Chapter no 8

Eye of the Wolf

Akaby was more of a road bordered by a few neglected shacks than a village.

It did not look promising.

Though when Long Beard lifted his eyes and squinted, he could see farmsteads in the distance, and those farmers appeared to have land aplenty.

Rich men.

Men in need of a useful little slave. Perhaps a fat pony too?

He glanced down at Lotta, her hair shimmering in the sunshine. It felt warm against his chest, and he was reminded of his wife and his hearth and his comfortable chair. He felt ready to get home, certain that Hakon would be eager to hear his news.

Turning back to Silver Tooth, he inclined his head towards a narrow path. ‘Might have more luck down there. But let’s stop, see what we can sniff out here first. Stretch our legs. I’m sure we can find a taker for the boy and the ponies.’ Long Beard felt Lotta stiffen in his arms. ‘Just the one pony. We’ll keep yours.’

Lotta loved her pony, but she loved her brother more, and the idea that these horrible, stinking men were about to sell him terrified her. She had hoped to have a useful dream, though she’d dreamed of nothing that would help her save Magnus. Turning to the left, she saw her brother trying to wriggle away from Silver Tooth, who had a firm grip on him, leather- covered arm tight across Magnus’ chest.

Eye Patch was further back, coughing uncontrollably now.

‘You don’t need to sell my brother,’ she tried. ‘He will be useful to you.’ Long Beard laughed. ‘Useful? How?’

‘He knows how to shoot an arrow. And he can fish. He can use a spear and a sword too.’

Long Beard winked at Silver Tooth. ‘You think he could be a warrior?

Fight for Hakon Vettel?’

Lotta didn’t know who that was. ‘He could care for your weapons and your horses. He could help you!’

Silver Tooth seemed intrigued by the idea, but Long Beard snorted. ‘You think I need another mouth to feed? No, I’m not a rich man with a hall. You’ll come in handy, but your brother? He’ll give us silver. And a man is always in need of silver.’

Long Beard’s voice rasped in Lotta’s ear like a whetstone running down a blade, and she shrank away from him, wanting to get off the horse; wanting his hand away from her waist. She felt tears coming. But tears wouldn’t save Magnus either.

So squeezing her eyes shut, peering into the darkness, Lotta tried to find an answer.

Alys walked towards the training ring, feeling uncomfortable. Everyone stared at her, which made her feel even worse. She wanted to turn back to the hall, change out of Elin Vilander’s beautiful clothes and put her own back on. They were ripped and ruined, filthy with dirt and blood, but they made her feel so much more like herself than Elin’s dress, which was made of warm wool, dyed green, embroidered with golden flowers around the neckline and hem, which Alys tried to pick out of the mud, to no avail.

‘Well, I’m not sure you’re dressed for training,’ Sigurd said, eyes sharp, trying not to stare. He could hear Tulia behind him, bellowing at the Ullaberg women, who were so far not at all interested in becoming warriors. ‘Me?’ Alys was surprised. She shook her head. ‘I don’t think your

brother would want me to train. I… I’m supposed to help him with dreams.’ ‘Yes, you are,’ Reinar agreed, coming up behind her, trying to ignore

the conflicting feelings about Elin’s dress. It was important to move forward, he knew, to focus on saving the fort and his people; to protect the bridge and beat back whatever challenge Hakon Vettel would throw at them

next. Though his heart broke at the sight of Alys wearing that dress. ‘But you should also know how to fight. Why not?’

Alys spun around, panicking, and Reinar blinked. The dress suited her more than he thought possible. Her skin was light and freckled, her long hair golden, the complete opposite of his wife, and though it had always suited Elin, the dress appeared to have been made with Alys in mind. Everything about it accentuated her natural beauty.

Clearing his throat, Reinar glanced at his brother. ‘Though, what use they’re all going to be, I don’t know.’ He turned back to Alys. ‘Can you use a weapon? Anything?’

Alys squirmed. ‘I can use a… bow.’ Sigurd looked surprised.

Reinar was pleased. ‘Good, well that should make Tulia’s job easier. She seems to be having no luck with your friends so far.’ He saw Torvig motioning him towards the armourer’s hut. ‘Sigurd, take her to Tulia. I have to have a word with Torvig. And meet me up on the inner wall when you’re done. We need to make a plan for tonight.’

Sigurd had been hoping to find a bench, wanting to take the weight off his aching leg for a while, but he nodded, ushering Alys forward. ‘Perhaps you should change?’ he asked, staring at the green dress, but Alys shook her head, just wanting to get it over with. ‘Tulia! Another victim for you!’ And limping forward, he almost had to drag a reluctant Alys towards the training ring.

Tulia’s grin was cat-like. ‘So, Reinar is letting me play with his dreamer? Well, I’m sure we’ll have some fun.’

‘She knows how to use a bow.’

‘Oh?’ Tulia’s dark eyebrows rose in surprise. The dreamer looked as timid as an old woman. She was thin. There didn’t appear to be enough strength in her arms to throw a spoon. ‘Well, come, show us what you can do, dreamer.’

Alys glanced at Sigurd, wanting an escape, but he encouraged her to slip through the railings, while he leaned over them, taking the weight off his injured leg. His eyes drifted to where a red-faced Ludo was trying to teach a group of five women how to hold their bows.

They had plenty of bows in the fort. Buckets of arrows. Just not enough men to shoot them anymore.

Sigurd wondered what Tulia was thinking, his eyes back on her as she left Alys to choose her bow, and came to join him at the railings.

‘I know that look,’ she smiled. ‘I like that look. It’s very motivating.’ ‘What do you mean?’

‘You, thinking I can’t do this. That they can’t do this. I like proving you wrong. And I will.’

‘That wasn’t my look.’ ‘No?’

Sigurd leaned towards her, touching her face. ‘My look was that I’m glad you’re still here, training them.’ And he nodded towards the shellshocked women. ‘I believe you can.’

‘Ha!’ Tulia was dismissive. ‘So your lips say, but your eyes tell a different story. Besides…’ she murmured, letting him kiss her, ‘I won’t be here for long, Sigurd Vilander, know that. This fort will be empty soon, and those who are left will be dead before winter. And I won’t let my brother become one of them.’ Her face hardened as she stepped back through the mud. ‘I will train these women, and they will help us, but for how long? More men will leave, the women will die, and the fort will stand for a time… and then what?’ She spun around, black hair swirling behind her as she strode towards Alys, who held a bow now, looking nervous. Tulia glanced over her shoulder, eyeing Sigurd, wishing she could get through to him. ‘And then what?’

Jonas had lost his wife and daughter both. He had lost his beloved granddaughter to a man he feared was not treating her well. And now, her children appeared to be lost to the wind.

He sat on his horse, staring at the blackened remains of his old cottage, wondering what to do.

He tried to convince himself that it had only been a dream. Dreams came and went nightly without him feeling the need to cling to them; without believing they were sent by a dreamer. So why had he left Vik and travelled back to Torborg? Why was he sitting on his old horse like an old fool?

It was a good question, and the answer was staring him in the face.

Because he knew the difference.

As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he knew the difference.

Jonas turned Klippr’s head, aiming him in the direction of the trees. His abandoned farm had plenty of land, though it was overgrown and neglected now. He had given his livestock away to his neighbours and taken the remains of his stores up to Vik’s.

Perhaps he would ask around? See if anyone had seen two children? His throat tightened as he nudged Klippr on.

Wondering what had happened to Alys.

Tulia had been distracted by one of the women, who had tried to run. And leaving Alys with Stina, she’d stormed out of the training ring to yell at Ludo for letting her escape.

‘I can’t do it,’ Stina fretted, mud up her legs, shivering. The clouds hung low over the fort, a dirty grey colour, and the mud was freezing. ‘I can’t even bring the bow back. How can I possibly shoot an arrow?’

Alys leaned her own bow against the railings and tried to show her.

The training ring was big, and Tulia and Amir had quickly cleared everyone out, which hadn’t taken long – more warriors were leaving the fort than wishing to train – and they’d lined up the targets along one end, sending the women back to the other.

‘It takes practice to bend it,’ Alys said quietly, picking up Stina’s bow and showing her how to draw back her arm, fingers and elbow working hard, back muscles flexing. She loosened her hold, handing the bow back to Stina. ‘It takes practice.’

Stina nodded, not convinced that practice would have any impact on her ability to use the bow, but she tried again and found that she could pull the bowstring back further this time. ‘So you’re an archer as well as a dreamer?’ she smiled, kind eyes on her friend. ‘My mysterious Alys. Why so many secrets?’

Alys shrugged, glancing at Tulia, who was trekking back to her, almost eager for the distraction. Her family was full of secrets, she knew. Though she wasn’t sure she knew why.

‘You,’ Tulia grumbled, pointing at Alys, ‘go and practice. And you,’ she said, eyeing Stina, ‘go with the others who can’t even wrangle a bow yet.’ And she pointed them in opposite directions, turning to Amir. ‘There are smaller bows, Brother! Try to find them! Ask Bjarni!’

Bjarni was trying to teach his group of women how to hold a spear. He was distracted, half of him not seeing any point in wasting their time. The other half wanting to know what Torvig was talking to Reinar about.

He didn’t trust Torvig, though Reinar had always held him in high regard. But that was likely just because he was Elin’s brother. And since her disappearance, Reinar had drawn himself even closer to his brother-in-law, seeking his advice more often than Bjarni thought was sensible.

One of the women dropped her spear on his foot, and Bjarni blinked, turning around in surprise. ‘You don’t want to drop a weapon!’ he groused. ‘Not one with a spearhead attached!’ He wasn’t usually bad-tempered, but lack of sleep, worry about his pregnant wife, and the impending doom they were all facing had him on edge. He scratched his sand-coloured hair, looking sheepish. ‘If you’re on the ramparts, if you’re in the square, you can launch a spear a great distance. It’s something you can use effectively without needing to get into a fight.’ He took a breath, trying to sound more sympathetic. The women were no warriors, and he was no teacher. Though, perhaps, he realised, glancing at the straggle of men dragging their sea chests into the square, perhaps Tulia was right, and the women of Ullaberg were their only hope now?

Silver Tooth and Long Beard had left the children in a wooded area with Eye Patch, who was too ill to follow them around. They’d tied them up first, though, worried that he might simply drop dead and let them run off.

Eye Patch scowled, his one eye on the whimpering girl, who was wriggling against her ropes. ‘You want to run, princess? You think I won’t hurt you?’

His voice rasped, and Lotta could hear the threat in it. The sound of approaching death too.

Magnus could see the sword Eye Patch was sharpening, the glint of it winking in the sunshine. He nudged his sister’s shoulder, trying to get her to

stay still. ‘We just have to be patient,’ he whispered. He didn’t know what else to say, not feeling like a leader at all.

Lotta looked cross. ‘They will leave you here, and I’ll never see you again.’ She was worried about her brother more than herself. ‘And Daisy too. Maybe they’ll eat them? It doesn’t look like a nice sort of place.’

‘Will you shut up!’ Eye Patch growled, wanting some peace. They were continually nattering, and though he knew they were not being loud, their voices sounded like bells clanging inside his aching head. He was shaking uncontrollably now, his body alternating between being unbearably hot, then so cold it was as though he had fallen into the sea.

Lotta shrank back against the tree, watching Eye Patch’s eye close. She bumped her shoulder against Magnus, wondering if she could communicate with him. But he already appeared to know what she was thinking as he wriggled his bound hands, trying to loosen the knots.

Tulia stood behind her, watching, and Alys gulped, one eye closed.

Her grandfather had taught her many things over the years, including how to use a bow, though she’d always had little confidence in her abilities. Thoughts of her grandfather led to thoughts of her children, and Alys froze, sensing Tulia’s impatience grow.

‘Perhaps the target is too far away?’ Tulia’s accent was strong, and her voice was cold. ‘Perhaps you can’t use a bow at all, dreamer?’

