Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty Three
A chandler, a thatcher and a duke rode out together from the woodcutter’s cottage at twilight. They were dressed alike in dark, nondescript cloaks, and only with close inspection could someone have noticed their different backgrounds. Their goal was the same - an encampment of soldiers and priests on a recruiting trip for Duke Thorvald’s army.
“My lord, the camp is about an hour’s ride,” the thatcher said, a youthful looking man in his thirties named Jamess. The Band received word from its ever-spreading net of eyes and ears that a recruiting party would pass this way as it went from village to village. The Band was still much too small and weak to directly oppose Thorvald, but there were little things that could be done to hinder them.
The path they traveled wound through the trees, part of the endless forests of Sjaelland. They rode single file, with Gunnar the chandler, a somewhat heavyset and balding man in front.
It was nearly full dark when the hour had passed and the three men drew near the soldiers’ camp. When they were well out of earshot they dismounted and tied their mounts securely. If their plan worked, the horses would need to be firmly tied.
The three men advanced towards the camp, making as little noise as possible. Although Nikolas had never crept up on an encampment of men before, he had done quite a bit of hunting and knew how to move silently in the forest. He noticed the other two men also placing their feet with care, and they came in sight of the camp with very little snapping of twigs or rustling.
Darkness had settled over the camp, lit with a single fire burning at its center. As they hoped, the camp’s horses were arrayed at the edge of the camp tied to a picket line.
“Now, then, Jamess,” Nikolas whispered, and Jamess slipped towards the picket line, his right hand holding a dagger in front of him. Nikolas heard the first horse in the line whicker softly as Jamess reached him, but Jamess soothed him with pats and whispers. He raised the dagger and swiftly cut the rope attaching the horse to the picket line. He soundlessly moved down the line to the next horse.
Nikolas held his breath. For the plan to work perfectly, the horses needed to remain quiet as Jamess moved among them. A sentry was posted nearby, but Nikolas noticed he was staring blankly into the fire. For once the compulsion spell favored their work - sentries were slow to react when unusual things happened because they had to wait for orders. Still, if the horses spooked before Jamess finished, the sentry would alert the others.
As they hoped, the horses stood still even after their ropes were cut away from the picket line. They did not realize they were free, not yet. Jamess picked up a long, leafy branch from the ground. He ran across the back of the line, no longer caring about noise. In fact, he swatted each horse’s rump as he ran by.
“Ha!” Jamess yelled and the horses broke loose, bolting through the camp and into the trees. Jamess, Nikolas and Gunnar ran the opposite direction as chaos broke out in the camp.
As Nikolas darted away from the camp, melting into the dark of the forest, he heard the commotion as orders were shouted and men scrambled futilely to retrieve their horses. His heart pounded with excitement. Never before had he done anything like this. A noble - a duke of Nordjylland, no less, behaving like a bandit! Their plan had gone exactly as they planned but the danger they had been in still had his heart racing. After all, there had been twenty soldiers who in spite of their compulsion spell were quite able to wield their weapons with skill. If they had been alerted, the three of them would have been no match for the soldiers’ sharp steel. But even more frightening was the presence of two priests. If the three men had been captured, there would be no doubt the priests would inflict the compulsion spell on them without hesitation.
Now, though, the priests would not be doing their evil work any time soon. Without horses the recruiting party would be crippled and would have to return to Roskilde. Precious time would be gained by the Band. Although Thorvald had many such recruiting parties ranging across Sjaelland and this was but a small thorn to prick him, the Band would do what it could.
Tomorrow Nikolas, Jamess and Gunnar would travel through the village of Hasle on their way back to the Band. This was to have been the soldiers’ destination the next day and now would be spared, at least for a while. The three men would do their best to warn the villagers about the danger to them and their sons. Perhaps when the soldiers and priests returned they would not find it quite so easy to walk in and scoop up young men for Thorvald’s army. Perhaps some would join Nikolas and his companions and return to the Band with them. If even one person was saved from the spell, all their efforts would be worthwhile.
The compulsion spell had thus far only been given to soldiers in Sjaelland, but it mattered not at all to Nikolas that Sjaelland was not his land. It was easy to see that what Thorvald could do here he would do in other places, and Nikolas knew Nordjylland was a plum Thorvald wanted to pick. As if the thought of his people enslaved to Thorvald was not bad enough, Nikolas had another niggling worry. As a young man he had been given the prophecies to study, and although they seemed meaningless at the time, his mind had gone back to those lessons often since Alek’s stunning revelation. One prophecy had been clear: if the wrong man obtained control over the whole of Skandia, the Earth would violently throw him off. Terrible destruction would result. Nikolas knew of no other leader besides himself who remained free. He could not help but wonder if the fact that Nordjylland remained out of Thorvald’s grasp was the reason the Earth’s fury had not yet been unleashed.
****
As soon as his bonds were cut, Stefan rolled to his hands and knees in the straw covering the bottom of the wagon bed. The pain in his head, ribs and abdomen made him pant and sweat, but he forced himself to lever his legs over the plank sides of the wagon and stand up straight. He glanced at the noble who had chased him into the forest and then beat him into submission, but the man, now sitting on his horse, still had his head down.
The noble had mistaken him for someone else, someone that another man, Thorvald, had ordered captured. He had no idea who that was, or who the man he apparently resembled was. Alek Ostergaard? A decidedly Sjaellander name, but not one Stefan had heard before.
Stefan shook his head in puzzlement and set off walking south on the hard packed highway. Behind him, he heard the clatter of the caravan of the noble as it resumed its journey in the opposite direction.
He felt his ribs and collarbones with his fingers as he walked - they were very sore but were hopefully still whole. What had happened to his friends - those who had put aside their trades and their families to follow after him as he searched for the king? He hoped he would see them again but if he didn't, he hoped to find others who would follow him to the king. The king would need them, and many more than ten.
Suddenly, before him in the roadway was a woman, or what appeared to be. One minute the road stretched ahead empty as far as he could see, and the next minute she was there, standing in the middle of the road with her hands on her hips. Where had she come from?
Stefan hesitated, his steps slowed, then stopped. What sort of creature was this? She appeared to be a woman, although no woman he had ever seen wore flowers and vines twisted around her like some kind of fantastic jewelry. It was what was behind her that really caused him to stare. She had an enormous pair of wings, filmy and delicate as a dragonfly's.
"Come closer, Stefan of Albaek," the woman said, with a voice smooth and low. "I will not sting you."
Stefan took a couple of steps toward her, feeling drawn to her not only because of the commanding note in her voice but because she was by far the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. His mouth became dry as dust as he stared at her in amazement. Clearly she was something more than human, but what that was he did not know.
