Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Einar brought up two horses, all that remained of the picket line, and Nikolas stepped up to hold their bridles. He watched carefully as Einar harnessed the horses to the cart. He had never seen it done before, and who knew? He might need to know such things in the future, with everything changed the way it was. Then they climbed up on the seat of the cart and Einar picked up the reins.
Nikolas looked back at the cottage as the cart slowly drew away. Even though camping in the woods had been strange indeed for a duke accustomed to servants, fine food and a soft bed, he would think back on it fondly. For the first time in his life he had spent time sitting and talking with his daughter without a single distraction of rule. He had known she had a sharp mind and a mild and pleasant manner, but there was more to Annaka than he realized before. Heaven and Earth, the girl had learned to read! Her mother would be scandalized, but he was secretly pleased.
He had been on a few small raids with others of the Band and found he loved the feeling of usefulness and accomplishment that came with them. As a powerful duke he thought his life had been one of fulfillment and success, but saving common folk he would never see again from the compulsion spell brought even more satisfaction. Helping train the Band to fight brought an odd contentment.
As they rode Nikolas and Einar talked about their hopes for the new kingdom that was coming, which Nikolas fervently prayed would be led by Alek rather than Thorvald, as strange as that still sounded. That it was coming, one way or the other, Nikolas had no doubt. A few times he nearly told Annaka the truth about what Alek was destined to become, but thought better of it. Alek had not seen fit to tell her, and Nikolas decided to let that remain Alek's choice.
In fact if Nikolas spoke of Alek at all, Annaka acted strangely indeed. Nikolas knew she cared for him, but rather than act giggly and girlish when his name was mentioned, she became melancholy and withdrawn.
The cart bounced along, and from behind him Annaka's voice broke his reverie.
"What happened to Alek?" she asked. "He has no wound I can see."
"He fell saving us all," Einar said over his shoulder. "Although we cannot see them I fear his wounds are grave."
Annaka bent over Alek and laid her hand lightly on his pale forehead. It felt cool, and he stirred under her touch. His eyelids fluttered and then opened, his blue eyes looking past Annaka.
"Not again!" he said softly, almost under his breath. "Where am I?" His head turned from side to side, his eyes blank and unfocused.
"Alek!" Annaka cried. "Can you not see me?"
"My lady Annaka, is that you?" he whispered. He raised his hands in front of him, feeling only air. "Where am I? What has happened?"
Annaka caught his hands with her own. "Einar is taking us somewhere safe," she replied. "We are in a cart on a little country path, but more I cannot say. Can you remember nothing?"
Alek's face blanched. "Now - I begin to remember more than I wish to." He struggled to sit up, but flopped back weakly. "I cannot," he said, his mouth grim with frustration. "I cannot even lift my head, and again my eyes are dark. A price to pay, indeed."
"What do you mean, a price to pay?" Annaka asked. "Einar said you fell saving us. What happened? What struck you?"
"I have done this to myself," Alek said bitterly.
"Alek! I do not care if you are weak as a baby! You never answer me, not in a way I can understand."
Alek groaned softly. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came.
"What Alek cannot say is hard indeed," Einar put in. "Five hundred soldiers were about to fall on us, and he alone protected us. The effort of that was great, and now he suffers."
Annaka looked down at Alek's face, so full of frustration. She did not understand, but soon, when Alek was feeling better she would convince him to speak straight with her. When he felt better! Heaven send that was soon!
"I believe I know the perfect spot for the new gathering place for the Band," Einar said after a while, the cart bumping along a deserted country road. "It is quite close to Roskilde, yet in a very untraveled area. There is a cave in the mountains west of the city. It is used at times by hunters and we can use it for protection from the weather. There are meadows nearby the Band can camp in."
Nikolas said, "Ha! I have always wanted to live in a cave!" They laughed, and Einar shot a glance over his shoulder at Alek and Annaka. Alek still lay prostrate across the bed of the cart, his head pillowed in Annaka's skirts and his long legs reaching to the other end of the cart. Annaka had covered him with the quilts from the cottage. Why couldn't he see? But then again, who could ask that, after what Alek had done? He thought back to what he had learned as a child about the king's magic. He could not recall anything about making huge cracks in the ground - he had mostly heard about the king making things grow better, healing the sick, and so on. As unsettling as it was to think that Alek could wield such power, Einar was glad he had done it. Five hundred soldiers! Surely the Band would all be dead now, or worse, if Alek had failed.
