him to move at all.

Tulia jabbed him with the tip of an arrow. ‘Wake up!’

And Sigurd shook his head, rubbing an eye. ‘Alright, alright.’ He shook his head again, turning as the gate cracked.

They all heard it.

That sound was the one they feared most of all.

The outer gates were splintering.

* * *

‘Push!’ Hakon was delighted with their progress.

Head clear and sitting astride his armoured horse, he watched as Lief urged the men wielding the battering ram to swing even harder. There was no one on the wall above them. Nothing to stop them getting inside at all.

And once inside the fort...

‘Push harder!’ Lief roared, encouraged by the damage. He spun around to Hakon. ‘Once we’re inside, we’ll be under attack right away from that inner wall! We’ll need to bring up the hide, keep the archers firing. You must stay back, my lord! They’ll throw everything they’ve got at us!’

Hakon kept nodding, but he was barely listening.

Once they were inside...

* * *

As morning dawned, Eddeth and Alys made a circle in front of Valera’s Tree.

It was slow going as the cloud of smoke had sunk down into the square, suffocating them, addling their minds, and despite the cloths tied around their faces, they weren’t able to respond quickly or think clearly at all.

Eddeth kept shouting at Alys, who struggled to get her meaning.

‘What?’

Eddeth pulled down her mask. ‘We need the stones! I have nine of them. Nine symbols. They will complete the circle!’

‘Will it keep us safe?’

‘The circle? No idea!’ Eddeth snorted, laughing unexpectedly as she pulled the cloth back over her nose and mouth. ‘But if what you’ve seen is coming, we have to do it. We need to make it!’ She laughed again, exhilarated by the terror flooding her veins. She had always muddled about, going around in circles, and now, here before her, was the chance to make something happen. Something real.

She had the chance to make a difference.

‘What if I’m wrong?’ Alys panicked, finishing the circle, pleased that Eddeth looked satisfied with her efforts. A boulder landed nearby, screams echoing in her ears, flames rising in the square now.

‘Well, better to be wrong than dead!’ Eddeth grinned, shoving a small packet into Alys’ hand. ‘You need to take the flying powder! Take it now!’

Alys was confused, staring at the packet. ‘I did. I already did. You gave it to me before.’

‘What?’ Eddeth looked confused, ears ringing. ‘No, this is the flying powder. You haven’t had it. I’ve had this all along, waiting for the right moment!’

‘So what did I take, then?’

‘No idea, but it doesn’t matter, Alys! Take this!’ And shrieking as another flaming boulder grazed the tree, landing just behind them, Eddeth pushed the packet into Alys’ hand, eyeing her until she opened it up, swallowing the powder down. ‘Drink!’ Eddeth ordered, handing Alys a cup.

Alys had so much powder in her mouth that she couldn’t speak to ask what was in it, but fearing the answer, she drank from Eddeth’s cup anyway, nearly throwing it straight back up. Face contorting, gagging, Alys spun away to vomit.

‘Noooo!’ Eddeth grabbed her, pulling her upright, pinching Alys’ lips together. ‘You will swallow it, or Lotta will die!’

That woke Alys up, and she swallowed down the bloody mixture, shuddering all over. ‘Bah!’

‘Good girl! Now, let’s get to work!’

It was not the best place for them to be, Ludo thought nervously, eyeing the two women crouching beneath Valera’s Tree. He wanted to move them, but now that they’d sat down inside their circle, he knew he couldn’t. ‘Viggmir! Have your men surround Alys and Eddeth! Keep them safe! Move them if you have to!’

Alys heard Ludo’s familiar voice barking orders as though he was underwater. And then he started bellowing in panic, and turning, Alys saw wolves running through the fort. Spinning back around, she tried to clear her vision, certain she was imagining it, but when she looked back over her shoulder, the wolves were still there. Alys turned to Eddeth, who was crouching beside her, pointing to the chant in the book, mumbling in her ear. Everything started moving, and Alys felt as though she was drifting, the inner wall edging away from her, the early morning sky darkening as though a storm was descending upon them.

She could hear the low, threatening growls of the wolves as they approached, and she shook all over.

‘Close your eyes!’ Eddeth shouted, squeezing Alys’ shoulder, needing her to concentrate. ‘Close your eyes and start the chant!’ And dropping the book, Eddeth picked up her drum, sitting close to Alys, wanting to help her slip into the trance, doing everything she could to ignore the threat of those wolves. It was just a trick, she told herself, arms twitching.

Just a dreamer’s trick.

Reinar watched them from the wall, turning quickly, eyes on Sigurd. ‘Get everyone down! Down! Now!’

But the intense growl of the wolves and the panic of those trapped in the square drowned out his voice.

Soon the only sound they could all hear was screaming.

* * *

Hakon watched as the gates cracked open, slowly collapsing inward. ‘Forward!’ he yelled, sword in the air, on the ground now. His steward had taken his horse away to the back of the line, awaiting the signal from his lord to return him.

Shield up, sword in hand, Hakon’s eyes were on the tall inner wall, surprised to see no one even turn their way.

The screams coming from the fort were deafening.

Panicked. Chaotic.

He smiled, thinking of Mother.

‘Quick!’ Lief yelled. ‘Ram the next gates! Bring the hide! Hurry! Archers!’

The courtyard between the inner and outer walls of the fortress was not wide, and it took little time for their men to filter in. They did so in droves, archers first, arrows nocked, ready to both attack and defend.

‘Ladders!’ Lief yelled, desperate to make as much progress as possible while Mother kept their enemy busy.

* * *

‘There are no wolves!’ Reinar yelled, trying to get everyone’s attention, though there very much appeared to be wolves running amok down in the square. ‘Ludo!’ But no one was turning his way or showing any sign that they could hear him. ‘Sigurd!’ His brother was nearby, and when he turned around, Reinar grabbed his arm. ‘Get down there! To the square! Show them the wolves aren’t real!’ And then something caught Reinar’s eye, and his attention shifted to the outer gates, which he was horrified to see had been breached. ‘Ring the bell!’ he screamed to Amir, who stood near the signal bell, frozen, wide eyes on the panic enveloping the square.

And suddenly the bell was peeling through the fort. Though the worry that Hakon Vettel had breached the outer gates was not nearly as terrifying as the enormous wolves stalking the square, threatening to devour them all.

‘Archers! Turn!’ Reinar implored, trying to cut through the panic. ‘Fire on the courtyard!’ But barely anyone moved. Their eyes remained fixed on the wolves, the smoke weaving terrifying thoughts through their weary, fear-filled minds.

* * *

Alys spun through the air, the sound of her chanting ringing in her ears, Eddeth’s drumming like a storm murmuring in the distance.

It was dark, and the sounds were disorienting.

And then wet grass beneath her feet as she stumbled, barely keeping her balance. She glanced down, surprised to be barefoot.

‘We have waited for you to come, Alys,’ came the soothing voice from behind her. ‘And now here you are. But hurry, my child, for there is no time to waste.’

49

‘Boom!’

The battering ram hit the gates with force, and Reinar screamed until his throat was raw, trying to get someone’s attention. Arrows flew up from the courtyard, and he spun out of their arc, sheltering behind the rampart wall. Then ducking low, he hurried to his brother, who looked just as trapped in the illusion as everyone else. ‘Sigurd! Help me!’ But Sigurd had frozen, eyes on the square and the wolves, so, gritting his teeth against the agony of his left shoulder, Reinar pulled him along; leading him to the cauldrons of pitch; freezing as another wave of arrows assaulted the fort; waiting for them to pass. ‘Quick!’ And urging a very confused-looking Sigurd to lift up one side, Reinar used his right hand to lift the other, and together they tipped the pitch over the wall, down onto those men gathered around the inner gates, swinging the battering ram.

Tulia had followed them, and she nocked her last fire-arrow, holding it in the brazier as the screams of Hakon’s men rose from the courtyard. Slipping back behind the rampart wall, she drew the arrow past her ear, waiting for the next wave of arrows to pass, before spinning back and shooting down at the pitch-covered men, and their pitch-covered hide.

She jumped back, grabbing Sigurd, who appeared unsteady on his feet. ‘More!’ she urged, pain clenching her jaw. ‘We need more arrows!’

Reinar nodded. ‘Go! Find them!’

Tulia glanced down at the square, as men and women ran through the smoke, trying to escape the wolves. Her eyes drifted to the hall, where Bjarni was banging on the doors, wanting to get inside. She looked back to Amir, who was running for the stairs after Ilene. ‘Amir! Wait!’

But just as she yelled it, an arrow took Amir in the neck. He jerked, knocked off his feet, eyes fixed on his sister as he fell onto the rampart walk.

‘No!’ Tulia cried, charging at him. ‘Amir!’

Sigurd spun after her as more arrows flew. Boulders were still being launched into the fort too, and as Sigurd reached Tulia, he grabbed her arm, stopping her just as a boulder tore through the wall. ‘No!’

Reinar swallowed, eyes over the wall, down into the courtyard, seeing the burning mess of Hakon Vettel’s hide; watching those men, who were on fire, running about in agony. And then he saw Hakon himself. ‘You want to come in, Thumbless?’ he bellowed, his head almost clear, the smoke dispersing from the top of the wall now. Every part of Reinar throbbed with rage and pain. This was his home. His fort. He was not going to let them in.

