Sigurd and Tulia joined Reinar on the low wall to discuss how the rest of the day would go. Their enemy had not reappeared, and thick waves of smoke still hung over the field, from the wall to the forest.

Reinar turned at the sound of laughter.

‘They will need to sleep it off!’ Eddeth chuckled, emerging from the stairs, almost reading his mind. ‘I know that only too well. A good night’s rest and they’ll be back on the field come morning.’

‘You think it will affect them that badly? That they won’t try something tonight?’

‘I’m no dreamer!’ Eddeth snorted. ‘You’re asking the wrong woman there.’

Reinar’s attention moved from Eddeth to Alys, who had just emerged from the stairs herself, eyes quickly on the field where smoke masked the bodies and the boulders, though some flames could still be seen burning. The smell was intense. ‘Do you see them coming again today? Tonight?’

Alys considered it. Her feelings about how it would all go kept shifting. Her fears were growing, and she felt a pull towards the darkness, as though it was trying to claim her. And she didn’t know if she was strong

enough to withstand it.

‘Alys?’ Reinar looked concerned.

‘I think Eddeth’s right. I sense a lot of confusion. A new day will give them another chance.’

‘You should have sent me with some men to attack them in the forest,’ Sigurd frowned. ‘We still could.’

‘It’s tempting, of course.’ Reinar turned as Torvig came to join them, not noticing Alys’ discomfort. ‘But there’s little room for surprise now. They’ll have men on their perimeter. It’s too risky. Though if they’re going to sleep all night, we can make sure we’re restocked and ready for the morning. Sigurd, go check the boulders. See about getting more. I’m sure we can slip in and out of the bridge gates while they’re lost in the forest, finding their minds again.’ He winked at Eddeth, who appeared pleased to have been such a help.

‘Boulders are useful, yes indeed,’ Eddeth mused, hands on the rampart wall, peering at the trees in the distance. ‘But they will not stop the wolf.’

Tulia looked confused. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘The dreamer in the forest, she’s the one who brought the wolf to life.

And she’s in there. Alys can feel it, can’t you?’ Alys nodded, thinking of Lotta. ‘She is.’

‘She will not sit on her hands. Not likely. A woman that powerful?’ Eddeth shook her head. ‘That woman will not sit in a corner and watch. So gather boulders and arrows and pitch, but know that none of it will protect you against her.’ Her eyes rounded as she spun back to Reinar.

Who turned to Alys. ‘Can you do anything to stop her?’ Alys blinked at Eddeth.

‘We can! And we will! Of course! Of course! That is why we’re here, so Alys can see. The dreamer has eyes. She does not need to be asleep to see!’ Eddeth grabbed Alys by the shoulders, pointing her towards the forest. ‘She’s in there, the dreamer. And you need to close your eyes and find her.’

Tulia stopped herself from rolling her own eyes and turned for the stairs. Sigurd headed after her, leaving Reinar and Torvig. But Torvig was already smirking, not seeing the point in any of it, and he left the women, looking for something to drink.

Alys shut them all out, closing her eyes.

She didn’t want to find the dreamer in the forest at all; whether she was a wolf or an old woman. She wanted to find her daughter. And breathing deeply, Alys took herself into the forest. She had ridden through it now a few times. She knew the smell of the place, the noise of the trees swishing in the wind, the sound of hooves striking the earth beneath her. She remembered the symbols, buried low, hidden where roots met trunks.

Paths rushed towards her, birds calling to each other, squirrels rushing up bark with sharp claws. Alys followed the paths deeper and deeper into

the forest as everything became darker, heart thumping in her chest like someone pounding a drum.

And then she saw it: a glimpse of hair; ice-blonde; long. A tiny face, turning towards her.

‘Don’t worry, Mama. Don’t worry.’

Alys gasped, eyes popping open. Back on the wall.

Eddeth hovered beside her, sneezing. ‘What did you see? The dreamer?

Did you find her?’

Reinar looked concerned on her other side.

‘No.’ Alys didn’t want to disappoint anyone. ‘I didn’t see the woman, but I did feel her.’ She shivered, the clouds seeming to sink lower in the sky, darkening as the afternoon disappeared. ‘She’s in there, preparing. I feel that.’ It was true, Alys was certain. She had a strong sense that something was coming.

Eddeth was right.

The dreamer would not linger in the shadows for long.

Hakon’s senses were returning. He could still smell the strange smoke, but his head had cleared thanks to Mother’s tonic. She had poured him two cups of the foul-tasting brew, and he had drunk greedily, desperate to wet his parched throat; desperate to grasp hold of reality again too.

But when he did, his heart sank.

He peered at the old woman as she fingered through her baskets of herbs, searching for something, stooped over, muttering to herself.

‘What happened?’

Mother turned her head, eyeing him. ‘You have returned, then? From the dark haze?’

Hakon wasn’t sure. ‘I feel more like myself again,’ he croaked. ‘I can’t hear those voices in my head anymore.’

‘Well, that’s a start, but you will need sleep. You all will. What that dreamer did to you was powerful indeed.’

‘The smoke? A dreamer did it?’ Hakon rubbed his eyes, sitting back. A headache was forming behind his ears. It felt as though someone was squeezing his neck. ‘I… I ruined everything.’ That was the truth, and it was

hard to admit. He didn’t know how he could face Ivan and Lief. Ulrick. All his men.

What had he done?

‘Reinar Vilander had men in the forest. Hiding. They were wrapped in protective spells. I couldn’t penetrate them. Couldn’t see what they were planning.’

Mother had seen the men, but she hadn’t said a thing.

‘I did try to warn you, Hakon. You are not only battling men with weapons, but a dreamer with magic. Any hope for success will depend on whether you live through what that dreamer has planned.’ Her voice was laced with warning, and she watched Hakon’s eyes with interest. ‘She will try to humiliate you further now. Take your dreams from you! Turn your men against you! Can’t you see how precarious this all is? How dangerous?’ Mother stretched out her aching back, returning to the fire and a stool. ‘Those men out there, your men, they will follow you willingly, despite whatever mess you made today. But the lords of Hovring and Vika? They tied their fate to yours, abandoned longstanding loyalties to Ake Bluefinn, believing that you were the future of Alekka. And this is what you’ve shown them?’

‘But…’

Mother held up a sooty hand. ‘They will care nothing for excuses. Perhaps they will listen, nod, agree, that of course you had been poisoned, tricked and cursed. But they will grumble to each other, and their minds will wander back to the man they used to fight for. A man who made no excuses. He just won. Battle after battle as he crushed your grandfather and pronounced himself the King of Alekka, stealing your family’s throne!’

Hakon thought of his son, and his heart ached. He felt sick. And not just from the smoke and Mother’s tonic. Voices drifted to him from outside the tent. Food was cooking, the light seeping into the tent growing duller.

Had the day really gone?

A day lost in a muddle of cursed smoke?

Lifting his head to Mother, Hakon narrowed his eyes. ‘Will you… help me?’

Agnette writhed around at the table next to Bjarni, teeth clenched, body wracked with pain.

‘Perhaps it’s time?’ Gerda wondered, peering up from her bowl of cabbage soup. She had barely taken a mouthful, feeling too agitated to eat. ‘You should want the child to come, Agnette. Not sit around here, acting for all the world as though it’s not happening.’ She glanced at Stellan, who Agnette was attempting to feed. ‘Here, give me the spoon. You get to your chamber. Bjarni, take her. Don’t listen to any arguments!’

Agnette was about to argue, but another stabbing pain took all the air from her lungs, and she could only gasp as her husband led her away from the table, towards the chambers.

Sigurd looked after them, thinking how close they had come to leaving. It would have been hard to cope with a newborn at sea. Harder still with a woman giving birth.

Gerda lifted a full spoon of soup to Stellan’s lips, trying to nudge them open. Eventually, he did pry them apart, but barely, and Gerda dribbled most of the soup into his beard.

‘Here,’ Sigurd offered, grabbing a napkin from the table, and hopping up to wipe it away. He smiled at his father, sitting down beside him.

‘Where is Tulia tonight?’ Gerda wondered. ‘Still on that wall?’

Sigurd nodded, hearing the familiar disapproval in her voice. ‘I’ll relieve her later.’

‘With those Ullaberg women, no doubt.’

‘No doubt,’ Sigurd grinned. Tulia was surprisingly protective of the women she had trained. Proud too, he could tell. It almost made him wonder what sort of mother she would be. They had rarely discussed marriage or children, though she had never sounded against either. It was more that he felt reluctant. He often wondered why his real parents had abandoned him in the forest. Was there something he didn’t know? Something about his future they had seen?

Something about him?

He would never say a word to Tulia about any of it, but it lived within him. Unspoken. The fear of who he really was.

‘Sigurd.’ Gerda looked ready to cry. ‘I’m not sure we should stay.’ She thought she saw Stellan flinch, and it surprised her. ‘If the fort were to fall…’ Putting down the spoon, she grabbed her husband’s hand. It felt so oddly limp in hers, devoid of all strength now. ‘Hakon will hurt your father.

Torture him. Cut off his head.’ Tears spilled into the crevices of her wrinkled cheeks. ‘I can’t let that happen. I can’t. After all he did, all these years, it can’t end like this. He doesn’t deserve it.’

Sigurd swallowed, unused to his mother speaking to him as though he was a person, and not just an inconvenience foisted upon her all those years ago. ‘He wouldn’t want to run, though. If he could talk or walk, he wouldn’t choose to run. I think you know that, Mother.’ Sigurd didn’t move, though part of him almost wanted to reach out a hand and pat hers. Instead, he touched his father’s shoulder. ‘He would tell you that it’s important to face destiny head-on. Not try and escape it.’

Gerda didn’t want to hear that, though it was not unexpected. They were all the same: warriors with their pride and their oaths, their commitment to dying with glory draped around them like a shroud. And likely it would be a shroud by the time it was all done.

She swallowed, listening to Agnette shriek in the distance. ‘I should go and see where that horrid Eddeth has gone. Never has a woman been more averse to work than that one!’ Standing up, she sighed, staring at her silent husband. ‘Will you sit with him awhile? I’ll find Martyn. He’ll take him back to his chamber.’

Sigurd nodded as Gerda disappeared, muttering to herself. He glanced at the doors, wondering if Reinar would come in and grab something hot to eat. As soon as the sun had gone down, the temperature had plummeted further, and everything was starting to freeze. ‘Lucky you, tucked up in here,’ he grinned, pulling up the fur Gerda insisted was permanently draped over Stellan’s knees. Most thought it was for warmth, but Sigurd was sure it was her way of hiding his father’s wasting legs, and any indication that he might have wet himself.

He thought about what Gerda had said. She was right. Hakon Vettel wanted the throne, but more than that, he wanted to avenge his father’s death, as he would in his place. And Sigurd didn’t know if they stood any chance of stopping him.

Eddeth had been dragged back in to help Agnette, who appeared to be making some progress. She was more inclined to sit or lie down, and she

clung to Bjarni with some force now.

Alys had checked on her before deciding to go for a walk, making sure not to stray far from the square, not wanting to run into Torvig again. She tried not to think about Reinar, though her mind wandered as she walked, wondering if he was warm enough on the wall.

The ground felt icy underfoot, and Alys started to walk more cautiously now, feeling an almost immediate ache in her legs from the cold. She tucked her hands into her cloak, trying to warm them up. The cloak smelled strongly of musty herbs, so strongly that she felt like taking it off, but Eddeth had insisted she wear it at all times for protection. Alys smiled, wondering how much information Eddeth possessed. A lot, it seemed. A lot more than she did.

Alys’ mind was mostly filled with chambers; locked and sealed up. Many parts of her life were shut away. Forgotten. Too painful. Others were lost memories she didn’t know she had at all. Not much stood out before she went to live with her grandfather, and then, only flashes of life with him before she’d run away with Arnon.

It wrenched her heart to think what a fool she had been. But, she reminded herself, she wouldn’t have her children if she hadn’t. And sighing, Alys lifted her head, seeing Lotta’s little face in the darkness.

Braziers burned along the edges of the square. Hakon Vettel’s men could attack at any time, and those catapult crews needed to be able to see.

‘Alys?’

Alys spun around, surprised to see Stina emerge from the shadows. ‘You’re not still working out here, are you?’

Stina looked sheepish. ‘There’s a lot to prepare. It’s the best defense we have, isn’t it? The more boulders and pitch we can throw at them, the better. I was just gathering all the jars together. We’ll fill them in the morning when Ludo brings more pitch. It’s too heavy for me to carry.’

Alys had noticed Stina’s discomfort around Ludo, and it confused her. ‘Ludo seems nice. Kind. Not like the rest, but perhaps not to you?’

Stina squirmed, glad it was so dark. ‘He is kind, yes, of course. It’s not him. I… I have no problem with Ludo.’

‘No?’ Alys stepped closer. ‘Then what is it? You haven’t been yourself for some time. I know you. Something’s wrong.’

‘Can’t you read my mind? I thought dreamers could do that?’ Stina wasn’t sure whether she wanted Alys to read her mind at all. She wasn’t

sure what she wanted to say. She felt scared and lonely, and most of all, embarrassed.

Alys laughed softly. ‘I’m discovering how much I don’t know about being a dreamer. My mother and my grandmother were dead before I ever had a dream.’

‘And they left you nothing? Nothing to help you? No books?’

‘No. Nothing.’ That was odd, Alys realised, remembering how insistent Jonas had been that she never reveal her gifts. Perhaps he had taken them? Burned them? She closed her eyes, wondering, but no images would come.

‘Well, when we get away from here, you can find someone to help you.

Teach you.’

Alys thought of Reinar and Eddeth. Sigurd too. Magnus and Lotta and her grandfather.

Lotta…

She grabbed Stina’s hand. ‘I fear what will happen to the children. Fear that I can’t save them. That they’re lost.’

Stina pulled Alys into her arms, feeling her tremble, forgetting her own worries for a moment. ‘You’ll find them, of course you will. You can see in the dark, can’t you? Find your way out of a forest? If you close your eyes and dream… I know you can.’ Pulling back, she squeezed Alys’ hands, smiling. ‘I’ll come with you. When all of this is done, I’ll come with you, and we’ll find them.’

Alys nodded, trying to see Stina’s eyes, but they were hidden in the darkness. ‘I would like that. I’ve missed you.’

‘I’ve missed you too. All our walks along the beach, just talking, dreaming of a different life. Not quite like this, though.’

Alys laughed. ‘Not quite like this at all. Come on, I’ll walk you back to your cottage. You can’t stay out here all night. You look ready to fall down.’ ‘No.’ Stina stiffened. ‘No. I promised Ludo I’d stay. He’ll be back soon,’ she lied. ‘We just need to finish what we’re doing. Don’t worry, I’ll

head back to my cottage soon.’

There it was again: the tension in her voice that had Alys worried. She shivered, wanting to push further, ask more, but Lotta’s face flashed before her eyes again, and Alys knew she had to find some space to think. ‘Well, I hope so. You won’t be much use if you’re asleep on your feet.’

‘Don’t get too cold now!’ Stina warned, wishing Alys on her way. She had no intention of going back to her cottage. Not when Torvig could

unlock the door. Not when he could slip inside and drag her away again. Shaking, she raised a hand, trying to smile. ‘Sleep well.’

‘You too, Stina,’ Alys said. ‘You too.’

After Hakon felt in full control of his senses again, he headed outside. Not one part of him wanted to. He felt foolish, aware of everything he’d said and done while in the dreamer’s grasp. She had played with his mind. Her and her smoke, and more, Mother had insisted. He had been more affected than any of them because Reinar Vilander’s dreamer had been trying to humiliate him; to undo any confidence his men had in his leadership. She wanted to splinter their alliance and render them a weak mess – which she had momentarily done, of course – but now Hakon had another chance. And Hakon had realised the error of his ways.

He was going to need Mother’s help.

