The sail was up now, flapping above their heads.
It was still raining, though it was almost irrelevant as so much of the sea was tipping over the bow that they were already soaked to the bone, shivering. The men were hunkered down, backs against the shield-lined gunwales, watching the women; keen, roaming eyes peering out beneath dripping hoods.
Alys held Stina’s hand, looking away. Her friend was silent, the young woman on her other side whimpering softly. A calm had descended over the ship now that they were under sail. It was not a peaceful calm, but a fretful one, as the reality of what had happened started to sink in.
‘What can we do?’ Magda sniffed from Alys’ left, fingering one of her long black braids. She was young. Eighteen. Newly married. The prettiest girl in the village, according to her new husband. She leaned towards Alys, lowering her voice. ‘How can we escape?’
Stina turned to her, hissing. ‘They’re Alekkans, Magda. They will hear you. We don’t want them to hurt us. They’ve left us alone. Don’t give them reason to come over.’ She glanced up as the lanky young man who had tied them up came swaying back down the ship, his shoulder-length dark hair slicked back from a handsome face, wet with sea-spray and rain.
‘Water?’ he wondered, trying not to make eye contact with any of the women. ‘Would anyone like a drink?’
They stared at him as though he was mad. The ship was riding the waves, crashing down with a bang, creaking and groaning, and the fifteen women, soaked to the bone, were sitting bunched and bound together, struggling to stay upright.
Eventually, having no takers, Ludo turned and stumbled towards Sigurd, who was hunkered down behind Bolli. Shoulders up around his ears, and shaking with cold, Ludo didn’t see Rutger’s boot until it was too late, and he tripped over it, crashing down onto his forearms as the ship rose up, smashing his nose on the deck.
Sigurd peeked out from his wet hood, watching Ludo pull himself to his feet, listening to the laughter from Rutger’s men, who were bracing themselves against the gunwale beside him. Bolli turned around, shaking his head.
‘That’s the side of the ship you chose to walk down?’ Sigurd growled, flicking a hand at Ludo as he ducked down, crouching next to him. ‘How many times have I told you to stay away from Rutger?’ He pulled back his hood, blue eyes glowing intensely against the dull sky, rain streaming down his cheeks, soaking his straggly beard. ‘That bastard will kill you. Happily too. You think I’m going to save you, Ludo Moller?’ Sigurd dragged his friend down to the deck. ‘You think I’d want to?’
Ludo struggled with his hood, fighting the wind, trying to pull it over his wet hair. He was twenty-five years old, still as gangly and awkward as a teenager, too tall to ever feel truly comfortable in his own skin. He had been sent to Ottby as a boy, fostered to Sigurd and Reinar’s family. They had grown up like brothers, though Ludo was still struggling to find where he fit in. He was a fair enough warrior, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to be a raider.
Not after the last few months.
He took the soggy sliver of salt fish Sigurd handed him and slouched back against the stern, trying to avoid looking at the women.
Alys saw him through the rain. She was shaking so much now that her teeth were chattering. The young man seemed harmless, kind even, though the same couldn’t be said for the rest of the crew. And whether harmless or threatening, they were all taking them to Goslund, where they would be sold as slaves.
Never to hold their children again.
Alys closed her eyes against the rain, seeing Magnus and Lotta as they ran down the beach, Lotta’s dark-blue cloak snapping behind her, hair tangling in the wind. Magnus had reached for his sister’s hand, she remembered. And after their eyes had met, he hadn’t looked back.
He had run past his dead father, and he hadn’t looked back.
 |
Lotta kept trying to talk, which irritated Magnus.
He was used to his mother’s firm voice telling his sister to be quiet when she started babbling; to leave her brother alone. His mother knew that he was getting older. That Lotta was becoming more of a pest than a companion. She was too young. Too much of a child.
His mother understood how it was.
He laid a hand on his sister’s shoulder. ‘We must wait,’ he whispered. ‘For how long?’
‘Ssshhh!’ Magnus hissed, quickly furious. ‘Why can’t you ever whisper, Lotta? How can you not know how to whisper? What is wrong with you?’ He felt her flinch, moving away from him. They had been best friends once. Now he was always cross with her. ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, guilt quickly dampening anger. ‘But you must be quiet. We have to wait until it’s safe. I don’t know who’s out there. If anyone is.’
‘But what about Mama?’