The lives of his family depended on it.

The future of Alekka did too.

‘I do!’ Hakon laughed. ‘And I will! Say goodbye to your father while you can! While he still has a head!’

‘You think you can defeat us with some smoke and a dreamer? That you can take Ottby? Take the bridge?’ Reinar wanted to keep him talking while Alys worked down in the square. He had seen her kneeling beneath the tree with Eddeth. He didn’t know what they were doing, but whatever it was, it needed time to work. ‘You have to defeat us with magic? You couldn’t claim victory on your own? Ha! What would your father make of that? Your father, the famed warrior, raised a son so cowardly he needed a dreamer to help him!’

More arrows, and Reinar was quickly back behind the wall, glancing at Sigurd, who had dragged a shellshocked Tulia towards him. His brother’s eyes looked sharper now over his cloth mask. ‘We have to get more arrows!’ he hissed. ‘We can’t let them in! The catapults aren’t firing! The archers aren’t shooting! We have to get arrows!’

Tulia nodded, heart breaking, and dragging her eyes away from Amir’s body, she followed Sigurd to the stairs.

* * *

The Alekkan gods were at war with one another.

A war that had raged since the beginning of time itself. The power to rule the land see-sawed between dark and light forces. And with the fair-minded, big-hearted Ake Bluefinn on the throne these past twenty years, those gods on the dark side had been agitating for a change. Though they were not unopposed, for the battle to control Alekka through its kings was a fight both sides were determined to win.

‘You need my help?’ Valera wondered. She was exceptionally tall and elegant, with lavender-coloured eyes that appeared to sparkle like jewels and golden braids twisted around her head like a crown. She smiled as she spoke, her delicate hands clasped before the waist of a silken blue dress, embroidered with shimmering symbols, much like Alys’ new cloak. She was the Goddess of Fertility, the Goddess of Love. She was exquisite. Ethereal. Softly-spoken. ‘You need my help to stop the dreamer? Is that what you are asking, Alys?’

Alys wasn’t sure she could even speak the words she so desperately needed to say, but seeing Lotta’s face, she nodded. ‘Yes. I want you to kill her. You must do it. Please! Now!’

* * *

Falla was growing sleepy. Mother’s fire still belched a heady blend of herbs as she lay on the ground, eyes closed, muttering, mumbling, sometimes growling. Falla wondered if the old woman was asleep, though she had seen her work magic before, and she knew that it sometimes went that way.

She yawned, determined to keep drumming.

The drumming was just as important as the herbs. As important as the chant.

Mother had screeched that at her many times.

She couldn’t fall asleep now.

* * *

‘Alys, I cannot kill a human. That is not our way,’ Valera said, almost regretfully, for Mother Arnesson was the sort of dreamer who deserved to die a miserable death.

Alys felt herself panic.

They stood in the most beautiful field of wildflowers that swayed gently in a warm breeze. The sky was clear overhead, but the sounds of Ottby crept towards her now, clawing at her, a constant reminder of the threat they faced if Hakon Vettel’s dreamer remained alive.

‘But... I....’ Alys had an urge to touch the goddess. To grab hold of her hands and squeeze until she did what she wanted.

‘I cannot kill her, but you can, Alys. You can.’ Valera smiled, her cheeks rounding like apples. ‘If you were to look at the tree over there, you would find everything you needed to know.’

Alys blinked, glancing around the flowering field, not having seen a single tree since she’d arrived, but as she kept turning, Valera’s Tree appeared before her, symbols glowing down its familiar trunk.

* * *

The smoke was still trapped in the square, and Tulia and Sigurd ran through it, pressing their masks to their faces, trying not to inhale. They could see wolves everywhere; people running, screaming, trying to escape.

Sigurd blinked, smoke stinging his eyes, head spinning again. He saw Alys and Eddeth kneeling in front of the tree, and grabbing Tulia’s arm, he pointed her towards Ludo, who was running to the inner gates with a handful of warriors, trying to escape. ‘Get Ludo!’ he yelled. ‘Stop them!’

And unsheathing his sword, Sigurd spun around to face the wolves, wanting for the first time in his life to believe in a dreamer. It was just a trick, he told himself, stepping cautiously towards the three wolves who were edging closer, teeth bared, growls rumbling in their bellies. Reinar’s voice boomed down from the ramparts, and then the battering ram crashed into the inner gates again. More men had obviously been brought forward to get them open quickly.

He could hear cracking.

Screams rising all around him, Sigurd took one last look at Tulia, who was trying to drag Ludo away from the gates, and he lunged forward, jamming his blade between the eyes of the first wolf with such force that he fell onto the dirt.

Rolling, jumping back to his feet, Sigurd spun around, looking for the wolf, but it was gone. All three of them were. ‘They’re not real!’ Sigurd yelled, trying to make himself heard, coughing. ‘They’re not real!’

Boom!

The gates were splintering. Sigurd could hear it as he ran to help Tulia. ‘Stop! The wolves aren’t real!’ Ludo looked around in horror, and Sigurd saw the heavy daze in his eyes. He spun back to Alys and Eddeth. ‘Alys, hurry!’

Bjarni charged across the square towards Sigurd, having discovered himself, after falling on a wolf, that they were just another trick. Head clearer now, he ran through the smoke up to Ludo and the men who were fighting to pull up the beam and let Hakon Vettel in. Overcome with an urgent need to escape the wolves, they punched and fought with the guards who were responsible for ensuring the gates remained secure. ‘No!’ Bjarni roared. ‘Stop! Please, stop!’

But it was too late, and in the blink of an eye, the beam was raised and dropped to the ground with a shuddering thump.

‘Archers to the wall!’ Sigurd cried, running for the guard tower. ‘Archers to the wall!’

Running after him, Tulia scooped up as many arrows as she could find as Hakon Vettel’s men started pushing on the gates. But so many of their own men were trying to escape that they had a hard time budging them. Those Ottby men wanted to leave, and quickly. Heads full of mind-altering smoke and hallucinating that wolves were chasing them, they almost clambered over each other in their desperation to get out of the fort.

Alys’ eyes burst open, and she gripped Eddeth’s hand, looking up at the tree, seeing the glowing symbols.

Eddeth blinked at her. ‘What happened?’

But Alys wasn’t listening. She could hear the calm instructions Valera had whispered in her ear, and slicing Eddeth’s knife across her palm, Alys dipped a finger into her blood, shutting out every noise, every fear, picturing her daughter’s face.

Blood on her finger, Alys stepped towards the tree, tracing the glowing outline of the symbols. As she finished each one, the symbol was extinguished.

And when the light of the ninth symbol went out, Alys spun around, blinking.

Eddeth scrambled to her feet, ignoring the menacing wolves, smoke trapped in her throat, the gates shunting open in the distance. Her attention was on Alys, who had stopped abruptly and was glancing around. She could see the chaos in the fort, horror widening her eyes as she realised that both sets of gates had been breached. ‘We must get into the hall!’ Eddeth shrieked, certain that what Alys had tried hadn’t worked. She grabbed her arm, yanking her away from the tree. ‘Quick! We must barricade ourselves in!’

* * *

Mother’s hands twitched.

Falla didn’t move at first. She sat on the stool, drum on her lap, worried that she was about to vomit.

And then Mother started gurgling, eyes open, legs thrashing, grabbing her throat.

* * *

Reinar blinked as the wolves disappeared, the panic in the fort stuttering to a stop. Terrorised men and women stood on either side of him, frozen, mouths ajar. The wind was picking up now that both sets of gates were open, rushing through the square, dispersing the smoke with speed. But there was still the problem of Hakon Vettel’s army, which surged into the fort, shields up, spears out, banners flying, pouncing just as everyone had woken from their magical stupors, far from their posts, most without shields to hand.

Reinar yelled down from the ramparts. ‘Bjarni! Ludo! To the hall! Shield wall! Form in front of the hall!’ He saw Alys running for the hall doors, and he thought of his father and mother. Poor Agnette too. ‘The rest of you to the ramparts!’ He grabbed a shield, stumbling, turning to Sigurd. ‘You’ve got the ramparts! Keep those arrows flying!’ And he ran for the stairs, desperate to get to the front of the shield wall.

Hakon was fighting his way through his warriors, who were all busy trying to untangle themselves in the courtyard. There was not enough room to get through the gates quickly, though, and their bodies banged together as they tried to fight their way into the square.

Hakon couldn’t get through.

Sword swinging, he started carving out a path with little regard for who he hurt, as more and more of Reinar’s men woke up, hearing their lord’s call.

* * *

Ivan wanted to get back to the fort. He felt light-headed and weak, but he wasn’t about to let Lief Gundersen take credit for their victory. He was mounted, back on his horse, the strips of cloth wrapped around his arm and chest, already blood-soaked. But just as he was about to spur his horse into action, he heard a cry from the forest, and turning in the saddle, he could see two men urging their horses on with speed. They flew down the path, out of the trees, clods of mud flinging everywhere, white breath smoke streaming from their horses’ open mouths.

* * *

Alys could hear Bjarni ordering his men to form a shield wall in front of the hall. She turned to Stina, who trembled beside her, eyes on the doors, fearing that soon they would burst open.

