With mouth agape, she stared into the mass of her people, all looking down at her with the same vile hatred she once held for the Ljosalfar. Now, amid the Ljosalfar, Kallan stood, helpless to stop either side.
Across the plains at the base of the hills across the Klarelfr, Fand glared down at the masses before her with Aaric’s face. A weak grin stretched her mouth.
“Ready the arms,” she bellowed with Aaric’s voice. The Dokkalfar obeyed as Fand kept her gaze fixed on the lone Seidkona staring up at her from the Klarelfr.
Bound and dumped on the ground, Aaric stood, his own face masked from the soldiers who saw only an unknown face.
“Don’t do this,” Aaric said.
“Do what?” Fand smiled and raised an arm. “You’re doing it.”
Fand dropped her arm.
Releasing a cry, the Dokkalfar snapped their arms with a militia’s precision and charged full speed into the plains where Thorold’s warriors waited.
The ground thundered beneath Kallan’s feet as she stared wide-eyed at the Dokkalfar clasping axe and spear. Together, they cried out for their victory, blind to their queen among their enemy. Unable to take up arms against them, Kallan held her breath, uncertain how to stop the charging mass.
The white of their eyes grew visible.
The first of the soldiers drew nearer, until Kallan could make out the madness in a scarred, young face as it closed in. Kallan remained paralyzed and the first soldier raised an axe, eager to cleave her head.
His scream rent the air and he fell to the ground. A Ljosalfr arrow protruded from the center of his back.
Kallan looked to the west, and there she caught Rune’s eyes as he lowered his bow. His shot was the cue his archers had waited for and instantly, a volley of arrows filled the sky like black rain.
“To arms!” Thorold bellowed as his men tightened the shield wall across the defense lines. “Ready!”
His voice carried over the cries of the Dokkalfar as Kallan watched her brethren fall beneath the shower of Ljosalfar arrows.
“Kallan!” Thorold called, alerting her to her open position.
The Dokkalfar charged with the madness of the berserk and Kallan, collecting her nerve, joined Thorold’s side behind the shield wall.
Another volley from the Ljosalfar showered the Dokkalfar and many fell, but not enough before meeting the shield wall. Dokkalfar jostled the Ljosalfar that stood against the impact and brought down sword as they came.
Rune released a final volley onto the Dokkalfar aimed at the back of the advance. He raised Gramm to the sky and released his battle cry. From across the valley, Bergen joined his brother’s cry and he too raised his sword.
Together, they charged the Dokkalfar, each leading their own army to the front. As Thorold held them off at the shield wall, the Ljosalfar assailed the flanks of the Dokkalfar.
“And another,” Fand calmly ordered. “Ready the next wave,” she called out over the clashing metal below.
Sword rose up with axe, and five thousand Dokkalfar poured down the hillside, flooding the base of the valley and joining their comrades as they ripped into the Ljosalfar.
They cleaved their way to the heart of the valley as they rent the shield wall in two.
“Hold your ground!” Thorold bellowed over the clang of sword against shield as the front broke against the first wave.
With her Seidr, Kallan blocked blow after blow against the deluge of attacks that came from all sides. Refusing to rise offensively, she buckled beneath the weight of a Dokkalfr’s axe just as she threw up her Seidr shield. Her head snapped back from the impact as he forced Kallan to her knees while maintaining her shield. From the corner of her eye, Bergen battled with an unequalled ferocity as he cleaved the men of her army with his sword, making his way toward Kallan.
With ease, Bergen thrust and drew up his blade, cutting through the Dokkalfr that had Kallan pinned beneath his axe. Bergen pivoted, spilling the Dokkalfr’s insides as Bergen swung his blade down.
A berserker, blinded with rage, closed in. As Bergen impaled a soldier, the berserker raised his sword and unleashed his cry. Without thought, Kallan released her Seidr and sent a blast of flame that missed Bergen’s back. The flame struck the berserker’s face and Bergen turned to plunge the sword through his chest.
As Bergen kicked off the body and grabbed the sword from the corpse, Kallan rose to her feet, shaking as she stared wide-eyed at the Dokkalfr she had killed.