Behind him, Alek tried to focus on enduring what for him was nearly unbearable. Yes, the cart jostled and bumped, but he gave that no thought. The feeling in his limbs was what truly disturbed him; the feeling of utter weakness, like heavy weights piled upon him. The blindness filled him with frustration and unless he forced it down, panic started to well up. How he hated it! The blackness was oppressive and frightening and he could not escape it, eyes open or shut.
The only respite was if he could manage to sleep. He could see again in his dreams, although they were disturbing indeed. One he had three times now, dreaming it the past two nights and then once as he lay here in the cart. Each time it was exactly the same. He was sure it was a synsevne even though he had no idea what it meant. Something within whispered there was a message there - that it was more than just a dream. To Alek, it was only confusion.
He was standing in a clearing rimmed with trees, such as a person might come upon while walking through the forest. The ground of the clearing was overgrown with small shrubs, grasses and other plants that were commonly found in the forest, and here they grew quite thick, in some places up to Alek's waist. In one hand he held a sack of rough cloth. He dipped his other hand inside, smooth brownish-gold kernels of wheat trickling through his fingers. He brought out a handful and flipped the grain out and across the ground with a snap of his arm, in the same way he had sowed seed a hundred times before. He took a step, cast another handful of seed, stepped again and then again, proceeding to sow wheat all across the clearing.
But what kind of farmer planted wheat seed in a forest, in the midst of all that undergrowth? He supposed wheat would grow there all right; the sun came through well enough, but of course the ground should be worked first.
Alek shook his head. It was like everything else that had happened to him. He could not understand any of it.
"What is it, Alek?" Annaka said. He hadn't moved for some time and now he was shaking his head, his eyes open but unseeing.
"Only a dream," he said. He struggled again to sit up and managed to prop himself on one elbow. With all his meager strength he pushed himself upright, leaning against the slatted side of the cart.
"We are nearly there," Einar said. "Look, there is the cave." Alek pressed his lips together. Well, the others could look at this cave, whatever it was. He would sit there, weak and blind as a new kitten.
Einar drew the cart up to the base of a grassy hill. At its top was a rocky outcropping and the opening of a cave, concealed partly by scrubby trees growing at its mouth. Einar and Nikolas jumped from the seat.
"We can carry him the same way we did before," Einar said.
"No," Alek said roughly. "I will walk, if you will just, uh, stand beside me."
"As you wish, young Alek," Einar said, and unfastened the back of the cart so it swung down. Alek crawled over, following Einar's voice and feeling along the sides with his hands. When he reached the end, he forced his legs around so he was sitting on its edge.
"How far is the drop?" he asked.
“Not far,” Einar replied. “Just a few inches.”
Alek let himself slide forward until his feet touched the ground. His knees tried to buckle and his head pounded but he stiffened his legs and stood up, wavering only a little. Einar and Nikolas came to either side of him, supporting his arms. Alek gritted his teeth in frustration but allowed them to help him walk awkwardly up the grassy slope. What choice did he have? Annaka followed behind.
When they reached the top, Einar and Nikolas guided Alek around the large rocks that lay around the cave’s opening and helped him sit down, not too far from the opening. Alek could feel he was inside the cave; the air was cooler even two or three steps inside, and their footsteps made hollow, echoing sounds against the loose rock.
“Very cozy,” Nikolas said.
“We’ll be glad we have it if one of those strange storms comes in,” Einar said. “We can bring in some things to make it more comfortable - more blankets, cooking equipment, a lamp, things like that. See what a good position it has? One can see for quite some distance around this place.”
Alek ignored them, sitting slumped against the rocky wall of the cave. Walking those few steps up the hill completely exhausted him and the dizzy sensation he felt was odd indeed without being able to see. How useless he was! Even a blind man could accomplish much, once he learned how. Alek on the other hand, could help no one, not even himself. He reached out with his hands, feeling the rough wall and ground beneath him. The rock forming the cave felt thick and solid; he could barely sense the feeling of the Earth somewhere far beneath.
His hands touched the front of his shirt and felt an odd stiffness. “What is this?” he asked to no one in particular, grasping the material of the shirt.
He heard Annaka cough uncomfortably, and no one said anything.
"Something is here, on my shirt. I am just curious,” Alek said.
"Alek, it is blood," Einar finally said.