Ludo had sent Stina into the hall when he’d run out of boulders, telling her to help Gerda. That had been before the wolves, before the smoke, and Stina was in the dark about what was happening outside those doors. ‘It doesn’t sound good,’ she muttered.

Alys tried to see anything, but her mind swirled with strange images, none of which made sense. Her throat ached, and her stomach lurched. The smell of that potent smoke was strong, even in the hall, and she kept tasting the blood from Eddeth’s potion. ‘Hakon Vettel has breached the walls. Both of them.’

‘What?’ Gerda was behind her, and she grabbed Alys’ arm. ‘What?’ Spinning around, she saw her husband. ‘Help me,’ she urged. ‘I must take him to his chamber. Please, help me!’ The fear and desperation in Gerda’s tearful eyes moved Alys quickly, and she hurried after Gerda, through the hall, towards where she had parked Stellan at the high table. The chair was heavy, but with a little effort, they spun him in the direction of the corridor.

‘No!’ Stellan barked, surprising Gerda, who stopped, running around to face him.

‘What?’ She crouched down, eyes wide, not having heard his voice in so long. ‘What is it? Stellan? What is it?’

* * *

‘You think you can keep me out?’ Hakon barked, stepping around the dead bodies towards Reinar’s shield wall. Behind him more and more men flooded the square, blades clashing as his warriors fought with those Ottby men who had not made it up to the ramparts in time. Arrows flew overhead in both directions, but Hakon wanted a moment to himself, listening as Lief ordered their men into a massive shield wall behind him.

Hakon wanted a moment to look in Reinar Vilander’s eyes before he tore his life apart, one painful piece at a time. ‘You think you can keep me away from your father?’ The smoke was almost gone, but the sky had darkened further; thick clouds threatening snow enveloping the rising sun. ‘You think you can stop what I’ll do to him?’

Reinar could sense that Sigurd was already running out of arrows up on the wall. His brother was yelling at the archers, running the drills, but he also appeared to be looking for arrows.

More of Hakon’s men pushed their way into the square, and Reinar felt a cold hand clench around his heart, not wanting anything to happen to his father; knowing that he’d let him down, that he had lost the fort. But he was never going to surrender to Hakon Vettel, and feeling the weight of his sword in his right hand, Reinar tried to force open his eyes which wanted to close against the pain in his shoulder. ‘You want to die for vengeance, go ahead! I won’t stop you. But you’ll never have my father’s head! I make you that promise now. I’ll rip out your throat before you ever lay a finger on him!’

‘Come on!’ Hakon goaded. ‘Fight me, then! Make my dreams come true!’

Lief was beside Hakon now, and he tried to get his lord’s attention, knowing that he was about to make a serious mistake. Reinar Vilander was enormous, with a look in his eye that had Lief on edge. Hakon was a skilled warrior, but looking at the Lord of Ottby, Lief doubted he stood a chance.

Reinar emerged from the shield wall, much to Sigurd’s horror, though he doubted Reinar had any choice if Hakon had called him out. A lord could not hide. Could not ask his men to die for him if he was not prepared to fight for them.

Hakon could hear the rush of men coming into the fort, the scrape of blades around him, but steadying himself, he let every distraction fade into the background as he stepped towards Reinar, eyes glinting, the memory of his father’s growling voice at his back.

Hakon looked strong, powerful in his leather tunic, mail shirt hugging his chest, hanging to the top of his thighs. He wore a shining helmet, dented at the top, long cheek pieces covering most of his face, but Reinar could see his strange blue eyes glaring at him, glowing with rage. He remembered how his own father had removed Jesper Vettel’s head, saving Alekka from another attempt on Ake’s throne.

And now, here was his son, ready to pick up where he’d left off.

Reinar heard a horn in the distance, but teeth grinding together, he moved forward, crouching slightly, leaning his weight on his right side.

Lief started pushing his way back through the shield wall, wanting to know where that horn was coming from.

Hakon’s archers were out of arrows themselves now, and so they stood, eyeing the men on the walls, moving behind the shield men, waiting to see who would emerge victorious as the two lords started circling one another.

* * *

‘Hakon! Hakon!’ Ivan screamed, fighting to make his way into the fort, but rows and rows of Slussfall men were lining up, trying to get inside, blocking his path.

He wished he had his own horn to blow.

‘What is it?’ Erlan Stari was there, leading his men towards the outer gates. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Ake’s coming.’

‘What? But he’s out West. He’s fighting at Ennor! It can’t be Ake.’ Erlan shook his head, shivers running down his spine, glancing around, remembering the sound of the horn.

Ivan nodded. ‘It’s Ake. My men saw him, with his entire army. Thousands, they said, thousands are coming! We have to retreat before he traps us in this broken fort! We have to retreat now!’

* * *

Hakon nicked Reinar’s arm, having quickly realised that the Lord of Ottby was carrying an injury. He saw the blood caked on his face, the way he was holding his left arm as though it was broken.

Reinar let him see it all, happy to distract his opponent for a time; letting him think he was weak. His left arm was numb, the pain distant, but his right arm worked fine, and his sword was quickly swinging for Hakon’s head. Hakon stepped back, swaying, just out of reach, surprised by the force of the blow; further surprised when Reinar skipped towards him, repeating the stroke. Hakon stumbled as Reinar came at him again, jabbing his sword at his belly until he toppled backwards, banging into his shield men. They quickly shunted their stunned lord back to his feet.

Hakon only just got his blade up as Reinar dropped his weight onto his injured side, bringing his sword around with all the power in his right arm. And as Hakon rushed his blade up to parry the strike, Reinar quickly shifted his weight again, dropping his blade underneath, slicing straight across Hakon’s belly.

Jerking back, Hakon screamed, feeling the cut, relieved to be wearing his mail shirt, which had blunted the blade’s bite, though he could still feel the sting. Angry now, he aimed for Reinar’s left arm, but Reinar turned so the right side of his body was once again facing Hakon, and this time, he stabbed his sword forward like a spear, sword tip piercing Hakon’s mail, his padded leather tunic underneath, and then skin. He shunted hard.

Hakon roared, aware of a flurry of activity behind him.

But he was not going to be stopped.

Not by Lief, not by Reinar. He would kill every last Vilander himself, avenge his father’s murder, and then he would reclaim the throne.

Ears ringing suddenly as the pain in his belly exploded, Hakon didn’t hear Lief yelling at him. He ducked Reinar’s next strike, backhanding his sword with a show of skill, remembering how hard he had practiced, how hard he had fought to be here. His hand shook, the pain overwhelming, but that smug look on Reinar Vilander’s face made him ignore everything, and grunting, he lunged forward.

Reinar stepped back, seeing that Hakon was off balance, watching as he stumbled, tipping, barely keeping to his feet. Lief was shouting, calling to him, but ignoring him, Hakon spun, swinging wildly, chasing Reinar now.

Reinar wanted to kill him. Kill him before he ever set foot in the hall.

Before he ever touched a hair on his father’s head. And sword in both hands, he stopped moving out of Hakon’s way and charged forward with a roar.

‘My lord!’ Lief grabbed Hakon by the collar, yanking him out of Reinar’s path, prepared to suffer his wrath. And dragging him back to their shield wall, he whispered in his ear.

The Slussfall shields enclosed the two men, spears pointed at Reinar, who retreated behind his own shield wall, joined by Bjarni, shield at his chest, ready to stand with him.

And then Hakon’s men started retreating, backing up with speed, shields protecting them, spears aimed at their enemy. Reinar looked on in surprise, wondering at the timing of the retreat. They didn’t have the men to stop them, or the arrows to hurt them, so there was little they could do but watch. He glanced up at his brother, who was peering across the field as snow flurries swept across the broken fort, wishing he could lock the gates. They were off their enormous hinges, though, broken in places. They weren’t going to keep anyone out for some time. ‘Shield walls!’ Reinar yelled when the last of Hakon’s men were sucked out of the square. ‘Secure the inner fort!’

Hakon heard him, spitting, seething, desperate to turn around, but Lief had a firm hold of his lord, and he was urging him out of the fort, towards his horse. ‘We have an army big enough to withstand Ake Bluefinn!’ Hakon roared. ‘And a dreamer! We have a powerful dreamer!’

Lief wasn’t listening. ‘Get on your horse, Hakon!’ he bellowed, running for his own horse, determined to get back to his wife before it was too late. ‘If you want to live, ride!’ And head bent low, snow blustering around his face, Lief Gundersen mounted his horse, aiming at the forest, certain he could hear that horn again, moaning in the distance.

50

Reinar staggered up the stairs, onto the inner wall ramparts, wanting to see what was happening. His left arm felt ready to come off. The ringing in his ears was getting louder. He had to be losing blood from somewhere, he thought distractedly, eyes on Sigurd, who was scanning the field, now littered with abandoned catapults, siege towers and bodies, flames still burning in patches.

They saw the odd horse pull up as they were spurred towards the forest, landing on nail traps, roaring in pain. But no one was waiting or offering to help. It appeared to be every man for himself.

Sigurd turned to his brother, seeing his clenched jaw and his awkward stance, knowing he was in significant pain.

‘What’s happening?’ Reinar called. ‘Why are they leaving?’ Glancing down into the courtyard, he saw that the last man had gone. ‘Shield wall across the outer gates!’ he bellowed. ‘Secure the fort!’