Tears flooded Magnus’ eyes, and he blinked them away. ‘She wants us to be safe. She told me. You just have to listen to me, Lotta. I’ll get us to safety, and then Mother will come.’ She edged closer to him again, and he ran a hand over her knotted hair, seeing images of his mother trying to untangle it by the fire. According to his mother, Lotta had the most knotted hair she’d ever had the misfortune of brushing. Closing his eyes, Magnus tried to hold on to the image of his mother’s gentle face, remembering the way her nose would wrinkle when she smiled.
Remembering how she was always covered in bruises.
He felt Lotta lean her head on his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her, happy to know that their father was dead.
|
Reinar Vilander liked the rain.
It felt like tears streaming down his cheeks, ice-cold, freezing him, numbing his face. If only it would numb his heart too.
Glancing around, he saw his two oldest friends, Bjarni and Torvig, leaning against the gunwale, heads together, deep in conversation, which
surprised him, hating each other as they did.
Ullaberg had been a rundown hole of a place, which he’d known, by its reputation, though he’d felt an odd pull to go there. And now, they had nearly thirty women to sell as slaves. Thirty women… he tried to do the figures in his head, but the memory of his father’s disapproving voice was a loud distraction, and eventually, he gave up, glancing over the surging waves at Sigurd’s ship, Dagger. He grinned, knowing how much his younger brother hated the rain. He couldn’t see a sign of anyone above board, just Bolli, hunched over like an old troll; thick white hair blowing in the wind; bushy beard dripping down his belly.
Nearly thirty slaves to sell. That would help things.
The women’s crying was like waves; he knew how it went. Shock and fear receded, eventually, allowing misery and hopelessness to take hold. Grief set in. Pain too. Broken-hearted women weeping for the children and husbands they would never see again. Reinar blinked, angry with himself for letting those thoughts in. It wouldn’t help to feel sympathy. Torvig was right: they needed to survive. For with a fort to hold, a bridge to protect, and an enemy ready to strike, they needed gold and silver to buy men. Men to man their walls.
The King of Alekka depended on Ottby, and Reinar couldn’t let him down.
Blinking away the freezing rain, Reinar headed for Torvig, who would surely set him right. His brother-in-law had a sharp mind not appreciated by many of his men, and certainly not by Sigurd. But Torvig saw things as they were. If they didn’t sell slaves, there would be no hope for their wives and children.
No hope for Ottby at all.
‘We need to head ashore,’ Bjarni grumbled as Reinar squeezed in between them. ‘Ride out the storm. We don’t need any more bad luck. And losing one of the ships and half the slaves would be some bad luck, Reinar. I wouldn’t put it past the gods. They seem to have taken up against us lately.’
Torvig, who’d been arguing the opposite, growled.
Reinar could quickly see that they’d not been talking, just niggling away at each other as they liked to do. Looking straight ahead, he let the rain wash over his face again. His head was newly shorn, just a fuzz of
dark-blonde hair covering an olive-skinned scalp. He missed his hair, and running a wet hand over his dripping head, he thought of his wife, Torvig’s sister, Elin.
And his heart swelled.
‘Torvig’s right,’ he decided, ignoring the warning in Bjarni’s eyes. ‘We need to get to Goslund before tomorrow. We can’t afford another day. I want to get home quickly. The garrison is light. You know that.’
Bjarni Sansgard had been by Reinar’s side since they were boys. A calm head, always cooling Reinar’s fiery one. A wise voice in a sea of idiots. Especially since Stellan Vilander had taken ill, and Reinar had become the Lord of Ottby. Though when Torvig had returned, Reinar had stopped listening to Bjarni.
It worried him.
Over the past year, everything had gone wrong for Reinar, he knew. But listening to Torvig was no way to right it. Not at all.
‘I need to get home,’ Reinar insisted, seeking Bjarni’s eyes which were wary and full of things he was trying hard not to say. ‘You know I do.’
Bjarni could hear the pain in his friend’s voice; he could see the glee in Torvig’s twinkling eyes. Those hooded eyes were always twinkling, as though he was happy. But he wasn’t. Bjarni could see that clearly.
Bjarni Sansgard could see past Torvig’s smile, which was as empty and deceptive as those twinkling hazel eyes.
|
The stiffening wind wanted to blow them away from the estuary. Bolli could feel it as he leaned on the tiller, which vibrated against his thick waist, worrying him. Dagger was old now, repaired more times than he could remember. It had been the first ship Stellan had commissioned as Lord of Ottby, nearly twenty years ago. And now his sons commanded that mighty stone fortress, hoping to keep the bridge it guarded safe from Northern invaders. Though, with the amount of bad luck being heaped on them by the gods, Bolli Ollsfar wasn’t sure such a thing was possible anymore.