Alys didn’t care to show her either way, but she was never going to get out of the freezing mud if she didn’t fire the arrow. So, aiming for the target, some fifty paces in the distance, Alys released the arrow, feeling the whoosh of the fletching as it flew away from her.

She stood back, head cocked to one side, watching as it hit the skin- wrapped shield, just inside the rim. Frowning, Alys turned back for another arrow, unhappy with that effort.

‘Not bad!’ Sigurd called from the railings. He was impressed. No one else had even managed to get their arrows to fly yet.

Tulia eyed him. ‘Have you nothing better to do?’

And shrugging, Sigurd realised that he could be more useful elsewhere. He headed for Torvig and Reinar, loudly arguing with the armourer, who

appeared to have packed his bags.

Sigurd was surprised, and he hobbled more quickly. ‘What are you doing, Oki? You can’t leave!’

Reinar agreed. ‘I’ve been trying to tell him that, but Mariana wants to go, doesn’t she?’

Oki nodded. ‘She does. I can’t make her stay, Sigurd. You must understand that. Mariana’s held on all these months. I told her it would get better. When we tempted more men to join us, I thought it would get better, but it’s only gotten worse. And now with Ulura coming…’

Sigurd was quickly exasperated. ‘It wasn’t Ulura! There was no wolf. No wolf at all. Ask Reinar! He went out there. You all saw that. There was no wolf!’

‘Well, what I think and what Mariana thinks are two different things, it seems. Though, if you’re saying it’s only a dreamer trying to trick us, it makes you wonder what this dreamer is capable of? I’m sure I saw a wolf. I saw fur. I heard it. We all did.’ Oki was a big man with a flat nose, enormous arms, and a strong, barrel-like chest, but he looked ashen-faced and worried. ‘What else is Hakon’s dreamer capable of?’ He said this to Reinar, who ignored him, turning to Torvig.

‘I’ve had enough of this!’ And striding away from Oki, Reinar headed to the hall, needing to think.

The ale tasted like piss, Silver Tooth thought, draining his cup. Though after so many days on the road, he’d stopped caring. His throat was bone dry, and no matter how much he drank, it never improved. He swallowed, realising that it was starting to hurt too.

The farmer they’d come across appeared a generous sort, and as they stood in front of his large house discussing terms for the boy, he’d ordered his snarling wife to provide them with a tray of pickled herring and flatbreads. A jug of ale too. They’d been grateful for both, though the flatbreads were mouldy, hard to swallow, and as for the ale…

‘Perhaps you’d find some use for a little girl too?’ Silver Tooth wondered, watching the farmer’s wife, who was red-cheeked and frowning as she sat on the porch, churning milk into butter.

Long Beard growled, eyes suddenly sharp, though the farmer shook his bald head, a dirty hand around his cup of ale, cradling it with affection.

‘My wife and daughter cope well enough with the house. It’s the fields I need a hand with. The pony will be useful, and the boy. Come spring, I’ll have them both out there, tilling the earth.’ He pointed to a flat field which had been stripped of most of its crops now. ‘My old horse dropped dead last month, so we chopped her up, salted and dried her. She was a good horse, and now she’ll keep us fed over winter. You say the boy doesn’t eat much?’ He was a rotund, middle-aged man, worn down by life; stuck on the outskirts of a tiny village with just his wife and daughter for company. Not a moment to himself. No peace at all. His back ached, his legs ached, but most of all, his ears ached from his wife’s constant nagging, so he looked at the boy with some interest, keen for the help.

Long Beard nodded. ‘He’s strong enough, but he’s got the appetite of an old woman. He won’t need much to keep him going.’

Silver Tooth caught a glimpse of an ugly girl crossing the yard in a dirty dress. He winked at her, and she stared at him, gaps in her teeth, chicken under one arm, axe in hand. It had been a long time since he’d seen a woman, and his body responded with urgency, his boots scuffing the dirt, considering things.

Long Beard placed a hand on his arm. ‘We’ll get going and gather the boy and the pony. I’ll bring them back, and we can make our trade, friend.’ He eyed the farmer, who seemed wary but enthusiastic.

Not many strangers came his way. Most of the villagers had left, struggling to survive in these challenging times. He’d been thinking for weeks that he’d have to try and head for a town, see what help he could find or buy.

These strangers had brought him some luck indeed.

‘Go kill that chicken, girl!’ he grumbled, flapping a hand at his daughter, who had stopped, still staring at Silver Tooth.

Silver Tooth, irritated by the hand on his arm, eyed Long Beard in surprise.

‘We’ll return shortly,’ Long Beard smiled. ‘Perhaps in time for supper?’ The man looked less than keen for the extra mouths, though his gap- toothed daughter grinned at Silver Tooth, excited by the prospect of some

company.

Magnus doubted Eye Patch was asleep.

The three men were hardened warriors. Experienced. Well-travelled.

Not foolish enough to sleep on the job. Surely?

Perhaps it was a trap?

Eye Patch would lie his head back against the tree, close his eye, make some sleeping noises, encouraging them to escape. And then he would leap up and attack them. Hurt them.

Magnus didn’t want to take the chance, but he’d slipped out of his ropes, and now he could run away. Ride away. The ponies were there. He could hear them snuffling nearby, searching for crabapples.

Lotta bumped his arm, struggling with her ropes. Magnus bent down to help her, and within moments, she too was free. ‘We can ride away,’ Lotta whispered in her brother’s ear.

Magnus thought he saw Eye Patch stir.

The men had taken Magnus’ knives, and he had nothing to protect them with, but he could see Eye Patch’s sword lying across his lap, whetstone in his other hand. Keeping his eyes on the man, Magnus nodded at his sister. ‘You must be quiet, Lotta. Follow me. And watch your feet. Don’t make a sound.’

Magnus’ heart was in his mouth. He could barely breathe as he stepped away from the tree, eyes on Eye Patch before spinning around silently, heading for the ponies. He would have to untie them too. He could hear Lotta behind him. ‘Wait there,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll get the ponies ready.’ And turning back around, he reached for Daisy’s rope, fumbling with frozen fingers, trying to loosen it quickly. His ears were open, listening for any noises: for Long Beard returning, for Eye Patch stirring. He heard nothing but the cheerful sound of willow tits and winter jays above, calling to each other; squirrels and mice shuffling around the forest floor, foraging for bugs and nuts; a stream babbling nearby; his growling stomach.

And then the ropes came undone, and Daisy whinnied loudly, excited to be heading off for a ride. Magnus froze, head spinning, but Eye Patch was still leaning against the tree, eye closed, head drooping to one side. Turning back around, he gave Daisy’s rope to Lotta to hold while he worked to free Clover. And in no time at all, both ponies were ready to go.

Magnus felt sick. He didn’t know where they were, or where they should go to get away before Long Beard returned, but he looked at Lotta and knew that it didn’t matter.

They just had to leave. And then a yelp.

And spinning around, Magnus came face to face with Silver Tooth’s sword tip, watching as Long Beard dragged Lotta and her pony away.

‘And where do you think you’re going, little friend?’ Silver Tooth wondered, teeth bared.

Long Beard ignored the squealing Lotta as he yanked her towards Eye Patch, kicking his leg. ‘Some fucking guard you are!’ he grumbled, watching in horror as Eye Patch tumbled over, falling to the ground, eye still closed, lips blue. ‘Well, more coins for us!’ he grinned at Silver Tooth. ‘Come on, get the boy on your horse. I’m in the mood for some chicken!’

‌2 o‌

Reinar sat before his father, just the two of them, alone in Stellan’s chamber. The fire blazed away beside them, and Reinar removed his cloak, trying to think. Sometimes he wished he could reach into his father and bring him back. Stellan would blink and stare at him as though he was there, and Reinar’s hopes would rise, but in the next moment, he would slump back into his chair, gone again, eyes unable to focus, just staring into the distance, one side of his face oddly limp.

Stellan Vilander had ruled Ottby for just shy of twenty years when his wife discovered him having some sort of seizure in their chamber. No one knew what had happened, but that once reassuring presence in the hall, at the high table, on the ramparts and on the battlefield, had vanished in a heartbeat, and Ottby was less safe because of it.

Nothing had gone right since that moment.

Though Reinar had been raised as Stellan’s heir, he hadn’t imagined assuming that position while his father lived. He touched Stellan’s arm, wanting his father to see him, but he didn’t move.

‘You made a promise to Ake to stay here and hold the bridge.’ He thought he saw his father twitch. ‘But I don’t know how we can continue to hold on. Everyone’s leaving. Everyone. Even Oki Halbor!’ Reinar slammed his fist onto the chair arm, not sure who he was mad at. ‘A dreamer is causing havoc. Playing games. Giving us nightmares. Everyone thinks Vasa is coming. They believe they heard her wolf, so they’re leaving. And now Tulia’s out there trying to train the women I captured. Turn them into archers.’ Reinar dropped his head to his hands, sighing. ‘The right thing to do…’ he muttered. ‘What is the right thing to do?’ And then he felt a hand

on his head, and he stilled beneath it as his father stroked his hair. Stellan paused, moving his shaking hand down to Reinar’s chin, lifting it up.

Reinar was afraid to speak, not wanting the moment to end. And lifting his head, he stared into his father’s blue eyes, which looked oddly sharp.

‘Hold,’ Stellan rasped, right side of his mouth twitching with effort. ‘The… bridge.’ His hand dropped away, and his head tilted to the side, the light in his eyes extinguished.

Reinar sat back, staring, mouth open. Shivering all over.

‘Once we take Ottby, we must hold it,’ Hakon told his cousin, who appeared to be paying no attention to him at all. ‘Ivan,’ he grumbled, slapping his cousin’s head.

Ivan swung around, taking his attention away from the pretty servant girl, who had the juiciest looking lips he’d ever seen. She was young, always smiling as she worked. She seemed innocent, pure. Not like Falla Gundersen, who strutted around Slussfall with clear intent and purpose.

He wasn’t a fool. He could see through her. He knew where her ambitions lay.

It didn’t make it any easier to stop thinking about her, though, so he was trying to distract himself with a different kind of woman. One who was not married to his cousin’s champion warrior.

He blinked at the map table Hakon was pointing to. ‘We have enough men to do so. More than enough to man Ottby’s walls.’

Hakon nodded, pleased to hear his cousin sound so authoritative. His attention snapped to Lief, who was nodding.

‘Yes, we do, though your choice of commander in Ottby will be crucial, my lord.’ Lief was becoming irritated by Ivan’s inability to keep his attention on the map. He fidgeted endlessly, eyes jumping around the hall. It was like standing next to a man-sized chicken. ‘That commander will have to keep a lid on trouble, which is bound to flare. Ake’s allies won’t be happy when the bridge falls.’

Hakon was pleased to hear it. ‘No, they won’t.’ He smiled at Ivan, eyes narrowed. ‘But I have plans for them, don’t worry, Lief Gundersen.’

Lief was annoyed to hear it. Annoyed not to be part of whatever discussions Hakon was having with his fidgety cousin. Those discussions were obviously occurring behind his back. He thought of Mother, wondering if she could shed any light on what they were planning. ‘I won’t, my lord. As long as I know what role you wish me to take, I shall happily do my part.’

It was the right thing to say, and Hakon was pleased by Lief’s deference.

Ivan scowled at Lief, eager to stick him with the tip of his blade, right through his mauled right eye; disfigure him so much that Falla would never want to look at him again. ‘Perhaps Lief should remain in Ottby? A man of his experience would be just the person we need in command.’

Hakon looked surprised, but he considered it. ‘It’s one thought, but to fight Ake without Lief by my side?’ He dragged a hand down his pointed beard, thinking. ‘No, there are others who would do a fair enough job, but no one like Lief to fight beside us, Cousin.’

Lief was pleased to hear it, resisting the urge to glare triumphantly at Ivan and his big mouth. ‘As you wish, my lord. My wife will be happy. She is very much looking forward to reaching Stornas.’