‘Someone’s coming. I’ve heard a horn a few times. It’s getting closer!’

Tulia had left to be with Amir, who was dead, and she was cradling his head in her lap, the pain of grief trapping her in shock.

She couldn’t even blink.

Reinar peered into the distance, wanting to see who was coming, but the sky continued to close in around them, the snow getting heavier. ‘Collect the arrows! Archers on the walls!’ And then the first rider could be seen in the distance, banner flapping from a long spear. He felt his brother rise onto his tiptoes beside him, straining his neck to see who it was. But they were both on the inner wall, too far away.

And then they heard the call. ‘Ake! It’s Ake!’

Sigurd turned to Reinar, shivers running up his arms, mouth wrenched open in surprise.

* * *

Hakon didn’t want to ride anywhere but back to the fort and finish Reinar Vilander. His body throbbed with angry fire, pain searing across his injured belly, blood soaking his tunic, but he’d heard the wail of a horn in the distance, and if Lief was right, they were about to be swallowed by Ake’s full army. After the losses they had suffered on that frosty field, and the depletion of arrows and firepower, he couldn’t risk engaging him. And he couldn’t have kept him out of the fort he had just broken.

He had no choice but flight.

And ducking his head against the snow, Hakon screamed, sending his horse after Lief, who was heading for the trees.

* * *

Reinar couldn’t believe it.

He couldn’t believe the king had come. He could see Ake’s horse banner clearly now. The mounted men leading the column were carrying that banner on their spears. The blue cloth fluttered brightly in the darkening sky, flapping through the snow, matching the blue of their tunics.

And then Reinar saw a glimpse of Ake Bluefinn himself, wearing his famed plumed helmet, white fur cloak draped across his shoulders, riding just behind the bannermen.

He shook his head, tears stinging his eyes, shoulders weary, before turning to Sigurd. ‘Go and tell Father. Tell him Ake came.’ He kept shaking his head as he headed away from Sigurd, towards Torvig, who was checking the injured men around him. ‘And Sigurd! Have Gerda bring out the wine!’

Suddenly the cries of pain became louder than everything else, the cheers of those who were still standing too. And Reinar walked through all the noise, down the stairs and out of the guard tower, into the square. ‘Clear a path!’ he rasped. ‘Clear a path for the king!’ He saw Ludo with tears in his own eyes. ‘Move those catapults back!’ Reinar needed to prepare for the king, but the entire left side of his body felt as though it was about to snap off. His men were dead and injured, scattered around the square. Up on the walls too.

He needed to check the hall.

He needed to...

Bjarni put a hand on his arm. ‘Reinar!’

Reinar turned to him. ‘How’s Agnette?’

‘Still going!’ Bjarni swallowed, happy, worried, relieved. ‘She’s still going. Eddeth’s back with her now, so hopefully, the baby will come soon.’

‘Go! Be with her!’ Reinar urged, eyes on Tulia, who had left the guard tower, guiding the men who were carrying her brother’s body out into the square. He looked away, wanting to see some more familiar faces. ‘Bolli!’ He let out another sigh of relief, though the old helmsman stared at him through a bloody face mask, stumbling slightly. ‘Are you alright?’

Bolli grunted, barely hearing him as he headed for the hall. ‘Head wounds. Always bleed like a bitch!’

Reinar nodded, ears ringing louder as his own wounds took hold. ‘Let’s get the bodies lined up beneath the tree. Pyres will come, but not yet. Not yet.’ His eyes were on the hall doors which were being wedged open now, watching as Alys stepped outside.

He shivered, holding his breath as the noise exploded, sweeping around them, knowing that the king was getting closer.

Alys held his gaze for a moment, and Reinar couldn’t move.

And then Torvig jumped in between them. ‘Come on!’ he called, patting Reinar’s good shoulder. ‘Ake’s here! Come on!’ And striding past him, Torvig headed for the gates.

Reinar blinked, looking back at the hall doors, but Alys had gone.

* * *

Fury turned to panic as Hakon stood in the tent where the old woman lay.

Dead.

He didn’t know how it was possible.

The loss of Mother grabbed hold of him. It would not let him go. He didn’t mourn her, he mourned his ambitions, his fading hopes of vengeance for his father’s murder. For his own ascent to the throne.

Ivan was behind him. ‘If we don’t leave...’

Hakon barely heard him. The wind howled around the tent, sides flapping like sails, and he thought of the wolf. And the threat. And the promise.

All of it gone.

Hands, bloody and charred, fell by his sides, head slumping forward.

‘Useless old bitch.’

He felt like a boy who’d been beaten by a man.

‘Hakon, I will knock you out and throw you over your horse!’ Ivan shouted, barely able to stand. The tent stunk of smoke and herbs and a dead old woman who he would’ve been overjoyed to see the end of if they didn’t have Ake Bluefinn and his army and a blizzard descending upon them.

Lief popped his head into the tent. ‘We have to go!’ he demanded. ‘We have to get the men moving, my lord!’

Ivan didn’t need Lief Gundersen to tell them that, but he nodded, flapping a hand at him. ‘Take your wife. Take the men. Make a start, we’ll follow shortly.’

Lief felt relieved as he ducked out of the tent, hurrying to Falla, who was already mounted on her horse, waiting beside his, hood up, mittened hands clasping the reins.

She spun around, fear in her eyes. ‘We have to hurry!’

Lief tried to remove the urgency from his voice before he spoke. ‘They won’t give chase. They won’t.’ He wasn’t certain about that, but getting moving quickly would give them a better chance of escaping.

Falla stared at her husband, who was dour and dull, not handsome at all, and she felt a surge of need for him. His arms were strong and powerful, and she wanted them to keep her safe; her and her unborn child and her son. Nodding, she kept her mouth closed, turning back around, waiting as Lief mounted his horse.

‘We march for Slussfall!’ Lief cried as Hakon and Ivan emerged from Mother’s tent. ‘A quick march till sunset! It will be hard, but we must get to safety!’

All around their camp, servants were rushing to collect what they could before all the horses left. There would be no horses for them, but saddlebags could store food and waterskins, so they worked with purpose and urgency to ensure they took as much as possible, hoping not to be left behind.

‘Come on!’ Ivan called. ‘There’ll be another day! We have this warning. It’s a sign from the gods. They didn’t want to see you defeated. They want you alive, to fight again. It’s a sign!’ Hakon appeared in a daze. In shock. Ivan saw the blood soaking through his mail; his cousin’s slumped stance. ‘I’ll get you to your horse. We’ll fix you up tonight, don’t worry. We can hold something over that in the meantime.’

Hakon let himself be led away like a child, wanting to believe that Ivan was right. That the gods would unite behind him, return him to this very place, make him the king he was born to be. They had to. He had to avenge his father’s death, so he could be proud of him for once.

And dropping his head, the sting of his wounds taking hold, Hakon traipsed towards his horse, listening to the thunder of hooves as his men sped away from their camp.

* * *

By the time Ake arrived inside the square, there was almost room for him to stand. He dismounted his grey stallion with a stern look, eyes on the broken fort, now sprinkled with blustery snow.

Resettling his enormous fur cloak, he took off his helmet, handing it to his steward, who had hastily dismounted, grabbing both the helmet and the reins of Ake’s precious horse, Frey. ‘You’ve been busy,’ Ake grinned, looking at the state of Reinar and Sigurd, who stood before the hall, flanked by the men and women who had survived.

Who had helped them survive and save the fort.

‘That we have, lord.’ Reinar ducked his head, looking up to see Ake smile.

‘And where’s that sod of a father of yours? Sitting around while you do all his work? If only I had sons your age, I could sit in my warm hall and not ride about the country, freezing my balls!’ He chuckled, masking his sadness. ‘Come on, let’s not stand about. Get your old king to a fire, boys!’ And he turned after the Vilander brothers, one hand on Sigurd’s shoulder, one on Reinar’s. ‘Still bigger than you. Good to see!’

And it was true, Sigurd realised, relief flooding his body; worry too. He wanted to escape and find Tulia. He needed someone to stitch him up – they all did – but for now, they needed to see to the king who had come to save them.

And just in time.

Gerda burst into tears at the sight of Ake striding into the hall, flurries of snow blowing in with him. She rushed towards him, throwing open her arms. ‘Thank you!’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, thank you!’

Ake had never enjoyed Gerda’s company as much as Stellan had, though she had been a loyal Lady of Ottby, a hospitable host, and a good wife to Stellan over the years and her gratitude made him smile. ‘Me? I think your sons had everything under control, Gerda. Stellan trained them well.’ He looked for his old friend, who sat in his wheelchair, slumped to one side, a mere shadow of the warrior he had once been. But Ake saw a glimmer of light in his eyes, and he took a seat beside him. ‘You would’ve been proud,’ he smiled, taking Stellan’s cold hand in his, lowering his voice so the hushed hall wouldn’t hear his words. ‘Proud of what your boys accomplished out there. They held on longer than I thought they could. And the bridge is safe.’ He turned around, pointing at Reinar. ‘The bridge is safe!’

A cheer went up around the hall, and Ake grinned, turning back to Stellan, squeezing his hand. ‘The bridge is safe, and so is Ottby, and we live to fight another day.’ He touched Stellan’s face, trying not to feel sad, but it was hard. This man had been his fiercest warrior. A beast in battle. His mightiest.