‘We’re heading for the estuary!’ Sigurd reminded him, on his feet, wet through, teeth chattering. He had to have a word with Rutger, who was
molesting the women again, knowing that sending Ludo to do it would only result in them having to fish Ludo out of the sea.
‘You don’t think I know that?’ Bolli spluttered, drowned by a dump of ice-cold seawater. He shook like a dog, rolling his eyes as the women and the goat started their wailing again. ‘You don’t think I want to get to Goslund quickly? Away from that lot?’
Sigurd laughed, his eyes drawn to the quiet woman in the green dress. Her face was bruised, though he could see quite clearly, despite the driving rain, just how beautiful that face was. She wasn’t like the other women, all of them red-eyed from crying, panicked and fearful. Her mouth remained closed, her eyes, as far as he’d been able to tell, were free of tears. Sigurd blinked, forcing himself to stop staring, reaching for the shield rack as he waited for Dagger to rear up again. Turning his head, he saw his brother’s ship racing along beside them. And there was Reinar, face up to the storm like the idiot he was. Sigurd shook his head, then shook all over, thinking about his chamber and his comfortable bed piled high with thick warm furs. ‘Help!’ Alys cried suddenly, eyes on Rutger, who had his hands in
Magda’s hair, trying to kiss her. ‘Please!’
The wind drove its mournful sounds into Sigurd’s head, the waves thumping Dagger’s straked hull, and he wanted to turn around and ignore both the women and Rutger. But if he didn’t do something, Rutger would surely try to rape the poor girl, and both Sigurd and his brother had drawn a deep line in the sand about that. ‘Rutger!’ Sigurd growled, scratching his hair in annoyance. ‘Why can’t you just sit down with the rest of them? We’re almost at the estuary. Keep your cock in your pants! There’ll be plenty of women to frighten in Goslund!’
Rutger was a brawny, experienced warrior. Ribbons of pink scars stretched across both cheeks; around his neck too. He had an ear missing, his eyes were too close together, and his nose was broken, though he acted like the gods’ gift to women. And despite the rain and the freezing waves pounding the ship, the mostly crying, hysterical women and the bleating goat, for some reason, Rutger thought this the perfect time to demonstrate it.
Alys could see the tall man with the blue eyes hesitate. The wind picked up his dark wool cloak, whipping it around him, and reluctantly, he started walking towards them, eyes on the man whose hands were all over Magda now; his tongue down the poor girl’s throat, hand up her wet dress.
‘Rutger!’
Rutger hated Sigurd Vilander. Always running after his brother like a motherless sheep. Fretting and whimpering. Whispering about him. He knew Sigurd didn’t approve of Reinar’s new men – the ones he needed to keep his little lordship – so Rutger didn’t give a fuck what Sigurd thought.
Fumbling with the ropes around Magda’s wrists, he dragged the sobbing girl out of the group of women, pushing her onto the deck, dragging down his trousers.
‘Rutger!’ The waves lifted Dagger high, and Sigurd almost fell backwards as he tried to climb the tilting ship.
Magda was shrieking, working hard to push the big man off her.
‘Stop him!’ Alys implored, holding out her bound hands as Sigurd reached them. He spun towards her, and she shivered, visions like shards of lightning exploding before her eyes. And then they were gone, and so was he, leaving her hands in mid-air, hair in her mouth.
‘Get off her!’ Sigurd growled, one hand around Rutger’s wrist, trying to pull the man up.
Ludo was hurrying towards him, sent on his way with a kick from Bolli, who could see trouble brewing. Rutger Eivin had been drinking since before the raid, and his belligerence had only gotten worse. He was a bone- headed arse at the best of times, with the ability to turn even the smallest slight into a full-blown fight to the death. But with all that ale in him and the lure of the women, he had obviously lost his mind, and Bolli could see that Sigurd was going to need some help.
Rutger stumbled back to his feet, jaw working, trousers flopping down around his knees, rain in his eyes. ‘Your brother promised me treasure in return for my oath. Treasure! And you think I should take nothing but a few goats? A handful of coins? An old turnip? You think that’s why I’ve given him my sword? My oath?’ And hoisting up his trousers, Rutger unsheathed his long knife.
