Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
(Historical)
Annaka hung her head in fear and shame as they walked through the corridors of the palace, Jon-Paul and his men in a tight circle around her. She had no idea if she passed anyone who might look curiously at the sight of a young noble woman walking under guard. She saw only the floor beneath her feet.
They entered a chamber but Annaka did not look up. Her hair, quite unloosed from its ribbon, hung around her face like a veil. She forced herself to breathe long, slow breaths but try as she might, she could not stop trembling. What would happen to her? Surely the spell would be the first thing they inflicted on her, and the thought of it made her shake and weep.
Jon-Paul cleared his throat. "Here is the Lady Annaka, as you requested, sir.” Annaka looked up at him sadly. She held no ill feeling towards him; she realized he had done it all against his will. How long until her own will was swallowed up?
She saw three priests in the room in their customary black cloaks, speaking in hushed voices to each other. One looked up at Jon-Paul, nodded, and waved his hand. Jon-Paul and his men took the customary two backward steps, then turned and left the room.
Many long moments dragged by, the priests continuing their quiet conversation, ignoring Annaka. Finally, one turned to her and with a pale hand reached out and lifted her chin.
"Are you the Lady Annaka, then? Daughter of the Duke of Nordjylland?"
Annaka nodded slightly.
"Speak up!" he said loudly. He pushed his face close, and Annaka cringed away from his cruel eyes and pale, sweaty face.
"Yes," she said, hating how her voice trembled.
"I am Ulrik, an inquisitor for Duke Thorvald,” he said. "I see your chains. The officer of the guard had clear instructions to bring you bound if you did not come willingly. I will keep that fact in mind." His reddish hair hung in greasy strings around his face. "These two," he motioned to the other priests, "are my...supervisors."
Annaka's heart pounded in her throat. She felt as if she was hurtling towards the edge of a cliff. These men, she knew, were capable of inflicting the horrible spell on her. In moments, if they chose, they could take her mind and will.
"This will be quite easy,” Ulrik continued. "I have only one question for you. Answer it, and you will be left alone. You are a member of the nobility and I have no wish to treat you badly. Where is Alek Ostergaard?"
Annaka stared in surprise. They asked for Alek? Not her father? "Wh-who?" she stammered.
"My lady, don't bother being coy. I know you are acquainted with this wretched boy. Alek Ostergaard. Where is he?"
Annaka opened her mouth, but no sound came forth.
"Do you understand the question, my lady? Where is he? In other words, if I were to send soldiers out to fetch him, where should they go? I suggest you tell me, because if the answer is in your pretty head, I will have it, one way or another."
Alek? Annaka thoughts seemed detached, floating above her head. How on Earth did they know she knew him? Had she been followed? She had told no one about him, no one except Britta...What could she tell this man that would satisfy him, without harming Alek or her father?
"My lady, I ask this question all day long, it seems, and I grow tired. Where is he? Yes, I'm afraid I know all about your dalliance with him, although the thought of it is beyond disgusting."
Dalliance! That word! Annaka suddenly knew who had been here in this chamber before her. They had had Britta and forced her to tell what she knew. What had Britta said?
Then Ulrik strode to the door, and pulled it open. "Guard, come inside,” he said to the soldier standing just outside the door. "I will need your help after all." Ulrik stepped in front of Annaka and pressed the mechanism that released the wrist manacles. "Take her, and chain her to the wall there."
Annaka looked with fear and horror and saw the opposite wall was made of stone. Rings had been cemented into it in various places. The soldier grabbed her roughly and pushed her against its hard coldness. Her arms were outstretched and her wrists fastened into shackles hanging from the rings.
She did not even struggle. She was so filled with fear she could not think or move. Somewhere, in her mind, she recalled Alek calling her brave. That day seemed a lifetime ago. All she could do now was weep.
"Oh, no, no, Ulrik, not this, not her,” a new voice said. Annaka saw another man enter, and in amazement she recognized Thorvald himself. "You are always too quick to move on to torture, Ulrik."
Thorvald walked over, stopping directly in front of her. He reached out with both hands and gently smoothed the hair back from her face. Annaka recalled she had met him, even danced with him, but she was too frightened to look him in the eyes. Now he held her head cradled between his hands. What would he do to her?
Thorvald pulled a lacy cloth from his sleeve and patted her wet cheeks. "I have something else in mind for this one. Now, this is the one that knows the boy, correct?"
"Yes, my lord. He is her lover."
Annaka's eyes flashed, and Thorvald threw back his head and laughed. He put his hands on his hips and grinned broadly, looking her up and down.
Annaka yanked against the chains. "That is not true,” she said, trying to steady her voice.
"I cannot believe what luck!" Thorvald said, still grinning. "We shall have him now. We will use her for bait, and the fish will come to the hook. Finally! After all this time, I will have him at last."
Annaka looked at Thorvald as he strutted happily around the room. Her eyes took in the fine black clothing trimmed in gold, his neatly cut hair and beard, his handsome, smooth face. But behind that, she could sense a great evil, and a madness on the brink.
Suddenly he stopped and walked back to Annaka. Once again he took her head between his hands and raised her chin. Slowly he lowered his head as if he was going to kiss her, but stopped within a hair of touching her lips.
