“We’ll only need to draw him out,” Thorold said. “All we need to do is get in, make our presence known, and get out before he can assemble the troops. He’ll advance if he sees us accumulating forces in Swann Dalr. From there we can make our move.”
“What you’re talking about is hitting him hard and unseen from the direction he won’t be looking,” Rune said, looking up from the fire.
Thorold opened his mouth to confirm as the door banged open. The men snapped their attention to Joren who stood, saturated down to the bones and panting from a hard run. The heavy crackle of falling rain filled the room.
“The Dokkalfar—” Joren gasped, battling to speak between breaths. “They come, not three days off.”
The men rose as one, pushing back the chairs as they stood.
“How many?” Rune asked.
“Twenty thousand,” Joren said.
“By Odinn,” Roald muttered.
“It’s begun then,” Rune said with a slight nod. “And we will rise up and meet them. Bergen. Roald. Thorold.”
Each man waited at attention, eager for his orders.
“What will you have us do, Rune?” Thorold asked.
“Do we ride out?” Roald grinned.
“No.” Rune shook his head. “We’ll need our strength against those numbers. What we need is a fortress. We’ll let him come to us.”
“But the children! Our women!”
“Empty Gunir,” Rune said. “Send our people to the north. And be quick about this. We must be ready to meet the Dokkalfar outside the city at the plains of the Klarelfr in two days.”
With a brief scuffle, each man took their leave as Rune dropped the bottle on the platter and dumped himself onto his trunk for his boots.
“Rune,” Geirolf said, cradling a pair of meads. “You have me as a healer, you know that. I’ll march with you into battle as always and once more. In the meantime…” He turned for the door. “I’ll be helping with the evacuations if you need me.”
“Any sign of Gudrun or Daggon?” Rune asked, glancing up from his laces at Joren.
The scout shook his head, sending droplets of water flying. “I didn’t see anyone on the road.”
Rune returned to his boots.
“Rune.”
The scout waited for his king to look back up.
With apprehension, he lowered his voice, ensuring a certain Dokkalfr couldn’t hear should she be near.
“I was able to get close enough to hear,” Joren said. “No one remembers Kallan.”
Rune slowly lowered his foot back to the floor.
“No one recalls,” Joren said, shaking his head. “Their memory is gone… Taken from them. As if she never existed. If Kallan were to stand before them this day, they wouldn’t know her from a Ljosalfar. They will kill her.”
“By the gods,” Rune muttered. Doubling his pace, he returned to lacing his boots. “Joren, I need you to do something for me. Fetch two of the guards and have them posted outside Kallan’s door.”
Torunn quietly closed the sitting room door behind her as Rune paused to rethink his orders.
“And station two more at the base of the keep in the courtyard beneath her window.”
“Rune,” Torunn said.
“And have Gunnar hide Astrid,” Rune said. “I can’t risk her following us and, believe me, she will try.”
“Rune,” Torunn tried again.
“I’ll go to her myself and tell her the news. I expect her full temper on this one.”
“Rune.” Torunn’s voice was louder.
“Find Bergen,” Rune said. “Speak to him. Update him on the situation. He’ll need to inform Roald and Thorold of this as well.”
“Rune!”
“What, Torunn?”
“She’s gone.”
The blood drained from Rune’s face as he met the fear-stricken hollowness in Torunn’s wide, round eyes. Remembering Kallan’s last words, Rune stood sharply from the trunk. Without a word, he marched through the door of his bower and descended the stairs to the Great Hall.
His shoulder nearly smacked into Bergen, who barely had time enough to flatten his back against the wall at the base of the steps.
“Bergen. You’re in charge,” Rune called, not bothering to look over his shoulder as he swept by.
“What?”
“I’ll be back in two days,” Rune added.
“Where are you going?”
Rune threw wide the double doors.
“What if you’re not?” Bergen asked.
Rune looked back to Bergen.
“Don’t wait for me.”
The grand doors slammed with a hollow boom that left Bergen alone in silence flanked by the throne beside him.
* * *
Rune dumped Astrid’s saddle over the horse’s back, giving Kallan cause to jump.
