The Isolde Saga Boxset: Isolde Saga, #6

By Robert D. Jones

The Dead Walk. Magic Has Returned. The Netherworld Awaits.

Death plagues Isolde's village and everyone thinks that the demon, Orlog, has returned from the northern wastes. Isolde knows it is true because she hears the demon's voice whispering for her. But as the pox spreads, no one has time to listen to Isolde or her warnings.

The wanderer, Skaldi, hears Isolde though. He believes that she is telling the truth, because he knows that her future is tied up with the fate of the north lands. For Isolde is a netherwalker - one who can pass the veil of death unscathed, one who is a dancer between worlds! But Orlog knows the truth too and Isolde realizes that the demon never wanted her village… but only her soul!

While the land is torn apart by war, demons and the undead rise to rip apart the world. Isolde is forced onto an epic quest to end the evil that threatens her world. But it is not just her soul on the line, but the fate of all humanity.

The Isolde Saga is the complete box-set of Robert D. Jones' epic fantasy series. If you like fast-paced adventure, heroic deeds against impossible odds, and magic darker than the abyss, then you will love this fantasy adventure.

The box-set includes all 5 books of the Isolde Saga.

Buy The Isolde Saga today and join Isolde's epic journey!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert D. Jones
• Release date: Apr 30, 2018
• ISBN: 9781386274919

Book preview

Robert Jones

The Isolde Saga

The Complete Story

Copyright © Robert Jones, 2018

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

First edition

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

Find out more at reedsy.com

Contents

ISOLDE SAGA

THE LANDS OF THE NORTHMEN

MAP OF RAVENSCAR

I. THE BLACK WITCH

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

II. SHADOW OF RAVENSCAR

PRELUDE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

III. THE BLIND SEER

PRELUDE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

IV. LAND OF THE GODS

PRELUDE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

V. FALL OF THE HIGH-KING

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

THANKS FOR READING

ABOUT ROBERT D. JONES

ISOLDE SAGA

The Black Witch

Shadow of Ravenscar

The Blind Seer

Land of the Gods

Fall of the High-King

THE LANDS OF THE NORTHMEN

MAP OF RAVENSCAR

I

THE BLACK WITCH

CHAPTER ONE

The olive green grass was too long for this time of year and as Isolde and Harald crossed the fields they wondered where the town’s flocks had gone. It was only last harvest that they had celebrated the great number of births for the spring. But now, with winter on their doorstep, there was the unspoken anxiety that there might not actually be enough to go around in the shorter days to come.

Still, there was work to be done, pigs were being herded and slaughtered for smoking, pens were being mended, and fresh thatching was being put on homes for the coming storms. Isolde led Harald out to the fields and they waved to old man Ivar as he herded out his sheep, and they themselves were going down to tend to the milk cows and bring back the fattest of the calves for the night’s feast.

Do you think we’re cursed? Isolde asked with a sly smile. She looked over to Harald when she asked it and noticed his eyes quickly dart away from hers.

Nah, he replied. I mean, maybe, but it’s probably just raiders making off with the cattle when they can.

Doesn’t really explain the weird infections though, she said as her boots began to slide in the slick mud of the field.

Not everything’s magic and curses, you know. Harald seemed to be getting frustrated and Isolde couldn’t tell if it was the thickening black mud or the conversation. Infection always spreads, he went on. It’s probably something that came with those traders from Harwich or something.

Isolde shook her head but kept silent, their village hadn’t been visited by any regular traders for a long time now.

Hey, did you talk to your dad? Isolde asked, changing the subject.

He stopped and looked at her before shaking some thought form his head and continuing on.

It wasn’t a good time, he replied.

It never is, she said half under her breath.

She knew Harald had heard her but he didn’t say anything, no matter how much she wished he would, she knew he would never say anything.

It could be elves… he said suddenly.

Elves? Isolde half laughed. How can you be so adamant that it’s not a curse, but then say its an elf?

Because I’ve seen them, he said seriously. But I’ve never seen a-

The conversation was suddenly cut as they both stood slack-jawed at the peak of the field’s little rise. They hadn’t even noticed the smoke lightly rising until the burnt out homestead was right in front of them. Dead cows and calves lay strewn across the grass as though they had just dropped where they stood, and as for the rest of the herd, there was no sight at all.