"How could you,” he whispered. "How could you...love...that common boy? It's...ahh...deliciously dreadful just thinking about it. You. The Lady Annaka. Don't you think you deserve better? I suppose you thought it was just a bit of fun, but really, to touch him.... like that."
Annaka thought, if I could spit on this man, I would. But her mouth was as dry and cottony as the inside of her pillow. She tried to glare.
"My lady, I have watched you since you came to my court,” he continued. "I am a gentleman, and would never...press my advantage...but perhaps, once the boy has been dealt with, you might consider an alternative." He let his hands smooth down the sides of her neck and rested on her shoulders. "In the meantime, while we wait for him, we will try to make you comfortable. Ulrik! Remove these chains. She is to be put in the secure room in the eastern wing and given anything she asks for." He dropped his hands and smiled at Annaka. "Is there anyone in the palace you would care to name, who could send a message to the boy? No? Well, no matter. I will announce to all the staff your plight, and I have a feeling the right ears will hear."
Annaka cringed. By tomorrow, the entire palace would know she had been put under guard. Life as she knew it had certainly come to an end.
Still, as she was led from the room she could not believe she was not to be given the spell. Well, at least not today. She shuddered as she walked along, just thinking of it.
She was put inside a small room, comfortable but certainly nothing like the rooms she was accustomed to. There was a small bed by the window, a chair and table, a washbasin, a mirror. A braided rag rug covered the stone floor. The door was bolted from the outside, and she had no doubt a guard would also stand there. Before he left her, Thorvald had called her his most precious spoil of battle he had yet received. He was sure to be careful with his bait.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, and the unbelievability of the whole day crashed down on her. She flopped over on her side, crying helplessly. Alek, stay away, she cried into the pillow. Stay far, far away. Thorvald must not have you!
*****
Ulrik walked back to the barracks, keeping his eyes forward as he passed. Yes, it was nice to be allowed out now and then, and the afternoon playing inquisitor had been better than some of his assignments. Over the last few days Thorvald had made him perform all sorts of disgusting actions, just to test the strength of the spell. The memory of those humiliating episodes made him burn inside. At least while doing the questioning he felt he was doing something useful. Something towards getting that boy.
When he was alone, lying on his bunk in the barracks, he did nothing but concentrate on the spell. He could feel it, like a net across his mind. He focused on it, letting his awareness travel over the net as it hugged the nooks and crannies of his brain. Over and over he moved along it, hoping against hope he would somehow, someday find a weakness. No one had ever defeated a compulsion spell before, but no one had ever tried as he was.
Hour after hour, day after day he laid there, as if in a trance, and pushed and prodded the net. Someday.
But now, as he returned and sat down on his bunk, he first thought about the time he spent with the Lady Annaka. Now, that had been interesting. After she had been taken from the room, Thorvald had punished him quite thoroughly for attempting to torture her. Still, even if he hadn't gotten the location of the boy from her, he had learned some very useful information. He had spent much time contemplating what Thorvald's weaknesses could be, and he was very pleased to see him display a softness towards that northern young lady. Once he was free, he would not forget that tidbit.
Alek Ostergaard! That vile, filthy creature still eluded them. Ulrik hated only Thorvald more than that peasant boy, the boy who had ruined his life. Once he was free, it would be Thorvald, and then Alek Ostergaard. They would pay, and then they would die.
The peasant's face swam up before his eyes and Ulrik grimaced. The young lady he had questioned today had actually been his lover! He recalled her graceful features, her eyes, her hair, and even he who had no particular taste for women knew she was beautiful. The thought of her with that boy, filled him with revulsion. His thoughts echoed Thorvald's question: How could she? How could she let him touch her? She was going to make herself as filthy and low as he.
*****
Alek was pleased and surprised at the ease with which Nikolas joined the Band. True, his clothing set him apart, but he did his best to be one with them and was gracious and friendly. Alek especially wondered how Nikolas’s first meeting with Einar would go, but Nikolas actually was deferential towards Einar, and the leadership of the Band never became a question.
That night after they returned, the Band celebrated joyously. One of them had gone right into the jaws of the enemy and had returned unscathed, even bringing out a duke as his prize. The members of the Band knew nothing about the medallion, but Alek had gone to the palace, faced Thorvald and was back among them, and the men who gathered that night at the woodcutter's cottage shared their happiness.
There were a few now who lived there in the forest rather than returning to their homes each day, for one reason or another. Einar, of course, and Alek, and now Nikolas, and a few others. As their numbers grew it was increasingly hard to imagine they would continue to go unnoticed. Alek felt a nagging worry that danger was near.
"Friends, let us sit and talk a bit,” Alek said, putting his arms around Einar and Nikolas's shoulders as the Band began to disperse. They sat on some logs that had been placed around a firepit set a few yards away from the cottage.
"Einar, Nikolas, I feel a great uneasiness,” Alek placed a hand over his heart, over the medallion. "I do not know why but I feel the Band is in danger, and the time of waiting must end. We must put the Band to use, or it will be lost."
"Yes,” Nikolas said gravely. "I know this is so. I have come to you to act, not to hide, and Thorvald says in the spring he will seize Skandia and in reality, turn us all into slaves. It would take a miracle to stop him in two year's time, and we must do it in a few months."