"Do you be a forvalter, one of those who promised to help me with my task?" Stefan asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
She smiled, and it was like sun breaking through clouds. "Why, yes, Stefan, that is exactly who I am. I have come to help you." She walked around him in a circle, the fantastical wings rustling with her movement, looking at him closely as she went.
"Hmmm, yes, you look much the way they described you. A bit like Alek, I suppose, although there are differences. Anyone who knows you both would easily tell you apart."
"Alek? Alek Ostergaard?" Stefan asked.
"Why, yes. What do you know of him?"
"Nothing at all, my lady. Who is he?"
She laughed, a sound like he had never heard, like water tumbling over rocks. “Well, Stefan, listen closely and I will tell you who he is. He is your destiny. He is your duty. He is your fate. He is the reason you and I are standing here talking. He is your king.”
Stefan’s eyes grew large. “He be the one? The one I seek?”
“Yes, Stefan. Now, do not be afraid, I will not hurt you.” She put a hand lightly over his eyes, and Stefan felt a tingle in his eyes unlike anything he had felt before. She removed her hand, and Stefan blinked uncertainly.
“Now, Stefan, say his name.”
Stefan felt a thrill of excitement mingled with nervousness. What would happen?
“Alek,” he whispered.
Suddenly, floating before his eyes was the image of a young man he could only assume was Alek Ostergaard. He looked nothing like a king, however. Tall and well-formed, yes, but dressed in the plainest sort of clothing. Untidy blond hair bleached by the sun fell across his forehead. He was the sort of person Stefan would never look twice at if he passed him on the highway or on a village street.
She laughed again at Stefan’s expression. “As unlikely as he may appear, he will be the king of Skandia, Heaven willing. With your help, and many others as well.”
The image faded, and Stefan blinked in wonderment.
“Whenever you need to, you may call the image again,” she said. “May this gift help you find him.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Stefan said, with a little bow.
“There is one more thing you must do,” she said with a smile, and suddenly her empty hands now held a sack made of coarse material. She put it into his hands and he could feel it held some sort of grain, weighing maybe ten or fifteen pounds.
“This you must guard most carefully,” she said. “The seed inside this sack has been specially prepared, and it is very important that you give it to Alek and no one else. He must use it to save his people. Tell no one of this, save Alek himself. Now, Stefan, I must bid you farewell. May Heaven keep you safe.” She turned and began to look thin and filmy, like her wings. She was fading!
“Wait!” Stefan cried. “What should I be doing when I find him, besides give him this seed?”
“You will see me one more time, Stefan of Albaek, before that day. You will know what you must do.” She smiled, and then she was gone.
***
Steen rode out of the palace gates on a horse one of the stable boys had saddled and handed over to him. He felt sure the only reason he hadn’t been tossed out of the palace on his face and told to walk all the way to Rodding was because those wicked, terrible men wanted him to do their evil tasks as soon as possible. He sat like a sack of meal on the mount’s back, letting its walking motions jostle him back and forth. Nothing mattered anymore. He had tried with all his might to resist Thorvald and his questions and had not been able to conceal a single thing, not a scrap. His eyes watered anew as he recalled the humiliation, the frustration and the hot anger that did absolutely no good.
They had asked him mostly about Alek, and now that Steen understood why Alek was being sought, he tried to avoid answering their questions about where he was. Steen didn’t know precisely where Alek was, but he had an idea he was with the Band, and that narrowed the world considerably. He swallowed, clenched his teeth, and even held his hand over his own mouth, but he could not keep the words from spilling out once he was directly ordered to give the information. The soldiers would have no trouble riding directly to the place he described with terrible detail.
He had cried like a child as he described Alek, his clothing, the horse he rode, his manner of speaking. They asked if he seemed to have unusual abilities, and Steen found himself explaining how he had seen Alek climb a flimsy clinging vine and then bring down the walls of the palace dungeon. He told the names of the leaders of the Band, Einar and others, their state of readiness and the fact that the Duke of Nordjylland was with them. By the time he was finished, he was red as a jordberry, covered with sweat and utterly convinced he could not hold back anything nor disobey them in the slightest.
Now he was riding to the campsite that surrounded the woodcutter’s cottage, which unfortunately had become the next focus of their questions. In a few minutes, five companies of soldiers would follow behind him, and he would have the privilege of betraying his friends by leading five hundred soldiers right into their midst.
Steen was exhausted from the interrogation and from the sheer effort of his fruitless resistance. He tried to force his mind to keep searching for ways he could avoid betraying his friends, the people he had sworn with an oath to protect and defend, but nothing would come. His mind felt like warm mush, and even trying to have a notion of his own felt like slogging through a swamp.
One village lay between him and the Band’s campsite, and as he rode toward it an idea came to him. Not a great idea, but Steen was beyond caring. In any case, he knew it was an idea that would only work once. At best it would only delay the inevitable.
He could not vary much from his instructions to ride to the campsite and await the arrival of the soldiers, without disclosing the fact they were coming, of course. But he could stop at an inn in the village for a moment and even get something to drink, as long as he didn’t think too much about why he was doing it. If he did, the compulsion spell would stop him. He figured he had only a handful of minutes before the soldiers would be on his heels, maybe an hour at the most.
He dismounted in front of the inn, handing the horse off to the stable boy but telling him he would not be long. He walked inside, letting his eyes adjust to the comparative dark, and saw a small handful of people at long tables ranging across the common room. He took a seat in the corner and motioned the girl in a white apron over.
“Bring me a mug, and a pitcher of something strong,” he said, putting a few coins on the table. “Be quick, now, lass. A whole pitcher.” She scurried away and returned in only a moment, setting a mug and foaming pitcher in front of him. He smiled at her vaguely, and then poured himself a mug.
Steen was not a heavy drinker, but he raised a cup now and then. How drunk could he get himself in a few minutes? He really had no idea. It had always been his goal in the past to avoid getting too saucy, so he was not sure. He tossed off one mugfull and poured another.
The thought he could not let himself think was that if he got thoroughly drunk, preferably even unconscious, he could not lead the soldiers to the Band. Yes, they could probably find it just fine without him - his descriptions and directions had been very good, unfortunately. But at least, if this worked, he would not have to endure a scene he could not bear - riding into camp to what he felt sure would be cheers of happiness at seeing him alive. Then his comrades would discover he was the worst of betrayers.
He had to blank his mind of all that in order to remain sitting on the bench, for Thorvald had expressly forbidden him to hinder his plans in any way. He was just having a few drinks. He started on the third mug, and smiled at the fact that the ale was raw and strong. It burned down his throat, but after the first few it mattered less and less.
He tipped back the cup and refilled it. It was actually becoming an unpleasant sensation, putting that much liquid in his body, but there was no point in doing this half way. A drunken Steen riding into the camp was an even worse image than what he had pictured before. No, he had to be so drunk he couldn’t ride.