‘Ake,’ Stellan croaked, tears in his eyes. ‘Ake.’

Reinar watched, tears in his own eyes, feeling his brother’s hand on his back.

* * *

Alys could hear the cheers from the hall, though she felt worried. Agnette was struggling, ashen-faced, barely able to open her eyes. She had not slept, and her body was weak. The baby was proving to be as stubborn as she was, according to Bjarni, who looked just as worried as he stood beside her, jiggling anxiously.

Eddeth hopped around the chamber with light feet, bare and dirty, energy coursing through her body as she contemplated what to do next. ‘Agnette!’ Spinning around, she brought her knife up to Agnette’s face. ‘I’m going to have to cut you open!’

‘What?’ Bjarni looked horrified. ‘No!’

Eddeth ignored him, sneezing. She brandished the knife just beneath Agnette’s chin where the flames from the lamp caught it, reflecting the shine of the blade in Agnette’s tired eyes.

‘But the baby?’

‘Well, it’s a risk, yes,’ Eddeth said gravely. ‘Though I have little choice. You have no strength left, it seems. If you cannot push the child out, either she will die, or you’ll both die. This way I’ve a chance of saving one of you. Possibly both.’ She peered into Agnette’s weary eyes for a moment before spinning away to hold the blade to the flames.

‘Alys,’ Agnette breathed. ‘What do you see?’

Alys froze, not knowing what to say, but Eddeth eyed her sternly, hoping upon hope that the dreamer could read her thoughts. ‘I... your baby is in danger, Agnette, I see that. What Eddeth wants to do...’ Alys shrugged. ‘I’m not sure what will happen. You must listen to her.’

Panicking, Agnette gripped Bjarni’s hand. ‘Let me push, Eddeth! Please. Let me try one more time!’

Eddeth winked at Alys, turning around, knife already sheathed. ‘Well, if you think you have one more push left in you?’

Agnette nodded, her tired eyes suddenly sharp with focus as she squeezed Bjarni’s hand. ‘Yes. Yes.’

‘Good, then let’s see what we can do! Alys, you get on Agnette’s other side. She’s going to need someone else to hold on to.’ Eddeth squinted as she bent down. ‘Wait for me, Agnette, and then start pushing. Believe in your heart that you can save your child and push with all you have, for if not, I will cut you open!’ Threat expertly delivered, Eddeth glanced at Bjarni and Alys, before checking on the position of the baby, waiting, watching. And briefly popping up her head, she shouted at Agnette. ‘Now, push!’

* * *

Leaving Ake in the hall with Reinar and their parents, Sigurd disappeared to find Tulia, who was helping to move the injured into a barn. Servants waited there with bandages and salves, thread and needles. The sound and the smell swirled around the fort with the snow, and Sigurd was struggling to get Tulia’s attention.

Eventually, he reached her, touching her shoulder, and she spun towards him with hate in her eyes. Pain too, though that was buried deep and Sigurd only saw fire.

‘Come to help, have you?’

Sigurd blinked, seeing the blood leaking from the arrows still lodged in her right arm. ‘You need someone to cut them out. I can, if you like?’

‘They don’t bother me. Others need help, can’t you see?’ Tulia didn’t want to pull the arrows out. Her body was numb now. The snow had a way of freezing everything, even her heart. She didn’t want to feel anything. Not yet.

Sigurd nodded. ‘I’ll stay. I can help. Reinar’s with Ake, though I’m sure he’ll be out soon. Ake looks ready to eat.’

Tulia didn’t care. She turned towards Ludo, who was trying his best to hold down a screaming man while Stina worked to sew up his belly. ‘You want me to be alright, do you, Sigurd? Is that what you want?’ Her voice was a hiss, heartbroken and angry. ‘When I swore to protect my brother, and I sacrificed him for you? For you? I should have gone. Taken Amir and gone!’ Biting her teeth together, Tulia shook her head. ‘Stay away from me, Sigurd Vilander. I’ll be leaving. When I’ve helped these people, your people, burn their dead, I’ll be leaving for my home.’

* * *

Though the noise of the hall seemed to be getting louder, there was no mistaking the explosive first cry of Agnette and Bjarni’s newborn daughter from down the corridor.

Reinar winked at his mother, who hurried away to see the child, relief flooding his body.

‘And now a baby,’ Ake smiled. ‘A lucky day to be born. A famous one in Ottby’s history.’

Reinar nodded, wanting to get back outside, though he couldn’t move the left side of his body and that would make it hard to be of much use. Still, his mouth worked, and so did his legs, and he stood, teeth gritted, left arm hanging by his side. ‘I want to check on my people. Take care of my men. And women,’ he said, eyes on Ilene, who had her head in her hands, being comforted by Jorunn.

‘Women?’ Ake looked surprised. ‘You had women fighting?’ He stood, one eye on Reinar’s awkward stance. ‘Looks like you’ve dislocated your shoulder. I can help you with that.’

Reinar wasn’t sure he wanted Ake’s help. The king was as big as a bear.

‘I’ve done it twice. It’s going to hurt, though. You might pass out.’

Reinar frowned, looking to back away. ‘Perhaps later, I...’

But Ake wasn’t listening, and he grabbed Reinar’s left wrist, one hand on his chest as he pulled Reinar’s arm straight out in front of him, gently at first, then more firmly, listening, waiting to hear the clunk of the shoulder joint popping back in place.

Reinar’s yelp was quickly replaced with a gasp, and he stumbled, head spinning, certain he was about to embarrass himself. He stuck out his right hand, gripping the table.

‘Give yourself a moment, then meet me outside. We can talk about how things stand and what we’re going to have to do now.’ His smile was quickly gone. ‘We’re in for a hard battle ahead, Reinar. I’m going to need you by my side. You and your brother both.’

Reinar nodded, watching Ake go, trying to straighten up.

‘You need strapping!’ Eddeth boomed behind him, and Reinar jerked around with another yelp. ‘That shoulder needs to be in a sling.’ And bending down to her tunic, Eddeth prepared to tear off a strip.

‘No, no,’ Reinar insisted. ‘Save your tunic, Eddeth. I don’t have time. I have to go with the king.’

Eddeth looked nonplussed. ‘Well, perhaps Alys can do it for you when you return?’ And trying not to smile, but failing terribly, she nudged Alys towards Reinar, before slipping away to find a bench and a cup of ale.

‘We have to talk,’ Reinar said when Eddeth had left, ‘about what you did. I don’t know all of it, but I know you saved us from that dreamer.’

Alys felt odd. Displaced. Her thoughts floated around her like clouds. ‘I killed her raven. And then I killed her.’

‘You did?’

‘Yes, I did. And now I must leave.’

‘What? Now?’

‘Tomorrow,’ Alys said. ‘I have somewhere to be. Somewhere to go.’

Reinar tried not to look disappointed. ‘But...’

‘You promised if I saved your fort, if I helped you stop Hakon Vettel, that you’d free me. And I did. Now I’m finished, Reinar, and I must go.’ Alys didn’t want to say it. And yet she did. Because Lotta and Magnus were out there somewhere, and she had to find them quickly. Her grandfather too. ‘Eddeth will come with me. She wants to. She will return, don’t worry, but I need her help.’

‘For what?’

Alys stared at him, realising that there was no point hiding anymore. She trusted Reinar. For all that he had done to steal her away from her children and her home, he had also rid her of her cruel husband and helped her to realise her gifts.

Her strength.

‘I need to find my children.’

Reinar’s mouth hung open. ‘You had... children? When we took you? You had children?’ He saw the pain in her eyes, and he felt the guilt in his heart cut him deep. ‘Where are they?’

‘I don’t know. They were taken by some men, but I can find them, and I will, with Eddeth’s help.’

Reinar didn’t know what to say.

‘I must go and see what I can do. There are many injured out there. But in the morning, I will leave.’

‘I can send men with you. To protect you on your journey.’

Alys shook her head. ‘No, Reinar, please. I don’t want them. I don’t. I don’t need them. Just Eddeth and her herbs and her drum. Stina too.’ She smiled sadly, memories of the chanting and the drumming and the smoke surging back.

‘Well, I won’t argue, I can’t, but you’ll take whatever supplies you need. The weather won’t be kind.’

‘No, I imagine it won’t, but my children are out in it, so I must hurry.’

Reinar couldn’t shake the thought that he’d taken Alys away from her children. ‘How old are they?’

‘Magnus is ten.’ Alys tried to stop herself crying, but the tears came quickly. She couldn’t hold them back. ‘Lotta is eight.’

Reinar touched her arm. ‘I’m sorry, Alys. I’m so sorry.’

She swallowed, looking away, rubbing her eyes. ‘I forgive you, I do. And I’m grateful to you. I have a different life now, and I won’t go back. I just need to find Magnus and Lotta.’ She looked up at Reinar, trying not to feel anything at all. ‘I hope you...’ She stopped, tears in her eyes, unable to see. Unable to go on.

And dropping her head, Alys headed past him, pushing her way towards the open doors.

51

The snow died away, nothing settling, and as night fell, the fort began to return to normal. Apart from the piles of dead bodies, the broken gates, the damaged walls, the smashed catapults, and the charred remains of the cottages that had been set on fire.