They moved down in silence, looking at the great black and white beasts on their sides, all pox-ridden and half rotten. The sight of the baby calves in the same state made Isolde’s eyes sting, but she couldn’t look away. The house itself has been little more than a shelter for milking, but now it was only ash and the charred remains of a skeletal frame.

Raiders… Harald said to no one in particular. He looked at Isolde and met her eyes. We need to tell the Jarl right away.

Raiders? Isolde asked in disgust. Harald, look at the poor things, how could raiders have done this? I was here yesterday milking in the afternoon, and these cows were as healthy as you and me.

Get down! Harald hissed, and Isolde quickly ducked behind the carcass of one of the cows.

The smell was sour, but only where the pustules had burst and she scrunched her nose as Harald shimmied over to her.

Look, he said pointing to the far end of the field.

Isolde saw it right away, but she couldn’t tell what it was that she was looking at. From where they were ducked down, it looked like the inky black shadow of a man hunched over something. But the darkness of its form was impenetrable, it had no features, only a shape.

They stared for a long while and the shape shifted only slightly as it busied itself, unaware of their watching.

Hey! Isolde cried out as she stood upright.

What are you doing? Harald cried out to her, and the shadow stood as stiff as an arrow and seemed to snap its head at them.

Isolde yelled again and the shadow took off, moving with the same serpentine movements as a snake. Isolde ran across the field as fast as her legs would allow through the slick mud, but the shadow slipped into the woods and was gone.

What was that? Harald asked between breaths as he made it to her.

I don’t know, Isolde answered hesitantly, but her eyes were locked on the calf at her feet. This was what the shadow had been hunched over and the poor thing moaned in agony as its little legs flinched helplessly on its side. It was half dead, open sores across its sides and its deep black eyes looked at Isolde as though it were begging for mercy.

Look at the mark, Harald said as he stooped down next to her.

He ran his finger along some curved lines that looked seared into the skin and the calf’s eyes widened as it mooed in agony.

Stop it, Isolde said and she swatted away his hand. The poor thing looks half starved.

It doesn’t make sense, Harald said as he stood back up. These cows have had more than enough to feed on this season.

It was that… thing… that shadow, Isolde said. You saw it too right?

Yeah… I mean, I think so.

Oh, come on, Harald! Don’t do this to me!

We should go see the Jarl, Harald said.

We should go see Ivar, Isolde corrected. He’s closer and he might have seen it too.

What about this little one, Harald asked, nodding down to the struggling calf.

Isolde looked at the poor thing and knew what they should do. Harald knew too, but they both just looked at it with pitying eyes.

Maybe it will get better, he suggested.

Yeah, maybe… she knew it wouldn’t, but they left it where it lay all the same.

Isolde stood upright and looked deep into the woods. What was that thing? She looked for a long time before giving up, there was nothing there but the tall pines. With a shake of her head, she turned with Harald and they walked back to try and find Ivar.

CHAPTER TWO

It’s the witch, it has got to be! Ivar spoke as though this voice were somehow squeezed right up into his nose. The words vibrated out and were all pinched together. But it never bothered Isolde, she just looked at Harald with a smug smile.

See, she said, everybody thinks she has come back.

I’m not saying she hasn’t, Harald said quickly. But I’m not going to just say she has unless I actually know.

You just don’t want to believe it because it scares you,

Hey! Ivar cut in with the sound of a buzzing bee. Don’t argue, okay?

I’m not scared, Harald said with deadpan eyes and looked back at Ivar. The last word made Isolde burn and she boiled up with the need to say something back, but Ivar began speaking and she kept quiet.

I haven’t seen a shadow, he said. But that circular burn, all my poor lambs have it, and the older sheep are full of sores. Even my ram is raw all over.

He shook his head and Isolde could tell he was worried as Ivar’s eyes drifted into the middle ground of concentration.

Have you told the Jarl? Isolde asked.

You’re father? No, not yet, but I will tonight at the meeting.

Isolde nodded and turned to Harald.

We should go back to the woods and see if we can find that shadow again, she said.

Harald shook his head.

Look, he said calmly. If you don’t want to tell your Dad about it, then that’s fine, but we should at least go and tell the guard.

Tell the guard what?