And despite her reluctance, she had agreed to do what she could to stop the dreamer. Though she had insisted that he start listening to her, stressing the importance of working to her plans from now on.

Hakon didn’t know how he felt about that as he sat down beside Ivan, who was staring at the flames with wide eyes, cooking a sausage on a stick. ‘Not the sort of day we’d been planning all this time.’

Ivan didn’t look around. He didn’t say anything. He felt confused. It was hard to see where they would go next. With Hakon trying to be and do everything and making a mess of all of it, it was going to be hard for Ivan to lead.

‘I’ve spoken to Mother. She explained everything,’ Hakon sighed, trying to loosen the tension in his shoulders. His body felt as though he’d been in a battle rather than just running around in the smoke like a fool.

‘Everything?’

‘The smoke. What their dreamer was doing to us. I’ve never felt anything like that smoke.’

Ivan wasn’t convinced. ‘You weren’t right before the smoke, Hakon. Everything we talked about, you forgot it all the moment we got to the field. It was as if you were on your own. That I wasn’t there at all!’ He turned his sausage over, scowling. ‘I don’t think I can lead the men tomorrow. Why

would any of them listen to me now? You may as well take charge.’ He hunched away from his cousin.

The men loved Ivan. Everyone loved Ivan.

They feared Hakon. He was like his father: more aloof; dangerous.

And perhaps their men would fight for him out of fear? But fear was not the greatest motivator, Hakon knew, desire was. And the desire to win needed to be stronger than the fear they would be defeated. He saw Erlan and Alef heading for their fire, and straightening up, Hakon forced a smile. ‘You’re my commander, Ivan,’ he hissed. ‘I haven’t removed you, and only I can, so you will be ready to lead us in the morning. A good sleep is what we need. You’ll see things more clearly after some sleep.’ The smoke lingered in the darkness. He could hear men coughing all around them, and he felt grateful that night had fallen so quickly, still too embarrassed to face his warriors. Though he had no choice but to face Erlan Stari and Alef Olstein. ‘My lords!’ he exclaimed. ‘What a day!’

Both men looked stunned by Hakon’s smile and his exuberant manner. ‘It certainly was,’ Alef said through tight lips. ‘Not quite what you had

led us to believe would happen. Not at all.’ He ran a dirty hand through his long beard, eyes never leaving Hakon’s face.

His voice was an angry rebuke and Hakon bristled, not about to be spoken to as though he was a boy; ignoring the fact that he had just behaved like a small child. ‘I challenge you to do any better in the thrall of a dreamer! In that smoke?’ He spat at the flames, angry now, though the smoke was still strong in the air, and the smell of Ivan’s sausage was making him nauseous.

Sensing how things were about to unfold, Ivan stood. ‘My cousin’s right. We were bewitched out there. Can you explain what happened? What that smoke did to us? The voices in our heads? The hallucinations?’ He stood beside Hakon, eyeing the two men, neither of whom appeared convinced.

‘You’ve put your lot in with us now,’ Hakon added. ‘The first day is done, and it was not a good one for us. But I would rather falter first, than fail with my last breath. Victory will come. You have no need to fear. Mother has seen it, and she will help us tomorrow. She will take care of their dreamer, leaving us free to assault their walls.’

‘And will you try to take charge?’ Erlan wondered. ‘Or will your cousin lead your men? It makes no sense to have so many leaders. It’s like trying

to ride a two-headed, eight-legged horse. We all need to be heading in the same direction!’

Ivan wanted to nod, but he stood silently beside Hakon, who did enough nodding of his own.

‘And we will, we will!’ Hakon insisted, suppressing a yawn. He felt his body swaying, and aiming for a stool, he tried to make it without passing out. ‘Now bring some ale and share a cup with us! I would like to hear your thoughts on what tricks you think those Vilanders might come up with tomorrow.’

‘There is an end coming. And at this most beautiful end, I will take your daughter’s life.’

Alys shuddered, listening to the woman who stood before her, eyes bulging out from the wolf hood perched upon her head, enjoying the terror she could no doubt feel.

She was a dreamer, Alys knew. Hakon Vettel’s dreamer.

And she had come into Alys’ dream.

‌4 6‌

Reinar leaned on the rampart wall, eyes sometimes drifting closed. ‘You should get some sleep,’ he muttered to Torvig, who laughed.

‘Me? Both my eyes are open, so I’ll be more use than you up here tonight. If we’re still standing tomorrow, you can take the night watch.’

Reinar nodded, not wanting to leave the wall just yet, though a quick nap would be welcome. ‘Eddeth thinks they’ll sleep through the night, but don’t be too sure. Keep your eyes peeled. Not everything Eddeth says or does makes sense.’ He grinned, still amazed at how well her smoke had worked. But it was only one day. And it was only one moment. He stared at the long, dark shape of the forest in the distance, at the lumps littering the field, highlighted by ever-shrinking flames, knowing that once Hakon got his catapults within range, he would be almost unstoppable.

‘Don’t worry,’ Torvig insisted. ‘Yours aren’t the only pair of eyes that can see.’

Reinar laughed. ‘True. I’ll be back before dawn.’

Torvig watched as he turned for the stairs, relieved to be alone. He sighed, moving towards the brazier, warming his hands, trying to imagine what would come next.

Agnette’s moans of discomfort came and went throughout the night, disturbing many in the hall, waking them out of their sleep. Eddeth lay on

the floor next to the bed, sleeping fretfully, concerned that the baby didn’t appear in a hurry to come out at all.

She thought of Alys, in the chamber down the end of the corridor, hoping she had remembered to wear her cloak to bed, suddenly realising that she hadn’t talked to her about the flying powder.

Alys was lost in those eyes. They were bigger than a wolf’s, rounder and more pronounced, and somehow, much more threatening.

Though she was a woman, Alys reminded herself. Not a wolf.

‘I will kill your daughter with my bare hands!’

Alys blinked, back in the forest. The woman stood some ten paces away from her, on the other side of a spitting fire. Flames lit her face from below, casting shadows that disfigured her, making her look even more frightening. ‘Why?’ Her voice was a whisper, and she felt disappointed, wanting to sound different somehow.

The old dreamer laughed to hear it. ‘Why? Why do you think? Because you stand in the way. A threat and a problem. And I very much dislike problems. So, unless you remove yourself from my path, I shall tear your daughter to pieces. Limb by pretty limb.’

Alys’ breath came in rushed bursts, panic engulfing her.

She heard her grandfather’s voice, calming her down. ‘What you have inside of you, Alys, is strength. Find it and hold on to it. Believe in it and know that you can conquer your enemies with that strength. It is not lost to you, my sweet girl… it is not lost…’

Mother’s laughter rolled over that familiar voice, and Alys pushed back her shoulders, feeling anger mingling with the fear now. ‘You don’t have my daughter.’ She remembered the vision of Lotta disappearing through the forest, riding away with that man. The thought of it was something Alys couldn’t even comprehend, but she knew for certain that it was true. ‘My daughter is gone.’

Mother’s laugh turned into a snarl. ‘Bitch girl, do you think I need her here? With me? Beside me? That I need to touch her to hurt her?’ She started walking towards the flames, wanting Alys to see all of her. And

dragging a hand out from behind her back, Mother held the hair over the fire.

Ice-blonde hair.

Alys blinked. ‘And then what?’ she asked haltingly. ‘What will you do when you have killed her?’

‘Then I will ensure you live to suffer that loss. The loss of the men and women inside the fort too. We’ll string the Vilanders’ heads along those walls as though it was Solsta! Celebrate our victory, before we march to Stornas!’

‘You don’t need to threaten me,’ Alys insisted. ‘I have no ability to hurt you. No power at all. You know that. Surely you do? If you’re a dreamer, you must see that I know nothing.’

Mother watched her face, so full of innocence. So beautiful and naive. ‘You are right,’ she conceded with a sigh. ‘You know absolutely

nothing, and yet… you know far more than you realise, Alys Bergstrom.’ Alys stiffened. She hadn’t heard that name in years.

‘Your grandfather,’ Mother smiled. ‘He didn’t tell you anything, did he?

About who your mother was? What she did? Who you really are?’

Alys looked confused, even more disturbed as Mother started cackling again, turning around, heading away from her. ‘You will choose!’ Her voice echoed around Alys like rolling thunder. ‘You will choose! Your daughter or the fort? But hurry now, for there is little time! If you try to attack me, I will end her! Careful now, careful in the path you choose, for there will be no return!’

Lotta rolled over, staring at the trees. They stared back down at her like enormous spiders, dark branches entwining overhead. She saw stars peeking through them, glittering like the sea. It reminded her of Ullaberg, and she thought of how much she missed the feeling of sand between her toes.

Clover nickered softly nearby, and Lotta wanted to go to her, but if they escaped, she wouldn’t know where to go, and they would both die. Lotta sensed that. Ulrick would protect her. He would feed her and keep her safe.

He wanted to present her to his wife as a gift. With Ulrick, she would be a prisoner, but alive. On her own, in the forest, she would stand no chance.

It was so cold that Lotta couldn’t stop shaking, and she pulled Ulrick’s smoky fur up over her face until only her eyes were peeking out, remembering how Magnus had tried so hard to look after her. She missed him desperately. And her mother.

The thought of being wrapped in her arms again…

Lotta squeezed her eyes tight, wanting her mother to know she was safe. That whatever she had to do, she needed to do it without worrying about her.

For she was safe.

Magnus woke with a start, momentarily confused. He had been dreaming of the time his father had thrown him across the house, raging at him for being disrespectful, furious that Magnus had tried to stop him hurting his mother.

His father had been a sadistic man. If he thought he was hurting you, he would hurt you some more.

His mother had tried to leave him, Magnus knew. He had seen her try, watched his father beg and sob and plead with her. Watched her stay.

Watched her regret that she had stayed.

But after that night when Arnon had hurt Magnus for the first time, his mother had taken him for a long walk on the beach while his father slept. And she’d told him that they were leaving for good. She would start making preparations. She would put away food, clothes, furs; everything they would need for their journey. She would make sure the horses had new shoes, that they had what they needed to make shelter. To cook food. To hunt. It would only be three days, his mother had promised, squeezing his hand. They would be with Jonas in three days, and he would protect them. He would.

Magnus rolled towards his snoring great-grandfather, knowing that she’d been right. Jonas had saved his life. He had taken him from that horrible farmer and his miserly wife, and now they would find Lotta, Magnus was certain of it. Because he believed in his mother. And he believed that Jonas and Vik would protect them.

And closing his eyes, feeling his body sink into the uncomfortable ground on which he lay, his toes frozen, his face numb, Magnus felt himself pulled back into his dreams.

Torvig decided to leave the wall.

They’d run out of ale, and the men had started to grumble, losing focus and the desire to stand up there in the bitter wind, in the dark, half asleep and thinking of their beds and the lonely women warming them.

Torvig thought of his own bed as he headed down the stairs into the guard tower, where a handful of men were sleeping, some snoring. It stunk of wet socks, smoke, and farts. He walked out into the inner courtyard, looking for a barrel, wondering if he was dreaming. Where had all the ale gone?

Surely, Reinar hadn’t gotten rid of it? They certainly hadn’t drunk it. Perhaps it was Eddeth’s smoke, drifting into the fort, addling his mind?

He froze, hearing a noise overhead. Body tensing, Torvig peered at the night sky, squinting, eyes on the stars, trying to see what was there.

Another rush, like a strong breeze.

He looked down into the narrow inner courtyard, but no one was there. It was deserted. The only men around were up on the walls, keeping watch.

Shaking his head, Torvig wondered if perhaps he had drunk too much

ale.

And then a noise, a screaming call of terror, and hands over his ears,

Torvig dropped to the ground.

‘Was that you?’ Bjarni asked, grabbing Agnette’s hand. He had fallen asleep beside her, chin on his chest, but he jerked awake, panicking. ‘Agnette?’

Agnette had been wide awake all night, trapped in the torturously slow pace of her labour, which appeared to have stopped altogether now. ‘It wasn’t me.’ She pushed herself up straighter, eyes blinking. ‘We’re under attack! You must go!’

Bjarni was a rumpled mess, having no armour, no swordbelt, no sense of where they were either. And almost falling off the bed, he staggered to the chair in the corner, trying to put himself back together.

Agnette groaned, pain exploding in her belly again. ‘Eddeth!’ She gritted her teeth, leaning out of bed, eyes on the floor.

But Eddeth had gone.

‘Alys! Get up! Wake up!’ Eddeth tugged Alys’ arm, pleased to see that she’d gone to bed wearing her cloak. ‘We must hurry. Here! Come on! Stand up!’

Alys was still trapped in her dream, but Eddeth’s voice came like a warning bell, peeling through the darkness. She jolted upright, falling to the side as Eddeth dragged her out of bed. ‘What? What?’

‘You have to stop her!’

‘Who?’ Eddeth was in a panic before her, fully dressed, wearing her dead husband’s trousers and tunic, hair bouncing wildly. ‘Stop who?’

‘The dreamer!’ Eddeth implored. ‘You have to stop the dreamer!’

Reinar rolled out of bed, confused. He heard screaming. Panic. His mind rushed to the walls and the stupid decision he’d made to go to bed.

Why had he listened to Torvig? Why had he abandoned the wall?

And cursing himself, he grabbed his swordbelt, charging out of the chamber, wrapping it around his waist as he headed through the hall.

Sigurd was in a guard tower with Tulia. They had left Amir on watch while they both slept, curled up together in a narrow bed, bodies entwined like tree roots, enjoying a moment of peace. At the first high-pitched scream, they tumbled out of bed, fully dressed, grabbing swordbelts, heading for the stairs.

‘Alys!’ Eddeth didn’t understand her hesitation. The dreamer had frozen before her.

Now? When this was the moment they had been waiting for. Now?

She was going to run away now?

‘You must take the flying powder and go!’ Eddeth implored, shaking

her.

Alys felt caught. She could take the powder, try to stop whatever the

dreamer was doing to the fort, if she could, and then… ‘She will kill my daughter. I dreamed it, Eddeth! The dreamer will kill Lotta!’

Agnette’s screams echoed through the wall, and Eddeth turned her head. ‘I have to go, but listen, Alys,’ she said, jumping at a pop from the fire, ‘only you can make this decision. Only you can choose the path to take. And if you choose to help us, take the powder. Swallow it down. Don’t spit it out, though you will want to. Tastes like something from the midden pit! It will help you see, though! Further than you ever thought possible!’ And hopping on one foot, as she was only wearing one boot, Eddeth made her way through the door.

Alys stared after her, utterly confused, listening to more screaming from Agnette and the men in the fort. She swallowed, surprised when Eddeth popped her head around the door.

‘And whatever you do, Alys the dreamer, do not take off that cloak!’

Reinar could barely stand. It sounded as though a thousand ravens were screeching inside his head. He watched as one after another, his men tumbled from the walls. ‘No!’ Hands out, he pushed onwards, towards the guard tower, trying to see the door, wanting to get up on the inner wall and find out what was happening. But the pain from the noise was blinding, light flashing before his eyes, making it impossible to see. ‘Get down! Get down!’

Reinar’s voice was lost in the noise as he stumbled, falling to the ground.

Alys stepped out of the hall, eyes darting around the dark square. She saw Reinar on his knees, hands over his ears. Stina was there, lying near Ludo, both of them curled over, heads in hands. Up on the walls, warriors fell to their deaths, trying to escape the ear-splitting noise.

Alys could hear it, like a bird’s cry, but it sounded far away, not affecting her at all. She could almost hear the beat of a drum too as she stepped forward, and then the rasping warning of the old dreamer again, threatening her daughter.

Closing her eyes, Alys tried to think of what to do, certain she could hear Agnette screaming back in the hall, relieved that Eddeth was with her.

And eyes on Reinar, now screaming in agony, Alys dug a hand into her pouch, pulled out the packet of flying powder, and tipped it into her mouth.