"The Band, as it stands now, is ready and anxious,” Einar said, "but it must continue to grow. When word spreads of Duke Nikolas joining us, it will help tremendously. Many men will flock to us. Yet, it still will not be enough. I know of another whose name would sweep the land and bring us together in a way no one else could. Alek, you must think carefully. You have a decision to make, one I know you do not want to face."
Nikolas looked at Alek sharply, obviously confused and curious about what Einar had said. Alek cast his eyes down and rubbed his hand through his once again straw-colored hair. He shook his head slowly.
"When the time comes...for the decision you speak of,” Alek said softly, "I must have confidence, or no one else will. I must be sure. I must know my path. And, Einar, right now, I feel only confused. I cannot do it yet."
"Perhaps not. But, Alek, consider this. Was it right to tell me? Has it helped you?"
"It has,” Alek replied. "You share my burden."
"Perhaps one more can share it."
Alek looked at Nikolas, who stared at them intently, obviously trying vainly to understand. If he spoke of his secret, would Nikolas believe him? Who would believe such a thing? Einar seemed to. Maybe I will be the last to believe, he thought. "Give me courage," he muttered under his breath. He drew off his gloves and tossed them on the ground at his side. Then he slowly, slowly reached over and put his hands over Nikolas's, as they lay on his knees.
Nikolas's eyes dropped to Alek's hands, and there in the firelight, he saw the mark of a leaping stag, plainly outlined on the back of Alek's right hand. The mark of the king! How on Earth did it come to be on this boy's hand?
His eyes swiveled to Alek's and searched his face for any sign of duplicity. He could see only uncertainty warring with determination.
"You know this mark, my lord?" Alek asked quietly.
"Yes. Of course. But how can this be?"
"How often I have asked that question!" Alek exclaimed. "How I wish it was a mark I could ignore or remove. But it seems that is not my fate."
"But this is incredible! You have been a peasant farmer all your life, and have even insisted to me more than once that you are thus."
"And that is what I am. My lord, I do not expect you to accept this. I myself cannot. But it seems my ancestors thought a little farm in Sjaelland would be a sufficient hiding place."
Alek’s words slowly registered in Nikolas’s mind. "So this is how you have the medallion. Given to you by your father, you said. Yes, this explains much. I take it Duke Thorvald knows the truth, and that is why he hunts you."
"Yes, he knows,” Alek replied, his voice sad and tired. "He has killed all my family, save me alone."
"How long have you known...who you are?" Nikolas asked.
"A short time. At Midsummer. That is when it all began. Before that, I knew nothing. Even less than the average person, I suppose, since I did not know of the medallion or the mark."
"When I met you, I knew there was something unusual about you,” Nikolas said. "In a hundred years I would not have guessed...this...yet I knew there was something. Well. It has been a long time, Bernhardt. Einar is right. It is time."
"Please, do not call me that. Not yet. Not yet. I must ask you to tell no one. Somehow, I must prepare myself."
So young, Nikolas thought. So young for such a heavy burden.
"Does Annaka know?" he asked.
"No, my lord. I have told no one but you and Einar. How Thorvald knows I have no idea."
Einar shifted on the log and poked at the fire with a stick. "When Alek is ready, things will change. But, until then, we must make our plans."
The three talked late into the night, until the embers of the fire glowed only faintly through the silvery ash.
"You have been with us a little while now, but I have not yet welcomed you to the Band, young Alek,” Steen said with a smile. He was dressed in sturdy brown pants, with a light woolen tunic over the top. His coarse, reddish hair was pulled back in a short ponytail with a narrow strip of leather. His short beard was starting to show a trace of gray at the sides of his mouth, his face was ruddy and weathered, and on his head he wore a hat with a wide, floppy brim. He tossed it to the side as they walked into the meadow.
"So. How are you with a quarterstaff, my friend? I have never seen you at the village games. Do not tell me you were afraid, with those arms."
"No, not afraid,” Alek laughed. "But I admit I have no skill with the thing. There never seemed to be time for village contests and such, and although I have sparred a little with my father, there didn't seem to be much point. What use is a quarterstaff to a farmer? It seemed rather better to practice with my bow in order to hit a rabbit or two now and then, than to whack things with a stick."
Steen tossed him one of the quarterstaffs he carried. It was about eight feet long and a little thinner than Alek’s wrist. It was made of ash, and the wood was well smoothed so hands could slide along it easily.
"Well, my young farmer, you will have to learn a new trade, it seems. Soldiers need whacking, and I'm afraid you won't be wielding a scythe, this year, anyway. Now then. Hold it thus, and block my strokes."
Steen began firmly crossing his quarterstaff with Alek's. Alek swallowed a sigh. He had been thinking about the family's fields, standing neglected all this time. Months of work, wasted. He could hardly keep himself from running back there and trying to pick up that life again, that life he had no idea he would miss so much. But that he could not do, and must not even think about.
Steen had shown Alek where to place his hands, about two feet apart on the quarterstaff, and he did what he could to get Steen’s blows to land in that space rather than on his fingers.