They both jumped at the roughness of the voice and turned to see Wulfric standing over them. The ability for a man so big and so rough to be able to move so silently was never lost on Isolde. She looked up at the big man’s wiry red beard which was split down the middle into two parts. His chipped teeth showed when he smiled and his dark eyes looked at them lazily. But the lazy look didn’t fool Isolde, Wulfric saw everything, even if he didn’t show that he did.

The milking shed got burnt down last night, she explained.

Raiders, he said quickly and looked up to Ivar. I need to speak with you.

Ivar looked a little worried, but Isolde was burning to know more.

How do you know it was raiders? she knew better than to mention the shadow.

Because I know, he said gruffly, trying to dismiss her.

How? she pressed.

Look at me, Little Birdy, and tell me what you see, he snapped.

He was dressed in thick furs and leather and clutched his heavy battle-axe in one arm.

That’s right, he went on, knowing what she was thinking. I know because I’m the one who’s been chasing ‘em off. And I will know for sure about this shed when I find your raiders, and split their skulls.

Can I come with you? she asked, but her hopes were dashed as quickly as they had come as the big man laughed at her.

Come on, Ivar. Walk with me, he said, and Isolde and Harald watched as the two men walked off, herding the sheep along with them as their voices dissolved with the distance.

Raiders… Harald said once they were out of earshot. I told you so.

Harald… Isolde said like a worried mother. You saw that shadow thing too. And why would raiders spread disease?

The raiders are from Hrothgar, everyone knows that, Isolde. He’s probably plaguing the south before he attacks or something.

Isolde sighed. I’m going into the woods to have a look, are you going to come?

Fine… Harald gave in.

They passed back across the field and tried their best to ignore the fat cows and calves lying limply in the tufts of grass. The forest before them was nowhere near the size of the daunting Watcher’s Wood to the north of Eyndale, but still, as they looked into the gloom below the towering pines, the enormity and ancient power of the forest emanated out toward them.

What are you even going to do if you find it? Harald asked as they stood at the threshold of the woods.

I don’t know, Isolde answered carelessly. I just want to know what it is, don’t you?

Harald didn’t answer but inside of him, he felt the weight of fear that cramped his muscles. He was looking up the path, if you could even call it that, and trailed it with his eyes until it climbed the hill and disappeared around a bend.

Come on, Isolde beckoned him and she set out into the forest and Harald wondered where she had got her confidence from.

He grudgingly followed her into the gloom of the woods as she strode out ahead of him. The air felt warmer here under the towering canopy despite the autumn breeze that was starting to blow through the trunks. Small outcrops of slate rock broke out in odd places which ferns and ivy clung on to and grew out of. A deafening shriek set his heart off before he realised it was Isolde.

I told you! she yelled, pointing down to a fern by her feet.

Harald quickly caught up and saw the dead calf lying limply in the bush. They stood over the poor thing, trying to make sense of what they were seeing. It’s once soft skin was cracked and leathery, wrapped so tight around its body that it clung to the bones so that its spine ran a jagged line down its back, and the ribs made a poor tent across its chest. But what was truly horrific was the gaunt face of the calf. There was not an ounce of fat anywhere on it, it looked as though the very life had been sucked out of it.

Look at the marks, Isolde said quietly.

But Harald had already noted the three crescent moons burned into the side of the animal and he felt his bottom lip forcefully frowning on its own. Isolde patted the calf’s thin face and she spoke words to it as if the poor thing could still hear her.

This is so unnatural, Harald suddenly said. We should go, we need to tell someone.

Isolde stood back up and looked Harald dead in the eyes.

Who are we going to tell? she asked. Wulfric and my father are so bent on it being raiders that they don’t even see this sort of stuff.

Harald shrugged his shoulders. She was right, without the Jarl’s backing no one was going to seriously look at this black magic, even when all the village knows it is happening.

We have to do it ourselves, Isolde said. If we can bring back some proof, then maybe the town will consider the fact that the Black Witch has returned.

Harald shuddered at the name. The Black Witch…he did not want to even imagine it, let alone chase it through the woods.

Let’s go back, he said adamantly. This is above our heads, Isolde. We should at least get help before we go wandering around out here on our own.

He hesitantly glanced back toward the fields just beyond the forest limit.

Don’t be ridiculous, she said. We always used to play around here when we were kids. I know these woods like the back of my hand, we will be fine.

Harald was shaking his head. It feels different, he said, and he wasn’t lying. The woods had a heaviness to them, a thicker air that pressed down on him.