Mother sat upright.

The flames beckoned, and she had been lost in them. The girl’s hair lay beside her. Within reach.

Though she had doubted she would need to use it. But now?

What was the stupid woman doing?

Alys ran to Reinar, dropping down beside him, trying to help him up, but he couldn’t hear her. He didn’t appear to even see her. She looked up, sensing the shadows flitting across the moon, catching a glimpse of a raven.

The moon was almost full. It was definitely a raven.

And leaving Reinar where he lay, and ignoring Stina and Ludo, who were writhing in pain, Alys ran to the nearest guard tower. She swung open the door, surprised by how dark it was inside. The fire had burned down to nothing but embers, and she carefully felt her way across the floor to the narrow stone stairs. Hurrying up them, turning and twisting in the dank passage, Alys emerged onto the inner wall ramparts. She glanced around, left and right, catching sight of Sigurd and Tulia, lying down together,

hands clasped over their ears. She felt a sense of relief that they were safe, but then a man she didn’t recognise screamed, tipping over the rampart wall, tumbling to his death.

Eyes snapping to the field in the distance, Alys saw flames. And then she saw further, further than she’d ever imagined possible.

She saw deep into the forest where Hakon’s army was on the march. Glancing around, her panic exploded.

No one was able to protect the fort. No one could even stand on their feet. She ran to the signal bell, knowing that anyone who came to the ramparts would be struck down by whatever spell the dreamer witch was weaving, likely killed.

Closing her eyes, Alys tried to steady her breathing, feeling the warmth of the symbols glowing beneath her cloak. And opening her eyes, she turned back to Sigurd and Tulia, grabbing a bow and a quiver of arrows from the rampart walk they lay on. Crouching down, she slipped the quiver over her back, trying to steady her nerves which had her arms shaking.

Then an urgent pain exploded in Alys’ head, and closing her eyes again, she saw a symbol glowing like flames in the darkness. Her eyes burst open, and she dropped the bow, pulling out her knife. Nicking her fingertip, she quickly drew the symbol on her forehead, barely knowing what she was doing.

Standing, she dragged a bow from the quiver, feeling the symbol on her forehead burning hot. And nocking the arrow with trembling fingers, Alys tipped back her head, trying to see.

She opened her eyes wide, seeking the raven.

She could feel its wings wafting a cold breeze over her face. The raven, though, was as dark as the sky it flew across. Round and round the fort it flew in screeching waves.

Alys turned her bow away from it, aiming for the moon. Waiting.

‘No!’ Mother shrieked, on her feet now, trying to stop the raven. Trying to stop the dreamer, who was trying to stop the raven.

‘Your daughter will die!’ she warned, her voice a roar. ‘Don’t you realise that your daughter will die?’

Alys shut out the old dreamer’s voice, breathing slowly as the raven flew towards the moon. And just as its beak passed into the luminous glow, Alys released her arrow, standing back to watch its arc, willing it to fly true.

Body trembling, she held her breath, waiting.

The first boulder shot towards the fort, flying over the low wall, smashing the ramparts Alys stood on. She yelped in fright, jumping away from the wall, eyes up as the raven screeched, quickly tumbling out of the sky in ever-quickening spirals. And dropping the bow, Alys hoisted up her long cloak and ran to the signal bell, banging it with force. ‘The army is here! The army is here!’ she cried. ‘Hurry!’ And she ran to the stairs, past Sigurd and Tulia, who were dragging themselves back to their feet. ‘Watch out!’ Alys warned as another boulder smashed against the inner wall.

And then she was gone.

‌4 7‌

Mother didn’t have time to kill the girl yet.

The dreamer had killed her raven. Her sight was hampered, and she needed to work quickly to see how she could help Hakon.

He was freed from her spell. Freed from that powerful smoke too. But he was still a weak boy-man and liable to need her help to get into the fortress.

Turning back to her fire, she brought the baskets of herbs towards her.

Reinar couldn’t hear. It felt as though someone had hammered a nail into each ear, and though the pain was excruciating, it helped him to focus. He could see now. Thanks to the flaming boulders being lobbed from the field, he could see very clearly that his enemy was well past the lucky mark, heading for the wall of fire which had burned itself out now.

‘Archers!’ Reinar bellowed, ears crackling. ‘Archers!’

But some of his archers were lying dead below the low wall, impaled on the stakes they had dug into the ditch, pain contorting their ghoulish faces.

‘Get me some fucking archers!’ He spun around to Sigurd, who he could see right behind him on the inner wall. ‘Catapults! Hit the flanks too! Send the pitch! And fire! I need to see!’ Torvig was behind him, face screwed up in pain, bow in hand. ‘Aim for Hakon Vettel! That shit will be at the front somewhere!’

Torvig nodded, drawing his bow back to his ear, aiming low, straight into the heart of the approaching army.

‘Duck!’ came the cry behind them. And the next boulders were flung from the field, hitting the low wall, knocking Torvig off his feet, arrow shooting up into the air, falling harmlessly onto the rampart walk.

Reinar dropped to the walk himself, scrambling for a bow. Back on his feet quickly, he nocked a fire-arrow, dipping its pitch-soaked cloth into the brazier before him, waiting for Ludo to send the pitch into the army. And smelling it as the jar flew overhead, Reinar followed its path, waiting as it crashed into one of Hakon’s catapults. Releasing the arrow, Reinar quickly drew another, lighting it in the brazier again, watching as the pitch caught fire, flames hungrily surging up the catapult’s wooden frame.

Hakon frowned, bathed in the glow of the flames, watching from just behind his cousin. Ivan was running their defense from the back of his unhappy horse, who had stood on a nail and was limping badly. Lief was further back, in charge of the second row of catapults. The Hovring and Vika men were creeping up on their flanks with catapults of their own, all of them swinging back and forth, creaking industriously, hammering the walls.

For all his tricks and wishful thinking, Hakon knew that with Mother helping them, Reinar Vilander didn’t stand a chance.

Alys ran back through the hall, stopped by Gerda before she could get to the bedchambers. ‘What’s happening out there? Are we under attack?’

Alys nodded. ‘Their catapults are firing. They’re getting closer. Take cover!’ And she ran down the corridor, desperate to see Eddeth.

Eddeth was glad to see her as she flung open the door, surprised by the bloody symbol in the middle of Alys’ forehead. And pleased. ‘It worked, then? My powder?’

Alys didn’t have time to congratulate her about that. She glanced at Agnette, who was bent over, hands on the bed, Bjarni beside her. ‘I need

Bjarni. Agnette, I’m sorry, Eddeth will stay with you now.’ She wished that wasn’t true as Eddeth was a steady hand beside her, but she needed to ensure that both Agnette and her child lived.

‘Go!’ Agnette grunted, unable to utter anything else.

Bjarni looked torn, but he kissed his wife’s head. ‘I’ll return as soon as I can.’

Agnette was moaning low like a mournful creature stuck in a trap, body hunched over, wanting it to end, unable to reply.

With one last look at Eddeth, Alys disappeared outside with Bjarni, hoping the flying powder would keep working a while longer.

They had the catapults positioned around the square, anticipating an attack on their flanks, but the pre-dawn darkness was hampering the efforts of Ludo’s helpers, who were struggling to see him or hear his calls, their ears still ringing with the piercing cries of the raven. They stumbled around, knocking into each other, confusing his instructions, making a complete mess of things.

Ludo was no better, unable to hear Sigurd, who flailed his hands from the inner wall. He was unable to see what he meant either. And then there was the terror of the boulders as they flew ever closer to the square.

Ludo could hear the panic above him as Tulia ran the Ullaberg women with Amir, and Sigurd tried to cobble together as many archers as he could. Some had fallen into the inner courtyard and the square, the fall killing them, though most had left their bows behind.

‘We have to keep their catapults back!’ Sigurd shouted at Amir, who nodded, just managing to make out what he meant. ‘Hit them hard now! Fire-arrows!’

Tulia was bellowing at the women, arm in the air. ‘Again! Nock!’ The steady stream of mail-piercing arrows would surely keep those Slussfall men on their toes, halting any assault they planned to make on the gates.

But Hakon Vettel’s men were not content with simply flinging catapults their way, and now, the first waves of enemy arrows started flying. Tulia heard it late, her ears still ringing, but she screamed. ‘Down! Get down!’ Too late for one of her women, who got an arrow through the arm, falling

back with a shriek. ‘Stay down!’ Tulia warned, eyes seeking Amir in the darkness. He was lying on the rampart walk, hand on Ilene, and he rolled over, winking at his sister before growling at the women.

‘Up! Now!’

Alys heard the shouting from the walls, the thunderous booms of the boulders as they smashed into rock, shattering it, deadly shards flying through the air.

Bjarni blinked in horror at the sight of the inner wall, which had already sustained some damage, eyes widening at the bodies scattered beneath it. ‘I need to watch the hall!’ he panicked, turning back to the doors, wanting to keep his wife safe.

‘I need your help, Bjarni!’ Alys’ mind skipped quickly, seeing so many possibilities all of a sudden. And lifting the basket she’d taken from her chamber, she shoved it at him. ‘We can help them! But only if we hurry!’

Bjarni looked down at the herbs, and sniffing, he smiled.

Mother may have taken the first line of archers off the walls, but there were more than enough still up there doing damage to their men. Hakon felt confident, though, knowing he had men to spare. He swung his shield up, deflecting an arrow meant for his head. They certainly appeared to be concentrating their firepower in his direction.

He felt flattered.

‘Loose!’ Ivan was yelling from his limping horse, sword in the air, constantly moving and bellowing, working their men with confidence. He glanced around at Hakon, as he did every few moments, pleased to see that his cousin was holding his place.

Everything was flowing seamlessly around them now, as it always should have done.

The catapults swung back and forth in a devastating rhythm, sending burning boulders crashing into the stone defenses in a hail of fire. He could hear the screams coming from before him now, instead of all around him, and Ivan’s confidence soared. ‘Forward!’ he urged. ‘Move forward!’

Bjarni and Ludo worked quickly, commandeering as many hands as they could to quickly roll the ropes into boulders, slathering them with sticky pitch and more rope, wrapping them in Eddeth’s herbs. The hastily-made boulders were rushed to the catapults, loaded into their spoons.

‘Aarrghh!’

Alys jumped as a boulder crashed straight through the inner wall ramparts, sending everyone flying. Ludo lunged at her, knocking her out of its path, both of them rolling as the boulder landed in the square, breaking off the outer branches of Valera’s Tree, setting it alight.

‘Water!’ Bjarni shouted as Ludo pulled a shaken Alys back to her feet. ‘The tree! The tree!’ Eyes sweeping the hall doors, Bjarni felt sick, hoping Agnette was alright.

Ludo was bellowing at the remaining catapult crews, who were yelling at each other to watch out as boulders rained over them. Two catapults were smashed. More screaming. One man was killed instantly, lost beneath the giant rock.

Alys’ chest was aching. ‘Hurry!’ she implored, her hand on Ludo’s arm. ‘Hurry!’ And turning away from the square, she ran back to the hall, needing to get to her chamber.

The hall guards stepped aside with speed, and Alys hurried, eyes down, pushing her way through the crush of bodies. More and more people were making their way into the hall now, carrying the injured, escaping flying boulders and flaming cottages. Gerda was up on a table, soundly oddly calm, taking charge, arms moving in every direction.

Eddeth was pacing the bedchamber when Alys burst in.

Alys was surprised. ‘What are you doing here? What about Agnette?’

‘I found Irma Darri. She can birth a goat or a cow, so I’m sure she can birth a baby. I fear that dreamer witch will try something else, and you need my help to stop her! Don’t deny you do!’ Eddeth bent over, scooping up her grandmother’s book which lay open on the floor. ‘There is this.’ She shoved it at Alys, pointing to a spell. ‘It’s not going to be easy. Likely impossible! But we should try, yes?’

Alys looked down the page, reading quickly, not really understanding. ‘But how can I bind her to me, the dreamer isn’t here. I have nothing of hers to use.’

‘Yes, there is that problem.’ Eddeth scratched her wart, thinking, but the pounding of boulders assaulting the fort had her nerves twitching, and she

couldn’t get to the thought she so desperately knew was waiting for her.

Alys flicked through the pages with trembling hands, doubting there was anything they could do. She froze. ‘This! What about this?’ She bit her tongue as the chamber shook, glancing up at the rafters, dust sprinkling down on her head.

Eddeth lifted an eyebrow, scanning the list of items required. ‘Oh, so you think you can wrangle this? My, my… wouldn’t that be something.’ And rubbing a hand over her chin, her eyes widened, seeing the possibilities. ‘I have everything. More than everything we need. Except blood! You’ll need to go and kill something. I can get to work in here, prepare the potion for you.’ She drew her knife from its scabbard, aiming the haft at Alys’ chest. ‘Here. Get the first beast you can find. Take it to the tree. I’ll meet you there!’

Alys nodded, trying not to think. She would just do. It didn’t matter if it seemed impossible.

For if they couldn’t get rid of Hakon Vettel’s dreamer, she would kill them all. And then she would kill Lotta.

They had to hurry.

Sigurd took an arrow in the shoulder. ‘Oh, fuck!’ he screamed furiously, spinning back behind the rampart wall, teeth gritted.

‘Sigurd!’ Tulia ran to him, worry in her eyes. ‘Here! Hold on!’ And dropping her bow, she grabbed the arrow shaft in both hands, snapping off the end.

‘Aarrghh!’

‘Now try not to get any more!’ she warned, bending to pick up her bow, running back to the women, some of whom were panicking now. Even Amir looked daunted by the task that lay ahead of them, as more and more boulders devastated the fort. ‘Nock!’ she yelled, her voice hoarse, sensing they were running low on arrows. And leaning over the rampart wall, she called down into the square, to the children who were collecting the fallen arrows with some of Ludo’s women. ‘More arrows! Hurry!’

Reinar heard her as his archers nocked their own arrows. The low wall was bearing the brunt of the attack, some parts of the ramparts completely

devastated now. He would have to signal the retreat into the inner fort soon. And though he could sense that was coming, he wasn’t prepared to give up his wall just yet.

‘Watch out!’

Reinar heard the call too late, his ears still reverberating with the sound of screeching birds, and he moved slowly, the boulder smashing through the wall, hitting Reinar on the shoulder, knocking him down to the rampart walk.

‘Reinar!’ Sigurd saw his brother fall. ‘Reinar!’ He spun away as another wave of arrows hissed towards him; waiting for them to pass before turning back, eyes on the low wall, but there was no sign of his brother.

Mother drew symbols in the dirt with her bone-handled knife.

Human bone.

She smiled. Her trusty knife had been passed down through generations of dreamers who knew the power of herbs and symbols and chants. Dreamers who hid in shadows and came together in secret to share their dark knowledge. To grow stronger. More powerful. To unite as one force.

To battle the light.

It was always a battle of dark and light, Mother knew. Though, in these unsettled times, darkness had never had a better chance of winning.

Leaning forward, she squeezed the last drops of blood into the bowl, and dipping her knife into the mixture again, she finished her circle.

The noise of the battle was a hum in the distance now, the beat of her heart in perfect harmony with Falla’s drumming. ‘You will not stop. If you do, I will kill you.’ And meaning every word, Mother lifted the bowl to her mouth and drank the potion, licking her lips when she was done.

Smiling now, she took her position inside the circle, starting her dance.

Hakon watched the destruction of Ottby’s walls with glee, his father’s face in his mind, thinking of how proud he would be. All thoughts of the day before had gone now. He could almost taste victory as his men surged

forward behind Ivan. His eyes snapped to Alef Olstein, who was bringing up their right flank with his Vika men. Their left flank was moving too. They would enclose the fort from three sides, grabbing hold of the walls in a pincer move until they crushed it like an egg.

And then he could taste something else on his tongue. He could smell it in his nostrils.