‘As is mine!’ Hakon grinned, watching Karolina talking to the cook. She wore a dark-green velvet gown, with a white fur wrap tucked around her shoulders, secured with jewelled brooches, making her look like a snow queen.

His queen.

And soon, Alekka’s.

‘Well, the quicker we get on the road, the quicker we can begin,’ Ivan said, eager to be in Stornas before the first snow. Though by the feel of his frozen toes, he doubted that would be possible.

‘Exactly,’ Hakon agreed. ‘And who knows, after Mother’s fun, we may end up walking into an abandoned fort. I can’t imagine those Vilanders will be brave enough to think they can withstand Vasa and her mighty wolf!’

Reinar stood at the map table, thoughts wandering to Alys. He hadn’t wanted to stop her shooting arrows.

It had been quite a sight to see her in that beautiful dress, firing arrow after arrow at the target. She had a good eye, and eventually, she’d started hitting the centre of the shield.

Though he wasn’t about to risk her on the ramparts.

Tulia had sent Ludo and Amir to take the women back to the barn while she joined Reinar, Bjarni, Sigurd and Torvig at the map table.

Reinar blinked at her frowning face, realising that he needed to focus. ‘I’ve sent word to Hovring and Vika. There’s no other choice. I know Ake’s away, and his garrison will be enough to hold Stornas, but he may have no men free to help us. Erlan and Alef should be able to send reinforcements. They’re close enough.’

Bjarni frowned. ‘That still won’t be enough, Reinar. Torfinn said he thought Hakon had two thousand men. Siege towers too.’

‘The siege towers will be a problem,’ Reinar agreed. ‘But we can burn them. And with our new archers, we can shoot their crews.’ He grinned at Tulia, who appeared to be biting her tongue.

‘As long as they’re not here too quickly. I’m going to need some time. Only your dreamer is much use so far.’ Tulia said it reluctantly, not liking the dreamer at all.

‘What a surprise,’ Torvig mocked. ‘Women being entirely useless. Who would have thought it?’

Sigurd was the only one of their group sitting, and he was tempted to punch Torvig in the balls which were far too close to his face. ‘That’s hardly helpful. We need help. And they’re useless to us unless we can train them to do something. Even if it’s tipping oil onto Hakon’s men or helping to collect arrows.’

Reinar nodded. ‘And there’ll be some who’ll pick up archery quickly, won’t there?’

‘More than some,’ Tulia insisted, trying to sound optimistic. She glared at Torvig. ‘We have armies of women in Kalmera. What do you think they’re fighting with? Loom weights and wooden spoons?’

Torvig loved to irritate Tulia, and he welcomed her anger.

Reinar didn’t. It was a distraction. ‘Keep training them, Tulia. Pull aside the most promising and work with those. Send the rest to Ludo, and he’ll get them working on other ways to help.’

‘And when it’s all over? If they help us defend the fort?’ Tulia wondered. ‘Will you still sell them?’

Sigurd looked up at his brother, interested in Reinar’s answer.

‘If they help us hold the fort, I’ll reward them with silver,’ Reinar smiled. ‘Silver and freedom.’

Tulia was pleased to hear it. ‘Well, then, I’d better get back to work.’

Alys had remained behind when everyone else left the training ring.

It was as though she wasn’t in Ottby anymore.

In her mind, she was in Ullaberg, and the target was Arnon, and she was firing arrows into his bare chest, straight through the eye of his wolf tattoo. The centre of the target was the eye, and she kept trying to hit it, over and over again.

‘Getting better,’ Ludo grinned, arms on the railings. ‘We should send you out hunting!’

‘I don’t like hunting,’ Alys admitted, broken out of her trance, at last, dropping her arm, realising that it was aching now. She walked towards the railings, ready to stick her frozen feet in front of a fire. Winter was watching, sitting by a table, licking a paw, and it reminded her of the dreamer’s cottage and the book. Slipping through the railings, she held the bow out to Ludo. ‘I don’t know what to do with it.’

Ludo smiled. ‘I think you should keep it, don’t you? Who knows what creatures will come for us tonight?’

That was a good point, and Alys was pleased when Ludo followed her towards the white cat.

‘I don’t imagine Hakon Vettel’s dreamer would be happy having her trick exposed like that. She’s bound to do something else, isn’t she?’

Alys frowned. ‘Well, it depends on what she was trying to achieve.’ Her eyes drifted to the latest horse and cart heading for the gates. ‘If she was trying to drive more warriors away, I think she’d be happy.’

Ludo looked worried. He lowered his voice as the cat followed after them. ‘But what if you’re wrong, Alys? What if it really was Ulura?’ The thought had kept him awake all night. ‘Because if that’s the case, what will come next is the Goddess of Death stalking us all.’

Alys shook her head. ‘No, it was a trick. I saw that, and so did Reinar. I don’t know what this dreamer wants, but she certainly may try something

else. Maybe tonight?’

‘And can you stop her?’ Ludo loped along, determined to walk Alys to her door, though he could hear Bjarni bellowing for him in the distance.

‘Me?’ Alys looked surprised.

‘Can’t the book help you? Tell you what to do?’ Ludo opened the door, shepherding her inside, quickly aware that it was almost colder in the cottage than outside. He set about making a fire.

Alys frowned, eyes on the book lying open on her bed. She felt a tightness in her chest that would not ease. Her children were in danger. She was in danger. And she needed to find a way to save them all.

‘You don’t have to make a fire.’

Ludo grinned, down on his haunches. ‘I think I do. Not sure you’ll have enough strength in those arms to even lift some tinder after all your practice.’ He saw Alys try to lift her arm and wince. ‘Ha! I remember how that goes. No, you sit with the book, see what you can find. I’ll get the flames going, then I’ll go chop some wood. Bjarni can wait.’ Ludo meant it. He wanted to help the dreamer find a way to help them.

She had little confidence in herself, he could see.

But perhaps she was their best chance for survival now?

Mother Arnesson was in pain.

She sat in the cottage, hunched over on a stool, frosty breath snaking around her. The fire had long since died, the door was locked.

Two nights of casting the waking nightmares had worn her body. Taxed her spirit.

And she was struggling to hold her focus.

Her breathing was shallow. Rhythmic. Taking her into half a trance. Ivaar Skalleson had betrayed her sons. Betrayed them all.

And Jael Furyck had killed them.

Her heart ached for them. The loss never receded. It felt like a wave crashing against the shore, never retreating with the tide. It pounded the sand over and over again until Mother felt nothing but despair.

The cry woke her out of her trance. The cry of her grandson. Borg’s son.

Her blood and his.

She staggered to her feet, heading for the door, pulling it open to see Falla squatting down beside the crying black-haired toddler, who looked up at his grandmother, tears in his eyes.

And gritting her teeth, Mother felt her resolve harden. Determined to seek vengeance for them all.

Magnus stood in the farmer’s house, still seeing the image of Eye Patch, dead on the ground, lips blue, slightly open, his body oddly stiff, the whetstone still in his hand.

He wondered how long the man had been dead for, wishing he’d realised it sooner. Wishing he’d thought to try and escape earlier. Maybe there would have been a chance to get away?

Lotta stood by Long Beard, who had a firm grip on her shoulder.

Magnus was trying to wriggle away from Silver Tooth, who looked ready to whack him. He didn’t care; he couldn’t be left behind, sold as a slave. He couldn’t let those men take his sister to who knew where.

Slussfall, that’s right. He wanted to remind himself. They were taking her to Slussfall.

‘He’s going to take some feeding,’ the woman grumbled, hands wedged into barely-there hips. And though they needed the help, she was not keen on the idea of feeding a growing boy.

‘He doesn’t have much of an appetite, do you, boy?’ Long Beard grinned, mismatched eyes full of threat.

Magnus could feel Silver Tooth strengthen his hold on him. He wanted to scream, but he didn’t like the look of this man and woman any more than he liked the look of Long Beard and Silver Tooth. ‘No,’ he mumbled, ‘I don’t.’ It wasn’t true. His stomach ached with hunger, though he also felt nauseous with fear.

Lotta closed her eyes, listening to the anger in Magnus’ voice. He had started getting angrier, she thought, trying to remember when he was younger and nicer to her. Now he didn’t want to play with her at all. He just wanted to go fishing. And when he’d caught his fish, he liked to smoke it himself. He was not very good at it, though, so their mother was always

rubbing a salve on his burns and washing the smoke out of his hair and clothes. But he loved to eat the smoky fish, pulling it off the bone, kindly offering some to his sister.

Lotta’s mind drifted to Ullaberg, shutting everyone else out.

The farmer’s angry wife. The farmer. Long Beard and Eye Patch. Even Magnus.

She smelled smoke from the fire, remembering the beach, her father and her mother. Her mother, who was lost in the smoke, hidden from her.

But out there somewhere, Lotta was certain, and she closed her eyes. ‘Getting late,’ Long Beard muttered, eyeing Silver Tooth, stomach

rumbling. They’d not been offered anything to eat, which had surprised both men, who could see the stew cooking over the fire pit in the centre of the old cottage.

Smell it too.

Hospitality around these parts appeared in short supply indeed.

The farmer nodded, finally wilting under Long Beard’s stare. ‘We won’t have much, not with the boy to feed now, but you’re welcome to sup with us.’ He sensed his wife stiffen, knowing that she was a miserly woman at the best of times, even more so around strangers, but the farmer had a feeling that these men with their plentiful supply of weapons were not the sort of strangers to offend.

Long Beard’s eyes opened as if surprised by the offer, but he accepted it without hesitation. ‘Thank you, yes. You don’t need to feed the boy, though,’ he added. ‘One meal a day will suffice.’

The farmer looked pleased with the suggestion, though not as pleased as his wife, who scurried away to the back room to see how her daughter was faring with the dumplings.

Magnus wasn’t listening, and he didn’t care either way. His eyes were on Lotta, who was swaying beside Long Beard, eyes closed. He couldn’t let her leave. He was supposed to be the leader.

His mother had wanted him to save her.

Alys curled up on the bed, Winter on her feet, warm and purring, eyes quickly closing. She felt herself drifting away, wondering how long it

would be before someone was knocking on the door, dragging her back into the fort with all of its problems.

She didn’t have to wonder for long.

Sighing, Alys rolled over, disturbing Winter, who jumped off the bed, bounding to the door.

Alys yawned, following him, opening it. To Reinar.

‘You were asleep?’ He looked surprised, then concerned. ‘Were you dreaming?’

‘Trying to.’

‘Well, I’ll go. Let you get back to it.’

Alys felt guilty, knowing that she wasn’t trying to dream about anything to help him. ‘No, I’d struggle to fall asleep now, I imagine.’

Reinar felt awkward, not sure what he was doing at her door. ‘My father says I should stay and fight.’

Alys was surprised. ‘Does he?’

Reinar nodded, still amazed to think that Stellan had emerged from his stupor for one brief moment. It had given him a lift. Some sense of hope. ‘I wanted you to know. Whatever comes now, we’re going to be staying, so I need you to do whatever you can, Alys. Your friends will have their freedom if they help us fight.’

Alys was pleased, then she saw something else in his eyes. ‘But not me?’

Reinar leaned against the door frame, distracted by the dress again. ‘You?’ His voice softened as he stared into her sleepy eyes, reminded of how good she was with a bow. ‘You really want to go back to that place? Your husband is dead. Do you really want to go back?’

Alys sensed him moving closer, and she didn’t know what to do.

The cat was miaowing around her legs, and she felt hot all over, flustered and confused.

‘I…’ She couldn’t look away.

And then Reinar leaned in and kissed her. ‘Do you really want to go back?’ he breathed, the question lingering in his eyes, his lips touching hers.

Alys blinked. ‘No. Not to Ullaberg… no.’

Reinar kissed her again, and Alys felt an odd mix of desire and terror course through her body. He was handsome and gentle and violent and kind and strong and… nothing like her husband at all. His lips were firm but not

intrusive. He wanted her to kiss him back, but on her own terms; she sensed that.