Both Reinar and Sigurd had returned to the hall to be strapped up and stitched up and generally put back together, and seeing that Ake was making himself at home with Stellan and Bolli and the crackling fire, they decided to join him, if only to grab a quick bite to eat and take a moment to thaw out their freezing limbs.

‘This trouble that’s coming sounds bad,’ Bolli said, crunching into a boiled chestnut.

‘Mmmm.’ Ake didn’t know how to begin. ‘It’s worse than bad. Winter is coming, and we’re all going to be fighting up to our armpits in the snow, that I can tell you.’

‘Fighting who?’ Sigurd wondered, eyes on Tulia, who looked lost as she tried to find a seat. But meeting his eyes, she quickly turned away, heading out of the hall.

Ake smiled. ‘A storyteller. A friend. A man who seeks revenge. One who was chosen by the gods himself. An army of such magnitude that we’ll struggle to contain them by ourselves.’

Reinar’s eyebrows were up. ‘Sounds bad.’

‘We need to get this fort put back together quickly, and then we’ll sort out your wayward neighbours,’ Ake sighed. ‘That was an unpleasant surprise. And not one I needed right now. We must create a wall across the South, for the North is revolting. And if we don’t hold the line, there won’t be one of us left to tell the tale.’

* * *

Alys had helped Stina and Eddeth in the barn throughout the afternoon and into the evening. All three women were exhausted, and the men before them, who had been bandaged and stitched, were trying to rest or sleep now.

‘I think we’re done!’ Eddeth announced with a sneeze. ‘Oh, the dreams we’ll have tonight! And the nightmares!’ She felt excited beyond words, eager to get back to her cottage and start packing. In all her life, she had never been on an adventure before, and her body tingled with anticipation.

‘Are you sure you want to come?’ Alys wondered to Stina, who was yawning, covered from head to toe in pitch and dust and cuts. ‘Reinar said he’ll return everyone back to Ullaberg soon. You don’t have to come with us. It won’t be easy.’

‘That it won’t!’ Eddeth chuckled with delight. ‘We will be tested by the gods themselves!’

Ignoring her, Stina nodded firmly. ‘I want to come. I want to find the children with you, Alys, I truly do. And getting away from here...’ She glanced around nervously, though there was no sign of Torvig. ‘I want to come with you.’

Alys was pleased. ‘Then go and sleep. I must say goodbye to Agnette and Bjarni, and Ludo promised to help organise some horses. I’ll meet you both in the stables at first light. I don’t want to get caught saying goodbye. We just need to be gone. Quickly.’

Stina looked pleased, though the thought of seeing Torvig terrified her. She hoped he would be too busy in the hall, celebrating with the Vilanders and the king to come looking for her.

‘Stina? Are you alright?’ Alys wondered as Eddeth left. ‘You can sleep in my cottage, if you like? If you’d rather? Though there’s only one bed.’

‘No, no. No,’ Stina insisted. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m just tired. Happy to be leaving.’

Alys slipped her arm around Stina’s waist, ready to agree.

But she couldn’t.

* * *

Sigurd had staggered out of the hall, wanting to find Tulia. She wasn’t in their chamber. Not up on the wall. Not near Amir’s body either. Tulia liked her own company, and would often wander off to find some peace and quiet, but he knew that sometimes she was just being stubborn and couldn’t ask for what she wanted, which was to be comforted.

She couldn’t ask at all.

Though Sigurd doubted that Tulia wanted to be with the man she blamed for her brother’s death.

Eventually, he found her in the stables with her horse, talking to him, crying with him. He saw that when she turned around, her eyes red and swollen, her cheeks wet with tears.

‘What?’

‘I just wanted to see if you were alright.’

‘I’m not. Anything else?’

‘No.’ Sigurd turned away, heading for the doors. He stopped, spinning back around. ‘I’m glad you were here. You and Amir. You saved lives. You helped those women many times today, I saw that. Amir too. I’m sorry he died, but I’m not sorry you stayed, because I always want you with me. I always want to be with you.’ He stared at Tulia in the darkness, flames flickering in sconces along the walls, but not enough to show more than angles and shadows; sharp and harsh. He couldn’t see her beautiful eyes now.

‘I suspect that’s because you’re selfish, Sigurd Vilander. Always thinking about yourself. About your mother, who is mean to you, or your father, who is ruined, or your brother, who you wish you could be. And now, when I’m gone, you’ll have all the time in the world to think about yourself.’ She ran a hand down the cold cheek of her dappled stallion, always amazed by the silkiness of his coat; reminded of her home in Kalmera, and the beautiful silks her mother had worn.

‘I hope you change your mind, but I don’t blame you for wanting to leave.’

‘Once you wanted to leave too, or have you forgotten?’

‘No, I remember, but now I know where I belong. Ottby is my home. I must stay by Reinar’s side because that’s the oath we took. To defend the bridge. To protect the king. To keep Alekka free from the Northern threat.’ He thought about what Ake had warned was coming, and swallowing, Sigurd headed for the doors. ‘I’d rather do all of that with you, but I don’t blame you for wanting to go.’ And pulling open a door, Sigurd slipped outside.

Tulia watched the door bang shut, her shoulders slumping, tears flowing now. It wasn’t Sigurd’s fault. None of it was. None of it.

She shook her head, sliding down to the straw, tears dripping onto her knees. Her arm was aching, and she realised that she’d never let anyone take out her arrows. The wounds stung, and for the first time in hours, she could feel something that wasn’t anger or grief.

She saw Sigurd’s face, and she wanted to go to him. Then she saw Amir falling before her, and she burst into tears, unable to move.

* * *

Alys smiled at the cat who sat on the cloak.

She would take the cloak with her, but not the cat. Which felt odd. Winter was more than just a cat, she was certain. And she worried that leaving him behind was the wrong thing to do, but tiredness suddenly overwhelmed her, and she staggered towards the bed, desperate to lie down.

Winter waited as she wriggled and shuffled about in the bed, listening to it creak angrily, before curling into a ball, his back against Alys’ chest, purring.

* * *

‘You have the loudest daughter,’ Bjarni grinned as Agnette yawned beside him, clutching their tiny baby to her chest. She was trying to feed her and not managing it effectively. He didn’t know how to help her, but Agnette could barely keep her eyes open.

‘I need to sit up,’ she groaned. ‘She needs to eat something. I need her to eat something.’ More yawns as Bjarni helped to prop her up. ‘She’s very loud, isn’t she? Gerda’s not going to be happy.’ It made Agnette laugh. ‘I can’t believe I managed to push her out.’

‘Well, I think Eddeth and her big knife were quite motivating in the end, weren’t they?’

‘They were!’ Agnette lifted her daughter’s head higher, trying to get her in position. The lamps were bright, though she was so tired, she could barely see. ‘I’m just so relieved, Bjarni. That she’s here. That you’re here. I can’t believe what happened in the fort. What Hakon’s dreamer did. What Alys did. That Ake came!’

‘Ssshhh,’ Bjarni soothed, sensing that the baby was starting to fall asleep. ‘Why don’t I take her for a while? Let you sleep?’

‘But she needs to feed.’

‘She also needs to sleep, and so do you. Leave her with me awhile, and you can close your eyes.’ And gently, if not slightly awkwardly, Bjarni took the swaddled baby from Agnette, working hard to keep her head supported, not wanting to drop her. ‘You sleep, my sweet Agnette, and I’ll think of a name.’

‘You?’ Agnette grumbled, wriggling down into the bed, eyes quickly closed. ‘After what I went through? You think I’ll let you name her?’

Bjarni chuckled, watching his wife’s head drop to one side, her chest rising and falling rhythmically. He smiled, peeking at his daughter’s face. ‘Lara?’ he wondered, wrinkling his nose. ‘Or Hilda, for my mother?’

‘We’re not naming her after your mother!’

And laughing softly, Bjarni lay his head back on the pillows, feeling like the luckiest man alive.

* * *

Alys stood in the straw. It stuck to her bare feet, and she wanted to shake it off. She needed to leave the barn.

Why was she in a barn?

Turning, she could hear voices, a door banging.

It was dark, and she didn’t recognise the place. There were no horses, though some animals had obviously been living there. Old tools hung from nails along the wattle and daub walls. She saw bales of hay. An old cart.

It was Ullaberg, where she had hidden their supplies, their saddlebags for the escape.

Alys spun around, hearing a voice.

‘You think you can leave me, Alys? My love, my wife!’ Arnon walked towards her, arms out. ‘Thought you could try to escape again? Take my children from me?’

His smile terrified her. She saw his naked chest, his hand in a fist, bare feet, just like hers as he stepped towards her.

‘I’ll never let you leave me, Alys. We are bound by law, by love, by the oath we took before the gods. I will never let you leave me, not even in death!’

Alys tried to back away, but her feet were stuck in the straw, and she couldn’t move. Voices whipped around her in the darkness: the old dreamer, Lotta, Reinar, the sound of the wolves, the raven, and Stina.

She froze, shivers racing up and down her spine.

The man before her was no longer Arnon.

It was Torvig.

And she could hear Stina screaming.