“What are you doing?” she asked, attempting to pull the blanket flat beneath the saddle he buckled into place. Rune raised an eye to Kallan and ignored her question.
“Don’t try to stop me,” she said with a brittle bite in her voice.
“Who said I’m here to stop you?” Rune asked, adding a tight snap to the buckle. “I’m going with you.”
Kallan’s eyes widened.
“This is my kin,” she said. “My family. I’ll not go anywhere with you and hand you the opportunity to stab me in the back!”
Rune kept his hands busy, but peered through the strands of his hair that had fallen loose from the tie-back.
“Funny, I thought you’d want to keep me where you could watch me.”
“You lied to me!”
“You don’t know what you’re up against, princess,” he said.
“Don’t—” Kallan ground her teeth. “Don’t I?”
With a final snap of the buckle, Rune rested his arms across the saddle. Holding Kallan’s tongue with his glare, he spoke with a hushed flourish of words.
“Aaric moves with twenty thousand.”
“Twenty—” The blood drained from Kallan’s face. “It doesn’t matter!” she said, recovering her temper. “They’ll hear me! All I have to do is—”
“No one there will know you as Queen of the White Opal.” Rune dropped his eyes back to the saddle. His fingers moved quicker than ever as he moved on to the bridle. “You can leave that title behind you.”
He turned from Astrid to ready one of the fjord horses for himself as Kallan ducked around Astrid’s neck and followed.
“What is that supposed to mean? My people—”
“Have been cursed!” Rune said, leaving the job to lock eyes with Kallan. “Someone has taken their memory from them! They won’t know you. They don’t remember you! If they see you, they’ll kill you without question.”
Kallan furrowed her brow in an attempt to hide the wall of tears.
“This fight is my own,” she said, returning to fasten Astrid’s saddle. “I must do this alone.”
“You’re so certain Gudrun won’t be opposed to your intrusion?” Rune asked.
“I spoke to Borg.”
“So you’ve said.”
“He said they’re coming for me.”
Rune pulled Kallan’s hands from the buckles..
“Did he say who?”
With fallen shoulders, Kallan shook her head, realizing that in the end, Kovit had said very little.
“Well, I’ve had enough of this,” Rune grumbled with a hastened pace to his horse.
“What are you doing?” Kallan asked.
“With your legions marching here, I have no time to waste roaming about the forests looking for Gudrun,” Rune said. “I need answers and Aaric has them. Besides, if Gudrun has made it to Aaric, we’ll have the best odds of finding her there.” Rune snatched up his horse’s bridle from its hook. “And I have a few words I’d like to share with Aaric.”
The color returned to Kallan’s face and she leaned closer with a new sparkle in her eye.
“What do you propose?” she asked, bouncing on he
r heel as she gleamed with anticipation.
“Do you have your pouch with you?” Rune asked. “We’re going to need it.”
Through the rains, Kallan and Rune rode across the river-streaked plains of Alfheim. Their faces burned from the battalion of water drops that bombarded them as they rode. They stopped multiple times to give each horse one of Kallan’s apples, and were on the road again shortly thereafter, refreshed for the hard ride south.
The rains had barely let up by the time the early afternoon sun settled behind the mountains, leaving behind clear skies and the blanket of early evening that granted them unseen passage to the edge of the Dokkalfar camp.
Soaked beneath the stars, Rune and Kallan quietly dismounted and fastened their horses to a withering tree almost bare of its crimson leaves. As Rune unsheathed Gramm, Kallan withdrew and dispensed a spell, taking care to grasp Rune’s hand as the last of their corporeal selves faded before their eyes.
“This is so weird,” Rune whispered, raising Gramm to his face. Turning the blade over, he saw nothing.
“Sh,” Kallan shushed and pulled Rune through the forest toward the Dokkalfar camp buried deep in the Alfheim wood.
“Do you know where it is?” he asked, keeping his voice below a whisper.
The sweet snap of fresh rain and heavily churned earth invaded their senses as they slunk through the damp leaves and the soaked foliage.