He forced another cupful down, and another. He began to feel the effects of the ale spread through his body and smiled grimly. His head felt sodden, like he was submerged, and he took the nearly empty pitcher in both hands and brought it to his mouth. Most of it went down, the rest dribbling down his front, and he waved the empty pitcher at the tavern maid.
From somewhere beside him he heard her voice, asking him if he was sure he wanted another. He patted the table, and a brimming pitcher appeared before him. He couldn’t think of any particular reason to pour the ale into a cup any longer, and drank deeply from the pitcher.
For the first time since he had been captured, the agony was lessening. Yes, he could barely feel a thing, and it was a blessed relief. He could scarcely remember that an hour ago he had been so angry he couldn’t see straight. I’ll just let this settle a bit, he thought, as he put his head down on the table.
An unknown amount of time later, he opened one eye and was surprised to look up at the underside of the table. Someone grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him out from under the table, and he struggled to focus. He fell against the bench, flopping over on his side across it.
“He’s hopeless,” one voice said. Something cold splashed in his face and he gasped, his hands groping for something to hold onto.
“Just leave him,” another said. “We can find our way easily enough, carry out our orders and grab him on our way back through.” What were they yammering about? Orders?
“We must take him,” the first voice said, and slowly Steen’s vision cleared a little, enough to see several blurry figures in front of him.
“Take him? Like this?”
“Tie him to the saddle. Let him lie across it, if you have to. Orders say he must go with us. You, and you. Carry him.” Steen saw two shapes approach, and he was lifted under his arms. His legs scrabbled feebly beneath him, and he was half carried, half dragged from the inn.
A few minutes later, he was lying across the saddle of a horse, his head and legs dangling down its side. The jostling motion of the horse was unbearable and he retched, although no one seemed to notice or pay any mind. The realization that the soldiers had fetched him from the inn and were now proceeding towards the camp was slowly creeping into his awareness. Well, his plan had not worked very well, but at least he had a few minutes of blissful oblivion.
*****
Alek paced the camp restlessly, watching and waiting for any sign of Gil or Steen. When the morning hours wasted away into noon a knot began growing in the pit of his stomach. Something was wrong. They should have returned by now, hours ago.
He thought through the possibilities - of course all sorts of things could have happened, many of them of little account. The first thing that came to mind was something had gone wrong with their mounts - the horses could have bolted or were stolen so they were not there when the two men went to retrieve them. A horse could have taken a rock in his shoe and pulled up lame or a hundred other things. But sentries for the Band had ridden down very near the palace watching for men on foot, and none had been seen.
Sometime in the early afternoon, Alek walked out near the edge of the camp and slumped down against the trunk of a tree, his head in his hands. He knew in his heart no good had come to Steen and Gil and it had been his fault. Two good, honest men, none better that he knew of, were most likely dead or enduring some sort of torture at that moment. Thorvald's brand of torture he knew something of, and he shuddered to think of those two in Thorvald's cruel hands.
He had done it for Annaka, he told himself, but although he was grateful she was safe it was small comfort. He could not have rescued her alone, he told himself. He had not coerced them; they had agreed readily to help, and it was not because of fealty to a king or some such thing. They had not known the truth about Alek and he took a little consolation in that fact. But although it had been for Annaka, it still felt to him that he had involved two innocently trusting men in a selfish and fatal indulgence.
This is too hard, he thought, much too hard. Must those around him always suffer or die? An angry, frantic feeling began spinning around in his mind and he wanted to lash out at something - at the unfairness, the hopelessness, the betrayal he felt constantly wearing away at him.
A faint buzzing sensation began in his hands and feet, and he realized he had seized a hold of the Earth's power without even realizing it. Heaven and Earth! He was in danger of hurting everyone in the camp! He squeezed his eyes shut and thrust it away, whatever it was, back down into the Earth where it came from. He must learn to control his feelings! Not only was his judgment suspect, but his control over the frighteningly vast power was weak indeed, and if it came unbidden into his hands, he was terrified of what might happen.
Einar came through the trees and hailed Alek. "My young friend, you look gloomy. May I sit with you?"
Alek patted the ground next to him. "I fear for our friends," he said. "Einar, you were everlastingly right. What a fool I was! I must learn to think first, and of others and not myself."
Einar waved a hand. "Alek, you thought you were doing right, and perhaps you did. Listen now, if you did not then. It is done, and you cannot change it."
Einar paused and looked at Alek gravely. Then he went on, "It grows late, and I am worrying with you about our friends. But, now we must look towards the others and decide what is best. I fear we must tell the Band to scatter. If Steen or Gil have been captured, I am afraid the existence and location of the Band will be wrung out of them."
"Of course, you are right," Alek said sadly. "They must scatter, before my thoughtless actions endanger many more than two."
Einar rose and held a hand out to Alek. "Come, then, and help me spread the word quickly. Who knows how many men are hiding in these woods? Let us call them together, and set out a new gathering place for the Band, after a week or so has gone by. Now the Band must disappear for a time."
Alek set off, glad for a useful task. He stopped at every tent, telling the men wherever he found them to gather at the cottage, and to spread the word to any others.
"But hasten!" he told them. "There is no time! I greatly fear we are all in danger. Hurry to the cottage, and tell all you see."
Something more than a hundred, perhaps even two hundred, slowly began converging on the clearing around the cottage. Alek also saw Annaka and her father standing to one side. Once the Band was dispersed, they must immediately find a safe haven for Annaka. That, it was plain, must be away from him. Suffering and death clung to him like prickly thorns.
Suddenly, Mikel, one of the men who had been set to watch the perimeter of the campsite, crashed through the trees on horseback.
"Soldiers! Hundreds of them! Coming directly here! he shouted. "Where is Einar?" He leaped from the horse's back and flung the reins at a man standing nearby.
"Here I am," Einar said, running over. "Soldiers, you say? How soon will they be here?"
"Only a few minutes!" Mikel said urgently. "The Band must flee! Now!
Alek groaned. Once again, the worst possible thing had happened. Not only had the soldiers arrived before they had time to warn everyone, but now they were gathering in one place instead of hiding throughout the woods.
He stepped up onto the back of a cart and raised his voice to the men who had gathered. He hoped they would listen, but why should they? After all, he was who he was. Just Alek Ostergaard, nothing else.
"Flee if you wish," he told them, "but the soldiers will be heavily armed, and I doubt we could get far. I ask you - consider what these soldiers would hope to do. To destroy the Band, surely, but I fear something more. They will take Einar - and do something worse than death with him."
Einar grunted. "That may be true," he said, "but I think they will want someone else as well, even more than me."