Then Reinar pulled away, feelings of guilt overwhelming him. Confused.

It was Elin’s dress, but she was not Elin.

‘I have to be going,’ he mumbled, scratching his beard, avoiding Alys’ eyes. ‘I have to check on those friends of yours. See how many potential archers we have in our ranks.’ His smile came rushing back, but there was discomfort there now. An awkwardness between them. He backed away, sweeping his black fur cloak around his body. ‘But not you. As I said, I don’t want you up there, Alys de Sant. You’re too valuable as a dreamer. You need to stay in the cottage, with your cat and your books. See how you can help us from here.’ He stared at her, seeing the sadness in her eyes. ‘You will have your freedom too, I promise. If you help me, help us survive what is coming, I will free you too.’

Alys nodded, relieved. Relieved that he didn’t want her to join his band of Ullaberg warriors. She could fire an arrow at a target. She could hit a rabbit or a deer, but the idea of trying to kill a man…

She had considered it. Many times.

Lying in bed at night, face bleeding and swollen, worried about her children.

She had considered trying to kill one man, but perfect strangers? ‘I will read the books. Try to dream. See what I can find.’

She sounded determined, her voice more confident than Reinar had heard it before, her face lovelier. He blinked, shaking that thought away, trying to keep his mind on what he needed to do.

The fort. He needed to protect the fort.

‘I’ll have Agnette organise some supper. You can remain here, in peace.’

Alys smiled. ‘Thank you. It will help, I think.’

‘Good, and perhaps we can go riding again in the morning? Unless, of course, we’re in for more fun tonight?’ Reinar backed away, turning around, the taste of Alys’ unfamiliar lips still on his.

‌2 ,‌

Night fell, and the farmer became merry.

His wife ordered their daughter to bed early, leaving her husband to entertain the strangers. She felt uneasy around both of them. Her husband was weak around drink, she knew. Better to let him make a fool of himself without dragging her into anything.

She took Magnus to the stables.

They reeked, and Magnus gagged as she pointed him to a stack of hay bales, not even offering him a blanket. ‘You’ll not get far if you run,’ the farmer’s wife warned. ‘No one cares for children around here. No one will feed you. Likely you’d starve to death before you found your freedom. At least here you have a roof and a bed. Some useful work to put your mind to.’ He was a young boy, she thought, wondering what had happened to his mother.

‘My sister,’ Magnus tried, hearing a touch of sympathy in the thin- lipped woman’s voice. ‘Those men will take her. I don’t know what they’ll do to her. Hurt her probably.’

The farmer’s wife seemed to consider that for a time. The girl was a pretty little thing, not like her own daughter, who could sour milk with her ugliness. But prettiness was more of a curse, she knew. Look at the trouble it had gotten the little girl into. ‘You’re better off worrying about your own prospects now, boy. Work hard, and I’m sure there’ll be some extra food for you. Maybe a blanket too. Winter is coming, and it will get cold out here. Work hard, and forget your sister now. Those men want her. What can you do to stop them?’

It was true.

What could he do?

Magnus swallowed, watching the woman back up to the doors, slipping out quickly, locking them after her. He stood, staring at the doors for some time, aware of how dark it was inside the barn; listening to her muttering as she hurried back to the house.

And biting his lip to stop himself crying, Magnus made his way to the hay bales, thinking about Lotta.

Tulia leaned against Sigurd’s arm, sensing that his mind was elsewhere. ‘You seem better today,’ she whispered, enjoying her wine. It felt nice, warming her chest, loosening her tension. She hated how cold Ottby was. The whole of Alekka was like a block of ice; summer rushing by in a wet blur, barely lifting the temperature. But now, winter loomed, and they were about to be besieged. They could all sense that.

Unless she took Amir and left.

He would go with her. But Sigurd?

‘I am. Though I’m looking forward to my bed.’ Sigurd ran a hand up Tulia’s thigh.

‘Really? Not tired, though?’

‘After the last two nights?’ He grinned. ‘Not tired at all.’ Tulia looked almost happy, kissing him.

Torvig scowled from across the hall. ‘What does your brother see in that angry woman?’ he wondered to Reinar.

Reinar looked surprised. ‘Tulia?’ He laughed at his friend’s face. ‘Ha!

You’d give anything to be Sigurd, and you know it.’

Torvig’s scowl deepened. ‘I know she’s trying to tempt him away from here. And then what will you do without both of them?’

‘I know my brother well enough to know he’s not going anywhere,’ Reinar insisted.

Torvig studied his ale, unsettled. ‘He left once before, didn’t he?’

‘He left for adventure, to explore the Fire Lands. He didn’t leave me. He came home when Stellan took ill.’ Reinar sat back, studying Torvig. ‘Why do you have it in for everyone tonight? We need to come together now, not pull each other apart.’ Bjarni sat on Reinar’s other side, looking ready for

his bed, worried and sleepy all at the same time. Reinar nudged him. ‘You’re more use to Agnette than me right now, so go to bed. She’s probably lying there biting her nails, worrying about what will come for us in the night.’

Bjarni swung around with a belch, waking himself up. ‘And you’re not?

After last night? I would’ve shat myself doing what you did!’

Reinar laughed. ‘I am wearing a new pair of trousers today.’ He banged his cup into Bjarni’s. ‘Go to bed before Agnette’s out here in her nightdress, telling you off.’

Bjarni smiled at the thought of it, struggling to his feet with a yawn. ‘That’s enough to get me moving!’ And finishing his ale, he left his cup on the table, clapped Reinar on the back, lifted a hand to Sigurd, ignored Torvig, and headed for the bedchambers.

Torvig looked even more irritated, eyes on Tulia who was laughing with her brother and Sigurd.

‘Maybe you should go to bed too?’ Reinar grinned. ‘Might put you in a better mood for tomorrow.’

‘And why are you in such a good mood? After the shit we’ve been through lately? After the last two nights? Terrorised by Ulura. Hakon Vettel breathing down our necks. Warriors breaking for the hills.’ Torvig shook his head, leaning towards Reinar. ‘Not to mention Elin leaving. So why are you in such a good mood, then?’

Reinar wasn’t sure. And then he thought of his father, and he smiled. ‘I just feel different. As though I know what to do now. Before it was a mess, everything falling apart, but now I know what I’m supposed to do.’

‘Because of the dreamer?’

‘Alys?’ Reinar blinked, seeing her in the green dress, golden flowers across her breasts, her gentle eyes so full of fear and worry. ‘She’s helped, of course, but no… I just feel more certain now. Today I decided on the path to take. And now we’ll see where it leads.’

‘Mmmm.’ Torvig was ready for his bed. The thought of going to it alone did not appeal, though there were few women left in the hall, and none he’d consider inviting to join him. ‘As long as that path doesn’t lead us off a cliff.’ And grumbling, he pushed himself away from the table. ‘I wish you a long sleep, Reinar. I’ll check on the men before I head for bed. Those who are left, that is!’

Reinar nodded, ignoring Torvig’s grumbling. That wasn’t new.

The feeling of optimism bubbling inside his body was.

Though he couldn’t help but wonder what would come for them in the night.

Hakon was enjoying himself.

The feast had been a success, his guests delighted with their host’s generosity.

‘My lord!’ Erlan Stari called out from his place down the table where he sat between Lief and Falla Gundersen, his bloated stomach straining his richly-embroidered tunic. He was a lump of a man in his late thirties, recently risen to the lordship of Hovring; a man who enjoyed the title, the reputation and the trappings that came with it. Having suffered under the thumb of an overbearing father and a mocking mother for much of his life, he was enjoying the attention and encouragement he was receiving from his hosts. His face was a florid red, his bloodshot eyes bright. ‘This wine is exquisite, my lord! I have never tasted such depth of flavour. My senses are exploding! Where did you find it?’

Hakon was pleased with the compliment. ‘My wine merchant in Varis. He is a find, I must say. I have a great store of it in Orbo, though I brought enough with me to see us through a few more months yet. I shall send word to have some delivered to Stornas so we can celebrate when I take the throne!’ And lifting his goblet in the air, he winked at his cousin, whose face he could just see poking through the hair of a rather plain girl he couldn’t remember the name of.

Ivan didn’t appear to either hear or see him, and Hakon frowned, irritated that his cousin wasn’t sitting with him, entertaining their guests. Noticing Lief watching him intently, Hakon quickly removed any hint of frustration from his face. Ivan was family, his choice to lead their men. He didn’t want Lief thinking otherwise.

Erlan Stari was impressed. ‘I’ve never been to Kalmera. Never visited the Fire Lands at all. Hovring has kept me far too busy since my father died!’

Hakon barely heard him. His mind was encased in a thick, wine-fuelled haze, his body fizzing with anticipation for the great battle that loomed on

the horizon like a glowing sun; one with Ake Bluefinn himself. Some thought Ake to be the greatest Alekkan warrior of all, but soon they would defeat him, tear his reputation to shreds.

And then…

Hakon frowned, his joy tarnished by regret, knowing that his father had died too soon to witness his victory.

The hall was humming with excited voices. Mead girls navigated their way around swaying bodies holding half-empty buckets; slaves shuffled around silently, offering trays of rolled herring and fermented shark. Hakon caught his wife’s eye as she chatted to Falla. She had worked quickly but expertly to make the dark hall look magnificent, with centrepieces of candles, fir wreaths and pinecones dominating every table. There was such an abundance of candles that everyone appeared to be glowing as they squeezed together on fur-covered benches, laughing and drinking, enjoying the warmth and the company. Karolina smiled at her husband, pleased with the look of pride on his face. And content that he was satisfied, she turned back to Falla.

Hakon, legs wobbling, head spinning, pushed his chair back and stood.

The musicians paused, moving pipes away from moist lips, hands pressing against lyre strings, as one by one every man and woman in the hall turned to their lord with expectant faces.

His goblet was nearly empty, but the moment had seized Hakon, and he did not plan to squander it, so raising his goblet, and steadying himself against the table, he began. ‘Many of us are young, but we are the future of this land! And soon, Alekka will be ours! Ake Bluefinn and his old lords threw our grandfathers, our fathers, and our uncles out of Stornas. Banished us North! Took the throne! Stripped us of our riches and our rights. Took away that which was ours!’ One fist curling now, Hakon’s joy quickly soured, hate tightening the knot inside his heart. ‘But they could never take our desire! And they could never break our spirit! Nor our determination to seek their heads and slake the land with their treacherous blood. Our land! With their blood!’

Those not yet on their feet were scrambling off benches, cups in hand, roaring their approval. ‘My dreamer showed them the wolf! Ulura Blood Hunter! Seeker of the soon to be dead! And they may see it as a dream, or they may see it as an omen, but soon they will see me coming for them! A

real wolf with real teeth! Soon they will see us all coming for them! And I promise you that it will be the last thing they ever see!’

The applause was deafening.

Lief joined in, though his eyes remained dead and his clapping was not enthusiastic. He was not a man comfortable with displays of emotion. Not even in battle. He killed with precision and skill. With purpose and intent. None of it was for show. All of it was to achieve whichever goal he had set himself.

And Lief Gundersen had set himself the same goal as his father: to return the Vettels to Stornas, where it was the gods’ will for them to rule the people of Alekka. His father had been by Jorek Vettel’s side, killed with him as he was wrenched from the throne. Lief had been there too, as a young man, watching with Jesper Vettel as their fathers were murdered. They had fled North, stealing ships, sailing to Orbo, determined to start again. Determined that one day, Alekka would return to the hands of its rightful rulers.

And now, here he stood, ready to help his son achieve what Jesper never could.

Lief frowned, annoyed at himself for letting painful memories float up to the surface. He tried to bring himself back into the hall, turning his attention away from Hakon, towards his beautiful wife, who sat beside Karolina Vettel, occasionally leaning towards her, gossiping about their guests.