"Blood!" Alek felt his chest; he hadn't thought he had been wounded there. Suddenly he realized where the blood had come from and a strangled sound escaped his clenched teeth.
"Steen," he whispered. "It is Steen's blood." His hands fumbled, feeling downwards across his chest to his legs. "I am covered with it."
He felt an arm go around his shoulders, and someone squatted beside him. "Alek, listen to me," Einar said. "Steen would never hurt a hair of your head if he could help it. He was forced to try to kill you, and the fact that he killed himself instead shows how desperately he did not want to do it."
"I know," Alek said softly. He turned his face away and covered his sightless eyes with his hand.
Einar stood and looked sadly at Alek. He had nearly curled himself into a ball, there against the side of the cave. "I am going to take one of the horses and get a few supplies. A member of the Band lives very near here and will help us. Also, I will tell him to spread the word about where the Band will now be gathering." He waited a moment, but Alek did not reply. He went back out and began walking down the hill towards the horses and cart.
"Einar!" Nikolas called and hurried after him. "How long shall I expect you to be?"
"Not long. I will return before nightfall," Einar replied. "You should be very safe here. Can you shoot a bow?"
"Why, yes," Nikolas said. Einar handed him a bow and a quiver of arrows that had been tucked in the back of the cart. "This actually is Alek's bow. A pity he cannot shoot it right now - he has a deadly aim." They both fell silent.
"Will he be all right?" Nikolas asked. "He seems very distraught. And blind! A hard thing indeed!"
"This blindness happened once before, but briefly," Einar said. "I pray it will leave him again. I worry more for his spirit. He has endured much. In four months' time, he has watched his family murdered, he was arrow-shot and nearly died, he was imprisoned and tortured, and had two of his closest friends killed, one by his own hand in Alek's very arms. This is what I know of, and there is more he does not speak of. All this, to a very young man who until this time lived a very quiet life. Yes, he is distraught. We must help him all we can." Einar reached behind the cart's seat and pulled out a sack. He put it into Nikolas's hands. "Before I drove away from the cottage I grabbed this in passing. Alek will be in great need of it. Please take it to him."
"What is it?" Nikolas peered inside. It seemed to hold some kind of white cloth.
"It is some of Alek's clothes," Einar replied. "I saw it sitting there as I got the blankets and scooped it up. I thank Heaven I did. The boy has enough to trouble his mind without having to sit around in clothes that are soaked in his friend's blood."
************
Ulrik sat stiffly on a small stool in a corner of the soldiers' barracks, swallowing any outside signs of his frustration and anger. Thorvald had ordered him to return to this hard, uncomfortable seat after he finished any tasks he was given, and he spent many, many hours here, helpless to do anything but fume silently. Some of the time Thorvald purposely sent him there, thinking the idea of Ulrik endlessly sitting there was somehow funny, but Ulrik knew that much of the time he was simply forgotten, and that was even worse to bear.
Ulrik tried to never waste time despite being so severely restricted. Hours he spent in what appeared to be meditation, but he actually was focusing inwards on the spell that held his mind. Someday, someday, he would find a way to break its hold. Until then he would never give in and sink into senseless obedience. Doing that would hurt less, much, much less, but he would not do it.
He could not concentrate on the spell every moment but when he was not, he still busied himself with efforts to improve his chances at recovery and revenge. He had to share these miserable quarters with the common foot soldiers in order to amuse Thorvald, but even that was used. He knew all their names although he never spoke to them, and tried to learn a little each day about them - where they were from, what their interests were, and so on. It was a little thing, but who knows when such information might be useful?
He also had learned which soldiers were under which type of compulsion spell: the first type, which rendered people not only obedient but rather mindless as well, and the newer type in which people retained their memories, feelings, and personalities but were required to be every bit as obedient as the ones under the older spell. He knew others would think his painstaking information-gathering was pointless - what good would it do to know such things about common soldiers? But just that day through his patience, he had learned one of the soldiers in his barracks was from Alek Ostergaard’s very village, and had even been a close friend. Certainly there would be use for information such as that.
********
Stefan walked into the bustling village of Hestrup. He had been walking for nearly a month now, and it still surprised him how strong he still felt. His feet never grew fatigued.