Ludo’s eyes popped open, water sloshing around his ankles as Dagger
rolled with the waves. He stumbled, seizing Sigurd’s arm just in time.
Sigurd shook him off, annoyed, quickly slipping a hand inside his wet cloak, pulling out his own knife. ‘Make me kill you, Rutger, you ugly prick! I’ve always wanted to!’
‘Oh, and don’t I know it, little boy!’ And Rutger lunged at Sigurd, blade-tip wet and sharp, jabbing for his bearded throat.
Sigurd jerked to the left, knocking into Ludo, who stumbled again before quickly righting himself, desperate to get out of Sigurd’s way. His eyes snapped to the girl who Rutger had tried to rape. She was sitting up, black hair tangled around her face, hands free now. Ludo felt a tremor of fear, concerned by the look in her eyes. He started towards her, but Sigurd banged into him again as the ship slammed down onto the waves, knocking them all off their feet.
There was a mad fumble and rush to right themselves as Dagger rose up again.
‘Will you get out of my way!’ Bolli called from down at the tiller. ‘I need to see! We’re coming up to the rocks! Get out of my way!’
Sigurd heard him over the roaring wind and the bellowing Rutger, but he couldn’t do anything about it now. Rutger had jumped back to his feet, slashing his knife back and forth in front of his face, legs spread, stocky frame like an ugly, stinking wall.
Alys looked on, hands bound, tied to Stina, who was shuddering next to her, wishing she was wearing a cloak. She wanted to go to poor Magda, who was on her feet now, swaying in the storm. Alys turned back to the fight, hoping the blue-eyed man would kill Magda’s would-be rapist, and quickly.
He needed to get to Magda.
Dagger tipped again, and Sigurd flew forward, arms out, falling on top of Rutger, who lost his knife, but reacted quickly, punching Sigurd in the eye. They rolled in the seawater sloshing across the deck, both of them trying to gain control of Sigurd’s knife.
Bolli looked on, tiller shuddering as the goat broke free of its rope, tangling itself around the helmsman’s legs, trying to hide from the rain, and the creaking ship, and the screaming men who sat against the gunwales cheering Sigurd and Rutger on.
Ludo was on his knees now, scampering through the bilgewater, seeing the young woman turn towards the bow. And though she was unsteady on her feet, she was moving towards the dragon prow with purpose, arms held out to balance herself.
‘No!’ Ludo cried, trying to get back to his feet, but the waves rocked
Dagger like a horse, and he fell sideways.
Alys spun around to see Magda grab the prow, her pretty yellow dress soaked through, clinging to her plump figure, her hair wet and limp down
her back in a mess of undone braids. ‘Magda!’ she screamed. ‘No! Stop! Someone stop her!’
Ludo was back on his feet now, hands out, trying to get to Magda. ‘Stop, please! Please!’
Sigurd couldn’t get away from Rutger, who was spitting in his face, hands around Sigurd’s knife, knee in his ribs; meaner, stronger, and now, despite being drunk, very much in control of that knife.
‘Magda!’
Magda was far enough away from the bound women that none of them could reach her. Far enough away from the men hunkered down against the gunwales. Far enough away from Ludo, who was still on his way to her. And with one look back at him, Magda scrambled up to the prow.
‘What’s she doing?’ Bolli barked. ‘Sigurd!
‘Sigurd!’ Reinar was yelling from Fury, watching the disaster unfold, unable to see his brother. ‘Someone grab her!’
But no one could reach her in time.
And in a heartbeat, Magda had jumped into the frothing sea.
As evening approached, the wailing intensified.
Rutger and Sigurd had been dragged apart by Bolli, who had been Sigurd’s father’s helmsman and friend for more years than he could remember; a man old enough and experienced enough not to be fazed by two brawling idiots. ‘What do you think Reinar’s going to do with you? Losing that girl? What’s wrong with the pair of you?’
Sigurd looked at Bolli as though his brain had cracked open.
And though Bolli was well aware that the whole sorry mess was Rutger’s fault, it wouldn’t serve any of them to carry on the fight by picking sides. They had to get to Goslund without losing any more of their precious cargo.
Ludo continued to stare at the dragon prow as the sea rose up in dark, white-tipped waves, swelling all around them. He kept seeing flashes of the yellow dress, the blank look of resignation in the girl’s eyes before she jumped.
She had been young. Perhaps younger than him?
He blinked, listening to Bolli barking orders, aware of Sigurd’s hand on his arm, dragging him towards the rest of the women, growling at him to secure them tightly. They couldn’t afford to lose any more.
