“Kali! He’s here! I’ve found him. I’ve found him! Look, there’s his tail!”
“He’s there! I see him, Ori! Catch him! Catch him!”
Her forgotten words echoed from within her head and she could hear, so clearly, the dormant memories awakened.
“By all the fires of Muspellsheim,” her father had roared. “Kallan, that’s a newt!”
“It isn’t a newt, Father! He’s a dragon! I saw him myself climb out of the fire!”
Daggon’s laughter had boomed from behind as the young princess had tried so desperately to hold onto the gray Northern newt.
Eyolf had done well to hide his grin beneath the mass of his black beard.
“Ori, stop telling her they’re dragons! Daggon, stop laughing!”
“But he could be! He could be! Sometimes the dragons are real!” Little Kallan had shrieked and the memory faded.
“Ori,” Kallan whispered, still kneeling on the ground in the grass, and the Dvergr smiled. Narrowing her eyes, Kallan studied his face through the dark for a hint of the boy she had forgotten.
She didn’t see the shadows move behind Ori, nor did she see the wild black of the crazed eyes flash as Motsognir’s scout launched from the blanket of night. By the time Kallan rose to one knee, coddling a blue flame, Ori had unsheathed his sword and stood, impaling the scout, who slumped to the ground. The prince wiped the blood from his blade, panting with even breaths.
“Were you looking to save me?” Ori asked, taking a step toward Kallan.
Ori moved and a second Dvergr lunged with raised sword from the shadows. In a torrent of black hair and ebony eyes, he charged then stopped only inches away. A single arrow shot clean through his heart interrupted his advance, and he fell to the earth with the look of victory frozen on his face.
Kallan and Ori whipped around as Rune lowered his bow to his side.
“They’re here,” Ori said between breaths.
Rune nodded and the Dvergr grinned.
“I’ll be blaming you for this,” Ori said, pointing at the bodies with his blade.
“I figured you might,” Rune replied with a tone that radiated his respect. “Kallan,” he called, offering her his hand. “Come.”
His gentle voice coaxed her and she took his hand. With a heavy numbness, she slid her hand into his as he pulled her to her feet. With a slight tug, Rune urged her to follow and led her into the darkness, back to the horses and camp.
“Rune,” Ori called. “Take care of her.”
With a contented smile, Rune nodded and tightened his grip on Kallan’s hand, guiding her back to the banks of the river.
Lost beneath the forest floor, unbeknownst to them all, a single seedling lay among the forest mulch. Its tiny stem had swollen and broken free from its prison shell. Four tiny apple leaves stretched themselves out like little arms reaching toward the heavens for light.
* * *
Smoke and ash billowed into the air as Rune rolled up the beds. After saddling the horses, they were off, riding hard down along the lake’s edge. They transitioned between full gallops and light canters, and stopped only long enough to rejuvenate and heal the horses with Idunn’s apples. Through the night, they rode with little said between them until the sun rose over Midgard and spilled its light onto the lake.
Mid-day came and went as the tip of the lake narrowed into the wide river that drained Lake Mjerso.
Rune turned the skewered salmon steaks he had propped over a fire.
Kallan stared into the flames. “Salmon.”
“Again,” Rune said.
Kallan hugged her legs into her chest, resting her chin on her knees. She released a weary breath.
“I miss Gudrun’s flado.”
Rune’s eyes grew wide. “Oooh, flado,” he exclaimed at the thought of sweet, golden creams molded into beautiful bowls and topped with preserves.
“Yeah!” Kallan’s face lit up with excitement. “Gudrun makes the best flado from the juice of Idunn’s apples. She calls it Idunn’s Nectar.”
“You know what I miss?”
“What?” Kallan asked, giving an alternating tap with her feet.
“Cook’s boiled blood pudding,” Rune said and Kallan puckered her lips with relished delight.
“Gudrun makes that with cloudberries,” she beamed. “Oh, and blood cakes with imported sugared pears drowning in mulberry sauce.”
“Boiled pork,” Rune said. “And—”
“—Black Soup,” they both exclaimed.