A twig snapped and they both flung at the sound. Their eyes were wide and Harald felt his breath catch in his chest as a rustle in the bush stopped his heart dead in his chest. Another rustle and horns burst out from the forest’s under-scrub. Harald breathed in relief, they weren’t horns, but antlers, and they were looking at a yearling buck. Harald felt ridiculous that he hadn’t heard the signs of its approach.

See, Isolde said as the buck sprang off between the trees and away from them, the forest is fine.

All this witch talk is making you believe she is out here, Harald said. It’s crazy, that shadow was probably just a raider.

You know it wasn’t, Isolde said confidently.

Harald knew she was right, but he had had enough.

Look, he said. I’ve got watch duty in a few hours so I’m heading back. If you want to go exploring instead of tending to the scattered herd then that’s your choice, but I have things to do.

Fine, Isolde said with tight lips and razor eyes.

Fine? Harald asked a little taken back.

Yeah, that’s fine. I will see you later.

Harald shook his head and turned back to the fields and left Isolde to her own bidding in the woods on her own.

CHAPTER THREE

Isolde watched Harald walk off down the animal track and back into the fields. She kept watching him and not once did he turn back to look at her. Fine…she thought, I don’t need him anyway. She turned her back on him and headed up the wooded slope and began to feel at peace among the ground-hugging ferns and whistling birds.

It didn’t take long for here to find a second calf that had succumb to the same fate as the first, but when she found the third, fourth and fifth, all in different stages of rot, she began to feel worried. The last she had seen was so far gone that it was little more than bones jutting out of a pool of filth with worms and flies consuming the remains as though it were a feast.

She did not stay to look on that one for long but pushed up the little slope until she had reached a peak in the woods. The late afternoon sun broke through the canopy of pines and spruce trees so that the rays fell down like perfect panes of dusted light. It was beautiful, as beautiful as the woods had ever been, but there was the nagging feeling that something was off. It was an oppression in the air, a feeling of eyes that were watching her, it was a warning that she ignored.

The distant sound of laughter stole Isolde’s attention. It was deep-voiced and throaty, like a man’s when he had had too much to drink. Instinct forced her to crouch into the undergrowth and she strained her ears to listen. There it was again, someone talking in a low voice and another bellowing out a distant laugh. She stayed and listened for some time and noted that the voices hadn’t moved or become quieter or louder. They must be sitting somewhere off to the east, or so she guessed by the dipping sun and the lengthening shadows.

She moved across the forest floor on the balls of her feet, trying to be as lithe as a cat and as silent as a mouse. She followed the sound of the talking and realized their accent was off, it was too deep and harsh and some of the words didn’t make sense to her. They must have been northerners. As she reached a peak in a hill, her guess was answered and she saw two men sitting around a fire in the bottom of the valley, roasting a calf.

They were tall men, but not as big as the northern mountain-men she had seen come down south from time to time. Truth be told, she didn’t know where they were from because they wore no insignia and their clothes were the common fur and tanned leather that everyone wore. But she watched them from up high and decided that they must have been in the woods for a while because they were dirty beyond belief, with soiled clothes and smeared faces.

Isolde shifted her weight and the sharp snap of a twig underfoot sent the eye of the men right on her. She stood atop the rise like a deer stunned by the hunter, her heart stopped as her eyes met their gaze, and at that moment, the man with the mangy brown hair had a bow in his hand and they were calling at her to come down. She didn’t know what to do, she couldn’t run, she would be shot down, and as their calls became orders for her to come over she became more and more frozen.

The mangy brown-haired man was silent as the other called.

It’s alright, love. Come down here a minute, he cried out, beckoning her over with a waving hand.

She forced her first foot forward, her thoughts blasted away by fear, and mindlessly she began to move hesitantly down the wooded slope.

That’s it, darlin’. We ain’t going to hurt you none.

The man who spoke looked wilder than his friend with the bow. His dirty face had a flattened nose, no doubt from too many fights, and his bottom lip and chin were a tangle of thick seams that contorted the skin from where he had once been cut and torn.

Now, why don’t you have a bit of this cow and warm yer self by the fire, here, he said with a shine in his eye.

Been a while since a young lass has come about this way… he looked nervously to his friend and flicked him a smile. But the mangy brown-haired man kept his bow in hand and sized her up and down.