“Good, good,” Steen said after a few minutes. “With a little practice, you will be quite passable with the quarterstaff. Whenever you and I have the chance, I will teach you what I can. There are actually forms to learn, just like with the sword.” Steen moved through a few forms and then jabbed playfully at Alek’s stomach with the end of the staff. “The vulnerable spots are head, collarbones, wrists, arms, knees, and ankles, but you can still do damage with nearly any good hit.” Then he whirled the staff in front of him, like a windmill , the long pole becoming nothing but a blur. “There are those who think the quarterstaff is not a real weapon, not like a sword or bow. But it can be deadly, and especially good for defense. Imagine trying to fight through the spinning staff. I cannot easily be touched.”
Alek laughed. “Yes, I see what you mean.” He gave the staff an experimental twirl and took a few practice swipes in the air. “I doubt I could scare anyone who knows what to do with this stick, but perhaps I can beat off a squirrel or two.”
*****
Nikolas was amazed that he had somewhat of a reputation even here in Sjaelland, far away from his home. The common folk who formed the bulk of the Band had actually heard of him, a duke from a land far to the north. This surprised him greatly, but he was thankful that the folk seemed to think well of him. He had supposed that commoners hated the nobility, even those who were not their direct lords. Rather, while these common folk had come together out of anger towards their own lord, Thorvald, they were respectful towards Nikolas. Indeed, his presence had lent credibility to their cause, and when folk heard that Duke Nikolas of Nordjylland was with the Band, many joined their ranks.
Nikolas had only the little military training he had received as the son of a duke. It had been several generations since Nordjylland had been involved in any sort of conflict besides a border skirmish here and there, although many of the other provinces besides Sjaelland had squabbled amongst themselves in the years since Skandia fell. He, and his father before him, had held Nordjylland above all that, and although that was as it should be, he had little experience with warfare. Still, the little he knew was much more, a hundred times more, than what the other members of the Band knew.
This Einar realized, and he asked Nikolas to devise some simple training drills to use with the Band. Nikolas did the best he could with what he was given but it was little enough, considering the lack of weapons. One thing he was glad to discover was that most of the men were handy enough with a bow, and several men had quarterstaffs. A few had shortswords or fighting axes, although those few were old and in poor repair. None had any armor or protective clothing to speak of. They came with only the simple clothing of the peasantry, which normally consisted of homespun woolen shirts and trousers, with a tunic or vest pulled over the top. Determination and righteous anger would have to make up the shortfall.
Nikolas had trained a little with a bow but most of his scanty training was with a rapier. He did what he could to convert the graceful moves and stances to what could be done with a quarterstaff. Some things were more successfully transferred than others, and as soon as he could pick out those who had a little more practice with the staff, he set them to sparring with those who needed desperately to learn. At least there were plenty of slender trees about with sturdy branches that could be trimmed into quarterstaffs. He watched the men grow more and more confident as the days went by and they gained at least a rudimentary skill with whatever weapon was at hand for them. But, although they spent a great deal of time and effort at making weapons and practicing with them, Nikolas had to agree with Einar. The Band could never hope to overcome Thorvald’s soldiers in a pitched battle. There would have to be another way for the Band to serve Skandia.
*****
Thorvald walked briskly down the dimly lit hallway in the western wing of the palace. "Nils, I feel our long wait is coming to an end,” he said. "The fish will come to the hook, and the last obstacle will be cleared from our path. One month, and then the crown! One month, and humans as well as creatures will recognize us for what we truly are."
He paused before a closed door, where a sentry stood silently watching. "You always say that, Nils. You always say, forget about the peasant boy. We can take the crown now, and he is of no consequence. But do you not recall? The histories are quite plain. He has strong magic - and it was his magic, the king's magic, that destroyed Jorgen those many years ago. I do not know for sure, but his magic may be able to defeat mine. That will not happen! I will not take the crown just to give it up to that boy! There can be only one conduit. I will have him, and I will also have his magic. And then, he will die."
He waited while the sentry unlocked the heavy iron bound door, and then pushed it open. There she lay, curled on the little bed. The sound of the door opening had awakened her, and she struggled to sit up with her wrists bound behind her back. He noticed her curly blond hair was all awry again, and her blue riding dress was rumpled. Her delicate face was streaked with tears.
"Oh, my dear, this is awful,” he said, sitting beside her. "They put you in here, like this? Leaving you bound like this?" He couldn't stop his hand; it went to her hair as if with a mind of its own and smoothed it.
Annaka's face looked...well, frightened. There was no need for that. "Don't be afraid, my dear, no one is going to hurt you,” he told her, his voice calm and smooth. "You will only need stay here a short time. After the boy comes, you can go back to your own apartments. It may be small, but this room is really the safest one in the palace. I don't want any harm to come to you."
Heaven and Earth, she was crying again! Who could understand females? Well, after the thing with the boy was finished, he would think of a way to make her smile. He looked at her with a critical eye. She had the right blood, after all. She was perhaps the highest born female in the land of the right age. Perhaps he would take a queen.
He left the room, lost in his thoughts. "Thorvald, if you take her, she will need to be purified. She has been with...him. You have become something holy, and should not touch her until she is clean. What could restore her? Perhaps a purifying flame. She could be dipped in a pure, clean flame..."
"Nils, shut up, you idiot," Thorvald retorted as he strode down the hallway. A flame, indeed! Sometimes he thought Nils was completely insane.
