Freya

Prologue

Trees glistened in moonlight and shuddered with waves of rain. Anxious hoofs cut trenches in the mud and the rain filled them. Only the splashing puddles and the trees swishing in the wind could be heard, until the soft cry of new lungs meeting the air for the first time tolled through the whole city of Vang from high in the castle towers.

Like ghostly statues, the Vanguard kept silent vigil. Helpless as they were that night, it was their duty. A twinkling beam had settled in the wet grass, softening the harsh gusts of wind breaking on their cheeks. A whole city unsettled by the gloom, even the moon hiding behind a shadow of cloud, dark and dull. Rain spat at the long grass and the river had broken its banks, overflowing onto the cobbled streets. The guards watched it, uncaring, unfocused on the miserable night before them. The driving rain working its way between plates in their armour was a welcome distraction to the cries breaking out of the castle. They expected more soon. The wail of a forsaken heir. The breaking heart of a Queen.

The Queen, a new mother sobbed at the sound of her newborn sleeping, so peaceful, so blissfully ignorant. Kissing his cheek, she savoured the warmth lingering on her lips.

“My son,” she said smiling through the tears. Bitter sweet, the handmaiden responded with a squeeze of her hand. “Take him.”

A nod of her head and the new born babe was taken from his mother, wrapped tightly in the handmaids nervous arms.

“The second is coming,” the Queen declared, frightened by the truth of it. She wished it wasn’t so, for she knew as did the rest of Vang, only one would be permitted. One child. One heir.

Squeezing the Queen’s hand tightly they exchanged their silent fears.

A door closed. With her face half covered by a veil as was customary for midwives in Vang, a lady entered in a graceless march.

"The King. He is coming!” the midwife declared, moving quickly towards the Queen.

Her haste caused instant panic in their hearts already and now the fear had unsettled the sleeping boy.

“Does he know?” asked the Queen to the midwife, begging in her heart for the answer to be no.

“I told him there would only be one child.” The midwife paused briefly and put a trembling hand to her lips, knowing that her lie was treason. The Queen relaxed a little. “But it doesn’t matter. If we don’t do something about it he will know soon enough.”

A harsh cry announced the start of her second labour. Yelling out her frustration through the pain, she gripped the handmaids hand, wishing the nightmare would end.

“It’s alright,” the handmaid told her. “We won’t let him take them. I won't let him.”

Sweat dripped from the Queen’s brow as she pushed, all of her strength sinking into her efforts, her heart stinging with each contraction.

Finally, “a girl,” the midwife said and a shrill cry echoed that of the boy’s.

“Oh, my child,” the exhausted Queen whispered. "Who could imagine such circumstance as this."

Footsteps outside the door caused their brief moment of joy to fade.

“Take her, take her quickly! Hide her!” the Queen begged. Frozen by fear, the midwife did not move. It was the Queen's handmaid that took control, lifting the baby girl, warm in her swaddling clothes. Plans precisely detailed in her mind, she hid her beneath the creases of her cloak rocking her frantically to hide the cries.

A strong grip on her skirt stopped her from moving.

“Wait,” the Queen demanded. “All I can give,” she sobbed to the baby girl, “is this necklace," she said unfastening the golden sun heirloom. "And your name will be Freya.” The queen kissed her for the last time and looked up at her handmaid. "Keep my princess safe."

Rustling blankets as quickly as she could, a stroke of fear ran through the handmaid's fingers as the door creaked open. Cries from the baby boy dulled those of the settling girl.

The King’s face entered the candle lit room spinning waves of dread into all of them. He said nothing, moving about the room calmly. Waiting for her chance, the handmaid slipped into the shadows and slid behind the door, out of sight, silently praying that the midwife and the Queen would not be punished as most traitors were.

With grace, the King walked through the room. Parting the bed curtains to see his wife’s face, he showed no outward emotion at the sound of his new baby’s cry. Tears could not be stopped nor could the pounding of her heart settle as the King wiped the Queen’s brow softly, a loving gesture yet somehow devoid of emotion.

“It is over,” he said kindly with a soulless smile. “A boy,” he said and the Queen smiled, trying her best to hide the unspoken truth. He was watching her, reading her thoughts but it was clear to her already. He knew. His eyes held understanding. Yet there was no sorrow, no joy, nothing. “And a girl,” he added in a whisper.

“Please,” the Queen whispered. “I beg of you.”

“The time has begun, said the Moon to the Sun, for the Wolf King to fall, and the new Dawn to come,” the King whispered, hearing his words fall from his tongue like ash. The words of a prophecy they all knew too well. "It has long been foretold that there would be two. I am the Wolf King, my Queen. They will be my downfall. Is that what you want?"

Then silence again as he paced across the room. No regrets. No remorse. He lifted the blankets where the boy lay and stroked his sleeping face, then looked to his wife.