What’s your name? he asked directly.

Isolde could feel the tension, they both eyes her like wild wolves about to devour their prey. She had to get away from them, she had to move so he couldn’t get a shot off with that bow.

Why are you killing our herd? she asked without thinking.

To eat, said one. Man’s got a right to eat, right? Why don’t you have a bite with us?

Isolde took a hesitant step back.

What about the ones you left to rot in the woods? she asked.

Scarred-lip looked at his friend and they shared the same confused look with furrowed eyes and shrugging shoulders.

Wasn’t us, he said.

She squinted her eyes, trying to see a lie, but the men seemed to have no idea what she was talking about.

What’s your name? the mangy haired man asked.

Isolde didn’t like the way the men were both looking at her. She stuttered her name and both their eyes lit up. Scarred-lip went to grab at her, but Isolde was quicker. She leant back and let his hand grasp at the air as she quickly jabbed him in the throat. Her knuckle hit the bone in his jaw as she connected and she felt the sharp pain of her wrist twisting. He fell to the ground, clutching at his neck as the other jumped forward. But Isolde was gone, she took off into the woods as fast as she could and she could hear the yelling of the mangy-haired man as he kept up with the chase.

Ferns and vines lashed out at her legs as trees whirled past her. She clutched at each one and twisted a new direction to try and throw him off. But she could hear his growls and curses and the breaking of the undergrowth only a few steps behind her. He cried out and dove for Isolde as she scrambled up a slope of loose pine needles and she suddenly felt the sharp grasp of his hand around her ankle. He yanked back hard and Isolde kicked out with her free leg and caught him in the side of his head. He cried out and yanked back harder and she felt her whole body scrape along the ground. She kicked him again, and then again and again until he fell over dazed and at that moment, Isolde vaulted up the slope and kept running.

She pushed through the trees in a dizzying flow of green and yellow streaming light until she was far from where she had lost him. She slid down another slope and ducked into the hollow under a fallen pine trunk and listened to her panting breath and racing heart. She tried to steady them and slowly she could hear again and strained her ear for any sign of the chase. Birds tweeted and fluttered high above her, a stag was rutting somewhere far in the distance, but there was no sound of men or walking feet. She sighed in relief, but something in the woods answered her. It was another sigh, long and quiet, like the breathing of the wind and when Isolde strained to listen, she gasped as she realised what was being said…Isolde…it was calling her.

CHAPTER FOUR

She couldn’t believe it, the sighing wind that rustled the loose leaves from the trees was moaning her name. It was only faint, but she was sure of it. Isooolde…

Was it real? She couldn’t make up her mind. Maybe if she wasn’t focusing so hard then it would just be a trick of the woods. It could be fairies or elves trying to play tricks on her. Isoolde… No, she thought, she was being ridiculous. She could hear it as plain as anything.

She got to her feet and strained her ears for the sound. The blind blew in against her cheek like a soft kiss and again she heard her name. She looked around, but all she could see was the tall pines and their pines that carpeted the ground. The undergrowth rustled gently, and streams of light broke through the canopy, but there was nothing unusual at all. Isoolde… The whisper sent shivers down her spine. She took a tentative step forward, and then another and another until she was following the press of the breeze.

Every time she thought the wind had stopped or the word was only her imagination, it came again like a gentle reminder. She found the old path through the wood and began to follow it up. Isoolde… the call was getting louder. Her name was forming on the very air itself. ISOLDE!

Her heart stopped dead in her chest. The shadow, it was right there in the pathway. Hunched over like a man, with its back to her. She tried to breathe but the breath was caught in her throat. Her mind was blank yet something screamed at her to run but her feet would not move.

"Isolde," croaked the shadow figure, and she watched as the form turned its dark head as though it was looking at her.

The thing turned full on and rose to twice her height. Its form flickered and fluttered like a shadow from a flame and its body rippled as it moved forward in slow, ragged steps. Isolde couldn’t move, she couldn’t take her eyes from it. She watched it spread itself out wide like like a bat opening great wings so that the darkness became a wall that slowly enveloped her.

"Isolde," it hissed in a shallow tone.