Kallan sighed and looked to the stars. “Lingonberry jam,” she said.
“With boiled pork.” Rune bobbed his head and hungrily licked his lips then dropped his gaze to the skewers of unseasoned salmon propped over the fire.
Kallan dropped her chin back to her knees.
“I hate fish.”
They watched the salmon and waited until Rune took up each skewer. Quietly, he passed a stick to Kallan and, in a daze, she peeled off the skin of her fish as her thoughts filled and emptied with memories of silver streams that riddled the mines of Nidavellir.
The wood fire crackled.
“We’re not stopping for long,” Rune said as Kallan picked off another piece of fish. “Ori may have managed to divert Motsognir, but Olaf can’t be far behind.”
Kallan rotated her fish as she lost her thoughts in the mazes of Svartálfaheim caves.
“So my thinking was this,” Rune continued, “I can head out when I’m done here and hand myself over to Olaf.”
“What?” Kallan said, jerked from her thoughts.
Rune shrugged.
“Astrid will ride faster if he’s only carrying one of us,” he said. “So I figured you could take him on ahead to Alfheim.”
“Are you mad?”
A smile stretched Rune’s face. “Now that I have your attention,” he said, “what’s really on your mind?”
Kallan chuckled lightly, shaking her head after tossing her meal’s carcass onto the fire that devoured her fish bones.
“I can see them,” she said.
The fire whipped its flames into the air.
“Them?” Rune asked.
Kallan leaned back against the pile of saddlebags. Astrid crunched on the grass behind her as his bridle jingled.
“Have you ever had the pleasure of seeing Nidavellir?” she asked, staring past the fire into her memories.
“The Dvergar city within Svartálfaheim?” he asked.
Kallan lifted her eyes from the flames.
“No.” Rune shook his head. “But I know someone who was once imprisoned there.” Kallan quelled her questions for later. “He spoke of their mazes, their labyrinths…their culture.”
Kallan nestled her chin into her knees.
“The Svartálfaheim mines,” she said, “were sculpted around the metals and stones flowing through the ground. Endless streaks of silver and black glisten in the fire’s light…a majesty I’ve not seen duplicated since.”
Kallan paused, allowing herself to get lost in the beauty known only to those halls.
“And those metals…” Kallan gasped at the memories Ori had awakened. “I would watch for hours as Volundr wielded the silvers and blacks of their elding.”
Rune straightened at attention.
“Volundr,” he exclaimed. “The Smith?”
Kallan smiled and nodded. “Gramm’s maker.”
“By the fires of Muspellsheim,” Rune said, leaning back on his bedroll.
Kallan watched him through the flames.
“My father could only tell us tales,” he said, staring up at the stars.
Kallan shuffled herself around, stretching out on her stomach and staring off into the darkness with her chin resting on her arms. Sleep was beginning to find her and she closed her eyes in submission.
“What I wouldn’t give to see him work,” Rune said.
The fire crackled as she listened to Rune shuffle into his bedroll. Dreams came quickly as she drifted off in thought of raw opals twinklin
g from beneath the earthen walls.
“Kallan?”
“Hm.” She could feel his eyes on her and she smiled, allowing the comfort of his vigilance to sooth her.
“When we cross into Alfheim tomorrow…” Rune paused. “Will you go with me to Gunir?”
“Hm hm,” she agreed with a smile, allowing her own petty desires their moment as she drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER 66
The next morning, sunlight spilled over the mountains. Seated atop Astrid, Rune and Kallan made their way along the river streaked with beams of light. Desperate for the first glimpse of Alfheim in nearly a full moon and a fortnight, Kallan beamed with an eagerness she couldn’t contain. Her wide-eyed zeal had become anxious jitters as she looked from the horizon, to the waters, to the forested land. As if worried they had somehow strayed and lost their way, she looked about in search for a road or land bridge that would open up and carry them into Alfheim.
“Soon enough,” he said and wrapped an arm around her, forcing her still.
Astrid’s steady pace carried them through the forests along the river’s edge, dragging the day behind them.