Karolina was smiling, listening to Falla, though her eyes remained on her husband, who sought her adoration. And she tried to give it to him, though her face ached from making such an effort. She tried to remind herself that soon he would be gone. He would not take her with him. She would remain behind, free, alone, and praying to Vasa every night that she would take Hakon in battle. Not Thenor, Father of the Gods, who liked to roam the fields of the dead, searching for worthy heroes to take back to his fortress, wanting to honour them for their bravery.

No, Karolina hoped that Hakon would be taken by the unforgiving Vasa, who liked to feed the weak and misbegotten to her ravenous ravens.

Karolina’s eyes moved to Ivan, who had his hand up her servant’s dress. And now her smile widened, for if Hakon continued to place his faith in a feckless fool like his cousin, his death was almost certainly guaranteed.

Steffan didn’t like Torvig Aleksen. Torvig had tried to rape his sister – his married sister – and she didn’t have a good word to say about him.

But Steffan was the younger of the two guards Reinar had tasked with watching the Ullaberg women, and he didn’t feel he could say anything when Torvig slipped Old Ebbert a silver coin and disappeared into the barn.

Alys sat on the beach, waiting.

She had found her way back into the dream where she’d heard the men who had taken her children. Her heart stuttered at just the thought of it, listening, wanting to hear more. But time passed, the sun sank into the sea, hiding its light and warmth from her, and the only noise Alys could hear was the sound of waves washing up the sand.

And then Reinar’s voice, asking if she wanted to go back to Ullaberg. She found herself shaking her head, not wanting to be on the beach at

all.

Eventually, the sky became pitch black, and Alys stood, needing to

disappear into another dream. And then a sweet voice she knew so well. ‘But you can’t leave my brother here. He’s not a slave!’

‘He is now I’ve sold him.’

Alys squeezed her eyes closed, wanting to see something, not just hear voices.

She needed to see!

‘Leave me with him, then. Please! I must stay with him.’

‘My pretty girl… but I won’t be apart from you now. You’re to come with me. I’m taking you to Slussfall. To my house. We will be together. You, me, and my wife. A real family, at last.’

Alys stumbled in the sand, hands at her throat, body trembling. Slussfall.

But where was Magnus? Where was Magnus?

‘Where are we?’ Lotta asked. ‘How far is it to Slussfall?’

‘You have a lot of questions for a tired little princess. Now, here, lie down. I stole a fur from that drunk old farmer. He won’t miss it. Lie down,

and I’ll cover you up. It’s none too warm in here.’ ‘But where are we?’

‘Sleep well, my princess.’ And then nothing.

Stina had been sound asleep when Torvig grabbed her, surprised on both counts. She felt the calloused hand over her mouth, heard the whispered threats in her ear. She saw the knife in his hand, glinting in the rays of moonlight beaming through the smoke hole, and shaking, she stumbled beside him as he took her out of the barn, dragging her across the square.

Reinar lay on his side of the bed, tortured by desire and grief. He rolled over, hand on the empty space Elin had left behind, thinking about Alys wearing that green dress, listening for the howl of a wolf.

Waiting.

His wife had been gone for twenty-seven days, and he’d already kissed another woman.

He felt guilt, then annoyance that he should feel guilt at all. Then frustration that his mind kept fixating on any of it.

He had a fort to defend. There was no time to think about women. Or grief, or loneliness either.

Sighing, Reinar closed his eyes, trying to imagine what would come next.

Hoping to find the answer to why the gods had abandoned him. Wondering how he could earn back their favour…

Alys rolled up into a sitting position, shaking.

The cottage was dark and cold, the cat nowhere to be seen. She was surprised by that but too distracted to dwell on it for long. Her dreams

floated just out of reach, teasing her as her breathing slowed and her heartbeat steadied itself.

And then she remembered Lotta’s voice, and her eyes burst open. Magnus was sold, and a man was taking Lotta away.

A man had her daughter. She remembered the voice. He sounded middle-aged, perhaps older. It was a gravelly sort of voice. Hard as rock. Sharp-edged and strange.

Alys shivered, trying to shut it out, needing to focus on what else she had learned. Grabbing the bed fur, she wrapped it around her shoulders. It stunk of smoke, but she didn’t notice as she crept to the fire, reaching for the tinderbox which she’d left on a stool. She thought of Ludo, grateful that he’d brought her a big stack of wood. The night felt young, and she had to see what she could find in that book.

Her mind wandered briefly to the wolf, dismissing it quickly, realising that she had spent far too long worrying about Reinar Vilander and his problems, and not nearly enough on her own.

She had to think about what she could do to save her children.

Jonas woke with a yelp, legs in a strange position, body twisted uncomfortably. He’d been trapped in a timeless dream, where his wife, Eida, had been young and ravishing and he had been a powerful warrior, battling in the shield wall with Vik. He grinned sadly as the images of youth and love faded, and his aches and pains grew more demanding, urging him to move.

Eventually, he shuffled away from the grassy mound he’d laid his old body down onto, brushing away a stone he hadn’t noticed earlier. Reaching out a cold hand, he yawned, reassuring himself that his swordbelt was in reach, and lying back down again, he closed his eyes.

Memories of Alys came rushing towards him like a storm. They had been inseparable once, since she was an orphaned six-year-old and he was a lonely widower. And now, twenty-two years later, she was so far away from him, and her children were so far away from her.

Was that true?

Jonas felt confused, sleepy and sad. And for the first time in his life, he wanted a dreamer to come to him and show him what he needed to see.

He wanted a dream.

And closing his eyes, Jonas Bergstrom tried to find one.

Morning dawned through a thick fog. Even the tops of the inner guard towers were hidden beneath the dense mist. It was a freezing sort of fog that had everyone shuddering, heads ducked low against the cold, but Alys didn’t notice as she hurried across the square, trying not to slip over. There had certainly been a frost in the night, for the mud had hardened, turning icy in patches.

Alys held out her hands, stepping carefully as she hurried towards the barn, eager to talk to Stina. She had found something in the book that might be a way to save the children, but she was going to need some help.

The two men guarding the barn looked frozen solid. They stood on either side of the doors, jiggling, hands cupped around bearded mouths, blowing on gloved fingers.

‘Alys!’

Alys froze, not wanting to be delayed. ‘Where are you off to?’

It was Sigurd, who was eager to get moving. After the best sleep he’d had in weeks, he almost felt like himself again, and he wanted to make the most of the day.

Alys reluctantly turned around. ‘I was going to see my friends. I wondered if I could… take one of them to my cottage?’

Sigurd’s blue eyes narrowed, sensing her unease. She seemed unable to focus on his face; her cheeks were flushed pink, her body trembling. ‘Are you alright?’

Alys nodded quickly. ‘It’s my friend, Stina. She wasn’t well yesterday.’ That was a lie. ‘And when I woke, I thought it was so cold. I’m… worried about her.’ Alys braved those searching eyes. ‘I have my fire going. I’m heating some water. I thought I’d bring her to sit with me.’

‘Sigurd!’ Tulia was striding through the fog towards them. ‘How did you get past me?’ She smiled at him, frowning at Alys. ‘What’s going on?

You haven’t had another dream have you?’ She peered at Alys, who was squirming away from them both. ‘Or perhaps you’re ready for your next lesson?’

‘Lesson?’ Alys froze. ‘Archery, you mean?’

‘You don’t need to be taught how to use a bow, that would be a waste of my time, but Reinar wants you trained,’ Tulia said, shivering, ‘so I’m going to teach you how to fight.’

Sigurd grinned. ‘I’d like to see that.’

Alys looked horrified. ‘What sort of fighting?’ She saw flashes of Arnon striking her, rushing her, knocking her against the table, dragging her to the bed. She heard the cries of their children, who sheltered in the shadows; Magnus’ eyes filled with tears as he held Lotta to him, wishing he could save her. Alys nodded, blinking her memories away, knowing she had little choice. ‘I would like to see my friend first. She is not well.’ And for the first time, Alys started to wonder if that was true.

‘Well, don’t be long. And send the other women out. We need to make a start. Everyone should be well-rested, ready to begin.’

Amir and Ludo walked towards them, blinking tired eyes open.

‘How can you be tired after all that sleep?’ Tulia wondered, relieved not to be facing another day of arguing about dreams and omens that had no bearing on reality. ‘Ludo, help the dreamer get the women outside. They’ve eaten, I hope?’ She eyed the guards, who both nodded. ‘Good! Then we can begin.’

Alys left them behind, eager to see Stina, feeling strange, and when she saw her, those feelings only heightened. Stina looked haunted, oddly drawn. There was no smile on her face, nothing sparkling in her eyes. She almost shied away as Alys approached. ‘What is it? Stina?’

Stina ignored Alys’ concern, not wanting to worry her. ‘Something I ate,’ she insisted, trying to smile. ‘The food is not the best. I think they’re giving us scraps meant for the pigs. My stomach was griping all night.’

Alys didn’t really believe her, but she was distracted by Ludo, who quickly started ordering everyone to leave the barn. ‘I’ll talk to Reinar about the food.’ She blushed, reminded of the last time she’d talked to Reinar. ‘If he wants to use you to help defend his fort, he needs to treat you better than this.’ The barn still stunk, the straw was damp, the roof was leaking, and there was no fire to warm the women, who looked blue-lipped and frozen solid. ‘You go with Ludo, and I’ll go and find him.’

Stina grabbed her arm. ‘No, don’t go yet.’ As much as she wanted to be alone and hide from everything that Torvig had done to her, she wanted the comfort of Alys’ company. ‘Tell me what they’ll do to us now. Today.’

‘I’m not sure. They want you to help. They’ll train you, isn’t that right?’ She turned to Ludo, who looked overwhelmed by the number of women heading towards him, teeth chattering, most of them with questions and complaints.

Stina, in the end, had proven to be of no use with a bow, so Alys wasn’t sure what would happen to her.

‘Ummm…’ Ludo tried to remember the woman’s name. ‘Stina!’ He smiled. ‘You’re with me. I’m going to show you how to use a spear.’

Stina nodded dully, eyes on Sigurd Vilander, who had limped into the barn. She saw him watching Alys, curious about what the dreamer was doing.

‘Let’s make a start!’ Sigurd called, inhaling the stink with a frown. ‘Training will warm you up!’

The grumbling women did not look impressed. He didn’t blame them.

Many families had left Ottby over the past few months. Many in the past few days. There were empty cottages everywhere. It was time to move the women. He touched Alys’ arm. ‘Tulia’s going to be working with you, I know, but first, why don’t we go and speak to Reinar? See what we can do about moving your friends before tonight.’

Alys looked around in surprise, but she nodded, and though it was not what she needed to be doing, she followed him out of the barn with a glance back at Stina, who was staring after her with a strange look in her eyes.

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Magnus was mucking out the stables, which wasn’t the worst task, he supposed with a sigh. The farmer had given him a bowl of something that might have been gruel, with a cup of foul-smelling water for breakfast. Both had made him gag and wonder how it would be possible to survive in this place long enough to escape and rescue Lotta.

Then, remembering what Long Beard had suggested to the farmer’s wife about him only needing to be fed once a day, Magnus had held his nose and swallowed everything down. He needed strength. And he needed to earn the farmer’s trust quickly. For only then would he have a chance to escape and head for Slussfall.

He was never going to forget that odd name. Slussfall.

Where Long Beard and Silver Tooth had taken Lotta.

He hoped they’d make it, that they wouldn’t die like Eye Patch had. For he wanted to take their lives himself.

Flurries of snow dusted Mother’s grey curls as she shuffled along beside Falla. They were heading out of the old stone fort, hoping to find some mushrooms in a densely wooded area to the south.

Falla was happy to leave her son behind. He had been needy, clinging to her like a red-faced crab, wailing about a sore belly. Happily, Karolina had

agreed to watch him. She seemed to like children, though not her husband, Falla thought with a grin, slipping on an ice-covered rock.