The familiarity of that smoke sent shivers down Hakon’s spine. He spun around, seeing the smoke rising from the ground in thick waves again. Heart thudding with panic, he sought out his cousin. ‘Ivan! Ivan! The smoke!’ But his voice was lost in the screams as more boulders soared over the walls, flames flying.

Lief heard him, though, and he saw the smoke lifting from the field. Wheeling his horse around, he pointed to his men. ‘Move back!’ he cried. ‘Move back!’

‘Ivan!’ Hakon tried again, spurring his horse through the crush of bodies and burning catapults.

This time Ivan heard him, and he spun his horse around, but not in time to avoid getting an arrow in his upper right arm. He yelped, trying to grab the reins tighter, but his arm wouldn’t work, and then another arrow thudded into his back. Lief powered through the men, kicking his horse sharply, riding for Ivan, who had slumped forward in his saddle. The smoke was thickening, and he could feel his thoughts starting to drift away from him again. Twisting around, Lief yelled at Hakon. ‘Get everyone back!’ And reaching Ivan’s horse, he grabbed its reins, pulling it through the smoke, away from the catapults which had suddenly slowed, the men panicking again, not knowing what to do; some standing, some running. It was quickly becoming chaos.

Lief, eyes on a frozen Hakon, could feel everything falling apart.

And then the wind came rushing towards them across the field, blowing from the forest in an almighty gust, knocking Lief off his horse, still clinging to two sets of reins.

Sweeping the smoke away from the field, towards the fort.

‌4 8‌

‘Reinar!’ Sigurd had left the inner wall and hurried through the gates to find his brother. Instead, he found Torvig, who had dragged Reinar down the stairs of the guard tower, unconscious, his face bloodied, his left arm hanging awkwardly by his side. Sigurd grabbed Reinar’s other arm, and together, they helped him back into the fort, across the chaotic square.

‘We’ll get him to the hall, then you have to bring everyone off the low wall! They need to get inside!’ Sigurd yelled, his head spinning suddenly, fragrant smoke strong in his nostrils.

‘Reinar!’ Bjarni came rushing over. ‘I’ll take him.’ And freeing up Torvig to head back through the fort, Bjarni helped Sigurd get his brother into the hall. ‘Smoke’s coming back at us!’

‘What?’ Sigurd shook his head, ears still ringing. ‘What?’

‘Alys and I used Eddeth’s herbs. Stuck them to the rope balls with pitch! Sent them over the walls. But the wind! Move!’ Bjarni yelled at the men and women milling around the hall doors. ‘Get out of my way!’ And struggling inside, they found a bench and laid Reinar down.

Gerda shrieked, rushing forward. ‘Reinar!’

Sigurd turned to Bjarni. ‘We have to get everyone off the low wall!

Help me!’

Bjarni nodded, hearing the roar of the wind as it tore through the fort. And grabbing hold of Gerda’s arm, he tried to get her attention. ‘We need cloth around our faces! Quick!’ Bending down, he tore strips off her dress, ignoring her complaints. And standing up, Bjarni handed a piece of cloth to each of them. ‘Tie these around your faces. Now!’ And with one worried

look at Reinar, who had not yet opened his eyes, he headed out of the hall, Sigurd following after him.

The wind hit his face like a splash of cold water, and Hakon felt clear- headed; refreshed even. And as Lief ordered two men to take Ivan away, back to the tents where the healers were working hard, Hakon was busy pulling his men together, aiming them once again at the damaged walls. Thick smoke was shrouding the stone fortress now, and he knew that soon those men would be suffering just as badly as they had the day before.

It was time to make them pay.

Mother wasn’t satisfied with the wind.

She had to work quickly now. Any advantage gained would be lost once the smoke dissipated. So, bending over, she picked up her second bowl of potion, tipping the thick liquid down her parched throat.

Falla watched her, trying not to gag, hoping Mother could save the army, hoping she could lead them to victory. She didn’t trust any of those men out there, who seemed obsessed with whatever the victory meant to them personally. But it didn’t matter to Falla who became a famed warrior, or who was chosen by Thenor, feted by the gods. She just wanted her husband to live. To live and return to her so they could get out of this horrible place where they were scraping in the dirt, terrorised by smoke and war.

Eyes on Mother, she felt her tension ease as the old woman lay on the ground, closing her eyes. For all that she feared and loathed the dreamer, there was nobody she trusted more to save them.

And closing her own eyes, Falla tapped the drum, listening as Mother started chanting.

‘Fall back!’ Sigurd shouted until his voice broke. The arrow was still sticking out of his shoulder, blood soaking his tunic, occasionally oozing, but the pain had dulled now. Whether that was the strong smoke or the chaos swirling around him, he didn’t know. But his mind was focused solely on getting everyone inside. They had to abandon the low wall. It was hard not to let that undo their confidence.

Everyone was starting to panic.

He’d yelled up to Tulia, showing her the cloth tied around his face, and she’d quickly ordered everyone on the wall to tear their own tunics. It would help, he hoped, though Sigurd could still feel the smoke weaving around his mind, trying to undo his thoughts. ‘Fall back!’ he yelled again as Bjarni struggled past him with an injured man, both of them coughing.

There were many injured men.

Sigurd could hear the first boom of a battering ram striking the outer gates now. ‘Pull the barricades in place!’ he shouted, pointing to the last few men. ‘Get them in front of the gates! Hurry!’ Bending down, he scooped up a handful of arrows. ‘Grab what you can!’ And turning away, Sigurd headed for the inner gates, jaw working hard, eyes blinking, trying to keep control of his mind.

Alys and Eddeth worked their way through the hall, baskets and bowls in their hands.

‘The smoke!’ Eddeth screeched. ‘The smoke!’

Alys could smell it, though there was little time for regret now. ‘But we have to get outside. We need to go to the tree!’

Eddeth spun around, dropping her baskets onto a table, tearing off the bottom of her tunic, dipping it in the nearest cup of ale. ‘Turn around!’ And she pulled the dripping cloth across Alys’ face, tying it tightly across the back of her head. ‘My turn!’ And quickly ripping off another wide strip of cloth, Eddeth dipped it into the ale, securing it around her own face. ‘We must hurry,’ she mumbled, screwing up her nose in annoyance. ‘Or that woman will ruin everything!’

Alys’ attention was drawn to Gerda, who she could suddenly hear sobbing. And then she saw why. ‘Reinar!’ she cried, seeing him lying on

the bench, and she ran forward, Eddeth beside her. ‘Reinar! What happened?’

‘Sigurd brought him in,’ Gerda sobbed. ‘He’s been badly injured. He won’t wake up!’

Eddeth snorted. ‘He’s just sleeping, Gerda. Taking a rest! Though who can blame him, it’s been a long few days.’

Gerda looked insulted that Eddeth would suggest that her son, the Lord of Ottby, would sleep through a battle that threatened the lives of every person in the fort. And then even more horrified when Eddeth picked up a jug of ale and jerked it towards Reinar’s face.

Ale splashed all over Reinar, soaking his tunic and he sat up, gasping for air as the ale went up his nose, down his mouth. ‘What… happened?’ Everything started spinning, and he had to close his eyes quickly against the pain in his shoulder. ‘Aarrghh!’

‘Reinar!’ Gerda forgot all about being cross at Eddeth and simply threw her arms around her son, who yelped some more. ‘You’ve been injured, you need to stay here. I will find someone to look after you.’ She looked pointedly at Eddeth, not inviting her help, which Eddeth was grateful for as she didn’t want to give it.

Not now, at least.

Eddeth tugged Alys’ sleeve. ‘We must go! Sigurd’s in trouble out there.’ ‘Sigurd?’ Reinar opened his eyes, trying to move his left arm. Unable to

do much with it, though, he pushed himself off the bench with his right. ‘What’s happening?’

Gerda looked at her son in horror. ‘You can’t go anywhere, Reinar.

You’re covered in blood!’

Reinar could barely hear her, aware that Eddeth was tearing his tunic. He took the wet cloth she handed him, holding it up to his face as she leaped onto a bench, tying it behind his head. ‘Mother, keep everyone safe,’ he mumbled, and turning after Alys and Eddeth, Reinar headed through the doors, right hand out in front of him, trying not to topple over.

The low wall was deserted now, and Hakon Vettel’s men were working hard to get the abandoned gates open. They had been strengthened over the

years, but it was impossible to keep a battering ram out, especially as there was no one left on the low wall to douse those rammers with pitch and flame or pummel them with rocks.

Hakon’s catapults were flinging boulders further into the fort; the inner wall under furious assault now.

‘We need more arrows!’ Tulia cried. She had a snapped-off arrow sticking out of her forearm, another in her upper right arm. The smoke had made her slow, careless, and in quick succession, she’d been shot twice. Head back against the stone wall, she tried not to inhale, but that just made her light-headed.

Sigurd nodded. He glanced down into the square, knowing that they were running out of boulders too. All those men from the low wall who were still standing and able to use an arm had joined them on the inner wall. And now it was apparent that there were not enough arrows to go around.

‘I want more arrows up there!’

Sigurd saw his brother striding around the smoking tree, heading past the catapults towards a guard tower.

‘And my slingers! It’s time for you, boys! Everyone who isn’t on the catapults or collecting arrows, get up on the wall!’ Looking up, he saw Sigurd staring at him. ‘You’re facing the wrong way, Brother!’

Sigurd realised that he was lost in the smoke. He couldn’t stop staring.

His body felt heavy, and there was no desire in him to move at all.

Tulia jabbed him with the tip of an arrow. ‘Wake up!’

And Sigurd shook his head, rubbing an eye. ‘Alright, alright.’ He shook his head again, turning as the gate cracked.

They all heard it.

That sound was the one they feared most of all. The outer gates were splintering.

‘Push!’ Hakon was delighted with their progress.

Head clear and sitting astride his armoured horse, he watched as Lief urged the men wielding the battering ram to swing even harder. There was no one on the wall above them. Nothing to stop them getting inside at all.

And once inside the fort…

‘Push harder!’ Lief roared, encouraged by the damage. He spun around to Hakon. ‘Once we’re inside, we’ll be under attack right away from that inner wall! We’ll need to bring up the hide, keep the archers firing. You must stay back, my lord! They’ll throw everything they’ve got at us!’

Hakon kept nodding, but he was barely listening. Once they were inside…

As morning dawned, Eddeth and Alys made a circle in front of Valera’s Tree.

It was slow going as the cloud of smoke had sunk down into the square, suffocating them, addling their minds, and despite the cloths tied around their faces, they weren’t able to respond quickly or think clearly at all.

Eddeth kept shouting at Alys, who struggled to get her meaning. ‘What?’

Eddeth pulled down her mask. ‘We need the stones! I have nine of them. Nine symbols. They will complete the circle!’

‘Will it keep us safe?’

‘The circle? No idea!’ Eddeth snorted, laughing unexpectedly as she pulled the cloth back over her nose and mouth. ‘But if what you’ve seen is coming, we have to do it. We need to make it!’ She laughed again, exhilarated by the terror flooding her veins. She had always muddled about, going around in circles, and now, here before her, was the chance to make something happen. Something real.

She had the chance to make a difference.

‘What if I’m wrong?’ Alys panicked, finishing the circle, pleased that Eddeth looked satisfied with her efforts. A boulder landed nearby, screams echoing in her ears, flames rising in the square now.

‘Well, better to be wrong than dead!’ Eddeth grinned, shoving a small packet into Alys’ hand. ‘You need to take the flying powder! Take it now!’

Alys was confused, staring at the packet. ‘I did. I already did. You gave it to me before.’

‘What?’ Eddeth looked confused, ears ringing. ‘No, this is the flying powder. You haven’t had it. I’ve had this all along, waiting for the right moment!’

‘So what did I take, then?’

‘No idea, but it doesn’t matter, Alys! Take this!’ And shrieking as another flaming boulder grazed the tree, landing just behind them, Eddeth pushed the packet into Alys’ hand, eyeing her until she opened it up, swallowing the powder down. ‘Drink!’ Eddeth ordered, handing Alys a cup. Alys had so much powder in her mouth that she couldn’t speak to ask what was in it, but fearing the answer, she drank from Eddeth’s cup anyway, nearly throwing it straight back up. Face contorting, gagging, Alys spun

away to vomit.

‘Noooo!’ Eddeth grabbed her, pulling her upright, pinching Alys’ lips together. ‘You will swallow it, or Lotta will die!’

That woke Alys up, and she swallowed down the bloody mixture, shuddering all over. ‘Bah!’

‘Good girl! Now, let’s get to work!’

It was not the best place for them to be, Ludo thought nervously, eyeing the two women crouching beneath Valera’s Tree. He wanted to move them, but now that they’d sat down inside their circle, he knew he couldn’t. ‘Viggmir! Have your men surround Alys and Eddeth! Keep them safe! Move them if you have to!’

Alys heard Ludo’s familiar voice barking orders as though he was underwater. And then he started bellowing in panic, and turning, Alys saw wolves running through the fort. Spinning back around, she tried to clear her vision, certain she was imagining it, but when she looked back over her shoulder, the wolves were still there. Alys turned to Eddeth, who was crouching beside her, pointing to the chant in the book, mumbling in her ear. Everything started moving, and Alys felt as though she was drifting, the inner wall edging away from her, the early morning sky darkening as though a storm was descending upon them.

She could hear the low, threatening growls of the wolves as they approached, and she shook all over.

‘Close your eyes!’ Eddeth shouted, squeezing Alys’ shoulder, needing her to concentrate. ‘Close your eyes and start the chant!’ And dropping the book, Eddeth picked up her drum, sitting close to Alys, wanting to help her slip into the trance, doing everything she could to ignore the threat of those wolves. It was just a trick, she told herself, arms twitching.

Just a dreamer’s trick.

Reinar watched them from the wall, turning quickly, eyes on Sigurd. ‘Get everyone down! Down! Now!’

But the intense growl of the wolves and the panic of those trapped in the square drowned out his voice.

Soon the only sound they could all hear was screaming.

Hakon watched as the gates cracked open, slowly collapsing inward. ‘Forward!’ he yelled, sword in the air, on the ground now. His steward had taken his horse away to the back of the line, awaiting the signal from his lord to return him.

Shield up, sword in hand, Hakon’s eyes were on the tall inner wall, surprised to see no one even turn their way.

The screams coming from the fort were deafening. Panicked. Chaotic.

He smiled, thinking of Mother.

‘Quick!’ Lief yelled. ‘Ram the next gates! Bring the hide! Hurry!

Archers!’

The courtyard between the inner and outer walls of the fortress was not wide, and it took little time for their men to filter in. They did so in droves, archers first, arrows nocked, ready to both attack and defend.

‘Ladders!’ Lief yelled, desperate to make as much progress as possible while Mother kept their enemy busy.

‘There are no wolves!’ Reinar yelled, trying to get everyone’s attention, though there very much appeared to be wolves running amok down in the square. ‘Ludo!’ But no one was turning his way or showing any sign that they could hear him. ‘Sigurd!’ His brother was nearby, and when he turned around, Reinar grabbed his arm. ‘Get down there! To the square! Show them the wolves aren’t real!’ And then something caught Reinar’s eye, and his attention shifted to the outer gates, which he was horrified to see had been breached. ‘Ring the bell!’ he screamed to Amir, who stood near the signal bell, frozen, wide eyes on the panic enveloping the square.

And suddenly the bell was peeling through the fort. Though the worry that Hakon Vettel had breached the outer gates was not nearly as terrifying as the enormous wolves stalking the square, threatening to devour them all.

‘Archers! Turn!’ Reinar implored, trying to cut through the panic. ‘Fire on the courtyard!’ But barely anyone moved. Their eyes remained fixed on the wolves, the smoke weaving terrifying thoughts through their weary, fear-filled minds.

Alys spun through the air, the sound of her chanting ringing in her ears, Eddeth’s drumming like a storm murmuring in the distance.

It was dark, and the sounds were disorienting.