(Historical)
Annaka hung her head in fear and shame as they walked through the corridors of the palace, Jon-Paul and his men in a tight circle around her. She had no idea if she passed anyone who might look curiously at the sight of a young noble woman walking under guard. She saw only the floor beneath her feet.
They entered a chamber but Annaka did not look up. Her hair, quite unloosed from its ribbon, hung around her face like a veil. She forced herself to breathe long, slow breaths but try as she might, she could not stop trembling. What would happen to her? Surely the spell would be the first thing they inflicted on her, and the thought of it made her shake and weep.
Jon-Paul cleared his throat. "Here is the Lady Annaka, as you requested, sir.” Annaka looked up at him sadly. She held no ill feeling towards him; she realized he had done it all against his will. How long until her own will was swallowed up?
She saw three priests in the room in their customary black cloaks, speaking in hushed voices to each other. One looked up at Jon-Paul, nodded, and waved his hand. Jon-Paul and his men took the customary two backward steps, then turned and left the room.
Many long moments dragged by, the priests continuing their quiet conversation, ignoring Annaka. Finally, one turned to her and with a pale hand reached out and lifted her chin.
"Are you the Lady Annaka, then? Daughter of the Duke of Nordjylland?"
Annaka nodded slightly.
"Speak up!" he said loudly. He pushed his face close, and Annaka cringed away from his cruel eyes and pale, sweaty face.
"Yes," she said, hating how her voice trembled.
"I am Ulrik, an inquisitor for Duke Thorvald,” he said. "I see your chains. The officer of the guard had clear instructions to bring you bound if you did not come willingly. I will keep that fact in mind." His reddish hair hung in greasy strings around his face. "These two," he motioned to the other priests, "are my...supervisors."
Annaka's heart pounded in her throat. She felt as if she was hurtling towards the edge of a cliff. These men, she knew, were capable of inflicting the horrible spell on her. In moments, if they chose, they could take her mind and will.
"This will be quite easy,” Ulrik continued. "I have only one question for you. Answer it, and you will be left alone. You are a member of the nobility and I have no wish to treat you badly. Where is Alek Ostergaard?"
Annaka stared in surprise. They asked for Alek? Not her father? "Wh-who?" she stammered.
"My lady, don't bother being coy. I know you are acquainted with this wretched boy. Alek Ostergaard. Where is he?"
Annaka opened her mouth, but no sound came forth.
"Do you understand the question, my lady? Where is he? In other words, if I were to send soldiers out to fetch him, where should they go? I suggest you tell me, because if the answer is in your pretty head, I will have it, one way or another."
Alek? Annaka thoughts seemed detached, floating above her head. How on Earth did they know she knew him? Had she been followed? She had told no one about him, no one except Britta...What could she tell this man that would satisfy him, without harming Alek or her father?
"My lady, I ask this question all day long, it seems, and I grow tired. Where is he? Yes, I'm afraid I know all about your dalliance with him, although the thought of it is beyond disgusting."
Dalliance! That word! Annaka suddenly knew who had been here in this chamber before her. They had had Britta and forced her to tell what she knew. What had Britta said?
Then Ulrik strode to the door, and pulled it open. "Guard, come inside,” he said to the soldier standing just outside the door. "I will need your help after all." Ulrik stepped in front of Annaka and pressed the mechanism that released the wrist manacles. "Take her, and chain her to the wall there."
Annaka looked with fear and horror and saw the opposite wall was made of stone. Rings had been cemented into it in various places. The soldier grabbed her roughly and pushed her against its hard coldness. Her arms were outstretched and her wrists fastened into shackles hanging from the rings.
She did not even struggle. She was so filled with fear she could not think or move. Somewhere, in her mind, she recalled Alek calling her brave. That day seemed a lifetime ago. All she could do now was weep.
"Oh, no, no, Ulrik, not this, not her,” a new voice said. Annaka saw another man enter, and in amazement she recognized Thorvald himself. "You are always too quick to move on to torture, Ulrik."
Thorvald walked over, stopping directly in front of her. He reached out with both hands and gently smoothed the hair back from her face. Annaka recalled she had met him, even danced with him, but she was too frightened to look him in the eyes. Now he held her head cradled between his hands. What would he do to her?
Thorvald pulled a lacy cloth from his sleeve and patted her wet cheeks. "I have something else in mind for this one. Now, this is the one that knows the boy, correct?"
"Yes, my lord. He is her lover."
Annaka's eyes flashed, and Thorvald threw back his head and laughed. He put his hands on his hips and grinned broadly, looking her up and down.
Annaka yanked against the chains. "That is not true,” she said, trying to steady her voice.
"I cannot believe what luck!" Thorvald said, still grinning. "We shall have him now. We will use her for bait, and the fish will come to the hook. Finally! After all this time, I will have him at last."
Annaka looked at Thorvald as he strutted happily around the room. Her eyes took in the fine black clothing trimmed in gold, his neatly cut hair and beard, his handsome, smooth face. But behind that, she could sense a great evil, and a madness on the brink.
Suddenly he stopped and walked back to Annaka. Once again he took her head between his hands and raised her chin. Slowly he lowered his head as if he was going to kiss her, but stopped within a hair of touching her lips.