Ludo nodded in resignation, checking the ropes of their remaining prisoners. They were a sodden mix of middle-aged and young women, now looking even more shocked than before, if that were possible. Confusion bubbled around them. Panic. Fear that they would be raped. Killed. Sold. Drowned.
Terror lingered in their eyes as they turned them away from him.
Finally confident that their ropes would hold if Rutger and his men tried anything, Ludo turned back to the stern, wanting to escape those haunting eyes.
‘Please. Wait!’ Alys needed to get his attention.
Ignoring her, Ludo kept walking, numb feet in wet boots, heart thumping.
He wanted to vomit. He didn’t want to talk to any of them. ‘Please! I need to speak to your lord! Quickly! It’s urgent!’
Ludo reached Sigurd, who was bleeding from a cut under his already swelling right eye, rain washing the blood down his face, colouring him a watery red.
‘What does she want?’ Sigurd grumbled, relieved that Rutger was sitting down, looking less cocksure now; obviously well aware of what Reinar would think about losing the girl. Sigurd frowned, wanting to feel his hands again. His toes too. ‘I wish they’d all shut up. I don’t want Rutger causing more problems. We just need to get to Goslund, then he can go hump whoever he can pay enough to let him.’
Ludo sat down beside him, elbows on knees, resting his head on his hands. And closing his eyes, he tried to think of anything but the cold, wet ship, and the sad slave girl.
Alys started to panic. ‘Please! Please! Hurry!’
‘Alys.’ Stina grabbed her hand in warning. ‘If we’re quiet, they might leave us alone.’
But Alys wasn’t listening. ‘You can’t go there. Stop!’ she cried out desperately. ‘I’ve seen something! Please!’
The ship was turning now, aiming its angry dragon towards the headland. ‘Please!’
The rain drowned her out, though, and for a moment, Sigurd thought that would be the end of it. He held his breath, hoping she would stop calling out.
‘Sigurd!’
Soaking shoulders tensing, Sigurd pulled himself up, turning towards the thunderous roar of his older brother, calling from Fury; his voice louder than the storm swirling overhead, threatening to unleash more misery.
Reinar’s helmsman, Holgar, was aiming Fury straight at them. And Reinar was yelling for his brother, though his eyes were on the woman in the green dress. He hadn’t been able to stop staring at her as their ships had
ridden through the stormy sea, watching from a distance as her golden hair trailed behind her in the searing wind.
And then she’d started screaming at his brother.
‘Sigurd!’ Reinar tried again, sensing that Bolli was slowing Dagger down. Men were reefing the red sail, or attempting to. His eyes didn’t linger long on their efforts as he sought out the woman in the green dress again.
Sigurd leaned over the gunwale, waiting for Fury to get closer, head low, trying to avoid the sting of the rain as it pelted down. And then Reinar was there.
Rutger, deciding that his best hope was to simply face his lord and blame Sigurd, joined him.
‘What does that woman want?’ Reinar yelled, hands cupped around his bearded mouth.
Sigurd was surprised by the question. He shrugged.
‘You didn’t ask her?’ Reinar looked wild. He was a big man, broader and taller than his already tall brother. He rose up, chest expanding, eyes searching the ship, trying to catch a glimpse of her again. ‘Go and ask her!’ And flicking a hand in annoyance, he strode towards Bjarni, who was happy for a chance to get away from Torvig. ‘Sometimes I wonder about Sigurd!’ He directed this past Bjarni to where Torvig met his eye, nodding in agreement.
Reinar muttered to himself, waiting as his brother untied the woman, holding on to her with a firm grip, Ludo clinging to her other side, determined not to let her go.
‘Tell me,’ Sigurd hissed in her ear, eyes sharp with impatience. ‘For some reason, my brother wants to know what you want.’ He felt irritated, still haunted by the woman who had thrown herself overboard.
Not a woman. A girl. He blinked. ‘Tell me.’
‘There’s an ambush. I see an ambush around the headland! In the estuary. Three ships are waiting for you! Men dressed for battle!’
Reinar’s blue eyes, usually hooded and wary, suddenly popped open. He’d heard her. Despite the howling wind rushing between the two rocking ships, he’d heard everything she’d said. ‘You’re a dreamer?’
Alys turned to him, shoulders hunched up to her ears, nodding.