“We had several camps stationed in the wood for transport.” Kallan peered over her shoulder at invisible Rune to ensure he heard. “Aaric should be here.”
Moments later, they were near enough to hear the familiar jargon and trills of Kallan’s native tongue. The scent of warm spices brewing within the stews of the Dokkalfar fires stirred Kallan’s appetite. Longing stayed her feet as the urge to lunge into the camp and join her brethren overcame her.
Rune gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
“Soon,” he whispered from close behind.
With a nod he couldn’t see, Kallan blew a quiet sigh and reasserted her focus. Recalling the initial goal, unwilling to let go, she tugged Rune’s hand and continued through the forest’s edge.
As they drew nearer, they stopped long enough to peer from behind the foliage. Several steps away, out from the cover of trees, was Aaric’s tent. Around the tent, Dokkalfar bustled, sharpening their weapons or eating. Most had turned in for the night. Rune tugged Kallan’s hand, drawing her attention toward him.
“There,” she heard Rune say and could only assume he pointed toward the largest of tents.
“Come,” Rune bade and pulled Kallan to her feet as he took the lead and tugged her toward the tent.
Warm light spilled from beneath the hides, where they came to an abrupt stop. With great care, Rune listened at the door, confirming the silence inside before pushing aside a small bit of the hide to study the layout.
A fire burned in the center of the vast room, while an array of furs and weapons dripped about the living quarters. A full set of pristine armor waited on display in the corner of the room. Against the farthest end of the tent, a table had been brought in and was strewn with maps. To the one side of the tent, a large, fur bed and a chest lay idle while, on the other, a table lavished with fruits, mead, and meats drew their attention. There, Aaric stood pouring a drink.
He had sleeked back his hair framed with the war braids that flanked the side of his face, allowing Rune to scrutinize some of the many etchings inked into his shoulders and up his neck.
“Ready?” he whispered.
Kallan nodded then gave Rune’s hand a squeeze when she remembered he couldn’t see her. Tightening his grip on Kallan, Rune slipped into the tent and pulled her in behind him.
As Aaric turned to examine the sudden chill from the tent’s flap, Rune released Kallan’s hand, and Kallan released the spell.
“Aaric?” she said.
With a flagon of mead half raised to his mouth, Aaric fumbled and dropped it, spilling it all over the floor.
“I told you not to bring her back,” Aaric said to Rune, keeping his voice low.
Rune shook his head, confused.
“You never spoke to me before this night.”
“No, you wouldn’t recognize me,” Aaric said.
A sudden outburst outside jerked Aaric to attention.
He briskly moved to the tent flap and peered outside.
“Just the soldiers,” he muttered once the raucous died down. Aaric dropped the flap.
“You must leave,” he said. “Quick. Before she gets back.”
“She?” Kallan asked.
“Go! Now!” Aaric said and, taking Kallan’s arm, did his best to shove her toward the door.
“Aaric, please!” Kallan said, yanking her arm free.
“Kallan, please,” Aaric said. “You can’t be here.”
“But—”
“Gudrun can explain,” Aaric said, taking up Kallan’s arm again. “Ask her about the Drui. She’ll know what that means. Now go!”
“Gudrun is coming here,” Rune explained.
“What?” Aaric asked allowing Kallan to take back her arm again.
“She left to plead our case to you,” Rune said.
Aaric shook his head.
“She can’t… Please! Just go! There isn’t time!”
“Aaric?” Kallan said.
“Don’t come back. I’ll find you,” he said to Kallan.
“Aaric!” Kallan said.
“Please get her out!” Aaric said to Rune.
Shoving them toward the door, Aaric guided Kallan only a foot when the flap reopened and a tall woman with golden eyes, long black hair, and a single scratch of blood on her right cheek entered with something clutched in her right hand.
The woman looked stunned as she stared at Kallan. Kallan studied the woman’s golden eyes so like Gudrun’s, and her flawless skin so unlike anything seen in Alfheim or Midgard.
Quite suddenly, Aaric grabbed Kallan’s wrist. She felt the flow of her Seidr shift as if the motion unlocked a door that released a lifetime of memory.