"We must protect him, for without him, the Band is nothing," Alek shouted, ignoring Einar's words. "We also must remember we have a lady with us, and we cannot let her be harmed! A heavy price was paid for her return, and I will not see it be for nothing! Heaven will watch over us!" He jumped down out of the cart, and the men crowded around him, cheering. Over the heads of the men, Alek saw Einar staring at him with a look he could not describe. Suddenly, he knew Einar’s thoughts as well as if he had spoken aloud. Alek! Can you not see how you affect those around you, even with a few simple words? There was more, but Alek had no time to consider it.
Even as Alek finished speaking, a rumble of hoofbeats could be heard. "Arm yourselves!" Einar cried. "They are upon us!" He turned to Annaka and Nikolas. "My lord, take her into the cottage. We will not let them come near, not until every one of us is dead."
The sound of approaching horses grew nearer and soon the soldiers could be seen through the trees. Their numbers seemed endless, and the men of the Band steeled themselves. For nearly all, it would be their first battle of any kind, and hands grew sweaty on quarterstaffs and axes. Bows were drawn and arrows nocked.
There was a blast from a horn and to Einar’s surprise, an officer rode out carrying a parley flag. It was the last thing any of them expected. Why did they not just sweep down on the Band?
Einar stepped forward warily and waited. He was a cobbler! What did he know of parley or battles? The soldier stopped a few paces out, and beckoned to someone behind him.
Alek's eyes widened with surprise as a man on a horse slowly rode forward to step up beside the officer. The man was Steen! He was alive! The officer leaned toward Steen, speaking into his ear. Then the officer straightened and shouted in a clear voice.
"We desire parley, and as a token of our sincerity, we send you one of your men." The officer slapped Steen's horse on the rump and the horse ambled forward.
Alek could not believe his eyes. They were returning Steen to them! He lived!! He worked his way to the front of the line of men, smiling with relief.
Steen slid awkwardly from the saddle, letting the reins drop, and walked unsteadily towards the Band. What had happened to him? Well, obviously they would have beat him and no doubt worse, to force him to ride with them.
Steen's eyes scanned the line of men and when they settled on Alek, they filled with tears. Alek was touched and surprised. Tears! At the sight of Alek!
"Alek, Alek!" Steen cried, his voice thick with emotion. His face was filled with agony such as Alek had never seen. What had they done to him? Alek wondered. Steen stumbled towards him, nearly falling to the ground.
Alek felt his own eyes sting and rushed towards the tottering man. He caught him in his arms, feeling hot tears of shame and pity leak from his eyes. "Steen!" he cried.
"Alek!" Einar screamed, and to Alek's horror and surprise, he saw Steen raise a dagger even as he held him upright. The look on Steen's face was horrifying, and in that terrible instant Alek knew Steen had been compelled by magic to kill him.
Time seemed to stop. Alek saw Einar coming up behind, the horrified looks on the faces of the Band and the dagger itself as it traveled through the air. Then, with a cry that wrenched Alek's soul to its very core, Steen's hand jerked and buried the dagger in Steen's own chest.
Steen slumped in Alek's arms, and Alek cried out in despair. He was dead! Steen was dead! He sank to his knees under the heavy weight of Steen's body, the front of Alek's white tunic now smeared red with blood. Suffering! Death!
But Alek had no time for thought or sorrow. He raised his eyes to the soldiers amassed a few dozen feet away and saw the officer raise his lance. As one, the soldiers spurred their horses towards the Band.
Alek leapt to his feet. Anger coursed through him and once again he felt the power surge up through his feet into his body. No more! he cried out within himself. No more death for Alek Ostergaard's sake!
A rumbling sound began, somewhere beneath him. His body felt like a hot, white flame, and without knowing why or what he did, he struck downwards with all his strength, down onto the Earth.
Suddenly in the space between him and the approaching horses, a huge crack began forming in the earth. It shot outwards, to the left and right, disappearing off into the trees. There was a terrible groaning noise, nearly deafening, and the crack widened into a crevice, perhaps ten feet wide and very deep. Trees creaked and snapped as they toppled inwards, and before they could stop a few rows of soldiers on horseback careened over the edge. The cries of the horses and men were terrible to hear.
Those who managed to stop before the edge began screaming in terror, and compulsion or no, the lines of soldiers erupted in chaos. The officers turned and bolted, some trampled in their haste to escape.
Einar and the Band stood staring in shock and fear. What on Earth had just happened? Einar gulped huge breaths, vainly trying to settle his heart, throbbing in his throat like the beat of a horse's galloping hooves. He stood, feet frozen to the ground while all around him pandemonium reined on both sides of the crevice. The Earth continued to tremble and groan.
His eyes, wide with shock, swept across the scene of panic and confusion. Then he saw Alek sprawled on his back on the ground near the crevice, and whether he was dead or alive he could not tell.
"Alek! No!" he cried and ran to his side. Einar knelt beside Alek's motionless form and laid his ear on his chest. He felt the throb of Alek's heart; the shallow rise and fall of his breath.
"He lives, thank Heaven," Einar whispered. He looked up and down Alek's body; he appeared to be uninjured. Still, he lay unmoving, his face pale and damp.
Einar looked around anxiously. He saw Nikolas walking towards them, and he motioned to him to hurry over.
"Is he - ?" Nikolas said, kneeling beside Einar.
"He is alive, but something is amiss," Einar replied. "Can you help me carry him? We must leave this place."
"Of course," Nikolas said. Einar lifted Alek's head and shoulders while Nikolas carried his legs. They slowly made their way towards the cottage, standing alone in the trees. The Band had all fled; no one remained, and Einar could only see the forms of a few men running deeper into the woods.
"What shall we do with him?" Nikolas asked. "He looks in no shape to be put on a horse."
"Here, let us lay him in this cart,” Einar replied. They carefully lifted Alek over the slatted sides and laid him down. "I will fetch something from the cottage to put under his head, at least. Is the lady Annaka inside?"
"Yes," Nikolas said.
Einar pushed open the cottage door, looking around the dim interior. Annaka jumped up from the low stool she sat on.
"My lady, we must leave," he told her. He crossed to the corner where a few blankets had been piled and scooped them up.
"The soldiers - ?" she asked.
"They are gone," he replied. "Everyone has gone, except you, your father, myself - and Alek. By your leave, you may ride in the cart with Alek. He has been hurt." They went out, and Annaka hurried to the cart. There Alek lay, just as they had left him.
"It feels awkward indeed, asking a lady to serve me," Einar said. "But can you take these blankets and try to make our young friend comfortable? I will hitch the horses up to pull the cart."
Annaka put her arms out for the blankets, and tucking them under her arm and clutching her skirts in her other hand, she scrambled up in the back of the cart beside Alek. After fussing a little with the blankets, she finally just sat beside him, spread out her skirts, and drew his head into her lap.
He stirred a little and she gently brushed his hair back. What had happened to him? He looked much as he had the very first time she saw him, when he was shot with an arrow and left to die.