Sigurd glared at her, before turning to his brother with a sigh. ‘She doesn’t want to go to Goslund!’ he cried. ‘She doesn’t want us turning
down the estuary! It’s just a trick! You can’t believe her!’ He snorted, prepared to take her back to the rest of the women.
But Reinar wasn’t listening to his brother. His eyes were on Alys. ‘How many ships?’ His own ship creaked and groaned around him, drenched men filling the gunwales now, curious about why they had stopped.
‘Three! I saw three!’ Alys panicked, trying to bring her vision back to life. The rain pummelled them harder now, the waves surging, her stomach heaving. She saw a glimpse of her children, knowing that she had to do everything in her power to keep herself alive. ‘I saw a red banner! With a boar! An angry boar!’
They all turned to her then. Sigurd and Ludo. Rutger. Reinar and Bjarni too.
The boar banner belonged to Hakon Vettel.
Reinar was surprised, then quickly disturbed. It made sense, of course, though it was an escalation he had not anticipated coming so quickly. ‘We turn back!’ he cried across the swelling waves to Bolli, before moving towards his own helmsman, whose yellowed eyes were blinking fast.
Torvig held out a hand, frowning. ‘Sigurd’s right to be suspicious. You’d change our plans for a woman who claims to be a dreamer? How do you know she is? She doesn’t want to be sold, Reinar! We need to get to Goslund!’
He wasn’t wrong, Reinar knew. But Torvig didn’t know what Reinar did.
And what Reinar Vilander knew was that the woman in the green dress was most certainly a dreamer.
He turned back to his brother, who looked ready to brawl with Rutger again as they faced each other on the swaying ship, mail-covered chest to mail-covered chest. Reinar had no patience for it. Rutger and his men had provided the extra hands they needed, but they were becoming a problem. Even Reinar could see that. “We’ll head down the coast and find a cove! Camp for the night! And Rutger and I will have a little talk about his habits with my slaves!” With a swirl of his bear-fur cloak, Reinar spun away, heading toward Holgar, eager to make a quick exit.
But Rutger wasn’t satisfied. “And who among you knows this woman as a dreamer?” he shouted at the shivering group of women. “You all look surprised to me. Perhaps she’s a witch, not a dreamer? A trickster? A temptress!”
Sigurd growled, ready to shove Rutger aside. He had more pressing matters than dealing with that blathering fool. They needed to move quickly, so turning away from Rutger, he nodded to Ludo to take the dreamer back to the prow. “Tie her tightly!” he warned. “Do not let her escape!”
Ludo was happy to. Eager to get away from Rutger himself, he gripped Alys firmly, pulling her towards the prow.
‘Wait!’ Alys worried that she was about to be sick. She was suddenly so hot, despite the howling wind that had frozen every part of her, despite the cold water sloshing over her bare feet. She spun around, listening. ‘Something’s coming! Now!’
The whistle of arrows was lost amongst the groan of the masts and the creak of the strakes as Holgar and Bolli started bellowing at their crews to get to work. They needed to turn away from the estuary, and quickly, before the waves and the wind pushed them somewhere they didn’t want to go.
The first arrow hit Rutger in the back, tipping him forward with such force that he struck the gunwale, chin first. The second hit Sigurd in the shoulder, piercing his mail.
On Fury, Reinar spun, watching his brother fall. ‘Sigurd!’ And then they saw the three ships surging towards them.
Ludo threw Alys to the deck. ‘Crawl back to the women! Get them down, and stay there!’ And rolling off her, he wriggled towards the shield rack, listening as another wave of arrows whipped overhead, thudding into the mast, piercing the sail.
Alys crawled to the Ullaberg women with speed, tugging on Stina’s leg. ‘Down!’ she yelled, urging them down to the deck; though bound and tied together as they were, it wasn’t easy. Marren shrieked, shot in the back. She fell, knocking them all sprawling in a tumbling mess.
‘Shields!’ Sigurd screamed, trying to yank his from the shield rack, but another arrow hit him between the shoulder blades, and he staggered, falling onto Rutger, who was struggling with his own balance.
Ludo was on his feet now, hurrying towards Sigurd, one shield up high, protecting his head; the other he handed to Sigurd, who looked at him with a frown, as though he didn’t recognise him. And, in the next breath, Sigurd’s legs gave way, and he tumbled forward, onto the deck.
Reinar caught a glimpse of his collapsing brother, before bellowing to his men. ‘Archers!’ And as Holgar pulled on the tiller and Bjarni barked at
everyone to get down, Torvig was busy handing out bows and arrows, his face beaming.