And then wet grass beneath her feet as she stumbled, barely keeping her balance. She glanced down, surprised to be barefoot.

‘We have waited for you to come, Alys,’ came the soothing voice from behind her. ‘And now here you are. But hurry, my child, for there is no time to waste.’

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‘Boom!’

The battering ram hit the gates with force, and Reinar screamed until his throat was raw, trying to get someone’s attention. Arrows flew up from the courtyard, and he spun out of their arc, sheltering behind the rampart wall. Then ducking low, he hurried to his brother, who looked just as trapped in the illusion as everyone else. ‘Sigurd! Help me!’ But Sigurd had frozen, eyes on the square and the wolves, so, gritting his teeth against the agony of his left shoulder, Reinar pulled him along; leading him to the cauldrons of pitch; freezing as another wave of arrows assaulted the fort; waiting for them to pass. ‘Quick!’ And urging a very confused-looking Sigurd to lift up one side, Reinar used his right hand to lift the other, and together they tipped the pitch over the wall, down onto those men gathered around the inner gates, swinging the battering ram.

Tulia had followed them, and she nocked her last fire-arrow, holding it in the brazier as the screams of Hakon’s men rose from the courtyard. Slipping back behind the rampart wall, she drew the arrow past her ear, waiting for the next wave of arrows to pass, before spinning back and shooting down at the pitch-covered men, and their pitch-covered hide.

She jumped back, grabbing Sigurd, who appeared unsteady on his feet. ‘More!’ she urged, pain clenching her jaw. ‘We need more arrows!’

Reinar nodded. ‘Go! Find them!’

Tulia glanced down at the square, as men and women ran through the smoke, trying to escape the wolves. Her eyes drifted to the hall, where Bjarni was banging on the doors, wanting to get inside. She looked back to Amir, who was running for the stairs after Ilene. ‘Amir! Wait!’

But just as she yelled it, an arrow took Amir in the neck. He jerked, knocked off his feet, eyes fixed on his sister as he fell onto the rampart walk.

‘No!’ Tulia cried, charging at him. ‘Amir!’

Sigurd spun after her as more arrows flew. Boulders were still being launched into the fort too, and as Sigurd reached Tulia, he grabbed her arm, stopping her just as a boulder tore through the wall. ‘No!’

Reinar swallowed, eyes over the wall, down into the courtyard, seeing the burning mess of Hakon Vettel’s hide; watching those men, who were on fire, running about in agony. And then he saw Hakon himself. ‘You want to come in, Thumbless?’ he bellowed, his head almost clear, the smoke dispersing from the top of the wall now. Every part of Reinar throbbed with rage and pain. This was his home. His fort. He was not going to let them in.

The lives of his family depended on it. The future of Alekka did too.

‘I do!’ Hakon laughed. ‘And I will! Say goodbye to your father while you can! While he still has a head!’

‘You think you can defeat us with some smoke and a dreamer? That you can take Ottby? Take the bridge?’ Reinar wanted to keep him talking while Alys worked down in the square. He had seen her kneeling beneath the tree with Eddeth. He didn’t know what they were doing, but whatever it was, it needed time to work. ‘You have to defeat us with magic? You couldn’t claim victory on your own? Ha! What would your father make of that? Your father, the famed warrior, raised a son so cowardly he needed a dreamer to help him!’

More arrows, and Reinar was quickly back behind the wall, glancing at Sigurd, who had dragged a shellshocked Tulia towards him. His brother’s eyes looked sharper now over his cloth mask. ‘We have to get more arrows!’ he hissed. ‘We can’t let them in! The catapults aren’t firing! The archers aren’t shooting! We have to get arrows!’

Tulia nodded, heart breaking, and dragging her eyes away from Amir’s body, she followed Sigurd to the stairs.

The Alekkan gods were at war with one another.

A war that had raged since the beginning of time itself. The power to rule the land see-sawed between dark and light forces. And with the fair- minded, big-hearted Ake Bluefinn on the throne these past twenty years, those gods on the dark side had been agitating for a change. Though they were not unopposed, for the battle to control Alekka through its kings was a fight both sides were determined to win.

‘You need my help?’ Valera wondered. She was exceptionally tall and elegant, with lavender-coloured eyes that appeared to sparkle like jewels and golden braids twisted around her head like a crown. She smiled as she spoke, her delicate hands clasped before the waist of a silken blue dress, embroidered with shimmering symbols, much like Alys’ new cloak. She was the Goddess of Fertility, the Goddess of Love. She was exquisite. Ethereal. Softly-spoken. ‘You need my help to stop the dreamer? Is that what you are asking, Alys?’

Alys wasn’t sure she could even speak the words she so desperately needed to say, but seeing Lotta’s face, she nodded. ‘Yes. I want you to kill her. You must do it. Please! Now!’

Falla was growing sleepy. Mother’s fire still belched a heady blend of herbs as she lay on the ground, eyes closed, muttering, mumbling, sometimes growling. Falla wondered if the old woman was asleep, though she had seen her work magic before, and she knew that it sometimes went that way.

She yawned, determined to keep drumming.

The drumming was just as important as the herbs. As important as the chant.

Mother had screeched that at her many times. She couldn’t fall asleep now.

‘Alys, I cannot kill a human. That is not our way,’ Valera said, almost regretfully, for Mother Arnesson was the sort of dreamer who deserved to die a miserable death.

Alys felt herself panic.

They stood in the most beautiful field of wildflowers that swayed gently in a warm breeze. The sky was clear overhead, but the sounds of Ottby crept towards her now, clawing at her, a constant reminder of the threat they faced if Hakon Vettel’s dreamer remained alive.

‘But… I….’ Alys had an urge to touch the goddess. To grab hold of her hands and squeeze until she did what she wanted.

‘I cannot kill her, but you can, Alys. You can.’ Valera smiled, her cheeks rounding like apples. ‘If you were to look at the tree over there, you would find everything you needed to know.’

Alys blinked, glancing around the flowering field, not having seen a single tree since she’d arrived, but as she kept turning, Valera’s Tree appeared before her, symbols glowing down its familiar trunk.

The smoke was still trapped in the square, and Tulia and Sigurd ran through it, pressing their masks to their faces, trying not to inhale. They could see wolves everywhere; people running, screaming, trying to escape.

Sigurd blinked, smoke stinging his eyes, head spinning again. He saw Alys and Eddeth kneeling in front of the tree, and grabbing Tulia’s arm, he pointed her towards Ludo, who was running to the inner gates with a handful of warriors, trying to escape. ‘Get Ludo!’ he yelled. ‘Stop them!’

And unsheathing his sword, Sigurd spun around to face the wolves, wanting for the first time in his life to believe in a dreamer. It was just a trick, he told himself, stepping cautiously towards the three wolves who were edging closer, teeth bared, growls rumbling in their bellies. Reinar’s voice boomed down from the ramparts, and then the battering ram crashed into the inner gates again. More men had obviously been brought forward to get them open quickly.

He could hear cracking.

Screams rising all around him, Sigurd took once last look at Tulia, who was trying to drag Ludo away from the gates, and he lunged forward, jamming his blade between the eyes of the first wolf with such force that he fell onto the dirt.

Rolling, jumping back to his feet, Sigurd spun around, looking for the wolf, but it was gone. All three of them were. ‘They’re not real!’ Sigurd

yelled, trying to make himself heard, coughing. ‘They’re not real!’ Boom!

The gates were splintering. Sigurd could hear it as he ran to help Tulia. ‘Stop! The wolves aren’t real!’ Ludo looked around in horror, and Sigurd saw the heavy daze in his eyes. He spun back to Alys and Eddeth. ‘Alys, hurry!’

Bjarni charged across the square towards Sigurd, having discovered himself, after falling on a wolf, that they were just another trick. Head clearer now, he ran through the smoke up to Ludo and the men who were fighting to pull up the beam and let Hakon Vettel in. Overcome with an urgent need to escape the wolves, they punched and fought with the guards who were responsible for ensuring the gates remained secure. ‘No!’ Bjarni roared. ‘Stop! Please, stop!’

But it was too late, and in the blink of an eye, the beam was raised and dropped to the ground with a shuddering thump.

‘Archers to the wall!’ Sigurd cried, running for the guard tower. ‘Archers to the wall!’

Running after him, Tulia scooped up as many arrows as she could find as Hakon Vettel’s men started pushing on the gates. But so many of their own men were trying to escape that they had a hard time budging them. Those Ottby men wanted to leave, and quickly. Heads full of mind-altering smoke and hallucinating that wolves were chasing them, they almost clambered over each other in their desperation to get out of the fort.

Alys’ eyes burst open, and she gripped Eddeth’s hand, looking up at the tree, seeing the glowing symbols.

Eddeth blinked at her. ‘What happened?’

But Alys wasn’t listening. She could hear the calm instructions Valera had whispered in her ear, and slicing Eddeth’s knife across her palm, Alys dipped a finger into her blood, shutting out every noise, every fear, picturing her daughter’s face.

Blood on her finger, Alys stepped towards the tree, tracing the glowing outline of the symbols. As she finished each one, the symbol was extinguished.

And when the light of the ninth symbol went out, Alys spun around, blinking.

Eddeth scrambled to her feet, ignoring the menacing wolves, smoke trapped in her throat, the gates shunting open in the distance. Her attention

was on Alys, who had stopped abruptly and was glancing around. She could see the chaos in the fort, horror widening her eyes as she realised that both sets of gates had been breached. ‘We must get into the hall!’ Eddeth shrieked, certain that what Alys had tried hadn’t worked. She grabbed her arm, yanking her away from the tree. ‘Quick! We must barricade ourselves in!’

Mother’s hands twitched.

Falla didn’t move at first. She sat on the stool, drum on her lap, worried that she was about to vomit.

And then Mother started gurgling, eyes open, legs thrashing, grabbing her throat.

Reinar blinked as the wolves disappeared, the panic in the fort stuttering to a stop. Terrorised men and women stood on either side of him, frozen, mouths ajar. The wind was picking up now that both sets of gates were open, rushing through the square, dispersing the smoke with speed. But there was still the problem of Hakon Vettel’s army, which surged into the fort, shields up, spears out, banners flying, pouncing just as everyone had woken from their magical stupors, far from their posts, most without shields to hand.

Reinar yelled down from the ramparts. ‘Bjarni! Ludo! To the hall! Shield wall! Form in front of the hall!’ He saw Alys running for the hall doors, and he thought of his father and mother. Poor Agnette too. ‘The rest of you to the ramparts!’ He grabbed a shield, stumbling, turning to Sigurd. ‘You’ve got the ramparts! Keep those arrows flying!’ And he ran for the stairs, desperate to get to the front of the shield wall.

Hakon was fighting his way through his warriors, who were all busy trying to untangle themselves in the courtyard. There was not enough room to get through the gates quickly, though, and their bodies banged together as they tried to fight their way into the square.

Hakon couldn’t get through.

Sword swinging, he started carving out a path with little regard for who he hurt, as more and more of Reinar’s men woke up, hearing their lord’s call.

Ivan wanted to get back to the fort. He felt light-headed and weak, but he wasn’t about to let Lief Gundersen take credit for their victory. He was mounted, back on his horse, the strips of cloth wrapped around his arm and chest, already blood-soaked. But just as he was about to spur his horse into action, he heard a cry from the forest, and turning in the saddle, he could see two men urging their horses on with speed. They flew down the path, out of the trees, clods of mud flinging everywhere, white breath smoke streaming from their horses’ open mouths.

Alys could hear Bjarni ordering his men to form a shield wall in front of the hall. She turned to Stina, who trembled beside her, eyes on the doors, fearing that soon they would burst open.

Ludo had sent Stina into the hall when he’d run out of boulders, telling her to help Gerda. That had been before the wolves, before the smoke, and Stina was in the dark about what was happening outside those doors. ‘It doesn’t sound good,’ she muttered.

Alys tried to see anything, but her mind swirled with strange images, none of which made sense. Her throat ached, and her stomach lurched. The smell of that potent smoke was strong, even in the hall, and she kept tasting the blood from Eddeth’s potion. ‘Hakon Vettel has breached the walls. Both of them.’

‘What?’ Gerda was behind her, and she grabbed Alys’ arm. ‘What?’ Spinning around, she saw her husband. ‘Help me,’ she urged. ‘I must take him to his chamber. Please, help me!’ The fear and desperation in Gerda’s tearful eyes moved Alys quickly, and she hurried after Gerda, through the hall, towards where she had parked Stellan at the high table. The chair was heavy, but with a little effort, they spun him in the direction of the corridor.

‘No!’ Stellan barked, surprising Gerda, who stopped, running around to face him.

‘What?’ She crouched down, eyes wide, not having heard his voice in so long. ‘What is it? Stellan? What is it?’

‘You think you can keep me out?’ Hakon barked, stepping around the dead bodies towards Reinar’s shield wall. Behind him more and more men flooded the square, blades clashing as his warriors fought with those Ottby men who had not made it up to the ramparts in time. Arrows flew overhead in both directions, but Hakon wanted a moment to himself, listening as Lief ordered their men into a massive shield wall behind him.

Hakon wanted a moment to look in Reinar Vilander’s eyes before he tore his life apart, one painful piece at a time. ‘You think you can keep me away from your father?’ The smoke was almost gone, but the sky had darkened further; thick clouds threatening snow enveloping the rising sun. ‘You think you can stop what I’ll do to him?’

Reinar could sense that Sigurd was already running out of arrows up on the wall. His brother was yelling at the archers, running the drills, but he also appeared to be looking for arrows.

More of Hakon’s men pushed their way into the square, and Reinar felt a cold hand clench around his heart, not wanting anything to happen to his father; knowing that he’d let him down, that he had lost the fort. But he was never going to surrender to Hakon Vettel, and feeling the weight of his sword in his right hand, Reinar tried to force open his eyes which wanted to close against the pain in his shoulder. ‘You want to die for vengeance, go ahead! I won’t stop you. But you’ll never have my father’s head! I make you that promise now. I’ll rip out your throat before you ever lay a finger on him!’

‘Come on!’ Hakon goaded. ‘Fight me, then! Make my dreams come true!’

Lief was beside Hakon now, and he tried to get his lord’s attention, knowing that he was about to make a serious mistake. Reinar Vilander was enormous, with a look in his eye that had Lief on edge. Hakon was a skilled warrior, but looking at the Lord of Ottby, Lief doubted he stood a chance.

Reinar emerged from the shield wall, much to Sigurd’s horror, though he doubted Reinar had any choice if Hakon had called him out. A lord could not hide. Could not ask his men to die for him if he was not prepared to fight for them.

Hakon could hear the rush of men coming into the fort, the scrape of blades around him, but steadying himself, he let every distraction fade into the background as he stepped towards Reinar, eyes glinting, the memory of his father’s growling voice at his back.

Hakon looked strong, powerful in his leather tunic, mail shirt hugging his chest, hanging to the top of his thighs. He wore a shining helmet, dented at the top, long cheek pieces covering most of his face, but Reinar could see his strange blue eyes glaring at him, glowing with rage. He remembered how his own father had removed Jesper Vettel’s head, saving Alekka from another attempt on Ake’s throne.

And now, here was his son, ready to pick up where he’d left off.

Reinar heard a horn in the distance, but teeth grinding together, he moved forward, crouching slightly, leaning his weight on his right side.

Lief started pushing his way back through the shield wall, wanting to know where that horn was coming from.

Hakon’s archers were out of arrows themselves now, and so they stood, eyeing the men on the walls, moving behind the shield men, waiting to see who would emerge victorious as the two lords started circling one another.

‘Hakon! Hakon!’ Ivan screamed, fighting to make his way into the fort, but rows and rows of Slussfall men were lining up, trying to get inside, blocking his path.

He wished he had his own horn to blow.

‘What is it?’ Erlan Stari was there, leading his men towards the outer gates. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Ake’s coming.’