"How could you,” he whispered. "How could you...love...that common boy? It's...ahh...deliciously dreadful just thinking about it. You. The Lady Annaka. Don't you think you deserve better? I suppose you thought it was just a bit of fun, but really, to touch him.... like that."
Annaka thought, if I could spit on this man, I would. But her mouth was as dry and cottony as the inside of her pillow. She tried to glare.
"My lady, I have watched you since you came to my court,” he continued. "I am a gentleman, and would never...press my advantage...but perhaps, once the boy has been dealt with, you might consider an alternative." He let his hands smooth down the sides of her neck and rested on her shoulders. "In the meantime, while we wait for him, we will try to make you comfortable. Ulrik! Remove these chains. She is to be put in the secure room in the eastern wing and given anything she asks for." He dropped his hands and smiled at Annaka. "Is there anyone in the palace you would care to name, who could send a message to the boy? No? Well, no matter. I will announce to all the staff your plight, and I have a feeling the right ears will hear."
Annaka cringed. By tomorrow, the entire palace would know she had been put under guard. Life as she knew it had certainly come to an end.
Still, as she was led from the room she could not believe she was not to be given the spell. Well, at least not today. She shuddered as she walked along, just thinking of it.
She was put inside a small room, comfortable but certainly nothing like the rooms she was accustomed to. There was a small bed by the window, a chair and table, a washbasin, a mirror. A braided rag rug covered the stone floor. The door was bolted from the outside, and she had no doubt a guard would also stand there. Before he left her, Thorvald had called her his most precious spoil of battle he had yet received. He was sure to be careful with his bait.
She sat down on the edge of the bed, and the unbelievability of the whole day crashed down on her. She flopped over on her side, crying helplessly. Alek, stay away, she cried into the pillow. Stay far, far away. Thorvald must not have you!
*****
Ulrik walked back to the barracks, keeping his eyes forward as he passed. Yes, it was nice to be allowed out now and then, and the afternoon playing inquisitor had been better than some of his assignments. Over the last few days Thorvald had made him perform all sorts of disgusting actions, just to test the strength of the spell. The memory of those humiliating episodes made him burn inside. At least while doing the questioning he felt he was doing something useful. Something towards getting that boy.
When he was alone, lying on his bunk in the barracks, he did nothing but concentrate on the spell. He could feel it, like a net across his mind. He focused on it, letting his awareness travel over the net as it hugged the nooks and crannies of his brain. Over and over he moved along it, hoping against hope he would somehow, someday find a weakness. No one had ever defeated a compulsion spell before, but no one had ever tried as he was.
Hour after hour, day after day he laid there, as if in a trance, and pushed and prodded the net. Someday.
But now, as he returned and sat down on his bunk, he first thought about the time he spent with the Lady Annaka. Now, that had been interesting. After she had been taken from the room, Thorvald had punished him quite thoroughly for attempting to torture her. Still, even if he hadn't gotten the location of the boy from her, he had learned some very useful information. He had spent much time contemplating what Thorvald's weaknesses could be, and he was very pleased to see him display a softness towards that northern young lady. Once he was free, he would not forget that tidbit.
Alek Ostergaard! That vile, filthy creature still eluded them. Ulrik hated only Thorvald more than that peasant boy, the boy who had ruined his life. Once he was free, it would be Thorvald, and then Alek Ostergaard. They would pay, and then they would die.
The peasant's face swam up before his eyes and Ulrik grimaced. The young lady he had questioned today had actually been his lover! He recalled her graceful features, her eyes, her hair, and even he who had no particular taste for women knew she was beautiful. The thought of her with that boy, filled him with revulsion. His thoughts echoed Thorvald's question: How could she? How could she let him touch her? She was going to make herself as filthy and low as he.
*****
Alek was pleased and surprised at the ease with which Nikolas joined the Band. True, his clothing set him apart, but he did his best to be one with them and was gracious and friendly. Alek especially wondered how Nikolas’s first meeting with Einar would go, but Nikolas actually was deferential towards Einar, and the leadership of the Band never became a question.
That night after they returned, the Band celebrated joyously. One of them had gone right into the jaws of the enemy and had returned unscathed, even bringing out a duke as his prize. The members of the Band knew nothing about the medallion, but Alek had gone to the palace, faced Thorvald and was back among them, and the men who gathered that night at the woodcutter's cottage shared their happiness.
There were a few now who lived there in the forest rather than returning to their homes each day, for one reason or another. Einar, of course, and Alek, and now Nikolas, and a few others. As their numbers grew it was increasingly hard to imagine they would continue to go unnoticed. Alek felt a nagging worry that danger was near.
"Friends, let us sit and talk a bit,” Alek said, putting his arms around Einar and Nikolas's shoulders as the Band began to disperse. They sat on some logs that had been placed around a firepit set a few yards away from the cottage.
"Einar, Nikolas, I feel a great uneasiness,” Alek placed a hand over his heart, over the medallion. "I do not know why but I feel the Band is in danger, and the time of waiting must end. We must put the Band to use, or it will be lost."
"Yes,” Nikolas said gravely. "I know this is so. I have come to you to act, not to hide, and Thorvald says in the spring he will seize Skandia and in reality, turn us all into slaves. It would take a miracle to stop him in two year's time, and we must do it in a few months."