"Where is she?" he asked, and the Queen felt her cheeks burn red with guilt. An uncontrollable gasp from the midwife unsettled the sleeping boy. But there was no malice in the King’s eyes, nor was there anger. Rather he looked impressed at her bravery, raising his eyebrows very slightly.

Cowering as he passed her by, the midwife backed towards the cold stone walls in silent prayer. He swiftly walked to the window, maintaining an eerie calm. There on the cobbled stone path, a single torch slinking away into the night. The handmaid was running fast. She would have to run faster.

“Fool,” the King said softly and the Queen flinched. “You would choose to save the girl at the risk of your King’s life?”

Lifting her head to meet the King’s gaze, she didn’t need to say a word. She would have killed a thousand kings to save her daughter. The King shook his head almost sadly. Then he raised a hand.

A shadow in the corner responded instantly to his signal. A figure stepping ominously forward into the dim light. It was a familiar one and much feared. Dull thuds on the wooden floor pounded to his cold heart beat as he advanced. “Sire,” the Huntsman said bowing his head as he stepped into the light. A thick cloak of wolf skin flowed freely down his broad back and an axe hung close to each hand.

The King watched from the high windows as the silhouette of the handmaiden fled into the night with his newborn girl, their light fading into the darkness of the forest. “Take the wolves and hunt them down. I want them dead. Both of them,” the King ordered calmly. The Huntsman bowed again. With a final glance at the Queen’s hopeless horror he turned without a word and thudded into the night.

CHAPTER 1

Somewhere in the woods of Vang, sixteen years later.

Freya woke to the sound of birds pecking. She thought it odd, briefly remembering nothing of how she had ended up here, although she did tend to sleep walk a fair bit lately and had certainly woken up in stranger places. Pine trees peered at her from above and snowdrops had sprung up beneath. It would have been idyllic if not for the two dozen or so massacred corpses strewn about the clearing. Her whole body ached. The sun was peeking through a wet cloud and she could feel it cracking the blood that had dried on her skin.

She tried to ignore the sight before her. Bright traveller's wagons and pale shredded corpses crumpled awkwardly nearby. Not a stir from anyone. Their silence overwhelming. Instead she focused on the only other survivor.

Tap tap tap

She glared at the clanking raven, beak tap, tapping away on a Knight’s helm.

Poor guy, she thought as she shooed the bird away. The only one equipped with a weapon and the skills to use it. He had joined the traveller's in the village before, guarding them in exchange for a ride through the rogue ridden forest. He had certainly tried valiantly to protect them, though his bravery had been mostly in vain. Nobody had really expected him to actually stand alone against the Rogues; vicious men sworn to hate and murder every person that did not denounce the throne. Yet he had. Fancy someone risking their life for mine, she thought. Maybe he was crazy.

She played the night over again in her mind. She had only managed to run a few yards before getting herself surrounded, and she was normally so good at getting herself out of tight spots. This time she had jumped out of the frying pan and into a gang of knife wielding, masked maniacs. Everything was such a blur, like a dream slipping away in the morning. But one thing stayed vivid. Someone had appeared. Someone special. In the midst of the chaos someone else had joined the fight. She had only caught a flash of his hooded face, but for some bizarre reason, the instinctively solitary Freya knew she could trust him.

Still, by the time she had come-to, he had abandoned her in some nearby thickets. At least he hadn't mugged her, she thought as she idly played with her golden necklace. Perhaps the fallen Knight could shed some light on the unfortunate event. If he ever woke up.

His deep breaths were a comfort to hear in the silent woods, but despite her best efforts, she couldn’t rouse him, and if he didn’t wake up soon she would have to leave him to the crows. That's what anyone else would have done. But he had saved her life. She owed him a debt and it couldn't be all that far to Vang now. Maybe she could take him with her somehow and find a doctor.

As it became clear from the rising pitch of his snores that he would not be waking up anytime soon, she grabbed his boots and dragged him over to a destroyed wagon. She lynched him awkwardly to a disembodied axel and to her satisfaction the wheels turned as she hauled the makeshift rickshaw. It wasn't elegant, (his head and arms bounced along the ground) but it was certainly better than leaving him there. She headed for Vang with a smile, feeling happy and hopeful from this good deed, despite the night's gore.

The cart was heavy, though Freya was used to hard work. It was a fine line between traveller and street urchin, and she had crossed that line many times in her life. The streets and the forests were unforgiving, especially for a young girl. A particularly loud clang brought a wince as she looked back at her sleeping charge. His head was bouncing about inside the helmet despite a huge dent in the metal pinning it to him just under the nose.

“Rose…” he muttered fitfully. “Rose…”

Freya rolled her eyes and wondered if it might be the name of his wife. So much for bewitching him and living like a princess. He was probably hideously ugly anyway. The giant dent in his helm certainly wouldn't do him any favours. Thankfully the stuck helmet covered him from most of the thick shards of fallen branches she was dragging him through. They would head straight to Vang and she would return him to the King. It was his best chance of survival. And her best chance for a reward.