Hands emerged from the black abyss of the shadowy body. A set of two at first, inky black and grasping at her, and then another set ripped out, and another and another, until a wall of outstretched hands were clawing at her as the whole thing slowly got closer and closer. Isolde tried to scream, she could feel her face contorting but no sound came out. The abyssal shadow was going to rip her apart and she couldn’t do a thing about it.

Get back! a voice growled and Isolde felt herself be torn away from the road.

She hit the ground hard and felt her legs scrape against the earth as she was dragged by the shoulders.

What do you think you’re doing!? he growled.

Isolde looked up suddenly able to breathe again. It was Wulfric, his eyes red with rage as he bore his stare down at her.

Are you trying to get yourself killed? he bellowed.

The shadow! she stammered and she jumped up to point at the thing.

Nothing was there. An empty path with only the dark trees and sighing wind.

That adder would have been the death of you, Wulfric growled.

Adder? Isolde asked confused.

That damned snake had you with its eyes, he said unimpressed. Was about to strike, then you would have known about it.

Isolde shook her head in disbelief.

What are you talking about? she said sharply. Didn’t you see it? That shadow? Those hands?

Wulfric looked at her like she had gone mad.

What is wrong with you? he said. Did you get bit? Let me see you.

Get away from me, Isolde protested. I’m fine.

Wulfric looked at Isolde with a cocked eyebrow. He was thinking something, but Isolde couldn’t tell what.

He turned his back on her and followed the path back toward the fields. Isolde watched him for a moment and turned to look at where the shadow had been. She had seen it, she had heard it. She knew she had, it wasn’t a snake at all. She quickly turned and caught back up to Wulfric, following the man out of the woods and back out into the fields.

The dying light of the sun threw a deep orange over the pasture and Isolde instantly noticed the dark shadows of the dead cows. It couldn’t have been raiders, she told herself. They walked north toward Eyndale and a dark figure carrying a bundle caught up with them about midway.

Wulfric, Isolde, Ivar said with a nod as a greeting.

Did you bring it? Wulfric asked.

Aye, he replied and patted the bundle.

Isolde thought she saw the cloth move a bit and she eyed it carefully but didn’t catch anything odd.

What have you got there? she asked as they kept walking.

Something to show the Jarl tonight, he replied without looking back at her.

Wulfric turned his head and caught her eye though. He stopped suddenly and she almost ran into him as he turned to face her.

You keep your mouth shut tonight, he growled softly. You hear me? None of this shadow nonsense. Just sit there and listen for once.

She screwed her eyes at him.

Could be good to have her say her piece, Ivar said.

Wulfric shook his head and began to walk again.

If she’s got any wits in that hard head, our little bird will keep her mouth shut.

CHAPTER FIVE

Isolde’s father loomed above her, he stood upright out of his dark oak throne, his face strained red with anger at his daughter’s outburst.

You will do what you are told when you are told, his voice shook the cold grey walls of the hall and silenced the crowd within.

The entire village looked on in shock as she stood against her father, defiantly meeting his gaze.

Sit down, Isolde, he hissed between gritted teeth, the spittle catching on his trimmed brown beard.

She stood there, heart pounding in her chest, teeth gritted, fury in her eyes. She could feel the eyes of every single person in the hall. The whole town had been called together tonight for dark news such as this hadn’t been heard in years.

It was a large room, easily housing the hundred or so people standing in the audience. Dark oak timbers made up the floors, rubbed smooth with age. They ran from the ancient wrought-iron entrance doors all the way to the throne stage where Isolde and her father were locked in a battle of will.

A long fire pit commanded the centre of the room, running its length and held together by masterfully chiselled granites that sparkled in the tongues of flame. Great oaken pillars held the roof high and were as thick as the trees they had come from. Beautiful engravings of dragons and hounds and birds and heroes ran up and down their length.

The roof itself loomed far overhead, it was dark now in the night, but with the light of day, the thick yellow thatch could be seen glowing in the sun like ripe fields of wheat. Intricately engraved iron oil-burners hung low from the ceiling’s crossbeams, they spat out tongues of fire that let off long shadows which danced across the walls and up to the seat of the Jarl himself.

Before the silent crowd, Jarl and daughter stood off, eyes locked in dread determination. He was a heavy-set man, strong and commanding, his long brown hair salted with grey. Isolde seemed so frail in comparison, her golden hair shone in the light of the flames and was perfectly parted, held back by two fine braids stretching around each side of her head before meeting at the back. Her emerald eyes sparkled as she stood proud and tall.