A knot of men walked clustered around him - the ten who had come back to him plus several more. They came into the square, which was full of people crisscrossing it as they went about their business. Vendors selling fruit, baked goods, cloth, tools and all sorts of necessities rimmed the square, their wares displayed on carts or cloths spread on the ground.
Stefan stepped to a less busy area and squatted on his heels, motioning to those with him he wished to speak. The men, an odd assortment of ages and trades, drew close.
"Our little group has grown and it must grow more," he said. "Yet, I think it best we do not be traveling together, in a large group that might be alarming people. I ask each of you now to be breaking up, each his own way, and continue giving our message to the people you meet. As many as will follow you, bring. I have been told to have you go to something called the Band. I do not be knowing what this is, but I think we should be heading for central Sjaelland. Ask those you meet for the Band, and we will find each other - and the King."
The men solemnly shook each others' hands and drifted apart. Stefan walked over to a vendor selling meat pies and reached into his pocket. There lay the silver piece, as always. The vendor handed him a pie and he happily bit into the hot, fragrant crust. He still had no idea exactly where he should go or how he would find the King, but at least now he knew what he looked like.
"Alek," he whispered, as he walked away from the vendor's cart. The image of the young country man floated up before his eyes once more, and Stefan thought again what an unlikely ruler he appeared to be. The image changed a little each time he called it up, and Stefan guessed that it showed Alek as he was at that very moment. Before the image faded, Stefan noticed the young man's face looked determined but very sad, and he wondered what was happening to him. If Stefan had to walk across Skandia, what tasks were given to the one who would become king?
He felt inside his pack, making sure the sack of seed was still tucked safely inside. What an odd thing to present to a king! Hopefully soon, many questions would be answered.
"Sir," he said to the meatpie vendor, "Tell me. I have heard rumor the king will soon be a'returnin' to Skandia. What do you know of this?"
"I have not heard this news!" the man exclaimed. "May it be so! For so long we have waited for him. When he comes, all this confusion and turmoil will end."
"I also be a'lookin' forward to that day," Stefan replied. "In fact, I be travelin' to find him. I know that he be livin', at this moment, in another country. When it is time for him to return, I would be there to help him any way I can."
"Sir!" the man cried. "Take me with you! I wish this with all my heart!"
"Of course," Stefan said. "Gather a few things, and I will meet you on the highway, outside the village. Put on some warm clothes. I pray we will be with the king before winter, but I do not know."
Stefan walked from the square, seeing a few others he should talk to. He never ceased to be amazed at how readily people wished to come with him. The ones who remained behind still thrilled at the news he brought. The king was coming!
He walked from the village out onto the highway that wound south through Nordjylland toward Sjaelland. A few dozen yards down the road he sat down under a tree to wait for the new group of people he would travel with now, at least for a while.
The day was cool with a late autumn nip in the air but still bright and clear. He leaned back against the tree, settling his pack beside him. When the handful of people from Hestrup appeared, he would go with them a ways, perhaps to the next village. Then he would send them off, as he had done with the previous group. It just wouldn't do for them to travel together now that they were getting to be so many. There weren't enough inns in one place for them all, and someone might think they were an army or something! Stefan didn't want to scare any nobles. His one experience with them was all he wanted.
A dragonfly flitted in front of his face, and he watched it curiously. Then, to his surprise, it lit on his shoulder.
"Stefan of Albaek!" said a tiny voice in his ear. He jumped, startled. Blessed Heaven! The dragonfly was speaking to him!
"Soon you will meet the king," it said, the voice an odd buzzing sound, but easily understood. "It is time for your final instructions."
Stefan held very still. The forvalter had said he would see her one more time before he met the king, and this apparently was it.
"It is your task to herald the king," the voice continued. "As you may have noticed we have blessed your voice so that all who hear it recognize the truth. When you see him, proclaim him to all those who have gathered. It is time for him to come forth, and although he loathes his destiny he knows of it and will accept it."
"And then?" Stefan whispered.
"Offer yourself to him, and try to help him any way you can," said the dragonfly. "You will herald him among friends, but he must become known to all. He must unite the whole land. He will have much still to do. When all this is accomplished you will anoint him king and place the crown of Skandia on his head."
Stefan could not speak. Crown him! What madness would come next? The dragonfly flew away, and after a few moments, Stefan stood up. Coming towards him down the road was a large group of men, each carrying a travel pack. Fifty, at least! By now, such marvels should have ceased surprising him, but all he could do is stand in the road and gape.