Rutger lay on the deck, blood running from his chin, trying to get back to his feet, but the arrow had hit something important; he could feel that. Everything looked oddly dark around the edges, and he was struggling to see; struggling to gather the strength he needed to get back to his feet. He could see Sigurd Vilander lying near him, though, and he could see the arrows sticking out of him as that long-legged dolt leaned over, trying to wake him up.
And if he was going to die, Rutger Eivin was determined to take Sigurd with him. So pulling his knife from its scabbard, he stabbed it into the back of Sigurd’s thigh, dragging the blade down his leg with all the strength he had left. And collapsing forward, blood draining from his back, he passed out.
‘Aarrghh!’
Ludo’s attention had been torn away from Sigurd by the screams of the women, who were lying down on the deck now, trying to put their hands over their heads. He looked back at Sigurd in surprise, eyes on the long wound Rutger had made in the back of Sigurd’s leg; blood pumping from it, quickly washed away by the rain.
More arrows. And now, thunder booming.
The goat was bleating, trying to escape the barrage of arrows and the warriors who were scrambling with the yard and the sail; those lining the gunwales now with bows and arrows, hidden behind a row of shields.
Reinar could hear them from on board Fury, but his attention was fixed on the three ships charging for them out of the estuary; two of them aiming straight for Dagger.
He still couldn’t see his brother and that worried him.
Dagger was taking the brunt of the arrow storm, Fury being further away from the enemy ships. And though instinct told him that they needed to get away, Reinar wasn’t about to let his brother’s ship be overwhelmed. ‘Holgar!’ he shouted. ‘Head for Dagger! We have to help them!’
Torvig spun around, irritation in his eyes. He masked it quickly, though, swaying over to his brother-in-law, bow in hand. ‘You’re sure?’
‘I’m not leaving Sigurd! And I’m not losing that ship!’
Ludo could hear Bolli screeching at their archers to shoot faster. He didn’t blame him. Hakon Vettel’s men appeared to have enough arrows to
fire in a continuous stream. He crouched down, creeping towards the women, two of whom had arrows sticking out of their backs. ‘I need your help!’ Ludo called, grabbing the dreamer’s hand. ‘Please.’ She was the only one not bound, and he dragged her away towards Sigurd, urging her to keep low.
Alys could barely see as the wind blew the rain into her eyes. She blinked, trying to clear her vision as she crept towards the body.
‘Help him!’ Ludo cried. ‘Please help him! I have to go!’ And shield up, he rushed to the gunwale where those with bows were doing their best to damage Hakon Vettel’s crews. ‘Bolli! Get us out of here!’ he yelled, realising that with both Sigurd and Rutger down, he was going to have to take charge.
Alys could hear the men bellowing around her. She jumped as the ship was shunted, knocked forward onto Sigurd, who groaned, his eyes flickering open.
He tried to move.
‘No,’ she urged, pushing herself off his back, hearing a woman’s scream, hoping it wasn’t Stina. ‘You’re injured.’ Alys ran a hand over Sigurd’s thigh, tearing his trousers. Though his blood was flowing thickly, the rain was washing it away, making it easy to see just how deep the wound was.
Two arrows were sticking out of his back too.
Alys hesitated for a moment. She didn’t want to help him, but he would die if she didn’t, and that wouldn’t endear her to anyone on board. This was the man who had killed her husband, and in a strange twist of fate, she felt she owed him something for that gift. So, tearing off a few soggy strips from the hem of her green dress, Alys padded them into Sigurd’s leg wound, listening to his moans of agony, feeling him writhe around, awake now. And then, suddenly, more shunting and she fell forward again as the ship was boarded; Hakon Vettel’s men jumping over the gunwale, gleaming swords carving through the late afternoon gloom.
Reinar was furious, watching the catastrophe unfold. ‘Get me onto that ship, Holgar!’ he bellowed. ‘Now!’ He could feel Bjarni come up on his right. ‘They’ve run out of arrows, thank the gods. But now they’re just going to carve them up and take our slaves!’ Rain ran down from his forehead, dripping onto his mail. He shook his head, wanting to see clearly, but the storm was intensifying, the sky and the sea almost impossible to tell
apart now. ‘Holgar!’ Reinar screamed, turning as Fury rode the waves towards Dagger. ‘Hold for half of us to get on board! Bjarni, you stay. Get those other ships down. Try spears. Axes. I want their masts in the sea. Tear their sail! Kill their helmsmen! Quickly!’