* * *

Tulia walked slowly back to the hall. She had fallen asleep in the stables, surprised by that, and though she felt no better, she knew that she wanted to find Sigurd. She wanted to make it right. And she needed him to take out her arrows. The pain in her right arm was excruciating now. Rubbing her eyes, she turned down the alley, taking the quickest route back to the hall. It was dark, and she tried to blink open her eyes, not wanting to trip over anything.

She felt light-headed. Dizzy.

And then she heard a shout.

‘Help! Tulia! Help me!’

Tulia recognised the dreamer’s voice, and she quickened her pace to where Alys stood, fully dressed, outside a shed. ‘What are you doing?’

‘He... I..’ Alys had been trying to break down the doors. ‘It’s Torvig! He’s taken Stina. He’s in there, hurting her! I dreamed it!’

The moon shone brightly, and Tulia could clearly see the panic in Alys’ eyes. She couldn’t hear any sounds coming from the old shed, but it was better to check just in case. And she certainly wouldn’t put it past Torvig. So, stepping back, Tulia aimed her boot at the meeting of the doors, watching them bend and shudder but not part. Tired and irritable, she stepped back and did it again, feeling them give some more. And on the third try, they flung open, and quickly drawing her sword, Tulia stepped inside, Alys right behind her.

Torvig hurried to shut the doors behind them, aiming his sword at Tulia’s chest. ‘See... now we have a problem. Oh, how I didn’t want to have this problem.’

Eyes on Torvig, Tulia shuffled her legs apart, feeling the slip of the mucky straw beneath her boots, the throbbing pain of the arrows in her arm, the sword oddly heavy in her hand. She glanced at Stina, who was whimpering in the distance, trying to cover herself up. Moonlight shone through a myriad of holes in the roof and walls. The shed was small, but big enough to house a three-wheeled wagon wrapped in cobwebs; a lot of tools in need of sharpening and repair; the odd tree stump too.

‘Alys, take her and go,’ Tulia ordered, eyes on Torvig’s sneering face.

‘You think I’ll allow that?’ Torvig snorted, watching Alys pull Stina out of the straw, helping her to stand, but there was nowhere to go. He was blocking the doors. ‘You think I’ll allow any of you to leave?’

Tulia burst out laughing. She’d had enough of the day, and she’d certainly had enough of Torvig Aleksen. ‘You want to kill me? Fine. Try it and die. But them?’ She didn’t look around. ‘Why do you need to kill them? Because they can’t defend themselves? You like hurting them? That’s the game?’

Torvig’s smile was gone now, and he lunged at Tulia, smelling the blood on her. She was wounded. Weak. He could see the broken arrows sticking out of her arm.

Tulia yelped as she ducked out of his path, watching him skid past her. The surface was deadly, and she cursed herself for not getting those arrows out earlier. They were going to cause her problems.

Torvig didn’t appear injured at all as he spun back to her, sword arcing through the air, aiming for her head. He was not quite as tall as Tulia, though, and her blade was longer. She parried his with ease, gritting her teeth against the burning pain in her arm. ‘Alys! Leave!’ she yelled. ‘Get her out!’ And quickly swapping her sword into her left hand, Tulia carved it towards Torvig’s waist.

Torvig slipped on the straw, sword dropping, and Tulia’s blade cut across his belly. He had taken off his mail after Ake arrived and now wore only a light tunic. He bellowed in anger, teeth clamped together, stumbling backwards.

Tulia, though, was still in full battle gear, and she swapped her sword back into her right hand, kicking Torvig in the balls, wanting to knock him over. But he held his balance, coming for her again, crouched over, growling. They circled each other, pain contorting their faces.

Alys watched them both, holding Stina close. She could see the doors, and she would aim for them the moment it was safe, though when that would be, she had no idea.

Tulia kicked Torvig again, left leg this time, straight in his bleeding waist.

‘You bitch!’ he spat, realising that he had to get her down to the ground quickly. He knew how she fought. All that pointless kicking. All for show. And gripping his sword in both hands, he scythed it towards her breasts.

Jumping back, Tulia slipped on the straw, panic in her eyes, knowing she’d lost her balance. She tried to keep hold of her sword, and she did, but as she fell, Torvig was over her, kicking it out of her weak grip.

Tulia rolled quickly, screaming as she leaned on the broken arrows. Pushing herself back onto her feet, she ducked away from Torvig, who was struggling to keep his own balance.

‘You’ve no weapon, Tulia.’ Torvig was enjoying himself now. ‘No weapon for you!’ He saw Tulia’s eyes snap to her sword, lying in the straw, calculating how quickly she could scoop it up, and he kicked it away. ‘But I have one I’d be happy to give you.’ And lunging, he jabbed his sword at her, one, two, three times.

Tulia jumped back, hopping from side to side, trying to stay on her feet, conscious of the blood pouring from her wounds now, her ears a buzzing frenzy. She saw a glimpse of Sigurd in her mind, leaning over the railings, watching her fight, blue eyes sparkling in the sunshine.

Jerking to the right, she could feel the scrape of Torvig’s blade across her arm, knowing that she’d lost her knives in the battle. She didn’t have another weapon.

But Torvig did.

And swapping his sword into his left hand, he dragged his knife from behind his back, throwing it at Tulia’s face. Tulia dipped to the side, away from the knife, her eyes snapping to Torvig’s sword, which was coming for her next. Taking the grip in both hands, Torvig jumped forward, two steps in quick time, making Tulia scramble backwards.

Too quickly.

And losing her balance again, arms in the air, trying to keep to her feet, she fell onto the straw with a grunt.

The sound was odd, Alys thought, shivering.

And Tulia didn’t move.

‘Stay there,’ Alys whispered to Stina as Torvig bent over Tulia, who had fallen onto an enormous ship nail, which now protruded from her throat as she lay in the straw, dying.

‘What a shame, a very sad, sad end. But there you go. A woman fighting a man? That was never going to end well. For her.’ Torvig spun around suddenly, surprised to see Alys standing there, holding Tulia’s sword.

He burst out laughing. She appeared to be shaking. He could almost hear her teeth chattering with nerves. He could certainly hear Stina sobbing, begging Alys to stop.

Alys.

It was a pretty name.

And she was a pretty, pretty thing, as Reinar had noticed. Sigurd too. He’d seen that. And now Sigurd would be looking for a new love. But he wouldn’t have this one. Not her.

Alys heard Tulia gurgling. She remembered her dream, and she gripped the sword tighter, willing her legs to stop shaking.

‘Shall we play awhile?’ Torvig mused, running his tongue over his teeth. ‘Is that what you’d like, dreamer? Before I kill you both? Only two to go. I’ve plenty of time to hide your bodies before dawn.’

Alys blinked, images of Arnon standing before her, body glowing in the moonlight. ‘My grandfather...’ She swallowed, feeling the cold sword grip in her hand. It felt oddly familiar. ‘My grandfather is Jonas Bergstrom.’

Torvig was surprised. ‘Well, you kept that quiet, didn’t you? A famous warrior indeed. But whatever happened to him? I haven’t seen him in years.’ He edged closer, watching as Alys stepped back, her eyes never leaving his.

She looked ready to cry.

‘He took care of me,’ Alys breathed, heart racing. ‘He taught me everything.’ And she took one hand away from the sword, feeling the weight of it. It was Tulia’s sword, and it felt too heavy for her. It reminded her of those times her grandfather had made her practice with his sword instead. ‘You never know whose sword you’ll end up using, Alys,’ he’d told her. ‘In a fight, you can’t be picky. Work with what you’ve got. Kill to survive.’

Torvig could barely contain himself. ‘He taught you how to fight?’

Alys was lost. She could see her husband beating her. Hurting her. Threatening her. And not once had she picked up a sword. A weapon. Not once.

Not once.

Tears of anger burned her eyes, and she blinked them away, needing to see. Badly needing to see. The straw was littered with danger; Tulia had shown her that.

She could smell that Tulia had died. She could hear it. Feel it too.

She thought of Sigurd and Reinar.

And then she thought of her children.

‘He did. He taught me how to kill bastards like you.’ Alys spread her legs, pushing her feet down into the straw, knowing that Torvig would go high, and as he lifted his blade to her head, she lunged low, dragging Tulia’s sword across his bleeding waist, stumbling back, sword up to parry his next strike, feeling the shock of the blade’s meeting shoot up her arm.

Torvig was bellowing, and Stina was holding her breath, and Tulia was dead.

And Alys felt like someone who hadn’t picked up a sword in years.

She squeezed both hands onto the grip again, panting as Torvig charged forward, slashing quickly from side to side, bored now, wanting to end the dreamer and finish what he’d started with his lovely Stina.

Alys jumped back, just out of his reach, eyes wide, holding her breath, Arnon’s voice in her ear. And then her grandfather’s again. Lunging forward, she brought Tulia’s sword up, feeling too slow, too rusty. Dropping her left hand, Alys lifted her blade high, aiming it at Torvig’s throat. He grinned, not surprised that she didn’t know what she was doing, leaving her chest exposed like that. He swung back his blade, ready to cut her in two, but Alys dropped all her weight onto her right leg, swaying out of Torvig’s reach, dragging her sword across his left arm, straight across his elbow.

Torvig bellowed, jerking his arm away, distracted by the shock and the pain. Alys charged him, one eye on his sword arm, which was slow to respond, and twisting her wrist, she turned the blade over, stabbing it through his chest.