Einar brought up two horses, all that remained of the picket line, and Nikolas stepped up to hold their bridles. He watched carefully as Einar harnessed the horses to the cart. He had never seen it done before, and who knew? He might need to know such things in the future, with everything changed the way it was. Then they climbed up on the seat of the cart and Einar picked up the reins.
Nikolas looked back at the cottage as the cart slowly drew away. Even though camping in the woods had been strange indeed for a duke accustomed to servants, fine food and a soft bed, he would think back on it fondly. For the first time in his life he had spent time sitting and talking with his daughter without a single distraction of rule. He had known she had a sharp mind and a mild and pleasant manner, but there was more to Annaka than he realized before. Heaven and Earth, the girl had learned to read! Her mother would be scandalized, but he was secretly pleased.
He had been on a few small raids with others of the Band and found he loved the feeling of usefulness and accomplishment that came with them. As a powerful duke he thought his life had been one of fulfillment and success, but saving common folk he would never see again from the compulsion spell brought even more satisfaction. Helping train the Band to fight brought an odd contentment.
As they rode Nikolas and Einar talked about their hopes for the new kingdom that was coming, which Nikolas fervently prayed would be led by Alek rather than Thorvald, as strange as that still sounded. That it was coming, one way or the other, Nikolas had no doubt. A few times he nearly told Annaka the truth about what Alek was destined to become, but thought better of it. Alek had not seen fit to tell her, and Nikolas decided to let that remain Alek's choice.
In fact if Nikolas spoke of Alek at all, Annaka acted strangely indeed. Nikolas knew she cared for him, but rather than act giggly and girlish when his name was mentioned, she became melancholy and withdrawn.
The cart bounced along, and from behind him Annaka's voice broke his reverie.
"What happened to Alek?" she asked. "He has no wound I can see."
"He fell saving us all," Einar said over his shoulder. "Although we cannot see them I fear his wounds are grave."
Annaka bent over Alek and laid her hand lightly on his pale forehead. It felt cool, and he stirred under her touch. His eyelids fluttered and then opened, his blue eyes looking past Annaka.
"Not again!" he said softly, almost under his breath. "Where am I?" His head turned from side to side, his eyes blank and unfocused.
"Alek!" Annaka cried. "Can you not see me?"
"My lady Annaka, is that you?" he whispered. He raised his hands in front of him, feeling only air. "Where am I? What has happened?"
Annaka caught his hands with her own. "Einar is taking us somewhere safe," she replied. "We are in a cart on a little country path, but more I cannot say. Can you remember nothing?"
Alek's face blanched. "Now - I begin to remember more than I wish to." He struggled to sit up, but flopped back weakly. "I cannot," he said, his mouth grim with frustration. "I cannot even lift my head, and again my eyes are dark. A price to pay, indeed."
"What do you mean, a price to pay?" Annaka asked. "Einar said you fell saving us. What happened? What struck you?"
"I have done this to myself," Alek said bitterly.
"Alek! I do not care if you are weak as a baby! You never answer me, not in a way I can understand."
Alek groaned softly. He opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came.
"What Alek cannot say is hard indeed," Einar put in. "Five hundred soldiers were about to fall on us, and he alone protected us. The effort of that was great, and now he suffers."
Annaka looked down at Alek's face, so full of frustration. She did not understand, but soon, when Alek was feeling better she would convince him to speak straight with her. When he felt better! Heaven send that was soon!
"I believe I know the perfect spot for the new gathering place for the Band," Einar said after a while, the cart bumping along a deserted country road. "It is quite close to Roskilde, yet in a very untraveled area. There is a cave in the mountains west of the city. It is used at times by hunters and we can use it for protection from the weather. There are meadows nearby the Band can camp in."
Nikolas said, "Ha! I have always wanted to live in a cave!" They laughed, and Einar shot a glance over his shoulder at Alek and Annaka. Alek still lay prostrate across the bed of the cart, his head pillowed in Annaka's skirts and his long legs reaching to the other end of the cart. Annaka had covered him with the quilts from the cottage. Why couldn't he see? But then again, who could ask that, after what Alek had done? He thought back to what he had learned as a child about the king's magic. He could not recall anything about making huge cracks in the ground - he had mostly heard about the king making things grow better, healing the sick, and so on. As unsettling as it was to think that Alek could wield such power, Einar was glad he had done it. Five hundred soldiers! Surely the Band would all be dead now, or worse, if Alek had failed.