“Kallan!” Bergen cried. “Sword!” He shoved the blade into her cold hands.
Without thought, Kallan took the hilt and thrust the blade, catching an assailant, who fell, impaled by her blade.
The horror glazed her face. As Kallan looked down into the eyes of her kin, his face met hers, and, moments before the life left his eyes, for a fleeting second, he knew his queen and the breath left him.
Kallan’s arms weakened beneath the weight of the sword, deafened by Rune, who called to her as he brought down his opponent.
“Kallan!”
She heard nothing as the hilt of her sword slipped from her hands and the blade fell to the ground.
“Kallan!” Rune cried.
Shoving a Dokkalfar to the ground, Rune drew back his bow and fired, then swung the bow into the face of a Dokkalfr. Taking up his dagger, Rune thrust the blade into the heart of a soldier. The body slumped to the ground and Rune fought his way to Kallan.
“Kallan,” Rune called as another soldier lunged for Kallan in time for Rune to jerk the dagger up and into him. To the ground he fell beside Kallan, who knelt, stupefied.
“Kallan!”
Slowly, Kallan raised her face.
“You shouldn’t be here!” Rune shouted then turned, impaling a Dokkalfr.
At the top of the hill, Fand held back a wide grin.
“Ready the archers for their second wave,” Fand said from high upon Aaric’s stead.
The words slammed into Aaric, leaving him sick on the ground.
“Fand—”
“Aim,” Fand barked and, forced to take her eyes from the battle, glared at Aaric.
Aaric’s bottom lip quivered, forcing him to clench his jaw.
“Fire.”
The volley came with the command, drawing Bergen’s attention to the trees where Fand sat hidden behind Aaric’s face. He plunged his blade into a soldier and turned to impale another before the first had touched the ground.
Kallan and Rune looked to the sky as arrows flew overhead. Alert once more with the need, Kallan slammed her hands to the sky, drawing her Seidr from her core. Silver blue flowed across the sky like water as Kallan encompassed the whole of the armies beneath her Seidr shield.
The sharp clang of Gramm confirmed Rune had resumed fighting, leaving Kallan to support the ward.
“Again,” Fand ordered beneath her breath.
Like black rain, another volley fell, and another, striking Kallan’s shield then dropping harmlessly to the ground, over and again. Kallan shook beneath the weight of the ward, but held her Seidr until the last of her strength gave out. Exhausted, she collapsed, breaking her ward as she fell.
“Roald!” Rune cried, knowing his words were lost to the battle.
With the speed of a vintage archer, Rune took up his bow and fired a shot to the far distance in the southwest where he knew Roald waited for the signal.
Gasping, Kallan dug her fingers into the blood-soaked soil as she held her face up from the ground on her knees. Desperate to stand once more, she glanced to Rune for aid as she watched him bring down another Dokkalfar.
Within the forest, Roald received Rune’s signal and delivered the command to his troops. With spears raised at the ready, he gave the order and charged Fand from behind, seeing only the high marshal seated upon his horse.
Leading his five hundred with his battle cry, Roald tightened his grip on his spear and charged just as Fand turned. The madness took Roald, and hungry for victory, he sprinted with all of his strength. He had barely seen
the Dokkalfr’s face and the etchings of black scribed on an arm before a sudden flash of red and a wall of flame burst to life between Roald and his target.
Roald was moving too fast to stop and collided with the wall, face first. Within heartbeats, he was on the ground, clutching his face and screaming as the Seidr flame melted the flesh from his cheek.
Deep within Rune’s core, hardly asleep, the Fendinn awakened and rose. This Seidr it knew. This Seidr it wanted. Throwing back its head, the Beast roared and erupted, breaking the leash that Rune had formed.
Screaming, Rune fell to his knees as a shadow emerged. Like a cloak of black Seidr, the Shadow encompassed his skin like a fine fitted glove that hugged his flesh. The shadow released a shrill cry, drowning out Roald’s screams as it lunged for Fand’s Seidr.
“No!” Rune barked and forced to the ground, he poured all his strength into the Fendinn, holding it back as he unleashed a long scream.