‘What? But he’s out West. He’s fighting at Ennor! It can’t be Ake.’ Erlan shook his head, shivers running down his spine, glancing around, remembering the sound of the horn.

Ivan nodded. ‘It’s Ake. My men saw him, with his entire army. Thousands, they said, thousands are coming! We have to retreat before he traps us in this broken fort! We have to retreat now!’

Hakon nicked Reinar’s arm, having quickly realised that the Lord of Ottby was carrying an injury. He saw the blood caked on his face, the way he was holding his left arm as though it was broken.

Reinar let him see it all, happy to distract his opponent for a time; letting him think he was weak. His left arm was numb, the pain distant, but his right arm worked fine, and his sword was quickly swinging for Hakon’s head. Hakon stepped back, swaying, just out of reach, surprised by the force of the blow; further surprised when Reinar skipped towards him, repeating the stroke. Hakon stumbled as Reinar came at him again, jabbing his sword at his belly until he toppled backwards, banging into his shield men. They quickly shunted their stunned lord back to his feet.

Hakon only just got his blade up as Reinar dropped his weight onto his injured side, bringing his sword around with all the power in his right arm. And as Hakon rushed his blade up to parry the strike, Reinar quickly shifted his weight again, dropping his blade underneath, slicing straight across Hakon’s belly.

Jerking back, Hakon screamed, feeling the cut, relieved to be wearing his mail shirt, which had blunted the blade’s bite, though he could still feel the sting. Angry now, he aimed for Reinar’s left arm, but Reinar turned so the right side of his body was once again facing Hakon, and this time, he stabbed his sword forward like a spear, sword tip piercing Hakon’s mail, his padded leather tunic underneath, and then skin. He shunted hard.

Hakon roared, aware of a flurry of activity behind him. But he was not going to be stopped.

Not by Lief, not by Reinar. He would kill every last Vilander himself, avenge his father’s murder, and then he would reclaim the throne.

Ears ringing suddenly as the pain in his belly exploded, Hakon didn’t hear Lief yelling at him. He ducked Reinar’s next strike, backhanding his sword with a show of skill, remembering how hard he had practiced, how hard he had fought to be here. His hand shook, the pain overwhelming, but

that smug look on Reinar Vilander’s face made him ignore everything, and grunting, he lunged forward.

Reinar stepped back, seeing that Hakon was off balance, watching as he stumbled, tipping, barely keeping to his feet. Lief was shouting, calling to him, but ignoring him, Hakon spun, swinging wildly, chasing Reinar now.

Reinar wanted to kill him. Kill him before he ever set foot in the hall.

Before he ever touched a hair on his father’s head. And sword in both hands, he stopped moving out of Hakon’s way and charged forward with a roar.

‘My lord!’ Lief grabbed Hakon by the collar, yanking him out of Reinar’s path, prepared to suffer his wrath. And dragging him back to their shield wall, he whispered in his ear.

The Slussfall shields enclosed the two men, spears pointed at Reinar, who retreated behind his own shield wall, joined by Bjarni, shield at his chest, ready to stand with him.

And then Hakon’s men started retreating, backing up with speed, shields protecting them, spears aimed at their enemy. Reinar looked on in surprise, wondering at the timing of the retreat. They didn’t have the men to stop them, or the arrows to hurt them, so there was little they could do but watch. He glanced up at his brother, who was peering across the field as snow flurries swept across the broken fort, wishing he could lock the gates. They were off their enormous hinges, though, broken in places. They weren’t going to keep anyone out for some time. ‘Shield walls!’ Reinar yelled when the last of Hakon’s men were sucked out of the square. ‘Secure the inner fort!’

Hakon heard him, spitting, seething, desperate to turn around, but Lief had a firm hold of his lord, and he was urging him out of the fort, towards his horse. ‘We have an army big enough to withstand Ake Bluefinn!’ Hakon roared. ‘And a dreamer! We have a powerful dreamer!’

Lief wasn’t listening. ‘Get on your horse, Hakon!’ he bellowed, running for his own horse, determined to get back to his wife before it was too late. ‘If you want to live, ride!’ And head bent low, snow blustering around his face, Lief Gundersen mounted his horse, aiming at the forest, certain he could hear that horn again, moaning in the distance.

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Reinar staggered up the stairs, onto the inner wall ramparts, wanting to see what was happening. His left arm felt ready to come off. The ringing in his ears was getting louder. He had to be losing blood from somewhere, he thought distractedly, eyes on Sigurd, who was scanning the field, now littered with abandoned catapults, siege towers and bodies, flames still burning in patches.

They saw the odd horse pull up as they were spurred towards the forest, landing on nail traps, roaring in pain. But no one was waiting or offering to help. It appeared to be every man for himself.

Sigurd turned to his brother, seeing his clenched jaw and his awkward stance, knowing he was in significant pain.

‘What’s happening?’ Reinar called. ‘Why are they leaving?’ Glancing down into the courtyard, he saw that the last man had gone. ‘Shield wall across the outer gates!’ he bellowed. ‘Secure the fort!’

‘Someone’s coming. I’ve heard a horn a few times. It’s getting closer!’

Tulia had left to be with Amir, who was dead, and she was cradling his head in her lap, the pain of grief trapping her in shock.

She couldn’t even blink.

Reinar peered into the distance, wanting to see who was coming, but the sky continued to close in around them, the snow getting heavier. ‘Collect the arrows! Archers on the walls!’ And then the first rider could be seen in the distance, banner flapping from a long spear. He felt his brother rise onto his tiptoes beside him, straining his neck to see who it was. But they were both on the inner wall, too far away.

And then they heard the call. ‘Ake! It’s Ake!’

Sigurd turned to Reinar, shivers running up his arms, mouth wrenched open in surprise.

Hakon didn’t want to ride anywhere but back to the fort and finish Reinar Vilander. His body throbbed with angry fire, pain searing across his injured belly, blood soaking his tunic, but he’d heard the wail of a horn in the distance, and if Lief was right, they were about to be swallowed by Ake’s full army. After the losses they had suffered on that frosty field, and the depletion of arrows and firepower, he couldn’t risk engaging him. And he couldn’t have kept him out of the fort he had just broken.

He had no choice but flight.

And ducking his head against the snow, Hakon screamed, sending his horse after Lief, who was heading for the trees.

Reinar couldn’t believe it.

He couldn’t believe the king had come. He could see Ake’s horse banner clearly now. The mounted men leading the column were carrying that banner on their spears. The blue cloth fluttered brightly in the darkening sky, flapping through the snow, matching the blue of their tunics. And then Reinar saw a glimpse of Ake Bluefinn himself, wearing his famed plumed helmet, white fur cloak draped across his shoulders, riding

just behind the bannermen.

He shook his head, tears stinging his eyes, shoulders weary, before turning to Sigurd. ‘Go and tell Father. Tell him Ake came.’ He kept shaking his head as he headed away from Sigurd, towards Torvig, who was checking the injured men around him. ‘And Sigurd! Have Gerda bring out the wine!’

Suddenly the cries of pain became louder than everything else, the cheers of those who were still standing too. And Reinar walked through all the noise, down the stairs and out of the guard tower, into the square. ‘Clear a path!’ he rasped. ‘Clear a path for the king!’ He saw Ludo with tears in his own eyes. ‘Move those catapults back!’ Reinar needed to prepare for the

king, but the entire left side of his body felt as though it was about to snap off. His men were dead and injured, scattered around the square. Up on the walls too.

He needed to check the hall. He needed to…

Bjarni put a hand on his arm. ‘Reinar!’ Reinar turned to him. ‘How’s Agnette?’

‘Still going!’ Bjarni swallowed, happy, worried, relieved. ‘She’s still going. Eddeth’s back with her now, so hopefully, the baby will come soon.’

‘Go! Be with her!’ Reinar urged, eyes on Tulia, who had left the guard tower, guiding the men who were carrying her brother’s body out into the square. He looked away, wanting to see some more familiar faces. ‘Bolli!’ He let out another sigh of relief, though the old helmsman stared at him through a bloody face mask, stumbling slightly. ‘Are you alright?’

Bolli grunted, barely hearing him as he headed for the hall. ‘Head wounds. Always bleed like a bitch!’

Reinar nodded, ears ringing louder as his own wounds took hold. ‘Let’s get the bodies lined up beneath the tree. Pyres will come, but not yet. Not yet.’ His eyes were on the hall doors which were being wedged open now, watching as Alys stepped outside.

He shivered, holding his breath as the noise exploded, sweeping around them, knowing that the king was getting closer.

Alys held his gaze for a moment, and Reinar couldn’t move.

And then Torvig jumped in between them. ‘Come on!’ he called, patting Reinar’s good shoulder. ‘Ake’s here! Come on!’ And striding past him, Torvig headed for the gates.

Reinar blinked, looking back at the hall doors, but Alys had gone.

Fury turned to panic as Hakon stood in the tent where the old woman lay.

Dead.

He didn’t know how it was possible.

The loss of Mother grabbed hold of him. It would not let him go. He didn’t mourn her, he mourned his ambitions, his fading hopes of vengeance for his father’s murder. For his own ascent to the throne.

Ivan was behind him. ‘If we don’t leave…’

Hakon barely heard him. The wind howled around the tent, sides flapping like sails, and he thought of the wolf. And the threat. And the promise.

All of it gone.

Hands, bloody and charred, fell by his sides, head slumping forward. ‘Useless old bitch.’

He felt like a boy who’d been beaten by a man.

‘Hakon, I will knock you out and throw you over your horse!’ Ivan shouted, barely able to stand. The tent stunk of smoke and herbs and a dead old woman who he would’ve been overjoyed to see the end of if they didn’t have Ake Bluefinn and his army and a blizzard descending upon them.

Lief popped his head into the tent. ‘We have to go!’ he demanded. ‘We have to get the men moving, my lord!’

Ivan didn’t need Lief Gundersen to tell them that, but he nodded, flapping a hand at him. ‘Take your wife. Take the men. Make a start, we’ll follow shortly.’

Lief felt relieved as he ducked out of the tent, hurrying to Falla, who was already mounted on her horse, waiting beside his, hood up, mittened hands clasping the reins.

She spun around, fear in her eyes. ‘We have to hurry!’

Lief tried to remove the urgency from his voice before he spoke. ‘They won’t give chase. They won’t.’ He wasn’t certain about that, but getting moving quickly would give them a better chance of escaping.

Falla stared at her husband, who was dour and dull, not handsome at all, and she felt a surge of need for him. His arms were strong and powerful, and she wanted them to keep her safe; her and her unborn child and her son. Nodding, she kept her mouth closed, turning back around, waiting as Lief mounted his horse.

‘We march for Slussfall!’ Lief cried as Hakon and Ivan emerged from Mother’s tent. ‘A quick march till sunset! It will be hard, but we must get to safety!’

All around their camp, servants were rushing to collect what they could before all the horses left. There would be no horses for them, but saddlebags could store food and waterskins, so they worked with purpose and urgency to ensure they took as much as possible, hoping not to be left behind.

‘Come on!’ Ivan called. ‘There’ll be another day! We have this warning. It’s a sign from the gods. They didn’t want to see you defeated. They want you alive, to fight again. It’s a sign!’ Hakon appeared in a daze. In shock. Ivan saw the blood soaking through his mail; his cousin’s slumped stance. ‘I’ll get you to your horse. We’ll fix you up tonight, don’t worry. We can hold something over that in the meantime.’

Hakon let himself be led away like a child, wanting to believe that Ivan was right. That the gods would unite behind him, return him to this very place, make him the king he was born to be. They had to. He had to avenge his father’s death, so he could be proud of him for once.

And dropping his head, the sting of his wounds taking hold, Hakon traipsed towards his horse, listening to the thunder of hooves as his men sped away from their camp.

By the time Ake arrived inside the square, there was almost room for him to stand. He dismounted his grey stallion with a stern look, eyes on the broken fort, now sprinkled with blustery snow.

Resettling his enormous fur cloak, he took off his helmet, handing it to his steward, who had hastily dismounted, grabbing both the helmet and the reins of Ake’s precious horse, Frey. ‘You’ve been busy,’ Ake grinned, looking at the state of Reinar and Sigurd, who stood before the hall, flanked by the men and women who had survived.

Who had helped them survive and save the fort.

‘That we have, lord.’ Reinar ducked his head, looking up to see Ake smile.

‘And where’s that sod of a father of yours? Sitting around while you do all his work? If only I had sons your age, I could sit in my warm hall and not ride about the country, freezing my balls!’ He chuckled, masking his sadness. ‘Come on, let’s not stand about. Get your old king to a fire, boys!’ And he turned after the Vilander brothers, one hand on Sigurd’s shoulder, one on Reinar’s. ‘Still bigger than you. Good to see!’

And it was true, Sigurd realised, relief flooding his body; worry too. He wanted to escape and find Tulia. He needed someone to stitch him up – they

all did – but for now, they needed to see to the king who had come to save them.

And just in time.

Gerda burst into tears at the sight of Ake striding into the hall, flurries of snow blowing in with him. She rushed towards him, throwing open her arms. ‘Thank you!’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, thank you!’

Ake had never enjoyed Gerda’s company as much as Stellan had, though she had been a loyal Lady of Ottby, a hospitable host, and a good wife to Stellan over the years and her gratitude made him smile. ‘Me? I think your sons had everything under control, Gerda. Stellan trained them well.’ He looked for his old friend, who sat in his wheelchair, slumped to one side, a mere shadow of the warrior he had once been. But Ake saw a glimmer of light in his eyes, and he took a seat beside him. ‘You would’ve been proud,’ he smiled, taking Stellan’s cold hand in his, lowering his voice so the hushed hall wouldn’t hear his words. ‘Proud of what your boys accomplished out there. They held on longer than I thought they could. And the bridge is safe.’ He turned around, pointing at Reinar. ‘The bridge is safe!’

A cheer went up around the hall, and Ake grinned, turning back to Stellan, squeezing his hand. ‘The bridge is safe, and so is Ottby, and we live to fight another day.’ He touched Stellan’s face, trying not to feel sad, but it was hard. This man had been his fiercest warrior. A beast in battle. His mightiest.

‘Ake,’ Stellan croaked, tears in his eyes. ‘Ake.’

Reinar watched, tears in his own eyes, feeling his brother’s hand on his back.

Alys could hear the cheers from the hall, though she felt worried. Agnette was struggling, ashen-faced, barely able to open her eyes. She had not slept, and her body was weak. The baby was proving to be as stubborn as she was, according to Bjarni, who looked just as worried as he stood beside her, jiggling anxiously.

Eddeth hopped around the chamber with light feet, bare and dirty, energy coursing through her body as she contemplated what to do next.

‘Agnette!’ Spinning around, she brought her knife up to Agnette’s face. ‘I’m going to have to cut you open!’

‘What?’ Bjarni looked horrified. ‘No!’

Eddeth ignored him, sneezing. She brandished the knife just beneath Agnette’s chin where the flames from the lamp caught it, reflecting the shine of the blade in Agnette’s tired eyes.

‘But the baby?’

‘Well, it’s a risk, yes,’ Eddeth said gravely. ‘Though I have little choice. You have no strength left, it seems. If you cannot push the child out, either she will die, or you’ll both die. This way I’ve a chance of saving one of you. Possibly both.’ She peered into Agnette’s weary eyes for a moment before spinning away to hold the blade to the flames.

‘Alys,’ Agnette breathed. ‘What do you see?’

Alys froze, not knowing what to say, but Eddeth eyed her sternly, hoping upon hope that the dreamer could read her thoughts. ‘I… your baby is in danger, Agnette, I see that. What Eddeth wants to do…’ Alys shrugged. ‘I’m not sure what will happen. You must listen to her.’

Panicking, Agnette gripped Bjarni’s hand. ‘Let me push, Eddeth!

Please. Let me try one more time!’