In that instant, a whirlwind of images bombarded her mind, flooding her head with pictures, too many to sort and too blurred to see, each accompanied with a chorus of sound all played at once.
Aaric’s grip tightened painfully on Kallan’s arm as Rune watched the woman stiffen then flush white with sick.
Time suspended them there as Kallan’s eyes flickered as if trying to keep up with the onslaught of images, countless images that flashed with sound and color and all at once.
“No!” the woman screamed and threw the thing she clutched at Kallan.
It hit Kallan, who stumbled back, breaking Aaric’s grip on her as a pair of empty, ancient eyes stared at her.
“No! It’s not done!” Aaric shouted as Kallan unleashed a shrill cry from the depths of her core. Gudrun’s sickly gray head lay on the floor at Kallan’s feet, ending a trail of long, silver strands dyed red with blood as anguish cleaved Kallan’s heart in two. All strength left her as she sank to the floor with Rune, who pulled her back up, desperate to keep their guard raised.
The woman stood, heaving with rage. The Beast within Rune awakened and roared as Kallan snapped her hands alive with flame.
The woman matched Kallan’s offense as Kallan’s cries became a run of insufferable screams and both women charged. Rune’s Fendinn jumped, and Rune lunged, dropping his hold over Kallan as Aaric threw himself in between the women, his own line of white Seidr secured to the end of the Seidr the woman had thrust at Kallan.
“Nidingr! Uksit!” Kallan shrieked in between a long slew of indecipherable curses and incomprehensible sobs as she threw herself at her assailant, held back only by Rune’s arms.
“Get her out of here!” Aaric bellowed over Kallan’s shrill.
“Kallan!” Rune shouted. “You can’t take her!”
Not caring that Rune couldn’t hold back the Fendinn, not caring that Aaric had added a tether of Seidr to Rune’s Fendinn or that he had
a mass of such power, Kallan fought Rune’s grip, desperate to get to the woman who had Gudrun’s head.
“Stand down!” Aaric shouted to the army that arrived at Kallan’s cry. “Back to your posts! Let them pass!” Aaric shouted over Kallan’s intermittent sobs.
Rune glared over the heap that was Kallan as he yanked her toward the door.
“I’ll say again, Ljosalfr,” Aaric said, still holding the woman’s rage at bay. “Do not bring her back here!”
Nodding, Rune clamped down and pulled Kallan out of the tent where the sudden cold stabbed at the whole of her body and reminded Kallan that she lived—that she breathed—and forcing her to accept what she saw. Around the camp, the army surrounded them, ready and eagerly waiting, wanting Kallan to advance and leaving barely enough room for them to back into the forest from whence they came.
A trail of screams followed as Rune dragged Kallan into the wood when the last of her strength gave out and Kallan crumbled into a pile of sobs. Scooping the broken girl from the floor, Rune carried her into the dark and ignored the countless eyes on his back.
“Stand down, Fand,” Aaric ordered, still holding Fand’s Seidr to his own.
“Out of my way, Drui!”
“When I am dead,” he said. “Only then will you touch that child!”
“So be it.”
Fand sent another surge of Seidr, which Aaric matched, accepted, and took.
“I’ve killed one of your kind already this night, Aaric! Two Drui is quite a feat to boast! Don’t force me to make that mark, Drui!”
“You will not touch her,” Aaric repeated.
“I will…and you will live long enough to watch her die,” Fand seethed.
Emitting another surge, Fand sent Aaric flying back. Before he could stand, she fired a blast of wind into his gut that left him airless and gasping on the floor.
“I can’t kill you,” Fand said as Aaric writhed on the floor, desperate to breathe. “Not yet.”
As Fand heaved with rage, her appearance changed. Black images and runes surfaced on her flawless skin that darkened and shifted until it mimicked the scarring of Aaric’s skin. Her nose grew long and a beard grew in as Fand’s hair shortened and braided itself to match Aaric’s. She gained two inches in height while her feminine form melted into a wide straight back, and tight chest that filled with muscle to match the centuries of sword fighting Aaric had mastered.
Fire and Lies Page 28
