‘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.

‌2 µ‌

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.

‌2 6‌

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, lying 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.

‌2 7‌

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 suspicious 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.

‌2 8‌

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 suspicious 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.

‌2 9‌

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, caught off guard. “I… I don’t know if what Elin felt can be undone. Why she left. Agnette doesn’t think so, and…,” he paused, wanting to be completely honest with Alys. “Reinar and Elin were destined to be together. From the moment they met, it was like the gods had spoken. You could feel it—it was meant to be.”

Alys felt foolish and quickly sought to change the subject. “So, what do you want with me, then, Sigurd?”

Sigurd hesitated. “I don’t believe in dreamers, but Reinar does, so he’ll listen to you.”

“About what?”

“Turn him away from the torc. Our father used to do that… when he could still speak.” Sadness clouded Sigurd’s eyes, and he sighed. “He kept Reinar grounded, guiding him in the right direction. But Gerda… she’s always done the opposite, pushing Reinar towards that fate. But he doesn’t even know if it’s true or if Gerda just lied.”

“Why would she lie about what Ragnahild said?”

Sigurd shrugged. “She dotes on Reinar. She was never content with Stellan. He was happy here, being Ake’s lord. He never wanted more, just to be a loyal man, holding the bridge. That was his oath. It meant everything to him.”

Alys felt a sudden flash of insight and stiffened. “You’re not their son.” The image of a moonlit forest, mist swirling, and a hooded man picking up a tiny baby wrapped in furs, flickered in her mind.

Sigurd responded quickly. “Not by blood, no, 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 returned from Kalmera. She always tried to push me out.”

“Why?”

“She didn’t know where I came from.” The old memories were still raw, and Sigurd’s voice faltered. “I’d hear her yelling at my father, demanding to know what kind of low-born peasants would abandon their filthy baby in the forest. In winter. Hoping he’d die. She’d scream it at him, over and over, not caring who heard. Not caring if I heard. Probably wanting me to.”

“But your father loved you?”

A small smile appeared on Sigurd’s face. “He did. He does still, I’m sure. Together, we worked to keep Reinar on the right path. The Sun Torc isn’t a prize. It’s a trap, don’t you think? Like a beehive. If you didn’t know what was inside, you might be tempted 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.