Eddeth winked at Alys, turning around, knife already sheathed. ‘Well, if you think you have one more push left in you?’

Agnette nodded, her tired eyes suddenly sharp with focus as she squeezed Bjarni’s hand. ‘Yes. Yes.’

‘Good, then let’s see what we can do! Alys, you get on Agnette’s other side. She’s going to need someone else to hold on to.’ Eddeth squinted as she bent down. ‘Wait for me, Agnette, and then start pushing. Believe in your heart that you can save your child and push with all you have, for if not, I will cut you open!’ Threat expertly delivered, Eddeth glanced at Bjarni and Alys, before checking on the position of the baby, waiting, watching. And briefly popping up her head, she shouted at Agnette. ‘Now, push!’

Leaving Ake in the hall with Reinar and their parents, Sigurd disappeared to find Tulia, who was helping to move the injured into a barn. Servants

waited there with bandages and salves, thread and needles. The sound and the smell swirled around the fort with the snow, and Sigurd was struggling to get Tulia’s attention.

Eventually, he reached her, touching her shoulder, and she spun towards him with hate in her eyes. Pain too, though that was buried deep and Sigurd only saw fire.

‘Come to help, have you?’

Sigurd blinked, seeing the blood leaking from the arrows still lodged in her right arm. ‘You need someone to cut them out. I can, if you like?’

‘They don’t bother me. Others need help, can’t you see?’ Tulia didn’t want to pull the arrows out. Her body was numb now. The snow had a way of freezing everything, even her heart. She didn’t want to feel anything. Not yet.

Sigurd nodded. ‘I’ll stay. I can help. Reinar’s with Ake, though I’m sure he’ll be out soon. Ake looks ready to eat.’

Tulia didn’t care. She turned towards Ludo, who was trying his best to hold down a screaming man while Stina worked to sew up his belly. ‘You want me to be alright, do you, Sigurd? Is that what you want?’ Her voice was a hiss, heartbroken and angry. ‘When I swore to protect my brother, and I sacrificed him for you? For you? I should have gone. Taken Amir and gone!’ Biting her teeth together, Tulia shook her head. ‘Stay away from me, Sigurd Vilander. I’ll be leaving. When I’ve helped these people, your people, burn their dead, I’ll be leaving for my home.’

Though the noise of the hall seemed to be getting louder, there was no mistaking the explosive first cry of Agnette and Bjarni’s newborn daughter from down the corridor.

Reinar winked at his mother, who hurried away to see the child, relief flooding his body.

‘And now a baby,’ Ake smiled. ‘A lucky day to be born. A famous one in Ottby’s history.’

Reinar nodded, wanting to get back outside, though he couldn’t move the left side of his body and that would make it hard to be of much use. Still, his mouth worked, and so did his legs, and he stood, teeth gritted, left

arm hanging by his side. ‘I want to check on my people. Take care of my men. And women,’ he said, eyes on Ilene, who had her head in her hands, being comforted by Jorunn.

‘Women?’ Ake looked surprised. ‘You had women fighting?’ He stood, one eye on Reinar’s awkward stance. ‘Looks like you’ve dislocated your shoulder. I can help you with that.’

Reinar wasn’t sure he wanted Ake’s help. The king was as big as a bear. ‘I’ve done it twice. It’s going to hurt, though. You might pass out.’ Reinar frowned, looking to back away. ‘Perhaps later, I…’

But Ake wasn’t listening, and he grabbed Reinar’s left wrist, one hand on his chest as he pulled Reinar’s arm straight out in front of him, gently at first, then more firmly, listening, waiting to hear the clunk of the shoulder joint popping back in place.

Reinar’s yelp was quickly replaced with a gasp, and he stumbled, head spinning, certain he was about to embarrass himself. He stuck out his right hand, gripping the table.

‘Give yourself a moment, then meet me outside. We can talk about how things stand and what we’re going to have to do now.’ His smile was quickly gone. ‘We’re in for a hard battle ahead, Reinar. I’m going to need you by my side. You and your brother both.’

Reinar nodded, watching Ake go, trying to straighten up.

‘You need strapping!’ Eddeth boomed behind him, and Reinar jerked around with another yelp. ‘That shoulder needs to be in a sling.’ And bending down to her tunic, Eddeth prepared to tear off a strip.

‘No, no,’ Reinar insisted. ‘Save your tunic, Eddeth. I don’t have time. I have to go with the king.’

Eddeth looked nonplussed. ‘Well, perhaps Alys can do it for you when you return?’ And trying not to smile, but failing terribly, she nudged Alys towards Reinar, before slipping away to find a bench and a cup of ale.

‘We have to talk,’ Reinar said when Eddeth had left, ‘about what you did. I don’t know all of it, but I know you saved us from that dreamer.’

Alys felt odd. Displaced. Her thoughts floated around her like clouds. ‘I killed her raven. And then I killed her.’

‘You did?’

‘Yes, I did. And now I must leave.’ ‘What? Now?’

‘Tomorrow,’ Alys said. ‘I have somewhere to be. Somewhere to go.’

Reinar tried not to look disappointed. ‘But…’

‘You promised if I saved your fort, if I helped you stop Hakon Vettel, that you’d free me. And I did. Now I’m finished, Reinar, and I must go.’ Alys didn’t want to say it. And yet she did. Because Lotta and Magnus were out there somewhere, and she had to find them quickly. Her grandfather too. ‘Eddeth will come with me. She wants to. She will return, don’t worry, but I need her help.’

‘For what?’

Alys stared at him, realising that there was no point hiding anymore. She trusted Reinar. For all that he had done to steal her away from her children and her home, he had also rid her of her cruel husband and helped her to realise her gifts.

Her strength.

‘I need to find my children.’

Reinar’s mouth hung open. ‘You had… children? When we took you? You had children?’ He saw the pain in her eyes, and he felt the guilt in his heart cut him deep. ‘Where are they?’

‘I don’t know. They were taken by some men, but I can find them, and I will, with Eddeth’s help.’

Reinar didn’t know what to say.

‘I must go and see what I can do. There are many injured out there. But in the morning, I will leave.’

‘I can send men with you. To protect you on your journey.’

Alys shook her head. ‘No, Reinar, please. I don’t want them. I don’t. I don’t need them. Just Eddeth and her herbs and her drum. Stina too.’ She smiled sadly, memories of the chanting and the drumming and the smoke surging back.

‘Well, I won’t argue, I can’t, but you’ll take whatever supplies you need.

The weather won’t be kind.’

‘No, I imagine it won’t, but my children are out in it, so I must hurry.’

Reinar couldn’t shake the thought that he’d taken Alys away from her children. ‘How old are they?’

‘Magnus is ten.’ Alys tried to stop herself crying, but the tears came quickly. She couldn’t hold them back. ‘Lotta is eight.’

Reinar touched her arm. ‘I’m sorry, Alys. I’m so sorry.’

She swallowed, looking away, rubbing her eyes. ‘I forgive you, I do. And I’m grateful to you. I have a different life now, and I won’t go back. I

just need to find Magnus and Lotta.’ She looked up at Reinar, trying not to feel anything at all. ‘I hope you…’ She stopped, tears in her eyes, unable to see. Unable to go on.

And dropping her head, Alys headed past him, pushing her way towards the open doors.

‌µ ,‌

The snow died away, nothing settling, and as night fell, the fort began to return to normal. Apart from the piles of dead bodies, the broken gates, the damaged walls, the smashed catapults, and the charred remains of the cottages that had been set on fire.

Both Reinar and Sigurd had returned to the hall to be strapped up and stitched up and generally put back together, and seeing that Ake was making himself at home with Stellan and Bolli and the crackling fire, they decided to join him, if only to grab a quick bite to eat and take a moment to thaw out their freezing limbs.

‘This trouble that’s coming sounds bad,’ Bolli said, crunching into a boiled chestnut.

‘Mmmm.’ Ake didn’t know how to begin. ‘It’s worse than bad. Winter is coming, and we’re all going to be fighting up to our armpits in the snow, that I can tell you.’

‘Fighting who?’ Sigurd wondered, eyes on Tulia, who looked lost as she tried to find a seat. But meeting his eyes, she quickly turned away, heading out of the hall.

Ake smiled. ‘A storyteller. A friend. A man who seeks revenge. One who was chosen by the gods himself. An army of such magnitude that we’ll struggle to contain them by ourselves.’

Reinar’s eyebrows were up. ‘Sounds bad.’

‘We need to get this fort put back together quickly, and then we’ll sort out your wayward neighbours,’ Ake sighed. ‘That was an unpleasant surprise. And not one I needed right now. We must create a wall across the

South, for the North is revolting. And if we don’t hold the line, there won’t be one of us left to tell the tale.’

Alys had helped Stina and Eddeth in the barn throughout the afternoon and into the evening. All three women were exhausted, and the men before them, who had been bandaged and stitched, were trying to rest or sleep now.

‘I think we’re done!’ Eddeth announced with a sneeze. ‘Oh, the dreams we’ll have tonight! And the nightmares!’ She felt excited beyond words, eager to get back to her cottage and start packing. In all her life, she had never been on an adventure before, and her body tingled with anticipation.

‘Are you sure you want to come?’ Alys wondered to Stina, who was yawning, covered from head to toe in pitch and dust and cuts. ‘Reinar said he’ll return everyone back to Ullaberg soon. You don’t have to come with us. It won’t be easy.’

‘That it won’t!’ Eddeth chuckled with delight. ‘We will be tested by the gods themselves!’

Ignoring her, Stina nodded firmly. ‘I want to come. I want to find the children with you, Alys, I truly do. And getting away from here…’ She glanced around nervously, though there was no sign of Torvig. ‘I want to come with you.’

Alys was pleased. ‘Then go and sleep. I must say goodbye to Agnette and Bjarni, and Ludo promised to help organise some horses. I’ll meet you both in the stables at first light. I don’t want to get caught saying goodbye. We just need to be gone. Quickly.’

Stina looked pleased, though the thought of seeing Torvig terrified her. She hoped he would be too busy in the hall, celebrating with the Vilanders and the king to come looking for her.

‘Stina? Are you alright?’ Alys wondered as Eddeth left. ‘You can sleep in my cottage, if you like? If you’d rather? Though there’s only one bed.’

‘No, no. No,’ Stina insisted. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m just tired. Happy to be leaving.’

Alys slipped her arm around Stina’s waist, ready to agree. But she couldn’t.

Sigurd had staggered out of the hall, wanting to find Tulia. She wasn’t in their chamber. Not up on the wall. Not near Amir’s body either. Tulia liked her own company, and would often wander off to find some peace and quiet, but he knew that sometimes she was just being stubborn and couldn’t ask for what she wanted, which was to be comforted.

She couldn’t ask at all.

Though Sigurd doubted that Tulia wanted to be with the man she blamed for her brother’s death.

Eventually, he found her in the stables with her horse, talking to him, crying with him. He saw that when she turned around, her eyes red and swollen, her cheeks wet with tears.

‘What?’

‘I just wanted to see if you were alright.’ ‘I’m not. Anything else?’

‘No.’ Sigurd turned away, heading for the doors. He stopped, spinning back around. ‘I’m glad you were here. You and Amir. You saved lives. You helped those women many times today, I saw that. Amir too. I’m sorry he died, but I’m not sorry you stayed, because I always want you with me. I always want to be with you.’ He stared at Tulia in the darkness, flames flickering in sconces along the walls, but not enough to show more than angles and shadows; sharp and harsh. He couldn’t see her beautiful eyes now.

‘I suspect that’s because you’re selfish, Sigurd Vilander. Always thinking about yourself. About your mother, who is mean to you, or your father, who is ruined, or your brother, who you wish you could be. And now, when I’m gone, you’ll have all the time in the world to think about yourself.’ She ran a hand down the cold cheek of her dappled stallion, always amazed by the silkiness of his coat; reminded of her home in Kalmera, and the beautiful silks her mother had worn.

‘I hope you change your mind, but I don’t blame you for wanting to leave.’

‘Once you wanted to leave too, or have you forgotten?’

‘No, I remember, but now I know where I belong. Ottby is my home. I must stay by Reinar’s side because that’s the oath we took. To defend the bridge. To protect the king. To keep Alekka free from the Northern threat.’

He thought about what Ake had warned was coming, and swallowing, Sigurd headed for the doors. ‘I’d rather do all of that with you, but I don’t blame you for wanting to go.’ And pulling open a door, Sigurd slipped outside.

Tulia watched the door bang shut, her shoulders slumping, tears flowing now. It wasn’t Sigurd’s fault. None of it was. None of it.

She shook her head, sliding down to the straw, tears dripping onto her knees. Her arm was aching, and she realised that she’d never let anyone take out her arrows. The wounds stung, and for the first time in hours, she could feel something that wasn’t anger or grief.

She saw Sigurd’s face, and she wanted to go to him. Then she saw Amir falling before her, and she burst into tears, unable to move.

Alys smiled at the cat who sat on the cloak.

She would take the cloak with her, but not the cat. Which felt odd. Winter was more than just a cat, she was certain. And she worried that leaving him behind was the wrong thing to do, but tiredness suddenly overwhelmed her, and she staggered towards the bed, desperate to lie down.

Winter waited as she wriggled and shuffled about in the bed, listening to it creak angrily, before curling into a ball, his back against Alys’ chest, purring.

‘You have the loudest daughter,’ Bjarni grinned as Agnette yawned beside him, clutching their tiny baby to her chest. She was trying to feed her and not managing it effectively. He didn’t know how to help her, but Agnette could barely keep her eyes open.

‘I need to sit up,’ she groaned. ‘She needs to eat something. I need her to eat something.’ More yawns as Bjarni helped to prop her up. ‘She’s very loud, isn’t she? Gerda’s not going to be happy.’ It made Agnette laugh. ‘I can’t believe I managed to push her out.’

‘Well, I think Eddeth and her big knife were quite motivating in the end, weren’t they?’

‘They were!’ Agnette lifted her daughter’s head higher, trying to get her in position. The lamps were bright, though she was so tired, she could barely see. ‘I’m just so relieved, Bjarni. That she’s here. That you’re here. I can’t believe what happened in the fort. What Hakon’s dreamer did. What Alys did. That Ake came!’

‘Ssshhh,’ Bjarni soothed, sensing that the baby was starting to fall asleep. ‘Why don’t I take her for a while? Let you sleep?’

‘But she needs to feed.’

‘She also needs to sleep, and so do you. Leave her with me awhile, and you can close your eyes.’ And gently, if not slightly awkwardly, Bjarni took the swaddled baby from Agnette, working hard to keep her head supported, not wanting to drop her. ‘You sleep, my sweet Agnette, and I’ll think of a name.’

‘You?’ Agnette grumbled, wriggling down into the bed, eyes quickly closed. ‘After what I went through? You think I’ll let you name her?’

Bjarni chuckled, watching his wife’s head drop to one side, her chest rising and falling rhythmically. He smiled, peeking at his daughter’s face. ‘Lara?’ he wondered, wrinkling his nose. ‘Or Hilda, for my mother?’

‘We’re not naming her after your mother!’

And laughing softly, Bjarni lay his head back on the pillows, feeling like the luckiest man alive.

Alys stood in the straw. It stuck to her bare feet, and she wanted to shake it off. She needed to leave the barn.

Why was she in a barn?

Turning, she could hear voices, a door banging.

It was dark, and she didn’t recognise the place. There were no horses, though some animals had obviously been living there. Old tools hung from nails along the wattle and daub walls. She saw bales of hay. An old cart.

It was Ullaberg, where she had hidden their supplies, their saddlebags for the escape.

Alys spun around, hearing a voice.

‘You think you can leave me, Alys? My love, my wife!’ Arnon walked towards her, arms out. ‘Thought you could try to escape again? Take my

children from me?’

His smile terrified her. She saw his naked chest, his hand in a fist, bare feet, just like hers as he stepped towards her.