A chandler, a thatcher and a duke rode out together from the woodcutter’s cottage at twilight. They were dressed alike in dark, nondescript cloaks, and only with close inspection could someone have noticed their different backgrounds. Their goal was the same - an encampment of soldiers and priests on a recruiting trip for Duke Thorvald’s army.
“My lord, the camp is about an hour’s ride,” the thatcher said, a youthful looking man in his thirties named Jamess. The Band received word from its ever-spreading net of eyes and ears that a recruiting party would pass this way as it went from village to village. The Band was still much too small and weak to directly oppose Thorvald, but there were little things that could be done to hinder them.
The path they traveled wound through the trees, part of the endless forests of Sjaelland. They rode single file, with Gunnar the chandler, a somewhat heavyset and balding man in front.
It was nearly full dark when the hour had passed and the three men drew near the soldiers’ camp. When they were well out of earshot they dismounted and tied their mounts securely. If their plan worked, the horses would need to be firmly tied.
The three men advanced towards the camp, making as little noise as possible. Although Nikolas had never crept up on an encampment of men before, he had done quite a bit of hunting and knew how to move silently in the forest. He noticed the other two men also placing their feet with care, and they came in sight of the camp with very little snapping of twigs or rustling.
Darkness had settled over the camp, lit with a single fire burning at its center. As they hoped, the camp’s horses were arrayed at the edge of the camp tied to a picket line.
“Now, then, Jamess,” Nikolas whispered, and Jamess slipped towards the picket line, his right hand holding a dagger in front of him. Nikolas heard the first horse in the line whicker softly as Jamess reached him, but Jamess soothed him with pats and whispers. He raised the dagger and swiftly cut the rope attaching the horse to the picket line. He soundlessly moved down the line to the next horse.
Nikolas held his breath. For the plan to work perfectly, the horses needed to remain quiet as Jamess moved among them. A sentry was posted nearby, but Nikolas noticed he was staring blankly into the fire. For once the compulsion spell favored their work - sentries were slow to react when unusual things happened because they had to wait for orders. Still, if the horses spooked before Jamess finished, the sentry would alert the others.
As they hoped, the horses stood still even after their ropes were cut away from the picket line. They did not realize they were free, not yet. Jamess picked up a long, leafy branch from the ground. He ran across the back of the line, no longer caring about noise. In fact, he swatted each horse’s rump as he ran by.
“Ha!” Jamess yelled and the horses broke loose, bolting through the camp and into the trees. Jamess, Nikolas and Gunnar ran the opposite direction as chaos broke out in the camp.
As Nikolas darted away from the camp, melting into the dark of the forest, he heard the commotion as orders were shouted and men scrambled futilely to retrieve their horses. His heart pounded with excitement. Never before had he done anything like this. A noble - a duke of Nordjylland, no less, behaving like a bandit! Their plan had gone exactly as they planned but the danger they had been in still had his heart racing. After all, there had been twenty soldiers who in spite of their compulsion spell were quite able to wield their weapons with skill. If they had been alerted, the three of them would have been no match for the soldiers’ sharp steel. But even more frightening was the presence of two priests. If the three men had been captured, there would be no doubt the priests would inflict the compulsion spell on them without hesitation.
Now, though, the priests would not be doing their evil work any time soon. Without horses the recruiting party would be crippled and would have to return to Roskilde. Precious time would be gained by the Band. Although Thorvald had many such recruiting parties ranging across Sjaelland and this was but a small thorn to prick him, the Band would do what it could.
Tomorrow Nikolas, Jamess and Gunnar would travel through the village of Hasle on their way back to the Band. This was to have been the soldiers’ destination the next day and now would be spared, at least for a while. The three men would do their best to warn the villagers about the danger to them and their sons. Perhaps when the soldiers and priests returned they would not find it quite so easy to walk in and scoop up young men for Thorvald’s army. Perhaps some would join Nikolas and his companions and return to the Band with them. If even one person was saved from the spell, all their efforts would be worthwhile.
The compulsion spell had thus far only been given to soldiers in Sjaelland, but it mattered not at all to Nikolas that Sjaelland was not his land. It was easy to see that what Thorvald could do here he would do in other places, and Nikolas knew Nordjylland was a plum Thorvald wanted to pick. As if the thought of his people enslaved to Thorvald was not bad enough, Nikolas had another niggling worry. As a young man he had been given the prophecies to study, and although they seemed meaningless at the time, his mind had gone back to those lessons often since Alek’s stunning revelation. One prophecy had been clear: if the wrong man obtained control over the whole of Skandia, the Earth would violently throw him off. Terrible destruction would result. Nikolas knew of no other leader besides himself who remained free. He could not help but wonder if the fact that Nordjylland remained out of Thorvald’s grasp was the reason the Earth’s fury had not yet been unleashed.
****
As soon as his bonds were cut, Stefan rolled to his hands and knees in the straw covering the bottom of the wagon bed. The pain in his head, ribs and abdomen made him pant and sweat, but he forced himself to lever his legs over the plank sides of the wagon and stand up straight. He glanced at the noble who had chased him into the forest and then beat him into submission, but the man, now sitting on his horse, still had his head down.
The noble had mistaken him for someone else, someone that another man, Thorvald, had ordered captured. He had no idea who that was, or who the man he apparently resembled was. Alek Ostergaard? A decidedly Sjaellander name, but not one Stefan had heard before.
Stefan shook his head in puzzlement and set off walking south on the hard packed highway. Behind him, he heard the clatter of the caravan of the noble as it resumed its journey in the opposite direction.
He felt his ribs and collarbones with his fingers as he walked - they were very sore but were hopefully still whole. What had happened to his friends - those who had put aside their trades and their families to follow after him as he searched for the king? He hoped he would see them again but if he didn't, he hoped to find others who would follow him to the king. The king would need them, and many more than ten.
Suddenly, before him in the roadway was a woman, or what appeared to be. One minute the road stretched ahead empty as far as he could see, and the next minute she was there, standing in the middle of the road with her hands on her hips. Where had she come from?
Stefan hesitated, his steps slowed, then stopped. What sort of creature was this? She appeared to be a woman, although no woman he had ever seen wore flowers and vines twisted around her like some kind of fantastic jewelry. It was what was behind her that really caused him to stare. She had an enormous pair of wings, filmy and delicate as a dragonfly's.
"Come closer, Stefan of Albaek," the woman said, with a voice smooth and low. "I will not sting you."
Stefan took a couple of steps toward her, feeling drawn to her not only because of the commanding note in her voice but because she was by far the most beautiful creature he had ever seen. His mouth became dry as dust as he stared at her in amazement. Clearly she was something more than human, but what that was he did not know.