‘Careful now,’ Mother scolded, eyes on her own path. ‘I don’t wish to carry you back!’ She chuckled, imagining how such a thing would look. It made her think of Borg, who had liked to lift her into the air when he was a boy, determined to show his father how strong he was becoming. He had never been big, much like her, she supposed, but out of all her sons, he had been her favourite.

And though it had been three years since his death, it was often surprising to realise that he was gone.

‘Will you find more of the seeds?’ Falla whispered, for though they had left everyone back at the fort, she didn’t want Lief discovering that she was trying not to get pregnant. He would take it badly, and he wouldn’t understand why. She felt reasonably content in her choice of husband, though she disliked being a mother. She knew that, eventually, Lief would require his own blood son, but she wanted to wait, to delay the horrific event for as long as possible.

‘We will, don’t worry,’ Mother assured her. ‘Seeds and mushrooms, stones and herbs. Everything we can find for the war. For we will be warriors, Falla my girl, just as much as those men. They sharpen their blades and make their arrows, and we, in turn, must prepare our own weapons.’ She felt Falla still beside her as they slipped through the trees, her eyes on the lichen-green trunks, thinking. ‘For our enemy has a dreamer. And we must be prepared to battle her.’ She pushed Falla away with one hand. ‘Now, get on your knees down there, those are just the mushrooms we need. The red ones, the ones with the white spots. But be careful, I don’t want to lose you before you can be of real use to me! Hurry now, for those men are preparing to leave. And we must be ready to go with them!’

Torvig wouldn’t meet the dreamer’s eye.

He stood near Reinar, who was arguing with Bolli about reinforcing the ditches around the low wall. The old helmsman was insisting they dig them wider rather than deeper. Reinar was convinced that the ladders would be

able to reach the wall no matter how wide they made them, certain that depth and stakes was the real answer.

Torvig and Bjarni stood on the sidelines, trying to get a word in.

Bolli was red-faced, hand on his spade, not fancying a day of digging, but wanting to make a start. All this arguing was wasting time.

Reinar looked ready to burst. ‘Dig them deeper! And if you have time, dig them wider too!’ He spun around, eyes on his brother, surprised to see Alys, his temper receding quickly. ‘What is it?’ He glanced at Alys, remembering the softness of her lips; remembering his wife’s lips too. ‘Have you seen something?’

Sigurd was the one who spoke. ‘It’s the Ullaberg women. It makes no sense to keep treating them like slaves. You can’t inspire anyone to help you unless they see a reason to, Reinar. And no beaten animal wants to fight for its master.’

Reinar looked cross. ‘You’re saying they’ve been mistreated?’ He glanced at Alys.

Again Sigurd spoke, his breath forming clouds around his face. ‘They’re in a barn. Snow’s coming, can’t you feel it? And there’s no fire. No furs. No beds. They’re freezing and tired. They need to be in cottages, and we’ve got plenty spare now. If it’s not a joke, what Tulia’s doing, if you truly want them to fight for us, then treat them like you’d treat your men.’

Reinar was freezing, already desperate to warm his numb fingers over a fire, and he felt impatient to get on. ‘See to it, then, Brother. You’re not much use yet, so why don’t you hobble around all day, finding them homes. Ask Gerda to help you.’ Sigurd froze, and Reinar laughed, happy to have poked his brother where it hurt; it made a change from all the fingers poking him.

‘I’m not sure I need to bother Gerda.’ Sigurd was already backing up towards the gates. ‘I can ask Agnette.’

Bjarni chuckled. ‘Not sure Agnette can help you, my friend. She’ll be far too busy caring for your father.’

‘And they need clothes,’ Alys added. ‘When you took us, we weren’t dressed properly. Some of us, at least.’ She blinked away the glimpses of that moment as every man stilled around her, feeling awkward. Except for Torvig, she noticed, who was considering her with hooded eyes. Shivering, Alys turned to Reinar. ‘Some have no boots. No cloak. A few were still in their nightdresses.’

Now Reinar did feel bad. He looked at Sigurd. ‘You’ll need Gerda’s help, as well as Agnette’s. It will take some time to find clothes to fit them all.’ He tried not to notice Elin’s green dress, peeking out from Elin’s golden cloak, both of them now worn by Alys, who he wanted to kiss again. ‘I’m sure you’ll find something, though.’

Sigurd tapped Alys on the shoulder. ‘Well, come on. I’d better get you back to Tulia. She’ll be wanting to get her hands on you.’

Bolli looked up in surprise, eyes on Reinar, who was watching his brother lead the dreamer away. ‘You really think they’re going to be any use?’ he snorted, remembering the wailing women who’d clung to each other in Dagger’s bow. Hardly promising warriors.

‘No,’ Torvig grumped. ‘They’re just a distraction. Tulia’s wasting her time, thinking she can turn Alekka into Kalmera. I don’t know the place, and maybe the women there are born with swords in their hands, but ours aren’t. Alekkan women learn weaving and sewing. They learn how to cook and keep their men happy. How to make a home and raise children. I’m sure they could pluck a chicken and bake a loaf of bread, but hold a wall? Protect the ramparts? Fight off siege towers and Hakon Vettel’s army?’ He shook his head, slamming his spade into the frozen earth. ‘They’re no use to us, and you know it.’

Reinar was surprised by Torvig’s tone, which grated like branches on a window.

Bjarni wasn’t. Torvig was a snake, though Bjarni could never figure out what he wanted. Torvig had left Alekka as a young man, returning only recently, quickly wriggling his way back to reclaim his old place by Reinar’s side. And, after twelve years without him, Bjarni was struggling to find where he fit in. Reinar had stopped listening to him as much, turning to Torvig more and more.

But, Bjarni realised, what did it matter now?

They were childhood squabbles and jealousies. What bearing did they have on their lives now, when they were about to risk everything to defend Ottby and the bridge? He looked down at the solid ground with a sigh.

Reinar stared at Torvig, irritated himself. ‘You think Tulia shouldn’t bother? That we shouldn’t try to do everything we can?’

‘I think we’ve little time to prepare for the Vettels. We should use it wisely. And Tulia’s better out here digging with those arms of hers. All the women are.’

Reinar stared at Torvig, wondering if he was right. ‘Well, we’ll see,’ he muttered. ‘See how she goes today.’ And picking up his own spade, Reinar tried to get the image of Alys’ lips out of his mind.

Sigurd had left Alys with Tulia, who had taken Ilene out of the larger group of women. She was the only other one capable of using a bow with accuracy and skill. Alys glanced at Ilene, who scowled back at her. She was a plump-looking woman with eyes a little too close together, breasts that she tended to push out, and buttocks so round and pronounced that the men of Ullaberg liked to make jokes about her. Though it had always been hard to feel sorry for Ilene Gislar. She had slept with Arnon often, and though it hadn’t made Alys jealous, it had made Ilene see her as a rival. She had tried in vain to lure Arnon away from his wife and children. Alys wished she had. But Arnon had remained, until his death, loyal to her.

She sighed, distracted by old memories, until Tulia’s voice cut through the fog like a shard of ice.

‘The archers will man the walls!’ Tulia called, pacing in front of the two shivering women. ‘And that may be enough! We may hold them out, but they will likely make it onto the ramparts, or through the gates. And then what? What use can you be to us then?’ She glared at Alys, sensing that Reinar wouldn’t let his precious dreamer anywhere near Hakon Vettel’s men. And turning her attention to Ilene, she looked the girl up and down, noticing her thin nightdress, her bare feet. ‘When those men are in the fort, what can you do to stop them?’

‘Perhaps Alys can put a spell on them?’ Ilene suggested tartly. ‘Now that we all know she’s a witch.’ She smiled at Alys, menace in her brown eyes.

Alys kept her own eyes on Tulia, trying not to reveal how desperately she did not want to be doing this. She needed to be back in the cottage with the book, trying to help her children.

Tulia could sense the tension between the two women, and if she hadn’t been so cold, it might have amused her. ‘We’ll try swords.’

Alys blinked as Tulia handed her one of the wooden swords she’d been holding, giving the other to Ilene.

‘Let’s see what you can do,’ Tulia said, eyes drifting momentarily, squinting through the fog, trying to see how much success Amir and Ludo were having.

She could hear a few exasperated cries, which was not encouraging. Tulia stepped back, her eyes barely returning to the two women before

Ilene had lunged at Alys, sword swinging wildly, cracking her across the neck with the wooden blade.

Alys yelped, slipping on the icy mud, stumbling down to the ground with a thud.

Tulia was impressed, looking at Ilene with renewed interest. ‘What is your name, girl?’

‘Ilene.’

‘Well, Ilene, that was a good show, but what now? You can knock the dreamer down as there’s not much to her. But a man? A trained warrior, body padded in armour and mail, long sword made of iron, shield at his chest, helmet covering his head. What will you do with him?’

Ilene’s teeth were bared as she considered Tulia. ‘I would stick my blade through his balls.’

Tulia laughed as Alys dragged herself back to her feet, noticing Sigurd in the distance as he limped past with Gerda. She was distracted, and, as she stood, Ilene lunged at her again, poking her in the belly with the tip of the wooden blade, kicking her in the kneecap, knocking her straight down to the mud again.

Tulia was enjoying herself. ‘Well, I have one potential warrior here, but as for you…’ And she held out a hand to Alys, helping her back to her feet. ‘Perhaps I should send you back to archery training? Or spears? Maybe axes?’

Breath streamed from Alys’ nose and mouth. Angry, cold breath. She eyed the smug-looking Ilene, feeling an urge to knock her down to the ground. And gripping the wooden sword more tightly now, she shuffled her legs apart, hoping to stay balanced on the slippery surface. She skipped to the left, away from Ilene. And then to the right. Alys was wiry and fast, and though her hips throbbed where she’d fallen, and her impatience to leave was a constant distraction, she managed to keep away from the grunting Ilene.

‘You have a sword!’ Tulia called, moving around them. ‘Use it, dreamer! Try and hit her! Are you going to let her humiliate you? Knock

you down again?’

Curious, Ludo came over to the railings, watching Alys, who had a fierce look in her usually placid eyes. The woman she was facing had a fiercer look, though, and in the next breath, Ilene threw herself at Alys, overwhelming her, knocking her down to the ground again, punching her in the face.

Ludo rushed into the ring to pull Ilene off Alys, who was blinking in surprise, trying to avoid Ilene’s fist as it threatened her face again. ‘Best we don’t kill each other yet,’ he muttered, moving Ilene away, though she appeared to be enjoying herself, quickly back on her feet, gripping the wooden sword in both hands, ready for more.

Tulia laughed. ‘She’s like an ursa!’

‘What’s that?’ Ludo wondered, one hand out to keep Ilene away as he pulled Alys back to her feet.

‘My people call women who fight like scrapping dogs, ursa. They fight without fear. Without sense. Just pure fury. You call men like that the bear men, I think?’

Ludo nodded. ‘We do, though I’ve never met one. But you,’ he said, eyes on Ilene, ‘might well be an ursa. Though, you’ll need to learn how to use a sword properly. Hakon’s men won’t be bringing wooden weapons.’ And with a sympathetic smile, he left a mud-covered Alys to Ilene and Tulia, returning to a clearly frustrated Amir.

Rain was pouring down on Slussfall’s muddy square, though Hakon Vettel, drenched by the rain, unable to feel his fingers or his toes, couldn’t have been happier.

Their weapons’ stores were abundant. Their siege towers were complete.

Their allies were with them. And their enemies were weak.

Hakon slapped Ivan on the back, confident that he finally stood on the precipice of everything he’d dreamed of since his father was cut down by Stellan Vilander. Hakon had watched, three years ago, as the Ottby men had pinned them down near Hovring. He remembered the blood-splattered

flurries of snow drifting across him in waves, his father’s pained cry as Stellan Vilander’s blade took him in the neck.

His helmet had come off, lost in the fray.