Behind him, Alek tried to focus on enduring what for him was nearly unbearable. Yes, the cart jostled and bumped, but he gave that no thought. The feeling in his limbs was what truly disturbed him; the feeling of utter weakness, like heavy weights piled upon him. The blindness filled him with frustration and unless he forced it down, panic started to well up. How he hated it! The blackness was oppressive and frightening and he could not escape it, eyes open or shut.
The only respite was if he could manage to sleep. He could see again in his dreams, although they were disturbing indeed. One he had three times now, dreaming it the past two nights and then once as he lay here in the cart. Each time it was exactly the same. He was sure it was a synsevne even though he had no idea what it meant. Something within whispered there was a message there - that it was more than just a dream. To Alek, it was only confusion.
He was standing in a clearing rimmed with trees, such as a person might come upon while walking through the forest. The ground of the clearing was overgrown with small shrubs, grasses and other plants that were commonly found in the forest, and here they grew quite thick, in some places up to Alek's waist. In one hand he held a sack of rough cloth. He dipped his other hand inside, smooth brownish-gold kernels of wheat trickling through his fingers. He brought out a handful and flipped the grain out and across the ground with a snap of his arm, in the same way he had sowed seed a hundred times before. He took a step, cast another handful of seed, stepped again and then again, proceeding to sow wheat all across the clearing.
But what kind of farmer planted wheat seed in a forest, in the midst of all that undergrowth? He supposed wheat would grow there all right; the sun came through well enough, but of course the ground should be worked first.
Alek shook his head. It was like everything else that had happened to him. He could not understand any of it.
"What is it, Alek?" Annaka said. He hadn't moved for some time and now he was shaking his head, his eyes open but unseeing.
"Only a dream," he said. He struggled again to sit up and managed to prop himself on one elbow. With all his meager strength he pushed himself upright, leaning against the slatted side of the cart.
"We are nearly there," Einar said. "Look, there is the cave." Alek pressed his lips together. Well, the others could look at this cave, whatever it was. He would sit there, weak and blind as a new kitten.
Einar drew the cart up to the base of a grassy hill. At its top was a rocky outcropping and the opening of a cave, concealed partly by scrubby trees growing at its mouth. Einar and Nikolas jumped from the seat.
"We can carry him the same way we did before," Einar said.
"No," Alek said roughly. "I will walk, if you will just, uh, stand beside me."
"As you wish, young Alek," Einar said, and unfastened the back of the cart so it swung down. Alek crawled over, following Einar's voice and feeling along the sides with his hands. When he reached the end, he forced his legs around so he was sitting on its edge.
"How far is the drop?" he asked.
“Not far,” Einar replied. “Just a few inches.”
Alek let himself slide forward until his feet touched the ground. His knees tried to buckle and his head pounded but he stiffened his legs and stood up, wavering only a little. Einar and Nikolas came to either side of him, supporting his arms. Alek gritted his teeth in frustration but allowed them to help him walk awkwardly up the grassy slope. What choice did he have? Annaka followed behind.
When they reached the top, Einar and Nikolas guided Alek around the large rocks that lay around the cave’s opening and helped him sit down, not too far from the opening. Alek could feel he was inside the cave; the air was cooler even two or three steps inside, and their footsteps made hollow, echoing sounds against the loose rock.
“Very cozy,” Nikolas said.
“We’ll be glad we have it if one of those strange storms comes in,” Einar said. “We can bring in some things to make it more comfortable - more blankets, cooking equipment, a lamp, things like that. See what a good position it has? One can see for quite some distance around this place.”
Alek ignored them, sitting slumped against the rocky wall of the cave. Walking those few steps up the hill completely exhausted him and the dizzy sensation he felt was odd indeed without being able to see. How useless he was! Even a blind man could accomplish much, once he learned how. Alek on the other hand, could help no one, not even himself. He reached out with his hands, feeling the rough wall and ground beneath him. The rock forming the cave felt thick and solid; he could barely sense the feeling of the Earth somewhere far beneath.
His hands touched the front of his shirt and felt an odd stiffness. “What is this?” he asked to no one in particular, grasping the material of the shirt.
He heard Annaka cough uncomfortably, and no one said anything.
"Something is here, on my shirt. I am just curious,” Alek said.
