‘I can help you.’
Hakon wasn’t sure. He sucked in his cheeks, considering the woman. She was ancient. Round, like a full ball of yarn; wiry, short grey hair curling around a mean face; eyes dark with a look of madness; skin as leathery as his oldest helmsman.
A dreamer.
‘You wish to fight for me?’ Hakon laughed as the woman twitched impatiently in her chair, eyes never leaving his face.
She licked her hairy lips. ‘You are young, Hakon Vettel. Not as stupid as some, more ambitious than most, yet you have no sight. How will your dreams come true if you cannot see?’
Hakon frowned, edging forward in his own chair, ignoring the angry spitting of the fire beside them; listening to the roar of the wind as it lifted the wooden tiles on the roof of his hall. ‘No sight?’
‘I have vision that goes beyond your walls. Ears that hear more than your spies. I see enemies who have not yet appeared. And you, Hakon Vettel, have more enemies than you realise.’ She sucked in a rasping breath. ‘They will crush you before you see them coming. Wreck your ambitions before they are fully realised. Without my help, you have no hope of becoming the king your father wanted to be.’
Hakon watched the dreamer’s eyes turn to the flames, darkening further; glowing now. ‘And if you help me, what do you seek in return?’
She smiled. ‘What do I want?’ And drumming gnarled fingers on her knees, she peered at him. ‘I want Jael Furyck.’
Hakon was confused. ‘Jael Furyck? The Queen of Oss? You? You want her?’
‘I do. And when I help you take Ake Bluefinn’s throne, you will have an army at your command. An army strong enough and large enough to conquer the Slave Islands. And when you do, you will bring me that bitch, and I will have my revenge, for it is a thirst I must slake before Vasa comes to take me.’ She glanced at Hakon, salivating, not seeing the young lord anymore. In her mind, she held a knife, and that knife was carving a hole into Jael Furyck’s beating heart.
‘Who are you?’ Hakon wondered, his breath suddenly pumping before him in frosty waves. He shivered, wondering what the woman was doing to him. The warm chamber with its blazing fire, had quickly turned as cold as ice.
‘You may call me Mother,’ she murmured, her weathered face breaking into a maniacal grin. ‘I am Mother Arnesson.’