To the southwest, Seidr flame poured from Fand’s hand. Her flame grew as it climbed to the sky. In an instant, Kallan saw the wall change its course and, forgetting her exhaustion, leapt to her feet before she could scream the warning.
Her hands were up once more, and Kallan dispensed the last of her energy, shielding against the massive amount of Seidr flame Fand poured onto the plains. Kallan buckled beneath the weight, screaming with the fire’s roar as she fought against Fand’s Seidr.
As Kallan’s shield spanned the skies, the Fendinn drew back enough for Rune to pull it in and hold it under control. Exhausted, Rune looked to the source of the fire and followed the Seidr to Kallan, who buckled beneath the weight of the firewall. Her legs were failing. Her core was visibly drained of its energy. It was only a matter of time before her endurance would give out and she would fall completely, leaving them all, Dokkalfar and Ljosalfar, exposed to the mercy of Fand’s Seidr. Again the Fendinn, reawakened and roared, but this time, Rune was ready and locked it in place.
“Fall back!” Rune cried. Standing, he shoved a Dokkalfr to the ground. “Retreat!” he called and looked to Bergen, who nodded and called to Thorold.
“Fall back!”
Rune wielded Gramm until the last of Kallan’s strength left her, and, pushing back, she fell to the ground nearly unconscious.
The field was beginning to clear of the Ljosalfar, who had already begun to flee from Fand’s flame. Still, wave upon wave of fire and arrows showered down over the plains.
Sheathing Gramm, Rune fell to a knee beside Kallan and raised her up from the ground. Behind them, the fire roared relentlessly as Rune mustered the strength to stand and run. Around them, soldiers fell, speared by arrows that flooded the sky or singed beyond recognition as their flesh peeled away. Twice Rune stumbled, slipping on pools of blood and flesh.
With a sudden jerk, Kallan cried out, forcing Rune to glance over his shoulder to an arrow protruding from the back of her thigh. He cursed himself and hastened his pace, securing his grip on her.
Countless bodies lay immobile, still fueling Fand’s flames as it consumed them and black smoke rose to the sky. Only when the Seidr flame ceased did the shower of arrows end, leaving Rune to stomp over corpses and blood as he made his way to the edge of the Klarelfr where Bergen met him with a mount.
“She’s been wounded!” Rune shouted, hoisting Kallan onto the stead. Beads of sweat poured down his face as he pulled himself up behind Kallan, who had fallen unconscious.
“Bergen, get Roald!” he ordered, taking up the reins.
Blood flowed down Kallan’s leg.
With a nod, Bergen released the bridle, and Rune sent the horse into a sprint for Gunir.
“Go after them,” Aaric shouted, watching the masses abandon the dead and wounded left to die on the plains.
Aaric watched Fand’s sickly grin tug at his cheek.
“I’ll let them live to meet the Dani,” Fand decided, taking a final moment to look about the field before turning the horse around.
“Will you not look for the wounded?” Aaric asked.
Fand paused, looking back at Aaric as the guards collected him from the ground.
A tinge of annoyance glistened in her eye. Glaring with loathing at Aaric, Fand flicked her wrist and unleashed her Seidr-flame into the wounded, Ljosalfar and Dokkalfar alike.
“Geirolf!” Rune cried across the courtyard, desperate to find the healer among the chaos.
The stench of the wounded filled the air as Rune joined with the screams of mourners. Wave upon wave of Alfar poured into the courtyard, too wounded to drag their broken bodies further while others collapsed with the last of their strength.
“The wounded!” Rune cried as Torunn came running. “Get them inside! And find me Geirolf!”
Pandemonium filled the square as a handful of healers directed women to collect those in dire need of immediate care.
“We have the Hall ready!” Torunn said, flying from one soldier to the next, assessing lacerations, burns, and missing limbs. Soldiers clambered up the stone steps into the Hall, combining their strength with that of a comrade so they could walk at all.
“Geirolf!” Rune called, pulling back on the reins as Geirolf rushed from the keep. “Kallan is wounded!”
Rune guided Kallan’s limp body down to Geirolf.
“Bergen!” Rune bellowed, looking about madly for his brother as Geirolf carefully lowered Kallan to the ground to better examine her wound.