Hakon had found it later, after he’d been dragged away from the battlefield, kept safe by his own men. They had all become his men from that point on. He had returned to claim his father’s body that night. The Ottby men had left it on the field, confident enough in their victory not to need to rub the loss of Jesper Vettel in his son’s face. Or perhaps they thought they were being merciful?

Hakon swallowed, reminded of how far he’d come. Of how far he was about to go.

‘They look impressive, Cousin,’ he breathed, admiring the deep rows of men assembled in their gleaming armour, stretching from the hall steps, back through Slussfall’s long square, all the way to the gates, and beyond.

And this was not even all of them.

Ivan took the compliment with his usual shrug, as though nothing was ever too great, nothing ever too tragic. Just somewhere in between. It helped him to weather the storm that was Hakon, who was either up or down, never in the middle. It was often hard to predict which way he was going to go, though it had always been Ivan’s job to try. ‘They look ready.’

Hakon nodded. ‘They do. And so do you.’ He poked a finger at his cousin’s mail chest. ‘This is new.’

‘Well, we must all look the part,’ Ivan smiled, running a hand over his moustache, which was itching his nose, needing a trim. ‘Even you!’ He knew Hakon had had a new set of armour made too, and though he was not wearing it, Ivan was well aware that he would be required to heap praise on his cousin when he was.

That was his job too.

Hakon noticed a snow-dusted Mother and Falla slipping through the gates, skirting the armoured men, no doubt heading for Mother’s cottage. He felt his confidence surge. It wasn’t only his warriors who would be waging war on his behalf.

Erlan Stari came to join them. Alef Olstein too. He was slightly older than his Southern neighbour, but just as eager to impress his hosts. His dark hair was tied back from a rugged face in a long braid, and he stood before Hakon in his armour, sharp eyes full of intent. ‘Your father would be proud,’ Alef enthused, his tongue honey-coated. The young lord was

Thenor-favoured, and it was in his own interests to keep Hakon happy, for once the Vettels retook the Alekkan throne there was the prospect of more land, and the generous granting of wealth he was sure would flow in the direction of Hakon’s most loyal supporters.

Ake Bluefinn may have been beloved by the long-suffering people of Alekka, but Erlan’s father had always grumbled that Ake was tight-fisted when it came to his lords. According to Herold Stari, those men who had sacrificed so much to put him on the throne had received little in return over the years.

‘I can only hope so.’ Hakon’s smile started to slip, suddenly wondering if that was true. His father had been almost peerless in battle. He had plotted and planned his way down from Orbo for over a decade, only to be felled at the final hurdle of Ottby. A man as skilled as his father had been outthought and outfought by a creaking old has-been and his two useless sons.

If it could happen to him, it could happen to anyone.

‘We will sacrifice to Thenor tonight,’ Hakon said to the lords. ‘Seek his favour for our journey. And tomorrow, we’ll march!’

Lief, who stood to the left of Ivan, watching on in silence, felt a chill wind creeping up his spine, snow flurries twirling to the ground before him.

He was a suspicious man. He sacrificed to the gods often.

It was a sign, he thought, watching the snow, listening as Ivan started joking again. The dolt was always playing to the crowd, as though he was the village fool instead of the head of its great army.

But Lief’s attention was not on Ivan and his childish ways. It was on the snow sweeping in.

If Thenor had truly wanted them to be successful, he would not be bringing winter to their door in such a hurry.

‌2 ‌

Gerda had ordered Rilda and her helpers out into the square where they started grilling sausages over the braziers. She clamped her dry lips together, unhappy with using the sausages, which she liked to save for Reinar, though the warriors had to eat. They had to believe that there was enough food to sustain them over winter. Those who remained in Ottby needed to be encouraged to keep their chests in their cottages and their horses in the stables.

Reinar had told her as much, sending Gerda on her way with an ill- tempered bark. And Gerda had realised that her son was right. If they were to defend Ottby, those defenders needed nourishment, so she would have to use whatever they could spare. For as long as they could spare it.

Alys could smell the cooking sausages, and she eyed the railings, wanting to escape through them, but Tulia was there, blocking her path. She had her eyes on the women, coordinating who was doing what; moving those around when she could see that they might be better suited to another weapon.

Alys had been removed from mad-eyed Ilene’s clutches, sent back to the archery group. She caught glimpses of Stina, who looked so utterly morose that Alys felt worried about her, and when Tulia finally called for them to stop and warm their hands over the smoking braziers, Alys hurried over to her. ‘Are you unwell?’

Stina looked surprised. She had stumbled through her training sessions, barely aware of anything, just going through the motions, not wanting to be noticed. Not wanting to see a glimpse of Torvig again. Her body ached where he’d grabbed her, inside and out. She felt the shame of it heating her

cheeks, the memories rising out of the fog of shock now. And turning away, Stina looked towards the braziers. ‘We should get something to eat before it’s all gone.’

Alys wasn’t hungry, but she nodded, following after her red-faced friend.

They were all red-faced after their morning in the training ring.

Tulia didn’t look pleased, though, as she reached Agnette, who was helping Gerda to portion the sausages. They had the kitchen staff ferrying out plates of flatbreads too. There were trays of cups filled with small ale, though Agnette felt embarrassed to call such a watery beverage anything resembling ale.

‘You seem to be making progress,’ Agnette said, handing Tulia a plate.

Tulia’s eyes were on the gates and then the hall doors, wondering what had happened to Sigurd. She hadn’t seen him in some time, though he had obviously been hard at work, she realised, noticing the stack of clothes on the nearby table.

‘Once you’ve finished eating,’ Gerda said, lifting her sharp voice above the noise, ‘you may look through the clothes over here! Some of you will need warmer things to wear perhaps? Though not all of you.’

Agnette knew how hard Gerda was working to be generous. It was not in her nature at all. But Agnette and Sigurd had managed to convince her that Ottby needed all the help it could get to withstand Hakon Vettel’s forces, and she had finally been swayed by that. Gerda had spent nearly twenty years as the Lady of Ottby, and though for much of that time she had felt confident with her husband in charge and a fort stacked with loyal warriors, she knew how precarious their position was now. The hall had become quiet. The square much less busy.

Even the ramparts appeared empty these days.

Though looking at the ragged women who elbowed each other towards the plates of food with an unbecoming show of hunger, she knew that they weren’t the help Reinar needed.

Reinar almost laughed at his mother, lost amongst the Ullaberg women, doling out her precious sausages with pursed lips. He nudged Bjarni whose eyes were on a clearly-exhausted Agnette as she hurried to keep up with the demand for food.

‘Your mother doesn’t look too happy,’ Bjarni said, starving. Those sausages smelled like food from the gods, though after a morning of trying

to dig through frozen earth, he would’ve happily eaten some of Agnette’s cooking.

‘Nothing new there,’ Reinar snorted, eyes on Alys, though he quickly looked away, wanting to remain focused.

Bjarni noticed. ‘No word from your dreamer, then? About the wolf?

Whether she’ll return?’

Reinar was quickly irritated, not wanting Bjarni to read his mind, though after all these years, he supposed it was hard to hide much from him. ‘After we exposed it as just a trick? I doubt it. And what difference would it make anyway? Those who’ve stayed have seen and heard all the wolf can do.’

‘But maybe there’s more?’ Bjarni suggested, smiling at his wife, who handed him a plate, though he was quickly frowning, wondering why there was only one sausage on it. And no flatbreads. He glanced around, looking for more.

‘More what?’ Reinar nodded at his brother as Sigurd joined them. ‘More Hakon’s dreamer can try. If the wolf nightmare failed, perhaps

she has other tricks ready and waiting?’

Sigurd shook his head. ‘Why worry about dreamers, Bjarni? Dreamers aren’t going to be firing catapults over our walls, assaulting the gates. Dreamers aren’t going to be trying to kill us.’

Reinar hoped his brother was right.

He changed the subject, not wanting to get Sigurd started on dreamers. ‘Looks like you’ve made the women happy, Brother,’ he smiled, watching the Ullaberg women fight their way through the pile of new clothes.

‘I don’t imagine Gerda picked anything more than rags,’ Sigurd muttered. ‘But it should keep them warm.’

‘And what about the cottages?’

‘Agnette’s got that all sorted. She’ll take them down once Tulia’s finished torturing them.’ He grinned as a scowling Tulia approached, looking as though her patience was finally at an end. ‘Unless that’s now?’

‘I think I may kill one of them if I get back in the ring!’

Torvig joined them, chewing a sausage. ‘Ahhh, so you’re admitting defeat, then? What a surprise!’

‘Defeat?’ Tulia laughed. ‘Not at all. But they can’t handle much more today. They’re weak. Hungry. Tired. Cold too. They need rest. Perhaps we’ll try again this afternoon, if the snow doesn’t come.’ She lifted her

eyes, trying to sense what the clouds were up to. They looked ominously grey, gathering together like a wall.

Reinar followed her gaze. ‘Looks like snow to me.’ He shivered, happy about that. ‘I’d better get in a ride before it comes.’

‘Taking the dreamer again?’ Torvig wondered, watching irritation spark in Reinar’s eyes, and not minding it.

They all turned to Reinar, who shrugged. And finishing his own sausage, he headed for his mother without looking back.

‘Interesting,’ Tulia mused. ‘Don’t you think?’ She nudged Sigurd.

But Sigurd wasn’t listening. He was watching Alys, who was watching Reinar as he pushed his way towards Gerda.

Reinar left his plate on the table, giving his mother a squeeze. ‘You’ve done a good job, Mother.’

Gerda beamed, pleased to have his approval. It pained her to waste so much food on the women, though it would hardly encourage the gods to change their minds about her son if they let them starve. ‘Well, we need all the help we can get, as you said.’ She leaned closer, lowering her voice. ‘Though I have my doubts. Tulia seems to think every woman should be like her. But she’s not made like anyone else, is she? Not with those manly arms of hers.’

Reinar grinned. Tulia was strong. Clever. And hopefully able to deliver on her promise. He had the same doubts as Gerda, though he didn’t give voice to them, wanting to believe it was possible.

Possible to have some hope.

His eyes accidentally found Alys, and he smiled.

Gerda followed his gaze, frowning, but Reinar was already on his way to the dreamer.

‘Hello.’ Reinar blinked in surprise, not noticing the mess of Alys’ face before. ‘Did Tulia do that to you?’ He turned around, glaring at Tulia.

‘No. Ilene. She never liked me. Though she did like my husband.’

Reinar turned back around. ‘Oh. Well, it’s going to hurt.’ He stopped himself from touching her eye, sensing his mother staring at him. ‘Maybe you should return to your cottage? Do some dreaming instead?’ He said it with a smile, but he could sense Alys taking his words seriously.

‘I need to. I want to.’

‘You do?’ Reinar took her arm, leading her away from the women, towards Valera’s Tree. ‘Why? Has something happened? Have you seen

something?’

Alys felt trapped between two worlds: the one where she needed to save herself, and the one where she was desperate to save her children.

And then she did see a glimpse of something flash before her eyes. ‘There is a woman. She is old, but not ancient. Her hair is dark grey.

She looks like a troll, round and stumpy. Her nose is round too. Her eyes are big and jumping.’

Reinar’s own eyes sharpened. ‘Is she Hakon’s dreamer?’

‘I’m not sure. Perhaps. She’s… working spells.’ The images faded and Alys shivered, turning to Reinar. ‘Spells to hurt people.’

‘And how do we protect ourselves against that?’ ‘I don’t know if we can.’

They reached the door to Alys’ cottage, and she looked back at the square, realising that she hadn’t been able to get through to Stina to see if she was alright.

She wasn’t alright, but why?

Reinar pushed open the door, ushering Alys inside. He thought he felt flurries of snow wet on his face as he followed after her, closing the door.

Torvig watched them. ‘Reinar seems to have forgotten my sister rather quickly. After all those years together, that’s a surprise.’

Tulia had been called away by Gerda, who was trying to break up a fight between Ilene and another woman over one of the better-looking dresses. And that left Sigurd, Bjarni, Agnette, and Torvig, all of them friends since childhood.