“Where is she?” Kallan asked as the mid-day sun began to rise.
“Eager to get underway?” Rune asked with a grin.
“Our deal stands, Ljosalfr.”
Kallan sensed the continued battle that brewed as Rune tightened his hold on her waist.
“What will you have me do…to convince you to come to Gunir?” Rune’s voice was near a whisper.
Kallan scoffed then glanced over her shoulder to better direct her insults toward him.
“Only a fool would willingly follow an enemy to their home,” she said.
“Am I still your enemy?” Rune asked, pulling his eyes from the road.
With mouth agape, Kallan spun around to rebutt, but Rune suddenly fell forward, dropping his weight onto her. Clenching his teeth, Rune bit back a howl and pushed himself up again as Kallan caught a glimpse of an arrow’s shaft protruding from his shoulder.
With a slap of the reins, Rune sent Astrid galloping in and out between the trees down the riverbank ahead of a volley of arrows. Reaching around, Rune grasped the arrow and broke the shaft in two, leaving half of the arrow still embedded in his shoulder and that was when he saw them: lines of archers in the distance standing behind lines of spearmen, who charged them. And in the distance, atop his horse, sat Olaf among his archers.
“Olaf,” Rune said and, before the color finished draining from Kallan’s face, Rune had untied Freyja’s reins from the saddle horn and sent her galloping into the forest along with most of their possessions.
Rune whipped Astrid’s reins, and the stallion fired into a torrent. The pines thickened and Rune veered Astrid away from the river where the banks rose into sharp cliffs. The woodland thickened, hiding them from Olaf’s arrows and forcing Rune to ease up on the gallop. A sliver of light pierced the wood, beckoning them on ahead. With a final bound through the trees, Astrid emerged from the wood and Rune pulled back hard on the bridle, putting an immediate end to their chase.
“The river…” Kallan muttered.
The river they had followed east for two days, the river that should have led them to the open fields of Alfheim, abruptly ended as it joined with a second river that flowed from the north. The waters of the Raumelfr, wide enough to comfortably hold three longships, stretched out in front of them.
With his legs jellied, Rune slid down from Astrid, and briskly walked along the land that hugged the banks of the Raumelfr, forming a blunt point before trailing up the other side of the east river and shaping the land into a peninsula. Together they stared out across the conjunction, gaping at the other side.
“We’re blocked in,” Rune said. His heart pounded like a drum, burning his shoulder where the arrow rested. The charge of soldiers behind them grew louder.
“Rune?” Kallan said. She looked to him, awaiting an answer, but his attention had settled on the land across the Raumelfr.
“That’s Alfheim,” Rune said.
“What?”
“We’re on the wrong side.”
“What?”
“We’re on the wrong side,” Rune’s voice rose the more the realization settled in.
“We’re on the wrong side?”
“We’re on the wrong side! Alfheim is there!” Rune pointed to the wooded plains ahead.
“We have to cross this?” Kallan shrieked. “That’s the width of an arrow’s shot!”
“We have to cross this,” Rune said.
“We can’t cross this!”
“I know we can’t cross this!” Rune shouted back.
“We can’t cross this,” Kallan said. “How can we be on the wrong side?”
“We were at the wrong lake.” Rune’s voice sharpened as he realized his error.
“The lake?” Kallan said.
“I thought it was Lake Mjerso.”
“Then what was it?” Kallan asked.
“We must have been further west.”
“What do you mean further west? You didn’t know?”
“No, I didn’t know!” Rune shouted back.
“I thought you’ve been here!”
“I was, but that was a long time ago!”
“You mean you don’t remember?” Kallan said.
“No! I don’t remember!” Rune shouted.
“Rune…” Kallan gasped. “We can’t cross this.”
The march of the soldiers grew louder, forcing them to abandon their argument. Before she could disagree, Rune grabbed Kallan’s hand and bolted up the west bank of the Raumelfr.
“Rune,” Kallan managed between breaths, “we can’t run all the way up the Raumelfr.”
“I know that.”
Rune came to a stop and looked about for a place to escape, a place to cross, a place to hide.