Sit back down and let the grown-ups sort this out, someone from the mass called out.

Isolde shot a glance into the crowd. Her eyes lost their lustre and darkened as she glared into the gathered townsfolk. It was Wulfric who had spoken, his smug grin of chipped white teeth standing out against his darkly weathered face. She met the eyes of the hulking man, the rasping condescending tone could not have belonged to anyone else.

Isolde glanced back at her father.

Sit down, he commanded once more.

It was all she could do before turning back to the chair behind her and slumping down into it. She closed her eyes, sighed and listened as the meeting continued.

Why don’t we just send word to King Krazkul? old-man Ivar said in a nasal tone. The threat would be barely a day’s travel from his door.

Wulfric laughed and put a strong hand on Ivar’s shoulder. King Krazkul? I don’t think he or his dwarven company have seen the light of the sun since they set foot in their mountain. You’ll find no help there.

Surely it is worth the message, these are dark tidings, Wulfric, we need help, said Ivar.

Wulfric is right, Ivar, Isolde’s father said. We deal with these things on our own, the way we always have.

This is no small matter of border raiders, Jarl, Ivar continued. The harvest has never been so thin, the fields failed early, the animals are half starved, and now our livestock rot in the field.

And what would you suggest, Ivar? If Krazkul hides in his mountain, who do we turn to? King Hrothgar? Would you ask us to bend our knees to the High-King and beg for his help?

Ivar’s lip quivered at the mention of the High-King and he broke his gaze with the Jarl.

I will do it, Jarl, Wulfric said. "These shadows shouldn’t be feared. Let me head north, if it is Orlog then she will be stowed away in her caves."

The Jarl stopped for a moment in thought and he carelessly brushed his short speckled beard.

How do we know it is Orlog? he slowly questioned, looking out to the congregation of people. Why would she return now?

The group began to murmur amongst themselves before Ivar stepped forward once more.

Jarl, he said, We have all seen the signs. Have you not witnessed the bloated cattle and sheep? It’s witchcraft!

Orlog hasn’t been heard of in decades, Ivar. This could be anything, some new plague for all we know. We should wait to hear the council of Skaldi.

Skaldi! Wulfric laughed stepping forward. If we wait for that beggar to arrive we’ll be dead by winter. Ivar, show Jarl Sigurd your lamb.

Ivar stepped up to the wooden stage, a package of wriggling rags under his arm. He hefted it to the floor before the Jarl’s feet and unwrapped the rotten remains of a lamb barely six months old. Its wool soiled with filth and pus where bulbous growths swelled out the skin. Many had burst leaving sores that wept openly. Isolde nearly retched at the smell of living flesh rotting away. The poor thing squirmed, it lifted its head from the wooden floor and gagged a moan, but its swollen blue tongue had choked its airway.

Kill the wretched thing, the Jarl ordered as his eyes darted away from the bundle of misery.

There is more Jarl, Ivar said flipping the lamb to its other side.

Isolde couldn’t hold her stomach, the bitter acid shot up to her mouth filling her eyes with tears. She choked her mouthful back down and noticed her father’s eyes again dart away from the putrid animal. The side Ivar had offered him was much like the other, full of pustules and sores. But across its ribs, the wool had rotted away leaving the dark markings of the same strange three crescent moons. Red burns stood out against the pink skin and it looked as if the sigil had been seared into the skin from within.

Get the thing out of here! the Jarl roared.

It’s the Black Witch, Jarl, there can be no doubt, Wulfric said.

I know, the Jarl snapped, and I know she will tear you apart if you go.

Isolde had heard enough. Let me go, father, she doesn’t know…

She knows more than you think, her father roared.

Isolde cast her face down hiding the blood boiling to her cheeks. Let me speak, she silently screamed.

The Jarl paced back and forth, his eyes cast down at the floor as he rubbed his short beard. He was still a relatively young man closing in on his fortieth year, but the rigours of leadership had begun to show early through the deep furrows on his face and the grey that speckled his dark brown hair.

Go to her cave, he said to Wulfric, but keep your distance. If she is there, come home and we will drive her away together.

A squeaky voice shot out from the back of the crowd, and if she is not there?

The Jarl squinted into the low light of the hall and caught a glimpse of young Ulfer, standing on the tips of his toes as his head bobbled