‘Well, seeing as how Elin’s the one who left Reinar, you hardly need worry about what she’d think,’ Agnette said sharply.

Torvig glared at her. ‘Know that, do you?’

‘I do, actually. I’m the one who helped her leave. Elin begged to go. She told me she never wanted to see Reinar again. She never wanted to return to Ottby.’

That shut Torvig up. Bjarni and Sigurd too.

‘So, if I were you, Torvig Aleksen, I’d worry about those men on the ramparts, the men out digging ditches and bringing in wood, and I’d worry less about what my cousin chooses to do with that dreamer.’ She poked a finger in Torvig’s direction, feeling her belly tighten. ‘It might just be that Reinar finding Alys will end up saving all our lives!’

Torvig, not about to be barked at by a busy-body like Agnette, turned on his heels, and headed for the gates, deciding to check on Bolli and his ditch digging.

The day felt longer than any other.

Magnus’ arms fell limply by his sides as he considered the sloppy dung heap he’d made and was now attempting to shovel into the wagon. He was starving, though his guts griped too, and it had become impossible to tell which was the dominant feeling. Mostly, he ignored all of it, and the stomach-churning smell of the dung, and just focused on worrying about Lotta.

She would be far away by now. The men had been woken by the farmer’s wife, who’d wanted them on their way before they tried to eat more of her stores. Magnus had not seen the farmer’s wife all day, though her daughter had brought him a skin of water. He’d taken it with gratitude in his exhausted eyes, looking for some sign of kindness in hers, but the girl had barely looked at him as she’d trudged away, called back to the house by her shrieking mother.

Magnus glanced up at the sky, trying to guess how long it would be before night came to finish the day. He hoped it would come soon; that the farmer wouldn’t keep him working through the night. Realising that it was a possibility, Magnus picked up his pace, his tense shoulders up around his ears.

He heard his mother’s voice in his head, urging him on.

His father had always forced him to do tasks that Magnus didn’t want to do, making him finish while he cried and struggled, begging his mother to help him. But his father would never let her, and, in the end, Magnus knew it was safer for all of them if he just kept going.

His father had been a cruel man. And though Magnus didn’t think the farmer was an especially evil man, he was not a caring one. He had bought a boy, taken him from his sister, watched him crying as they parted, begging him to help her.

And then he’d put him to work as though he was not a boy at all.

Magnus closed his eyes, listening to his mother’s reassuring voice. ‘Keep going,’ she urged. ‘Keep going.’ And opening his eyes, Magnus tried not to cry, wanting to feel her hand on his shoulder.

Reinar stood with his back against the door as Alys removed her cloak and picked up the book.

He felt conflicted. About everything.

‘All I can do is keep reading,’ Alys sighed, sitting on a stool, ignoring the cold cottage and the ash in the fire pit. Ignoring Reinar too. ‘I have to find the answers I need. There are other books. Two more. I found them wrapped in clothes in that chest.’

‘Then you should stay here.’ Reinar saw the tinderbox, and, unpinning his own cloak, leaving it on a stool, he bent to the ground, setting a fire. ‘Read while there’s enough light. While both eyes are still open. I’m sure Tulia won’t miss you.’

Alys looked up suddenly, surprised to see him there, right beside her. ‘I will, thank you, though you needn’t stay. I can do that. You must have better things to do.’ She edged away from Reinar, ever so slightly. She felt awkward, not knowing what he wanted from her.

Not wanting to be distracted by him.

‘We’ll go riding tomorrow,’ Reinar said. ‘I’ll come for you after breakfast. Your friends will be sleeping in cottages tonight. Fed supper and breakfast too. Free to roam around the fort.’ He frowned, wondering if that was for the best. ‘Well, perhaps not entirely free. For their own safety, I may need to have a few guards watching them. There are some around here I wouldn’t trust.’

Alys wasn’t listening. Her finger remained on the page she had read that morning, before the cocks were crowing, her mind whirring with thoughts of her grandfather, her children, and Stina. She looked up suddenly. ‘You’re going to guard them?’

Satisfied that the flames were going to take, Reinar tucked the flint back into the tinderbox and stood, leaving it on the stool next to Alys, before heading to the woodpile. Carefully placing a log near the new flames, he sat down, warming his hands. ‘For now. I don’t trust everyone here. Not the

new men, at least. Rutger’s men. Some of them remain. They’re not as suspicious as the rest of us, it seems.’ He was quiet, then, not sure what to say. ‘I’ll keep them safe, don’t worry.’

Alys nodded, wanting him to leave.

And sensing it, Reinar stood. ‘It’s important that you dream, Alys,’ he said, trying to get her attention, but she had returned to the book. ‘I don’t wish to be a distraction.’

Alys looked up again, noticing his growing discomfort. “Everything is a distraction,” she confessed. “All of it. The square, the fighting, the noise, and the women.” Her eye throbbed suddenly, and she winced. “I need to stay here. Alone. Though maybe Agnette could bring me some supper?” She realized that Stina wasn’t the help she needed. Stina didn’t know the fort, didn’t know where to find the ingredients for the spell, but maybe Agnette did.

Reinar nodded, though the mention of his cousin’s name made him frown, reminding him of Elin. He grabbed his cloak and headed for the door. “She’d be happy to, I’m sure. Meanwhile, stay here, stay warm, and enjoy your reading. Though,” he added, glancing back and touching his own eye, “it might get a little hard to see soon.”

Alys stared at him, swallowing. His eyes were a softer blue than his brother’s, but somehow just as intense as they fixed on her. She didn’t look away, nor did Reinar, and for a moment, neither broke the trance.

A knock at the door snapped Reinar out of it, and he grabbed the handle, pushing it open.

Ludo stood there with a fur in his arms, the white cat rubbing against his legs. “Oh.” He stared at a flustered Reinar, his eyes quickly shifting to Alys, who looked just as uneasy. “I found your cat. Thought you might appreciate another fur too. With the snow coming, it’s going to be freezing tonight.”

“Thank you,” Alys smiled as Ludo stepped forward to bring it inside.

Reinar quickly extended an arm. “She doesn’t want to be disturbed. She needs to read.” He took the fur as Winter bounded inside, placing it on the bed before heading back to the door, making sure Ludo couldn’t linger. “I’ll send Agnette,” he said, giving Alys a quick look before closing the door behind them.

Alys let out a breath as she stared at the closed door, jumping slightly as the cat weaved its cold body around her legs. She was sitting too far from the fire, and the warmth hadn’t yet reached her. “Well, now that you’re here, perhaps we can begin?” she said, turning her attention back to the book with a smile.

They had ridden all day, and Lotta had not spoken more than a few mumbled words. She was busy trying to find answers; ways she could lead Magnus to her.

Ways she could reach out to her mother.

It occurred to Lotta late in the afternoon, that her mother might be dead and not looking for them at all. Or enslaved by bad men, who would not set her free.

She didn’t know. It frightened her.

Long Beard stopped speaking, having received so little in return. And Silver Tooth had nothing to say himself. He had started coughing, though it sounded more like a tickle in his throat than the deep, liquid cough Eye Patch had been wracked with before he died.

That frightened Lotta too. She worried that her captors would die in the middle of the forest, leaving her lost and alone. She knew how to light a fire. She could hit a rabbit with a stone, if it was an old, slow sort of rabbit. But she didn’t want to think about having to skin the poor creature and cut it up.

She couldn’t imagine that.

And then there was Magnus, left behind with that horrible family, though Lotta was often unsure which of them truly had it worse.

She felt no safer than Magnus was, and at least he had a chance of escaping, she thought, knowing that she had none. Clover waddled along behind them, tied to Long Beard’s horse, but if she escaped, where would they go?

Where were they at all?

‘Feels like snow. Best we get a fire going early, though I’m not sure what use you’ll be,’ Long Beard grumbled, not liking the look of his friend.

‘It’s just a tickle, I told you,’ Silver Tooth grouched, feeling the pain in his chest when he tried to inhale, which told him that perhaps it was more than just a tickle. ‘I need some ale.’

‘Well, I managed to get that stingy old bitch’s daughter to slip us a few skins, so we’re stocked for the night ahead.’

Silver Tooth’s eyes lit up at the thought of sitting against a tree, fire at his feet, skin in hand. He glanced at Long Beard, wanting him to head off the road, which he did, nattering away to Lotta as he tugged on the reins.

‘Wait till you meet my wife,’ Long Beard smiled. ‘She’s been keeping a chamber for you all these years. Untouched, it is. Just waiting for you.’

Lotta, who had almost been drifting off to sleep, lulled by the rocking motion of Long Beard’s horse, stilled in horror. He ran one hand over her hair, and Lotta jerked forward, away from him.

Long Beard didn’t appear to notice as he kept talking, almost whispering now, leading them off into the trees.

Agnette was eager to sit down, desperate to take the weight off her swollen feet, which were almost bursting through her old boots. ‘It’s almost warm in here,’ she grinned, leaving Alys’ tray on the small table in the corner. ‘Though, perhaps that’s just me?’ she laughed, stretching out her back. ‘Big as a horse and ready to burst!’

Alys could smell smoked fish, and it reminded her of her grandfather, and she felt a pull towards him that she tempered, not wanting to rush Agnette. She needed to get her onside first. ‘How long do you have to go?’ she asked, pointing to Agnette’s belly.

‘You can’t tell? Being a dreamer?’

Alys smiled, shaking her head. ‘Perhaps, if I looked hard enough, touched you maybe, held something of yours? But there are so many things happening in the fort, it might be impossible to find the answer.’

‘I imagine it would,’ Agnette yawned. ‘I think around a month to go. Eddeth thinks so, though I’m not convinced she knows what she’s talking about.’ She felt worried, not trusting Eddeth at all. ‘I… would be grateful if you did manage to find a moment or two to think about me.’ And leaning

forward, Agnette stared into Alys’ eyes, her own blinking now. ‘I feel a little worried.’

Alys was surprised. Agnette seemed so tough, but she could see the fear in her eyes now. ‘I don’t blame you.’ She put the book on the ground, edging her stool closer to Agnette. ‘I’ll do what I can. Do you have something I could take to bed with me? Perhaps not tonight as I… must help Reinar.’

‘Ahhh, Reinar.’ Agnette let her worries recede, more intrigued than anything now. ‘He seems happy to have found you.’

Alys turned her eyes to the fire, promptly deciding that it needed more wood. She stood, heading for the woodpile, hiding her face from Agnette. ‘Well, I can’t say the same.’

Agnette was surprised. ‘No?’

Alys placed a log onto the fire, sparks flying. She wanted to change the subject quickly. She needed to. ‘My life suited me well as it was.’

Agnette snorted. ‘Not sure that’s true looking at the state of your face when you arrived. Though,’ she added, peering at Alys more closely, ‘seems you’ve gone and messed it up again.’

Alys grinned, which hurt. ‘I’m not sure why so many people want to punch me.’

‘Perhaps you should let Tulia show you how to stop them?’ ‘I don’t think I could do that.’

‘Well, you might change your mind, and in the meantime, I can get Eddeth to make a salve for that. Likely she’s got something brewing, if she’s still here.’ Agnette frowned suddenly, struggling to push herself up. ‘I haven’t seen her in days.’

Alys was on her feet, hand out for Agnette to grab hold of.

‘I’d best be going. Reinar warned me not to linger. Said I should try not to talk too much when I left your tray.’ She snorted again, her yellow headscarf falling over her eyes as she headed to the door. ‘As if he knows me! I’ll send Bjarni with the salve if I find Eddeth. Not sure my feet can take much more walking today.’

‘Agnette!’

Agnette spun around, surprised by the urgency in Alys’ voice. ‘What is

it?’

‘I… need your help. Please. I… have a… secret.’

Agnette, full of curiosity, hurried back to the fire, eyeing the stool with some trepidation, but she wriggled back down onto it anyway. ‘Tell me.’