“What do we do?” Kallan asked.
“I don’t know.” Rune looked from left to right for a solution. Deciding on one, he pulled Kallan back to Astrid. “Come on.”
Lifting her up, Rune hoisted Kallan into the saddle. After pulling himself up behind her, Rune looked about for Olaf’s men then snapped the reins, forcing Astrid into a full gallop up the banks of the Raumelfr.
Undaunted by the advantage Kallan and Rune gained from atop their mount, Olaf’s men charged with spear and axe. Rune pulled back on the reins and studied the far side where the spearmen left an opening. Directing Astrid toward the banks of the Raumelfr, Rune steered the horse to the only opening ahead. Within moments, more spearman moved in, closing ranks and forcing Rune to reconfigure his escape.
After re-examining the scenario for another opening, Rune sent Astrid across the peninsula. Flying ahead on his command, desperate to outrun the war-men, Astrid rounded the tip of the land and Rune veered the stallion up the banks of the east river, but the spearmen were waiting with Olaf.
Forced to a full stop, Rune looked for any opening that could lead to an escape, but the army had barricaded them in and the only open path was down a sheer drop into the Raumelfr.
Rune wrapped an arm around Kallan as she flicked her wrists. Rune snatched Kallan’s hand.
“Don’t,” he said. “There are too many.”
The first of the spearmen closed in, cutting off the last of the space between them when the blast of a war horn and a call to arms filled the wood around them.
Everyone looked to the trees.
Moving as one and clad in armor, a legion of Alfar warriors emerged from the forest sporting sword, shield, and spear. Olaf’s spearmen tightened their grips on their arms. Confusion settled in as they looked about, studying the warriors surrounding them. Untouched by the fear of man’s mortality, the faces of the Alfar were hardened with the coldness possessed only by those born to the halls of Alfheim.
Kallan looked from face to face. Rune felt her tremble as she leaned into him like she was desperate to sink through him and vanish. She slipped her hand into his and folded her f
ingers down with such strength as if terrified he would suddenly be ripped from her side.
Rune searched the innumerable faces and scanned the crowd of troops for a single pair of obscure eyes. From the line of Alfar, a single warrior stepped into the opening and Rune ended his search, relaxing onto Astrid with a wide grin.
Clad in black and seated, almost bored, upon a charcoal mare with an elding great sword fastened to his back, the berserker emerged from the line of Alfar. His dark eyes fell on Kallan.
“Olaf!” Bergen bellowed above the confused mass of murmurs that had fallen over the troops. “Stand down!”
Olaf addressed the challenger, throwing all of his hate to this Ljosalfr, this berserker.
“You stand on the grounds of Viken,” Olaf said and Bergen unsheathed his sword with a flourish. “With what warrant do you contest the king and lord of this land?”
“We are here for our king,” Bergen said, “and are prepared to take him back…” With a flick of his wrist, Bergen readied his great sword and grinned. “Or to avenge him.”
Olaf smiled widely from atop his horse.
“Have you so many lives to spare that you can send them to their deaths in vain?” Olaf asked.
The Dark One waited for the echo of Olaf’s taunt to fade before answering.
“Ten thousand,” Bergen said with the cold calculation of a strategist. “Ten thousand stand strong awaiting our return in Gunir. They have orders to march to your precious citadel and rend your fortress to the ground where she stands if we don’t.” The smile fell from Olaf’s face. “Are you prepared to amass your troops in defense against our vengeance?”
“Your falsehood is plain,” Olaf said. “Your numbers have significantly depleted.”
“Will you gamble your stronghold on false assumptions?”
The weighted silence fell over the troops, each awaiting their commander’s orders. Kallan and Rune shifted gazes from Man to Alfar. After a long moment in which Olaf and Bergen exchanged glances, Olaf called to his men.
“Fall back!”
In a wave that passed over Olaf’s troops, they lowered their arms and withdrew to the woods as Olaf kept his eyes fixed on his challenger. Olaf steered his horse about and rode to the front of his order without a glance behind.
Dolor and Shadow Page 51