Feeling the tip of the blade breaking skin, Alys pushed hard.

Mouth open, Torvig dropped his sword, reaching for Alys whose sword was still in his chest. And he pulled her to him, feeling the blade dig through muscle, pushing himself forward, onto Alys, who had nowhere to go as he fell on top of her, his sword’s pommel digging into her side. She wriggled in the straw, trying to move his crushing weight. He was badly injured, likely dying, but it wouldn’t make any difference if she couldn’t move him off her chest. ‘Stina!’ she panted. ‘Knife!’ She stuck out her right hand, panicking, struggling to breathe.

Torvig could feel darkness descending upon him like a storm, but he wasn’t about to let that bitch end him. He wasn’t going to leave her behind victorious. So moving his hands to her throat, he started squeezing, pain washing over him like water, hotter and hotter. He felt sick, but teeth gritted, Torvig squeezed, wanting to kill her.

Alys remembered the bruises around her neck, the feeling of not being able to breathe, the fear of death coming. And then the feel of the cold knife haft in her hand, and, gasping for air, she rammed the blade into Torvig’s ear. He roared, jerking up, and Alys slid out from under him, scrambling back to her feet, bloody knife in hand, panting, waiting.

Torvig stayed on his knees for a moment, sword through his chest, blood gushing from his ear. And then, eyes rolling back in his head, he tipped forward, into the rotting straw, Tulia’s sword pushing straight through his chest, bloody blade poking out his back.

Stina rushed to Alys. ‘Is he dead?’

Alys dropped to the straw with a thump, unable to catch her breath, unable to stop shaking. And then she felt Stina beside her, arm around her shoulder.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry. He... he threatened me. He... he... hurt me.’ Her sobs overwhelmed her and Stina made no sense after that as she held on to Alys, shuddering in relief.

‘Ssshhh, it’s alright,’ Alys soothed, though she wasn’t really listening.

Tulia was lying there dead, and she knew that she’d have to tell Sigurd.

* * *

Instead, she told Reinar, who told his brother.

After Reinar had found Eddeth to take care of Alys and Stina. After he’d retrieved Tulia’s body and Torvig’s.

Reinar felt responsible. Not even Sigurd had liked Torvig, and when Reinar thought about it, he realised that the only reason he’d kept him around was out of loyalty to Elin.

That had been a deadly mistake.

Sigurd had taken Tulia’s horse and left the fort immediately, the shock rendering him silent and numb, and most of all, broken-hearted.

Reinar turned to Alys, who stood beside the horse Ludo had chosen for her. She hadn’t wanted to take Elin’s horse, and he didn’t blame her. ‘You’re still leaving?’

Alys nodded, fighting the blustery wind for control of the black cloak. ‘I must. I can’t delay.’

‘I should send someone with you.’ Reinar stared into her eyes, wanting to say more. Wishing she would stay. ‘Just to help. Build a shelter, hunt, chop wood. Anything.’

Eddeth was growing impatient behind them. ‘Snow will be here soon, and we’ll need to get in a good day before we stop for the night!’ She felt anxious to be leaving, upset about abandoning Rigfuss, though Ludo had promised he would take care of him, and Alys’ cat too. Eddeth frowned, doubting Rigfuss would be pleased about that.

‘Let them go, Reinar!’ came Gerda’s sharp voice. ‘We’ve a fort to rebuild and an army to muster. Ake will be up soon, I’m sure, and he’ll have plans for you today. You want to show him you’re making an effort.’ Gerda stared at the dreamer, and though she felt some small sense of gratitude, she was just as pleased for the woman to be gone. And Eddeth was no loss, easily replaced. No, she would be relieved to have all the women gone. It would focus both Sigurd and Reinar on what they needed to do next.

Reinar ignored his mother’s icy mutterings. He didn’t appreciate them.

Not at all.

‘Here.’ And reaching back to Ludo, Reinar took the scabbard and sword he’d found for her; one of Tulia’s old ones. He hoped Sigurd wouldn’t mind. ‘Take this.’

Alys hesitated. It wasn’t her. It wasn’t who she wanted to be.

But looking at Eddeth and Stina, she realised that she would need to protect them. And besides, she couldn’t run from who she was anymore.

Her time in Ottby had taught her that.

‘Thank you.’ And taking the swordbelt, she tried to lift up her cloak and wrap it around her waist, but she fumbled, flustered, feeling Gerda glaring at her. More than Gerda; the square was full of onlookers, and Alys just wanted to leave.

Reinar took the swordbelt, and as Alys lifted her cloak, he leaned in close, tying it around her waist, struggling with his left arm. ‘Stay safe,’ he whispered in her ear, his beard brushing her cheek. ‘Stay safe, Alys the dreamer.’

Alys smiled at him, turning to her horse, wriggling to move the swordbelt around. She hopped onto the little step Ludo had kindly brought out for them to mount their horses with, sticking a boot in the stirrup.

‘Wait! Alys!’ Agnette was waddling towards her as quickly as her weary body would allow. She held her baby in her arms, wrapped in a warm fur, Bjarni behind her. ‘We’ll miss you. And we thank you!’ She glared at her sour-faced aunt. ‘For all you did. You helped save us!’

‘And you got rid of that shit Torvig too!’ Bjarni added with a grin, his face falling when he thought of Tulia and Sigurd.

Alys felt embarrassed. ‘Take care of yourselves. I wish you luck getting some sleep!’ And settling her cloak over her knees, she turned, peering down at Reinar Vilander, who looked wrecked and broken and like a man who would one day be a king.

She blinked.

Then smiled.

And tapping her boots against her horse’s flanks, she aimed her at Ottby’s broken gates, Eddeth and Stina following her.

Reinar watched Alys go, shivering, unable to stop staring as the fort sprang back to life, Agnette and Gerda muttering behind him, Ludo and Bjarni talking about Sigurd and whether anyone should go and find him.

It was all a blur of noise and activity.

And Reinar didn’t notice any of it.

He heard Salma’s voice in his mind, his old dreamer...

She will come to you like rain after a drought. And she will save you. And you will forever be changed by her, Reinar.

And you will love her.

But you must let her go.

Promise me, Reinar. When she has saved you, set the dreamer free.

Promise me...

Reinar stepped forward, hand out, before dropping it back to his side, and turning away, he walked slowly back to the hall.

THE END

EPILOGUE

The pain had subsided some time ago.

He had been unconscious for days. Bedridden for more.

His body had weakened, but his mind was more focused than ever.

Arnon de Sant gripped the haft of his spear, aiming for the target in the distance. The boy kept moving it too close. He thought about simply aiming for the stupid boy instead.

The thick pink scars across his tattooed chest rippled angrily in the bright morning sun.

Snow was on the ground, almost up to his ankles, but the sky was a clear, deep blue; the colour of his eyes, Arnon thought, turning to the side, feeling the balance of the spear in his hand. And dropping his weight onto his right leg, he brought the ash shaft back to his ear, launching it at the target. Imagining it was the man who had taken his wife.

Reinar Vilander.

He’d heard of him. The Lord of Ottby.

Reinar Vilander and his brother had taken everything from him. His children were gone too. And as soon as he was strong enough, as soon as he was ready to kill with his bare hands again, he would leave Ullaberg behind.

It was time to get his family back.

Click to read the next book

Mark of the Hunter

The Lords of Alekka (Book 2)

THE FURYCK SAGA

The Furyck Saga: Books 1-6

Kings of Fate: A Furyck Saga Prequel Novella

The Furyck Saga: Books 1-3

THE LORDS OF ALEKKA

The Lords of Alekka: Books 1-6

The Lords of Alekka: Books 1-3

AUDIO BOOKS

The Furyck Saga: Audio Books 1-6

AUDIO BOOKS

The Lords of Alekka: Audio Books 1-4

SOME THINGS ABOUT ME, THE AUTHOR:

I live in Auckland, New Zealand, with my husband, three kids and three dogs. When I’m not writing, you can find me editing, designing my book covers, and trying to fit in some sleep (though mostly I’m dreaming of what’s coming next!).

I have a deep love of history and all things Viking. Growing up with a Swedish grandmother, her heritage had a great influence on me, so my fantasy tales lean heavily on Viking lore and culture. And also winter. I love the cold!

I like to immerse myself in my stories, experiencing everything through my characters. I don’t write with a plan; I take cues from my characters, and follow where they naturally decide to go. I like different points of view because I see the story visually, with many dimensions, like a tv show or a movie. My job is to stand at the loom and weave the many coloured threads together into an exciting story.

I promise you characters that will quickly feel like friends, and villains that will make you wild, with plots that twist and turn to leave you wondering what’s coming around the corner. And, like me, hopefully, you’ll always end up a little surprised by how I weave everything together in the end!

The Furyck Saga series is now complete with
the release of Vale of the Gods.

See the series here

Connect with A.E. Rayne
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http://aerayne.com/

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Copyright © A.E. Rayne 2020

All artwork © Cap & Anchor Design Co. Ltd

A.E. Rayne asserts the moral right to be identified
as the author of this work.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters, and places described in it are the work of the author’s imagination.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Amazon ASIN: B07G8WS24B

For more information about A.E. Rayne
and her upcoming books visit:

www.aerayne.com