"Do you be a forvalter, one of those who promised to help me with my task?" Stefan asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
She smiled, and it was like sun breaking through clouds. "Why, yes, Stefan, that is exactly who I am. I have come to help you." She walked around him in a circle, the fantastical wings rustling with her movement, looking at him closely as she went.
"Hmmm, yes, you look much the way they described you. A bit like Alek, I suppose, although there are differences. Anyone who knows you both would easily tell you apart."
"Alek? Alek Ostergaard?" Stefan asked.
"Why, yes. What do you know of him?"
"Nothing at all, my lady. Who is he?"
She laughed, a sound like he had never heard, like water tumbling over rocks. “Well, Stefan, listen closely and I will tell you who he is. He is your destiny. He is your duty. He is your fate. He is the reason you and I are standing here talking. He is your king.”
Stefan’s eyes grew large. “He be the one? The one I seek?”
“Yes, Stefan. Now, do not be afraid, I will not hurt you.” She put a hand lightly over his eyes, and Stefan felt a tingle in his eyes unlike anything he had felt before. She removed her hand, and Stefan blinked uncertainly.
“Now, Stefan, say his name.”
Stefan felt a thrill of excitement mingled with nervousness. What would happen?
“Alek,” he whispered.
Suddenly, floating before his eyes was the image of a young man he could only assume was Alek Ostergaard. He looked nothing like a king, however. Tall and well-formed, yes, but dressed in the plainest sort of clothing. Untidy blond hair bleached by the sun fell across his forehead. He was the sort of person Stefan would never look twice at if he passed him on the highway or on a village street.
She laughed again at Stefan’s expression. “As unlikely as he may appear, he will be the king of Skandia, Heaven willing. With your help, and many others as well.”
The image faded, and Stefan blinked in wonderment.
“Whenever you need to, you may call the image again,” she said. “May this gift help you find him.”
“Thank you, my lady,” Stefan said, with a little bow.
“There is one more thing you must do,” she said with a smile, and suddenly her empty hands now held a sack made of coarse material. She put it into his hands and he could feel it held some sort of grain, weighing maybe ten or fifteen pounds.
“This you must guard most carefully,” she said. “The seed inside this sack has been specially prepared, and it is very important that you give it to Alek and no one else. He must use it to save his people. Tell no one of this, save Alek himself. Now, Stefan, I must bid you farewell. May Heaven keep you safe.” She turned and began to look thin and filmy, like her wings. She was fading!
“Wait!” Stefan cried. “What should I be doing when I find him, besides give him this seed?”
“You will see me one more time, Stefan of Albaek, before that day. You will know what you must do.” She smiled, and then she was gone.
***
Steen rode out of the palace gates on a horse one of the stable boys had saddled and handed over to him. He felt sure the only reason he hadn’t been tossed out of the palace on his face and told to walk all the way to Rodding was because those wicked, terrible men wanted him to do their evil tasks as soon as possible. He sat like a sack of meal on the mount’s back, letting its walking motions jostle him back and forth. Nothing mattered anymore. He had tried with all his might to resist Thorvald and his questions and had not been able to conceal a single thing, not a scrap. His eyes watered anew as he recalled the humiliation, the frustration and the hot anger that did absolutely no good.
They had asked him mostly about Alek, and now that Steen understood why Alek was being sought, he tried to avoid answering their questions about where he was. Steen didn’t know precisely where Alek was, but he had an idea he was with the Band, and that narrowed the world considerably. He swallowed, clenched his teeth, and even held his hand over his own mouth, but he could not keep the words from spilling out once he was directly ordered to give the information. The soldiers would have no trouble riding directly to the place he described with terrible detail.
He had cried like a child as he described Alek, his clothing, the horse he rode, his manner of speaking. They asked if he seemed to have unusual abilities, and Steen found himself explaining how he had seen Alek climb a flimsy clinging vine and then bring down the walls of the palace dungeon. He told the names of the leaders of the Band, Einar and others, their state of readiness and the fact that the Duke of Nordjylland was with them. By the time he was finished, he was red as a jordberry, covered with sweat and utterly convinced he could not hold back anything nor disobey them in the slightest.
Now he was riding to the campsite that surrounded the woodcutter’s cottage, which unfortunately had become the next focus of their questions. In a few minutes, five companies of soldiers would follow behind him, and he would have the privilege of betraying his friends by leading five hundred soldiers right into their midst.
Steen was exhausted from the interrogation and from the sheer effort of his fruitless resistance. He tried to force his mind to keep searching for ways he could avoid betraying his friends, the people he had sworn with an oath to protect and defend, but nothing would come. His mind felt like warm mush, and even trying to have a notion of his own felt like slogging through a swamp.
One village lay between him and the Band’s campsite, and as he rode toward it an idea came to him. Not a great idea, but Steen was beyond caring. In any case, he knew it was an idea that would only work once. At best it would only delay the inevitable.
He could not vary much from his instructions to ride to the campsite and await the arrival of the soldiers, without disclosing the fact they were coming, of course. But he could stop at an inn in the village for a moment and even get something to drink, as long as he didn’t think too much about why he was doing it. If he did, the compulsion spell would stop him. He figured he had only a handful of minutes before the soldiers would be on his heels, maybe an hour at the most.
He dismounted in front of the inn, handing the horse off to the stable boy but telling him he would not be long. He walked inside, letting his eyes adjust to the comparative dark, and saw a small handful of people at long tables ranging across the common room. He took a seat in the corner and motioned the girl in a white apron over.
“Bring me a mug, and a pitcher of something strong,” he said, putting a few coins on the table. “Be quick, now, lass. A whole pitcher.” She scurried away and returned in only a moment, setting a mug and foaming pitcher in front of him. He smiled at her vaguely, and then poured himself a mug.
Steen was not a heavy drinker, but he raised a cup now and then. How drunk could he get himself in a few minutes? He really had no idea. It had always been his goal in the past to avoid getting too saucy, so he was not sure. He tossed off one mugfull and poured another.
The thought he could not let himself think was that if he got thoroughly drunk, preferably even unconscious, he could not lead the soldiers to the Band. Yes, they could probably find it just fine without him - his descriptions and directions had been very good, unfortunately. But at least, if this worked, he would not have to endure a scene he could not bear - riding into camp to what he felt sure would be cheers of happiness at seeing him alive. Then his comrades would discover he was the worst of betrayers.
He had to blank his mind of all that in order to remain sitting on the bench, for Thorvald had expressly forbidden him to hinder his plans in any way. He was just having a few drinks. He started on the third mug, and smiled at the fact that the ale was raw and strong. It burned down his throat, but after the first few it mattered less and less.
He tipped back the cup and refilled it. It was actually becoming an unpleasant sensation, putting that much liquid in his body, but there was no point in doing this half way. A drunken Steen riding into the camp was an even worse image than what he had pictured before. No, he had to be so drunk he couldn’t ride.