‘I’ll never let you leave me, Alys. We are bound by law, by love, by the oath we took before the gods. I will never let you leave me, not even in death!’

Alys tried to back away, but her feet were stuck in the straw, and she couldn’t move. Voices whipped around her in the darkness: the old dreamer, Lotta, Reinar, the sound of the wolves, the raven, and Stina.

She froze, shivers racing up and down her spine. The man before her was no longer Arnon.

It was Torvig.

And she could hear Stina screaming.

Tulia walked slowly back to the hall. She had fallen asleep in the stables, surprised by that, and though she felt no better, she knew that she wanted to find Sigurd. She wanted to make it right. And she needed him to take out her arrows. The pain in her right arm was excruciating now. Rubbing her eyes, she turned down the alley, taking the quickest route back to the hall. It was dark, and she tried to blink open her eyes, not wanting to trip over anything.

She felt light-headed. Dizzy. And then she heard a shout. ‘Help! Tulia! Help me!’

Tulia recognised the dreamer’s voice, and she quickened her pace to where Alys stood, fully dressed, outside a shed. ‘What are you doing?’

‘He… I..’ Alys had been trying to break down the doors. ‘It’s Torvig!

He’s taken Stina. He’s in there, hurting her! I dreamed it!’

The moon shone brightly, and Tulia could clearly see the panic in Alys’ eyes. She couldn’t hear any sounds coming from the old shed, but it was better to check just in case. And she certainly wouldn’t put it past Torvig. So, stepping back, Tulia aimed her boot at the meeting of the doors, watching them bend and shudder but not part. Tired and irritable, she stepped back and did it again, feeling them give some more. And on the

third try, they flung open, and quickly drawing her sword, Tulia stepped inside, Alys right behind her.

Torvig hurried to shut the doors behind them, aiming his sword at Tulia’s chest. ‘See… now we have a problem. Oh, how I didn’t want to have this problem.’

Eyes on Torvig, Tulia shuffled her legs apart, feeling the slip of the mucky straw beneath her boots, the throbbing pain of the arrows in her arm, the sword oddly heavy in her hand. She glanced at Stina, who was whimpering in the distance, trying to cover herself up. Moonlight shone through a myriad of holes in the roof and walls. The shed was small, but big enough to house a three-wheeled wagon wrapped in cobwebs; a lot of tools in need of sharpening and repair; the odd tree stump too.

‘Alys, take her and go,’ Tulia ordered, eyes on Torvig’s sneering face. ‘You think I’ll allow that?’ Torvig snorted, watching Alys pull Stina out

of the straw, helping her to stand, but there was nowhere to go. He was blocking the doors. ‘You think I’ll allow any of you to leave?’

Tulia burst out laughing. She’d had enough of the day, and she’d certainly had enough of Torvig Aleksen. ‘You want to kill me? Fine. Try it and die. But them?’ She didn’t look around. ‘Why do you need to kill them? Because they can’t defend themselves? You like hurting them? That’s the game?’

Torvig’s smile was gone now, and he lunged at Tulia, smelling the blood on her. She was wounded. Weak. He could see the broken arrows sticking out of her arm.

Tulia yelped as she ducked out of his path, watching him skid past her. The surface was deadly, and she cursed herself for not getting those arrows out earlier. They were going to cause her problems.

Torvig didn’t appear injured at all as he spun back to her, sword arcing through the air, aiming for her head. He was not quite as tall as Tulia, though, and her blade was longer. She parried his with ease, gritting her teeth against the burning pain in her arm. ‘Alys! Leave!’ she yelled. ‘Get her out!’ And quickly swapping her sword into her left hand, Tulia carved it towards Torvig’s waist.

Torvig slipped on the straw, sword dropping, and Tulia’s blade cut across his belly. He had taken off his mail after Ake arrived and now wore only a light tunic. He bellowed in anger, teeth clamped together, stumbling backwards.

Tulia, though, was still in full battle gear, and she swapped her sword back into her right hand, kicking Torvig in the balls, wanting to knock him over. But he held his balance, coming for her again, crouched over, growling. They circled each other, pain contorting their faces.

Alys watched them both, holding Stina close. She could see the doors, and she would aim for them the moment it was safe, though when that would be, she had no idea.

Tulia kicked Torvig again, left leg this time, straight in his bleeding waist.

‘You bitch!’ he spat, realising that he had to get her down to the ground quickly. He knew how she fought. All that pointless kicking. All for show. And gripping his sword in both hands, he scythed it towards her breasts.

Jumping back, Tulia slipped on the straw, panic in her eyes, knowing she’d lost her balance. She tried to keep hold of her sword, and she did, but as she fell, Torvig was over her, kicking it out of her weak grip.

Tulia rolled quickly, screaming as she leaned on the broken arrows. Pushing herself back onto her feet, she ducked away from Torvig, who was struggling to keep his own balance.

‘You’ve no weapon, Tulia.’ Torvig was enjoying himself now. ‘No weapon for you!’ He saw Tulia’s eyes snap to her sword, lying in the straw, calculating how quickly she could scoop it up, and he kicked it away. ‘But I have one I’d be happy to give you.’ And lunging, he jabbed his sword at her, one, two, three times.

Tulia jumped back, hopping from side to side, trying to stay on her feet, conscious of the blood pouring from her wounds now, her ears a buzzing frenzy. She saw a glimpse of Sigurd in her mind, leaning over the railings, watching her fight, blue eyes sparkling in the sunshine.

Jerking to the right, she could feel the scrape of Torvig’s blade across her arm, knowing that she’d lost her knives in the battle. She didn’t have another weapon.

But Torvig did.

And swapping his sword into his left hand, he dragged his knife from behind his back, throwing it at Tulia’s face. Tulia dipped to the side, away from the knife, her eyes snapping to Torvig’s sword, which was coming for her next. Taking the grip in both hands, Torvig jumped forward, two steps in quick time, making Tulia scramble backwards.

Too quickly.

And losing her balance again, arms in the air, trying to keep to her feet, she fell onto the straw with a grunt.

The sound was odd, Alys thought, shivering. And Tulia didn’t move.

‘Stay there,’ Alys whispered to Stina as Torvig bent over Tulia, who had fallen onto an enormous ship nail, which now protruded from her throat as she lay in the straw, dying.

‘What a shame, a very sad, sad end. But there you go. A woman fighting a man? That was never going to end well. For her.’ Torvig spun around suddenly, surprised to see Alys standing there, holding Tulia’s sword.

He burst out laughing. She appeared to be shaking. He could almost hear her teeth chattering with nerves. He could certainly hear Stina sobbing, begging Alys to stop.

Alys.

It was a pretty name.

And she was a pretty, pretty thing, as Reinar had noticed. Sigurd too. He’d seen that. And now Sigurd would be looking for a new love. But he wouldn’t have this one. Not her.

Alys heard Tulia gurgling. She remembered her dream, and she gripped the sword tighter, willing her legs to stop shaking.

‘Shall we play awhile?’ Torvig mused, running his tongue over his teeth. ‘Is that what you’d like, dreamer? Before I kill you both? Only two to go. I’ve plenty of time to hide your bodies before dawn.’

Alys blinked, images of Arnon standing before her, body glowing in the moonlight. ‘My grandfather…’ She swallowed, feeling the cold sword grip in her hand. It felt oddly familiar. ‘My grandfather is Jonas Bergstrom.’

Torvig was surprised. ‘Well, you kept that quiet, didn’t you? A famous warrior indeed. But whatever happened to him? I haven’t seen him in years.’ He edged closer, watching as Alys stepped back, her eyes never leaving his.

She looked ready to cry.

‘He took care of me,’ Alys breathed, heart racing. ‘He taught me everything.’ And she took one hand away from the sword, feeling the weight of it. It was Tulia’s sword, and it felt too heavy for her. It reminded her of those times her grandfather had made her practice with his sword instead. ‘You never know whose sword you’ll end up using, Alys,’ he’d told

her. ‘In a fight, you can’t be picky. Work with what you’ve got. Kill to survive.’

Torvig could barely contain himself. ‘He taught you how to fight?’

Alys was lost. She could see her husband beating her. Hurting her. Threatening her. And not once had she picked up a sword. A weapon. Not once.

Not once.

Tears of anger burned her eyes, and she blinked them away, needing to see. Badly needing to see. The straw was littered with danger; Tulia had shown her that.

She could smell that Tulia had died. She could hear it. Feel it too. She thought of Sigurd and Reinar.

And then she thought of her children.

‘He did. He taught me how to kill bastards like you.’ Alys spread her legs, pushing her feet down into the straw, knowing that Torvig would go high, and as he lifted his blade to her head, she lunged low, dragging Tulia’s sword across his bleeding waist, stumbling back, sword up to parry his next strike, feeling the shock of the blade’s meeting shoot up her arm.

Torvig was bellowing, and Stina was holding her breath, and Tulia was dead.

And Alys felt like someone who hadn’t picked up a sword in years.

She squeezed both hands onto the grip again, panting as Torvig charged forward, slashing quickly from side to side, bored now, wanting to end the dreamer and finish what he’d started with his lovely Stina.

Alys jumped back, just out of his reach, eyes wide, holding her breath, Arnon’s voice in her ear. And then her grandfather’s again. Lunging forward, she brought Tulia’s sword up, feeling too slow, too rusty. Dropping her left hand, Alys lifted her blade high, aiming it at Torvig’s throat. He grinned, not surprised that she didn’t know what she was doing, leaving her chest exposed like that. He swung back his blade, ready to cut her in two, but Alys dropped all her weight onto her right leg, swaying out of Torvig’s reach, dragging her sword across his left arm, straight across his elbow.

Torvig bellowed, jerking his arm away, distracted by the shock and the pain. Alys charged him, one eye on his sword arm, which was slow to respond, and twisting her wrist, she turned the blade over, stabbing it through his chest.

Feeling the tip of the blade breaking skin, Alys pushed hard.

Mouth open, Torvig dropped his sword, reaching for Alys whose sword was still in his chest. And he pulled her to him, feeling the blade dig through muscle, pushing himself forward, onto Alys, who had nowhere to go as he fell on top of her, his sword’s pommel digging into her side. She wriggled in the straw, trying to move his crushing weight. He was badly injured, likely dying, but it wouldn’t make any difference if she couldn’t move him off her chest. ‘Stina!’ she panted. ‘Knife!’ She stuck out her right hand, panicking, struggling to breathe.

Torvig could feel darkness descending upon him like a storm, but he wasn’t about to let that bitch end him. He wasn’t going to leave her behind victorious. So moving his hands to her throat, he started squeezing, pain washing over him like water, hotter and hotter. He felt sick, but teeth gritted, Torvig squeezed, wanting to kill her.

Alys remembered the bruises around her neck, the feeling of not being able to breathe, the fear of death coming. And then the feel of the cold knife haft in her hand, and, gasping for air, she rammed the blade into Torvig’s ear. He roared, jerking up, and Alys slid out from under him, scrambling back to her feet, bloody knife in hand, panting, waiting.

Torvig stayed on his knees for a moment, sword through his chest, blood gushing from his ear. And then, eyes rolling back in his head, he tipped forward, into the rotting straw, Tulia’s sword pushing straight through his chest, bloody blade poking out his back.

Stina rushed to Alys. ‘Is he dead?’

Alys dropped to the straw with a thump, unable to catch her breath, unable to stop shaking. And then she felt Stina beside her, arm around her shoulder.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry. He… he threatened me. He… he… hurt me.’ Her sobs overwhelmed her and Stina made no sense after that as she held on to Alys, shuddering in relief.

‘Ssshhh, it’s alright,’ Alys soothed, though she wasn’t really listening. Tulia was lying there dead, and she knew that she’d have to tell Sigurd.

Instead, she told Reinar, who told his brother.

After Reinar had found Eddeth to take care of Alys and Stina. After he’d retrieved Tulia’s body and Torvig’s.

Reinar felt responsible. Not even Sigurd had liked Torvig, and when Reinar thought about it, he realised that the only reason he’d kept him around was out of loyalty to Elin.

That had been a deadly mistake.

Sigurd had taken Tulia’s horse and left the fort immediately, the shock rendering him silent and numb, and most of all, broken-hearted.

Reinar turned to Alys, who stood beside the horse Ludo had picked for her. She had refused to take Elin’s horse, and he understood why. “You’re still leaving?”

Alys nodded, struggling against the blustery wind to control her black cloak. “I must. I can’t afford to delay.”

“I should send someone with you,” Reinar said, gazing into her eyes, wanting to say more, wishing she would stay. “Just to help. To build a shelter, hunt, chop wood—anything.”

Eddeth, growing impatient behind them, spoke up. “Snow will be here soon, and we need to make good time before we stop for the night!” She felt anxious about leaving, distressed over abandoning Rigfuss, though Ludo had promised to take care of him and Alys’ cat. Eddeth frowned, unsure if Rigfuss would be happy with that arrangement.

“Let them go, Reinar!” Gerda’s sharp voice cut through. “We have a fort to rebuild and an army to muster. Ake will be up soon, and he’ll have plans for you today. You want to show him that you’re making an effort.” Gerda glared at the dreamer. Though she felt a small measure of gratitude, she was just as eager to see her go. And Eddeth was no great loss, easily replaced. Gerda would be relieved to have all the women out of the way, allowing Sigurd and Reinar to focus on their next steps.

Reinar ignored his mother’s icy mutterings. He didn’t appreciate them. Not at all.

‘Here.’ And reaching back to Ludo, Reinar took the scabbard and sword he’d found for her; one of Tulia’s old ones. He hoped Sigurd wouldn’t mind. ‘Take this.’

Alys hesitated. It wasn’t her. It wasn’t who she wanted to be.

But looking at Eddeth and Stina, she realised that she would need to protect them. And besides, she couldn’t run from who she was anymore.

Her time in Ottby had taught her that.

‘Thank you.’ And taking the swordbelt, she tried to lift up her cloak and wrap it around her waist, but she fumbled, flustered, feeling Gerda glaring at her. More than Gerda; the square was full of onlookers, and Alys just wanted to leave.

Reinar took the swordbelt, and as Alys lifted her cloak, he leaned in close, tying it around her waist, struggling with his left arm. ‘Stay safe,’ he whispered in her ear, his beard brushing her cheek. ‘Stay safe, Alys the dreamer.’

Alys smiled at him, turning to her horse, wriggling to move the swordbelt around. She hopped onto the little step Ludo had kindly brought out for them to mount their horses with, sticking a boot in the stirrup.

‘Wait! Alys!’ Agnette was waddling towards her as quickly as her weary body would allow. She held her baby in her arms, wrapped in a warm fur, Bjarni behind her. ‘We’ll miss you. And we thank you!’ She glared at her sour-faced aunt. ‘For all you did. You helped save us!’

‘And you got rid of that shit Torvig too!’ Bjarni added with a grin, his face falling when he thought of Tulia and Sigurd.

Alys felt embarrassed. ‘Take care of yourselves. I wish you luck getting some sleep!’ And settling her cloak over her knees, she turned, peering down at Reinar Vilander, who looked wrecked and broken and like a man who would one day be a king.

She blinked. Then smiled.

And tapping her boots against her horse’s flanks, she aimed her at Ottby’s broken gates, Eddeth and Stina following her.

Reinar watched Alys go, shivering, unable to stop staring as the fort sprang back to life, Agnette and Gerda muttering behind him, Ludo and Bjarni talking about Sigurd and whether anyone should go and find him.

It was all a blur of noise and activity. And Reinar didn’t notice any of it.

He heard Salma’s voice in his mind, his old dreamer…

She will come to you like rain after a drought. And she will save you.

And you will forever be changed by her, Reinar.

And you will love her. But you must let her go.

Promise me, Reinar. When she has saved you, set the dreamer free.

Promise me…

Reinar stepped forward, hand out, before dropping it back to his side, and turning away, he walked slowly back to the hall.

THE END