"Alek, it is blood," Einar finally said.
"Blood!" Alek felt his chest; he hadn't thought he had been wounded there. Suddenly he realized where the blood had come from and a strangled sound escaped his clenched teeth.
"Steen," he whispered. "It is Steen's blood." His hands fumbled, feeling downwards across his chest to his legs. "I am covered with it."
He felt an arm go around his shoulders, and someone squatted beside him. "Alek, listen to me," Einar said. "Steen would never hurt a hair of your head if he could help it. He was forced to try to kill you, and the fact that he killed himself instead shows how desperately he did not want to do it."
"I know," Alek said softly. He turned his face away and covered his sightless eyes with his hand.
Einar stood and looked sadly at Alek. He had nearly curled himself into a ball, there against the side of the cave. "I am going to take one of the horses and get a few supplies. A member of the Band lives very near here and will help us. Also, I will tell him to spread the word about where the Band will now be gathering." He waited a moment, but Alek did not reply. He went back out and began walking down the hill towards the horses and cart.
"Einar!" Nikolas called and hurried after him. "How long shall I expect you to be?"
"Not long. I will return before nightfall," Einar replied. "You should be very safe here. Can you shoot a bow?"
"Why, yes," Nikolas said. Einar handed him a bow and a quiver of arrows that had been tucked in the back of the cart. "This actually is Alek's bow. A pity he cannot shoot it right now - he has a deadly aim." They both fell silent.
"Will he be all right?" Nikolas asked. "He seems very distraught. And blind! A hard thing indeed!"
"This blindness happened once before, but briefly," Einar said. "I pray it will leave him again. I worry more for his spirit. He has endured much. In four months' time, he has watched his family murdered, he was arrow-shot and nearly died, he was imprisoned and tortured, and had two of his closest friends killed, one by his own hand in Alek's very arms. This is what I know of, and there is more he does not speak of. All this, to a very young man who until this time lived a very quiet life. Yes, he is distraught. We must help him all we can." Einar reached behind the cart's seat and pulled out a sack. He put it into Nikolas's hands. "Before I drove away from the cottage I grabbed this in passing. Alek will be in great need of it. Please take it to him."
"What is it?" Nikolas peered inside. It seemed to hold some kind of white cloth.
"It is some of Alek's clothes," Einar replied. "I saw it sitting there as I got the blankets and scooped it up. I thank Heaven I did. The boy has enough to trouble his mind without having to sit around in clothes that are soaked in his friend's blood."
************
Ulrik sat stiffly on a small stool in a corner of the soldiers' barracks, swallowing any outside signs of his frustration and anger. Thorvald had ordered him to return to this hard, uncomfortable seat after he finished any tasks he was given, and he spent many, many hours here, helpless to do anything but fume silently. Some of the time Thorvald purposely sent him there, thinking the idea of Ulrik endlessly sitting there was somehow funny, but Ulrik knew that much of the time he was simply forgotten, and that was even worse to bear.
Ulrik tried to never waste time despite being so severely restricted. Hours he spent in what appeared to be meditation, but he actually was focusing inwards on the spell that held his mind. Someday, someday, he would find a way to break its hold. Until then he would never give in and sink into senseless obedience. Doing that would hurt less, much, much less, but he would not do it.
He could not concentrate on the spell every moment but when he was not, he still busied himself with efforts to improve his chances at recovery and revenge. He had to share these miserable quarters with the common foot soldiers in order to amuse Thorvald, but even that was used. He knew all their names although he never spoke to them, and tried to learn a little each day about them - where they were from, what their interests were, and so on. It was a little thing, but who knows when such information might be useful?
He also had learned which soldiers were under which type of compulsion spell: the first type, which rendered people not only obedient but rather mindless as well, and the newer type in which people retained their memories, feelings, and personalities but were required to be every bit as obedient as the ones under the older spell. He knew others would think his painstaking information-gathering was pointless - what good would it do to know such things about common soldiers? But just that day through his patience, he had learned one of the soldiers in his barracks was from Alek Ostergaard’s very village, and had even been a close friend. Certainly there would be use for information such as that.
********
Stefan walked into the bustling village of Hestrup. He had been walking for nearly a month now, and it still surprised him how strong he still felt. His feet never grew fatigued.