He forced another cupful down, and another. He began to feel the effects of the ale spread through his body and smiled grimly. His head felt sodden, like he was submerged, and he took the nearly empty pitcher in both hands and brought it to his mouth. Most of it went down, the rest dribbling down his front, and he waved the empty pitcher at the tavern maid.
From somewhere beside him he heard her voice, asking him if he was sure he wanted another. He patted the table, and a brimming pitcher appeared before him. He couldn’t think of any particular reason to pour the ale into a cup any longer, and drank deeply from the pitcher.
For the first time since he had been captured, the agony was lessening. Yes, he could barely feel a thing, and it was a blessed relief. He could scarcely remember that an hour ago he had been so angry he couldn’t see straight. I’ll just let this settle a bit, he thought, as he put his head down on the table.
An unknown amount of time later, he opened one eye and was surprised to look up at the underside of the table. Someone grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him out from under the table, and he struggled to focus. He fell against the bench, flopping over on his side across it.
“He’s hopeless,” one voice said. Something cold splashed in his face and he gasped, his hands groping for something to hold onto.
“Just leave him,” another said. “We can find our way easily enough, carry out our orders and grab him on our way back through.” What were they yammering about? Orders?
“We must take him,” the first voice said, and slowly Steen’s vision cleared a little, enough to see several blurry figures in front of him.
“Take him? Like this?”
“Tie him to the saddle. Let him lie across it, if you have to. Orders say he must go with us. You, and you. Carry him.” Steen saw two shapes approach, and he was lifted under his arms. His legs scrabbled feebly beneath him, and he was half carried, half dragged from the inn.
A few minutes later, he was lying across the saddle of a horse, his head and legs dangling down its side. The jostling motion of the horse was unbearable and he retched, although no one seemed to notice or pay any mind. The realization that the soldiers had fetched him from the inn and were now proceeding towards the camp was slowly creeping into his awareness. Well, his plan had not worked very well, but at least he had a few minutes of blissful oblivion.
*****
Alek paced the camp restlessly, watching and waiting for any sign of Gil or Steen. When the morning hours wasted away into noon a knot began growing in the pit of his stomach. Something was wrong. They should have returned by now, hours ago.
He thought through the possibilities - of course all sorts of things could have happened, many of them of little account. The first thing that came to mind was something had gone wrong with their mounts - the horses could have bolted or were stolen so they were not there when the two men went to retrieve them. A horse could have taken a rock in his shoe and pulled up lame or a hundred other things. But sentries for the Band had ridden down very near the palace watching for men on foot, and none had been seen.
Sometime in the early afternoon, Alek walked out near the edge of the camp and slumped down against the trunk of a tree, his head in his hands. He knew in his heart no good had come to Steen and Gil and it had been his fault. Two good, honest men, none better that he knew of, were most likely dead or enduring some sort of torture at that moment. Thorvald's brand of torture he knew something of, and he shuddered to think of those two in Thorvald's cruel hands.
He had done it for Annaka, he told himself, but although he was grateful she was safe it was small comfort. He could not have rescued her alone, he told himself. He had not coerced them; they had agreed readily to help, and it was not because of fealty to a king or some such thing. They had not known the truth about Alek and he took a little consolation in that fact. But although it had been for Annaka, it still felt to him that he had involved two innocently trusting men in a selfish and fatal indulgence.
This is too hard, he thought, much too hard. Must those around him always suffer or die? An angry, frantic feeling began spinning around in his mind and he wanted to lash out at something - at the unfairness, the hopelessness, the betrayal he felt constantly wearing away at him.
A faint buzzing sensation began in his hands and feet, and he realized he had seized a hold of the Earth's power without even realizing it. Heaven and Earth! He was in danger of hurting everyone in the camp! He squeezed his eyes shut and thrust it away, whatever it was, back down into the Earth where it came from. He must learn to control his feelings! Not only was his judgment suspect, but his control over the frighteningly vast power was weak indeed, and if it came unbidden into his hands, he was terrified of what might happen.
Einar came through the trees and hailed Alek. "My young friend, you look gloomy. May I sit with you?"
Alek patted the ground next to him. "I fear for our friends," he said. "Einar, you were everlastingly right. What a fool I was! I must learn to think first, and of others and not myself."
Einar waved a hand. "Alek, you thought you were doing right, and perhaps you did. Listen now, if you did not then. It is done, and you cannot change it."
Einar paused and looked at Alek gravely. Then he went on, "It grows late, and I am worrying with you about our friends. But, now we must look towards the others and decide what is best. I fear we must tell the Band to scatter. If Steen or Gil have been captured, I am afraid the existence and location of the Band will be wrung out of them."
"Of course, you are right," Alek said sadly. "They must scatter, before my thoughtless actions endanger many more than two."
Einar rose and held a hand out to Alek. "Come, then, and help me spread the word quickly. Who knows how many men are hiding in these woods? Let us call them together, and set out a new gathering place for the Band, after a week or so has gone by. Now the Band must disappear for a time."
Alek set off, glad for a useful task. He stopped at every tent, telling the men wherever he found them to gather at the cottage, and to spread the word to any others.
"But hasten!" he told them. "There is no time! I greatly fear we are all in danger. Hurry to the cottage, and tell all you see."
Something more than a hundred, perhaps even two hundred, slowly began converging on the clearing around the cottage. Alek also saw Annaka and her father standing to one side. Once the Band was dispersed, they must immediately find a safe haven for Annaka. That, it was plain, must be away from him. Suffering and death clung to him like prickly thorns.
Suddenly, Mikel, one of the men who had been set to watch the perimeter of the campsite, crashed through the trees on horseback.
"Soldiers! Hundreds of them! Coming directly here! he shouted. "Where is Einar?" He leaped from the horse's back and flung the reins at a man standing nearby.
"Here I am," Einar said, running over. "Soldiers, you say? How soon will they be here?"
"Only a few minutes!" Mikel said urgently. "The Band must flee! Now!
Alek groaned. Once again, the worst possible thing had happened. Not only had the soldiers arrived before they had time to warn everyone, but now they were gathering in one place instead of hiding throughout the woods.
He stepped up onto the back of a cart and raised his voice to the men who had gathered. He hoped they would listen, but why should they? After all, he was who he was. Just Alek Ostergaard, nothing else.
"Flee if you wish," he told them, "but the soldiers will be heavily armed, and I doubt we could get far. I ask you - consider what these soldiers would hope to do. To destroy the Band, surely, but I fear something more. They will take Einar - and do something worse than death with him."
Einar grunted. "That may be true," he said, "but I think they will want someone else as well, even more than me."