Several hours later, the pines gave way to fields, farms and cobbled roads. Freya winced again at the distinct thud, clang, thud, clang, as she heaved the cart down a couple of stone steps. She’d been too focused on reaching the castle and turned around to see she’d made a bit of a mess. Quickly plucking out the larger twigs that had been collecting in the Knight’s chinks, she dusted off some mud from the armour and ignored stares of silent horror as the citizens of Vang gathered to observe.

“Sorry!” she said, though not loudly, fairly certain that the Knight was too far gone to hear, else he would have stirred at the chorus of bells chiming for noon.

Many villagers followed Freya as she carried on up the busy road through the village centre, wandering what this deranged girl was doing with that poor knight. She ignored them mostly, the glares of astonishment at her lack of elegance and the appalled faces on seeing the blood stained clothes that gripped her slender frame. Nobody offered to help her though. Vang was too full of suspicious minds. Let them stare, she thought. It might not be glamorous but it was better than just leaving him to die.

As she drew nearer to the castle walls, an alarm bell started to toll. By the time she had taken her first step onto the bridge, a massive Knight had jumped up and ran its breadth. And not just any Knight. The captain of the Vanguard. A flowing red cloak with the golden insignia of a wolf distinguished him from the rest of the Vanguard, but he was easily recognisable from his stature. She had heard the stories like everyone else in the kingdom. In battle he wore no shield, choosing instead to wield two huge swords. A giant of a man. A legend throughout the kingdom. Captain Jas.

“What’s goin' on 'ere?” Jas questioned in a mud thick common tongue, trying to remove the battered helmet from the Knight’s face. It was no use, the huge dent had it stuck good no matter how hard he pulled.

Freya looked him in the eye. “It’s a long story I’d rather save for the King,” she said, looking back with a concerned look at Jas' manhandling of her fallen Knight. He looked like he was going to pull his head clean off, but eventually he let go of the helm and peered at the Knight's sword instead.

“Hastings?” said Jas, recognising the crest. "Thought the Rogues 'ad ended 'im years ago!”

“Oh hardly,” Freya assured him. “Doesn't seem like you know your knights very well. He killed a bunch of rogues in the early hours of this very morning.”

Jas looked at Freya as though he were reading her words on a scroll, and then re-reading them over again.

“You're 'avin a laugh aren't ya? I know my boys better than their own mothers!” he said, clearly doubting the statement. "The old goat's a weasel."

Freya shook her head, eyes wide open honesty.

Jas saw she was telling the truth and whistled out impressed. “Didn’t think he 'ad it in 'im!”

“Weasel? That man saved my life and he made a good effort to save a lot of others too," she told Jas hoping to earn her Knight an apology. "Not successfully I might add, but at least he tried!”

Jas laughed. “Hastings' got a reputation for drinkin' his way outta problems, not fightin' them. I told ya,” said Jas, "I know my boys."

Freya shrugged. She knew what she had seen. Hastings had been like a whirlwind, tearing the Rogues to pieces. Although she was a little disappointed, the Knight’s past was of no real consequence to her. “Look, he needs a doctor. Point me in the right direction?"

“Lookin' at your clothes, you’re the one who needs a doctor!” Jas said in his harsh accent, though it wasn't unkind.

“I’m fine,” she assured him. "Which way?"

“No offence, but I've 'eard that before ma'am. Never trust a woman who says she's fine. Learnt that from my second wife. Just leave 'im to me,” Jas told her. “He’s not your problem anymore.”

"I'd rather stay by him if it's all the same to you. He saved my life and I want to make sure he's alright," Freya said stubbornly.

"Well it’s not all the same to me. Hastings is my responsibility an' I'll take care of 'im from 'ere," Jas retorted equally as stubborn, clearly not used to people challenging his commands.

“Your responsibility? You nearly pulled his head off trying to work out who he was. That helmet is stuck pretty good! He saved my life and that makes it my responsibility to protect him and I've managed all the way from Rogue territory so far."

Jas laughed awkwardly, hoping she was joking. They stared at each other for a moment, trying to figure one another out but it was useless.

“Look Jas, I've been attacked by rogues, I've ruined my dress, I've trudged a thousand miles through wolf infested forest carrying this Hastings, all before breakfast. Do NOT push me!”

Jas laughed at her though the smile stayed hidden in his lips. “Alright fine, but let me give ya some advice, ma'am. If you want somethin' from the King, go an' ask the Queen. She’s the only one he listens to. Works like that in most marriages actually... accordin' to my third wife."

Freya sighed. “Fine, the Queen. And,” she added as a by-thought, “he still needs a doctor.”