A knot of men walked clustered around him - the ten who had come back to him plus several more. They came into the square, which was full of people crisscrossing it as they went about their business. Vendors selling fruit, baked goods, cloth, tools and all sorts of necessities rimmed the square, their wares displayed on carts or cloths spread on the ground.
Stefan stepped to a less busy area and squatted on his heels, motioning to those with him he wished to speak. The men, an odd assortment of ages and trades, drew close.
"Our little group has grown and it must grow more," he said. "Yet, I think it best we do not be traveling together, in a large group that might be alarming people. I ask each of you now to be breaking up, each his own way, and continue giving our message to the people you meet. As many as will follow you, bring. I have been told to have you go to something called the Band. I do not be knowing what this is, but I think we should be heading for central Sjaelland. Ask those you meet for the Band, and we will find each other - and the King."
The men solemnly shook each others' hands and drifted apart. Stefan walked over to a vendor selling meat pies and reached into his pocket. There lay the silver piece, as always. The vendor handed him a pie and he happily bit into the hot, fragrant crust. He still had no idea exactly where he should go or how he would find the King, but at least now he knew what he looked like.
"Alek," he whispered, as he walked away from the vendor's cart. The image of the young country man floated up before his eyes once more, and Stefan thought again what an unlikely ruler he appeared to be. The image changed a little each time he called it up, and Stefan guessed that it showed Alek as he was at that very moment. Before the image faded, Stefan noticed the young man's face looked determined but very sad, and he wondered what was happening to him. If Stefan had to walk across Skandia, what tasks were given to the one who would become king?
He felt inside his pack, making sure the sack of seed was still tucked safely inside. What an odd thing to present to a king! Hopefully soon, many questions would be answered.
"Sir," he said to the meatpie vendor, "Tell me. I have heard rumor the king will soon be a'returnin' to Skandia. What do you know of this?"
"I have not heard this news!" the man exclaimed. "May it be so! For so long we have waited for him. When he comes, all this confusion and turmoil will end."
"I also be a'lookin' forward to that day," Stefan replied. "In fact, I be travelin' to find him. I know that he be livin', at this moment, in another country. When it is time for him to return, I would be there to help him any way I can."
"Sir!" the man cried. "Take me with you! I wish this with all my heart!"
"Of course," Stefan said. "Gather a few things, and I will meet you on the highway, outside the village. Put on some warm clothes. I pray we will be with the king before winter, but I do not know."
Stefan walked from the square, seeing a few others he should talk to. He never ceased to be amazed at how readily people wished to come with him. The ones who remained behind still thrilled at the news he brought. The king was coming!
He walked from the village out onto the highway that wound south through Nordjylland toward Sjaelland. A few dozen yards down the road he sat down under a tree to wait for the new group of people he would travel with now, at least for a while.
The day was cool with a late autumn nip in the air but still bright and clear. He leaned back against the tree, settling his pack beside him. When the handful of people from Hestrup appeared, he would go with them a ways, perhaps to the next village. Then he would send them off, as he had done with the previous group. It just wouldn't do for them to travel together now that they were getting to be so many. There weren't enough inns in one place for them all, and someone might think they were an army or something! Stefan didn't want to scare any nobles. His one experience with them was all he wanted.
A dragonfly flitted in front of his face, and he watched it curiously. Then, to his surprise, it lit on his shoulder.
"Stefan of Albaek!" said a tiny voice in his ear. He jumped, startled. Blessed Heaven! The dragonfly was speaking to him!
"Soon you will meet the king," it said, the voice an odd buzzing sound, but easily understood. "It is time for your final instructions."
Stefan held very still. The forvalter had said he would see her one more time before he met the king, and this apparently was it.
"It is your task to herald the king," the voice continued. "As you may have noticed we have blessed your voice so that all who hear it recognize the truth. When you see him, proclaim him to all those who have gathered. It is time for him to come forth, and although he loathes his destiny he knows of it and will accept it."
"And then?" Stefan whispered.
"Offer yourself to him, and try to help him any way you can," said the dragonfly. "You will herald him among friends, but he must become known to all. He must unite the whole land. He will have much still to do. When all this is accomplished you will anoint him king and place the crown of Skandia on his head."
Stefan could not speak. Crown him! What madness would come next? The dragonfly flew away, and after a few moments, Stefan stood up. Coming towards him down the road was a large group of men, each carrying a travel pack. Fifty, at least! By now, such marvels should have ceased surprising him, but all he could do is stand in the road and gape.