"We must protect him, for without him, the Band is nothing," Alek shouted, ignoring Einar's words. "We also must remember we have a lady with us, and we cannot let her be harmed! A heavy price was paid for her return, and I will not see it be for nothing! Heaven will watch over us!" He jumped down out of the cart, and the men crowded around him, cheering. Over the heads of the men, Alek saw Einar staring at him with a look he could not describe. Suddenly, he knew Einar’s thoughts as well as if he had spoken aloud. Alek! Can you not see how you affect those around you, even with a few simple words? There was more, but Alek had no time to consider it.
Even as Alek finished speaking, a rumble of hoofbeats could be heard. "Arm yourselves!" Einar cried. "They are upon us!" He turned to Annaka and Nikolas. "My lord, take her into the cottage. We will not let them come near, not until every one of us is dead."
The sound of approaching horses grew nearer and soon the soldiers could be seen through the trees. Their numbers seemed endless, and the men of the Band steeled themselves. For nearly all, it would be their first battle of any kind, and hands grew sweaty on quarterstaffs and axes. Bows were drawn and arrows nocked.
There was a blast from a horn and to Einar’s surprise, an officer rode out carrying a parley flag. It was the last thing any of them expected. Why did they not just sweep down on the Band?
Einar stepped forward warily and waited. He was a cobbler! What did he know of parley or battles? The soldier stopped a few paces out, and beckoned to someone behind him.
Alek's eyes widened with surprise as a man on a horse slowly rode forward to step up beside the officer. The man was Steen! He was alive! The officer leaned toward Steen, speaking into his ear. Then the officer straightened and shouted in a clear voice.
"We desire parley, and as a token of our sincerity, we send you one of your men." The officer slapped Steen's horse on the rump and the horse ambled forward.
Alek could not believe his eyes. They were returning Steen to them! He lived!! He worked his way to the front of the line of men, smiling with relief.
Steen slid awkwardly from the saddle, letting the reins drop, and walked unsteadily towards the Band. What had happened to him? Well, obviously they would have beat him and no doubt worse, to force him to ride with them.
Steen's eyes scanned the line of men and when they settled on Alek, they filled with tears. Alek was touched and surprised. Tears! At the sight of Alek!
"Alek, Alek!" Steen cried, his voice thick with emotion. His face was filled with agony such as Alek had never seen. What had they done to him? Alek wondered. Steen stumbled towards him, nearly falling to the ground.
Alek felt his own eyes sting and rushed towards the tottering man. He caught him in his arms, feeling hot tears of shame and pity leak from his eyes. "Steen!" he cried.
"Alek!" Einar screamed, and to Alek's horror and surprise, he saw Steen raise a dagger even as he held him upright. The look on Steen's face was horrifying, and in that terrible instant Alek knew Steen had been compelled by magic to kill him.
Time seemed to stop. Alek saw Einar coming up behind, the horrified looks on the faces of the Band and the dagger itself as it traveled through the air. Then, with a cry that wrenched Alek's soul to its very core, Steen's hand jerked and buried the dagger in Steen's own chest.
Steen slumped in Alek's arms, and Alek cried out in despair. He was dead! Steen was dead! He sank to his knees under the heavy weight of Steen's body, the front of Alek's white tunic now smeared red with blood. Suffering! Death!
But Alek had no time for thought or sorrow. He raised his eyes to the soldiers amassed a few dozen feet away and saw the officer raise his lance. As one, the soldiers spurred their horses towards the Band.
Alek leapt to his feet. Anger coursed through him and once again he felt the power surge up through his feet into his body. No more! he cried out within himself. No more death for Alek Ostergaard's sake!
A rumbling sound began, somewhere beneath him. His body felt like a hot, white flame, and without knowing why or what he did, he struck downwards with all his strength, down onto the Earth.
Suddenly in the space between him and the approaching horses, a huge crack began forming in the earth. It shot outwards, to the left and right, disappearing off into the trees. There was a terrible groaning noise, nearly deafening, and the crack widened into a crevice, perhaps ten feet wide and very deep. Trees creaked and snapped as they toppled inwards, and before they could stop a few rows of soldiers on horseback careened over the edge. The cries of the horses and men were terrible to hear.
Those who managed to stop before the edge began screaming in terror, and compulsion or no, the lines of soldiers erupted in chaos. The officers turned and bolted, some trampled in their haste to escape.
Einar and the Band stood staring in shock and fear. What on Earth had just happened? Einar gulped huge breaths, vainly trying to settle his heart, throbbing in his throat like the beat of a horse's galloping hooves. He stood, feet frozen to the ground while all around him pandemonium reined on both sides of the crevice. The Earth continued to tremble and groan.
His eyes, wide with shock, swept across the scene of panic and confusion. Then he saw Alek sprawled on his back on the ground near the crevice, and whether he was dead or alive he could not tell.
"Alek! No!" he cried and ran to his side. Einar knelt beside Alek's motionless form and laid his ear on his chest. He felt the throb of Alek's heart; the shallow rise and fall of his breath.
"He lives, thank Heaven," Einar whispered. He looked up and down Alek's body; he appeared to be uninjured. Still, he lay unmoving, his face pale and damp.
Einar looked around anxiously. He saw Nikolas walking towards them, and he motioned to him to hurry over.
"Is he - ?" Nikolas said, kneeling beside Einar.
"He is alive, but something is amiss," Einar replied. "Can you help me carry him? We must leave this place."
"Of course," Nikolas said. Einar lifted Alek's head and shoulders while Nikolas carried his legs. They slowly made their way towards the cottage, standing alone in the trees. The Band had all fled; no one remained, and Einar could only see the forms of a few men running deeper into the woods.
"What shall we do with him?" Nikolas asked. "He looks in no shape to be put on a horse."
"Here, let us lay him in this cart,” Einar replied. They carefully lifted Alek over the slatted sides and laid him down. "I will fetch something from the cottage to put under his head, at least. Is the lady Annaka inside?"
"Yes," Nikolas said.
Einar pushed open the cottage door, looking around the dim interior. Annaka jumped up from the low stool she sat on.
"My lady, we must leave," he told her. He crossed to the corner where a few blankets had been piled and scooped them up.
"The soldiers - ?" she asked.
"They are gone," he replied. "Everyone has gone, except you, your father, myself - and Alek. By your leave, you may ride in the cart with Alek. He has been hurt." They went out, and Annaka hurried to the cart. There Alek lay, just as they had left him.
"It feels awkward indeed, asking a lady to serve me," Einar said. "But can you take these blankets and try to make our young friend comfortable? I will hitch the horses up to pull the cart."
Annaka put her arms out for the blankets, and tucking them under her arm and clutching her skirts in her other hand, she scrambled up in the back of the cart beside Alek. After fussing a little with the blankets, she finally just sat beside him, spread out her skirts, and drew his head into her lap.
He stirred a little and she gently brushed his hair back. What had happened to him? He looked much as he had the very first time she saw him, when he was shot with an arrow and left to die.