Reinar was frozen to the bone, but he tore off his bear-fur cloak, leaving it in a wet heap at his feet. And drawing a short axe from his belt, he nodded at Torvig, who gripped his sword, teeth gleaming in the storm. ‘What do you think, then? Time to put an end to this shit of a day?’
Torvig nodded, smiling as Fury bumped up against Dagger’s hull, following Reinar over the gunwale, body humming with the thrill of battle.
Reinar chopped his axe into the scarred neck of a black-haired man.
He chopped it so hard the man’s head nearly came off as his body crumpled into a heap on the bloody deck. Reinar saw Torvig out of one eye, Ludo out of the other, swords scything through the storm, blood splattering through the air like red rain. Swinging around, Reinar hacked into a man’s middle, spinning again, axe flying into another’s face.
Reinar Vilander, cursed and abandoned by the gods he worshipped, was not going to surrender. He was not going to give Hakon Vettel his ship. Nor was he prepared to give Vasa, Goddess of Death, his only brother. And he was most certainly not going to let anyone take that dreamer away from him. He could see her as she turned her eyes down, working hard to help Sigurd; Sigurd, who didn’t appear to be moving at all now. She had snapped off the arrows poking out of his shoulder and back. Now she was wrapping more and more strips of cloth around his leg.
Reinar looked away, forcing himself to focus.
He heard a crash, voices raised in shock, and down came the mast from one of Hakon’s ships.
Reinar doubted Hakon Vettel was on it, certain the weasely boy would only have his eyes on Ottby, not on a little sea skirmish. But how he’d managed to find himself three ships after they’d burned his entire fleet, Reinar wasn’t sure. Still, once Holgar was finished with that one, there would only be two left. Two ships with two crews perfectly capable of sinking both Dagger and Fury.
Sigurd was wide-awake now, in pain, growing frantic. ‘I have to move!’ he growled into the bilgewater, trying to lift his head so as not to drown in it. The pain in his body made him want to vomit, but he could hear Reinar, and he could hear Ludo, and he needed to help them.
And then a horn.
Sigurd squirmed, trying to move, but the dreamer’s hand was firmly on his back, urging him to stay down. He groaned, attempting to fight her, trying to push himself up, but in another breath, everything suddenly went dark.
Alys could feel Sigurd’s body collapse beneath her hand, and she panicked, hoping he wasn’t dead. She leaned forward, hand at his neck, feeling for a pulse as all around her screams rose. The goat, stained a watery red now, skipped up and down the deck as men fought over and around it, weapons scraping together, rain teeming down in a thunderous roar.
Reinar didn’t know what the horn meant as he dropped to the deck, trying to grab the axe which had slid out of his wet hand. He felt a kick in the back, and coughing, winded, he flopped forward into the bloody water, fingertips reaching for the axe haft. Firming up his grip on that familiar piece of wood, he swung around, rising first onto one knee, then quickly onto both feet, lodging the blade into his attacker’s cheek. The man shrieked, dropping his sword, falling back onto the deck in a heap.
Another plaintive cry of a horn. Not theirs.
And staggering as the ship dipped down into the sea and many lost their balance, Reinar could see Hakon Vettel’s two remaining ships turning away, one mast left standing between them, and that mastless ship already appeared to be foundering.
He glanced at Fury, blinking through the rain. And there was Bjarni, blonde hair plastered to his round face, bright red cheeks, bellowing orders, arms flailing.
Reinar spun around, axe in the air. ‘Your ships are leaving without you! Your men have abandoned you!’ He sucked in a cold breath, trying to keep his balance as a wave slammed against Dagger’s hull, making him stumble. ‘Seems that Hakon wants his ships more than he wants this victory! More than he wants any of you!’
Fighting stuttered, thunder crashing now, as bloody, wet, dripping warriors froze in place, chests heaving, eyes narrowed, listening to the Lord of Ottby.
‘So, I give you a choice!’ Reinar continued. ‘Join me or die! I need men, and you can fight. Forget Hakon Vettel, and come, join me!’
The men looked surprised; mostly distrustful. The thought of living was appealing, naturally, but Reinar Vilander was a Southern lord, their sworn enemy, and they could no more serve him than the treacherous King of Alekka himself. So, shuffling slowly together, securing their grips on their slippery weapons, blinking the icy rain from their eyes, Hakon Vettel’s men charged.