"The Band, as it stands now, is ready and anxious,” Einar said, "but it must continue to grow. When word spreads of Duke Nikolas joining us, it will help tremendously. Many men will flock to us. Yet, it still will not be enough. I know of another whose name would sweep the land and bring us together in a way no one else could. Alek, you must think carefully. You have a decision to make, one I know you do not want to face."
Nikolas looked at Alek sharply, obviously confused and curious about what Einar had said. Alek cast his eyes down and rubbed his hand through his once again straw-colored hair. He shook his head slowly.
"When the time comes...for the decision you speak of,” Alek said softly, "I must have confidence, or no one else will. I must be sure. I must know my path. And, Einar, right now, I feel only confused. I cannot do it yet."
"Perhaps not. But, Alek, consider this. Was it right to tell me? Has it helped you?"
"It has,” Alek replied. "You share my burden."
"Perhaps one more can share it."
Alek looked at Nikolas, who stared at them intently, obviously trying vainly to understand. If he spoke of his secret, would Nikolas believe him? Who would believe such a thing? Einar seemed to. Maybe I will be the last to believe, he thought. "Give me courage," he muttered under his breath. He drew off his gloves and tossed them on the ground at his side. Then he slowly, slowly reached over and put his hands over Nikolas's, as they lay on his knees.
Nikolas's eyes dropped to Alek's hands, and there in the firelight, he saw the mark of a leaping stag, plainly outlined on the back of Alek's right hand. The mark of the king! How on Earth did it come to be on this boy's hand?
His eyes swiveled to Alek's and searched his face for any sign of duplicity. He could see only uncertainty warring with determination.
"You know this mark, my lord?" Alek asked quietly.
"Yes. Of course. But how can this be?"
"How often I have asked that question!" Alek exclaimed. "How I wish it was a mark I could ignore or remove. But it seems that is not my fate."
"But this is incredible! You have been a peasant farmer all your life, and have even insisted to me more than once that you are thus."
"And that is what I am. My lord, I do not expect you to accept this. I myself cannot. But it seems my ancestors thought a little farm in Sjaelland would be a sufficient hiding place."
Alek’s words slowly registered in Nikolas’s mind. "So this is how you have the medallion. Given to you by your father, you said. Yes, this explains much. I take it Duke Thorvald knows the truth, and that is why he hunts you."
"Yes, he knows,” Alek replied, his voice sad and tired. "He has killed all my family, save me alone."
"How long have you known...who you are?" Nikolas asked.
"A short time. At Midsummer. That is when it all began. Before that, I knew nothing. Even less than the average person, I suppose, since I did not know of the medallion or the mark."
"When I met you, I knew there was something unusual about you,” Nikolas said. "In a hundred years I would not have guessed...this...yet I knew there was something. Well. It has been a long time, Bernhardt. Einar is right. It is time."
"Please, do not call me that. Not yet. Not yet. I must ask you to tell no one. Somehow, I must prepare myself."
So young, Nikolas thought. So young for such a heavy burden.
"Does Annaka know?" he asked.
"No, my lord. I have told no one but you and Einar. How Thorvald knows I have no idea."
Einar shifted on the log and poked at the fire with a stick. "When Alek is ready, things will change. But, until then, we must make our plans."
The three talked late into the night, until the embers of the fire glowed only faintly through the silvery ash.
"You have been with us a little while now, but I have not yet welcomed you to the Band, young Alek,” Steen said with a smile. He was dressed in sturdy brown pants, with a light woolen tunic over the top. His coarse, reddish hair was pulled back in a short ponytail with a narrow strip of leather. His short beard was starting to show a trace of gray at the sides of his mouth, his face was ruddy and weathered, and on his head he wore a hat with a wide, floppy brim. He tossed it to the side as they walked into the meadow.
"So. How are you with a quarterstaff, my friend? I have never seen you at the village games. Do not tell me you were afraid, with those arms."
"No, not afraid,” Alek laughed. "But I admit I have no skill with the thing. There never seemed to be time for village contests and such, and although I have sparred a little with my father, there didn't seem to be much point. What use is a quarterstaff to a farmer? It seemed rather better to practice with my bow in order to hit a rabbit or two now and then, than to whack things with a stick."
Steen tossed him one of the quarterstaffs he carried. It was about eight feet long and a little thinner than Alek’s wrist. It was made of ash, and the wood was well smoothed so hands could slide along it easily.
"Well, my young farmer, you will have to learn a new trade, it seems. Soldiers need whacking, and I'm afraid you won't be wielding a scythe, this year, anyway. Now then. Hold it thus, and block my strokes."
Steen began firmly crossing his quarterstaff with Alek's. Alek swallowed a sigh. He had been thinking about the family's fields, standing neglected all this time. Months of work, wasted. He could hardly keep himself from running back there and trying to pick up that life again, that life he had no idea he would miss so much. But that he could not do, and must not even think about.
Steen had shown Alek where to place his hands, about two feet apart on the quarterstaff, and he did what he could to get Steen’s blows to land in that space rather than on his fingers.
“Good, good,” Steen said after a few minutes. “With a little practice, you will be quite passable with the quarterstaff. Whenever you and I have the chance, I will teach you what I can. There are actually forms to learn, just like with the sword.” Steen moved through a few forms and then jabbed playfully at Alek’s stomach with the end of the staff. “The vulnerable spots are head, collarbones, wrists, arms, knees, and ankles, but you can still do damage with nearly any good hit.” Then he whirled the staff in front of him, like a windmill , the long pole becoming nothing but a blur. “There are those who think the quarterstaff is not a real weapon, not like a sword or bow. But it can be deadly, and especially good for defense. Imagine trying to fight through the spinning staff. I cannot easily be touched.”
Alek laughed. “Yes, I see what you mean.” He gave the staff an experimental twirl and took a few practice swipes in the air. “I doubt I could scare anyone who knows what to do with this stick, but perhaps I can beat off a squirrel or two.”
*****
Nikolas was amazed that he had somewhat of a reputation even here in Sjaelland, far away from his home. The common folk who formed the bulk of the Band had actually heard of him, a duke from a land far to the north. This surprised him greatly, but he was thankful that the folk seemed to think well of him. He had supposed that commoners hated the nobility, even those who were not their direct lords. Rather, while these common folk had come together out of anger towards their own lord, Thorvald, they were respectful towards Nikolas. Indeed, his presence had lent credibility to their cause, and when folk heard that Duke Nikolas of Nordjylland was with the Band, many joined their ranks.
Nikolas had only the little military training he had received as the son of a duke. It had been several generations since Nordjylland had been involved in any sort of conflict besides a border skirmish here and there, although many of the other provinces besides Sjaelland had squabbled amongst themselves in the years since Skandia fell. He, and his father before him, had held Nordjylland above all that, and although that was as it should be, he had little experience with warfare. Still, the little he knew was much more, a hundred times more, than what the other members of the Band knew.
This Einar realized, and he asked Nikolas to devise some simple training drills to use with the Band. Nikolas did the best he could with what he was given but it was little enough, considering the lack of weapons. One thing he was glad to discover was that most of the men were handy enough with a bow, and several men had quarterstaffs. A few had shortswords or fighting axes, although those few were old and in poor repair. None had any armor or protective clothing to speak of. They came with only the simple clothing of the peasantry, which normally consisted of homespun woolen shirts and trousers, with a tunic or vest pulled over the top. Determination and righteous anger would have to make up the shortfall.
Nikolas had trained a little with a bow but most of his scanty training was with a rapier. He did what he could to convert the graceful moves and stances to what could be done with a quarterstaff. Some things were more successfully transferred than others, and as soon as he could pick out those who had a little more practice with the staff, he set them to sparring with those who needed desperately to learn. At least there were plenty of slender trees about with sturdy branches that could be trimmed into quarterstaffs. He watched the men grow more and more confident as the days went by and they gained at least a rudimentary skill with whatever weapon was at hand for them. But, although they spent a great deal of time and effort at making weapons and practicing with them, Nikolas had to agree with Einar. The Band could never hope to overcome Thorvald’s soldiers in a pitched battle. There would have to be another way for the Band to serve Skandia.
*****
Thorvald walked briskly down the dimly lit hallway in the western wing of the palace. "Nils, I feel our long wait is coming to an end,” he said. "The fish will come to the hook, and the last obstacle will be cleared from our path. One month, and then the crown! One month, and humans as well as creatures will recognize us for what we truly are."
He paused before a closed door, where a sentry stood silently watching. "You always say that, Nils. You always say, forget about the peasant boy. We can take the crown now, and he is of no consequence. But do you not recall? The histories are quite plain. He has strong magic - and it was his magic, the king's magic, that destroyed Jorgen those many years ago. I do not know for sure, but his magic may be able to defeat mine. That will not happen! I will not take the crown just to give it up to that boy! There can be only one conduit. I will have him, and I will also have his magic. And then, he will die."
He waited while the sentry unlocked the heavy iron bound door, and then pushed it open. There she lay, curled on the little bed. The sound of the door opening had awakened her, and she struggled to sit up with her wrists bound behind her back. He noticed her curly blond hair was all awry again, and her blue riding dress was rumpled. Her delicate face was streaked with tears.
"Oh, my dear, this is awful,” he said, sitting beside her. "They put you in here, like this? Leaving you bound like this?" He couldn't stop his hand; it went to her hair as if with a mind of its own and smoothed it.
Annaka's face looked...well, frightened. There was no need for that. "Don't be afraid, my dear, no one is going to hurt you,” he told her, his voice calm and smooth. "You will only need stay here a short time. After the boy comes, you can go back to your own apartments. It may be small, but this room is really the safest one in the palace. I don't want any harm to come to you."
Heaven and Earth, she was crying again! Who could understand females? Well, after the thing with the boy was finished, he would think of a way to make her smile. He looked at her with a critical eye. She had the right blood, after all. She was perhaps the highest born female in the land of the right age. Perhaps he would take a queen.
He left the room, lost in his thoughts. "Thorvald, if you take her, she will need to be purified. She has been with...him. You have become something holy, and should not touch her until she is clean. What could restore her? Perhaps a purifying flame. She could be dipped in a pure, clean flame..."
"Nils, shut up, you idiot," Thorvald retorted as he strode down the hallway. A flame, indeed! Sometimes he thought Nils was completely insane.