“Here!” Bergen called from the steps of the keep, supporting Roald on a shoulder.
“How is he?” Rune asked as he slid from his mount.
“He’s burned bad,” Bergen called back as he walked Roald to the Hall. “He’s lost half his face and he’ll lose the arm…but he’ll not be dining in Odinn’s halls tonight.”
Rune’s stomach eased.
“Once you have him in Torunn’s care, find Thorold!” Rune said over his shoulder, and turned his full attention to Geirolf, who had pushed Kallan’s skirts out of the way to better inspect the wound.
“Odinn’s Valkyrja have taken him,” Bergen said with a strain in his voice.
Rune bowed his head and closed his eyes against the sudden gust of wind that left him as he bit back the urge to scream.
Drowning his grief, Rune gulped back a helping of defeat and barked his orders.
“Regroup all who can stand! Get back to me with numbers!”
Rune looked at Geirolf, not seeing that Bergen nodded.
“How bad is it?”
“It’s struck the bone.” Geirolf raised his eyes to Rune’s. “We can’t push it through.”
Rune nodded, knowing the diagnosis before Geirolf spoke the words.
“I’ll have to cut it out,” Geirolf said.
Rune nodded, desperate for the numbness to settle in.
“Get her upstairs.”
* * *
The arrow snapped, jerking Rune alert to the quiet of Kallan’s bower. Water spilled down his hand as he wrung the water from the cloth, following Geirolf’s instructions. Holding his breath, Rune forced his mind blank as he watched Geirolf’s aged hands whisk themselves over Kallan’s leg. On her stomach, Kallan lay on the bed in front of him as Geirolf worked with a steady hand.
He sliced her skin and, with a set of pincers, pried the piece of iron from her leg. Blood flowed freely as Geirolf wiped the sweat from his brow.
“Should I summon a tailor?” Rune asked, uncertain of Geirolf’s decision.
The old man shook his head.
“The smith. We’ll need him to burn the wound closed,” he said, pressing his hand tightly down around the wound. “Are you done with that fire?” Geirolf barked, not bothering to glance at the maids beside him.
“Nearly,” one meekly answered.
“I need coals!” Geirolf shouted. “Make them red!”
Rune had hardly reached the sitting room when Kallan’s breath filled the room.
“Rune,” she called, certain she heard them right. “My pouch.”
With her eye
s still closed and sprawled out on her belly, Rune fumbled through the pile of possessions dumped into a chair until he found the pouch lying with a dagger and Kallan’s dagger. A moment later, with shaking hands, he handed it to her.
“Get out,” Rune said to the maids, who scurried without question from the room, closing the bedroom door behind them.
Blood flowed as Kallan propped herself up on her elbows.
“Kallan, don’t move! Get yourself back down,” Geirolf grumbled.
Digging through her pouch, Kallan soon found Idunn’s apple and bit a chunk from the flesh. Kallan pulled the piece from her mouth and handed it to Rune.
“Place this over the wound and squeeze the juices into it,” she directed. Geirolf furrowed his face with disapproval.
“The wound isn’t primed for apple juice, Kallan! The wound will go bad if—”
“Do it!” Kallan said and took a second bite from the apple.
With a grimace, Geirolf glowered at Rune, who grabbed his dagger from the chair and quickly followed Kallan’s direction without question.
Golden Seidr flowed with the apple’s sweet juices as Geirolf stared wide-eyed with disbelief at the fibers closing her flesh. The more Kallan consumed of the apple, the more the wound healed until all of the cut vanished, leaving behind no scarring.
With a sigh, she pulled herself upright and rolled onto her back.
“How many?” she asked, disinterested with healing her body further.
“Bergen is still getting me numbers,” Rune said as Geirolf stared in awe at the restored color in Kallan’s face.
“How bad was it?” she asked again, knowing he knew more about the devastation than he let on.
Abandoning Rune to the wit of the woman, Geirolf collected the pincers and supplies from the bed as Rune cast a warning to Geirolf to not answer.
A sudden clamor of voices rose from the courtyard.
Exchanging glances, Kallan flew from the bed and raced Rune to the window in time to see Bergen drawing arms against two Dokkalfar.
Fire and Lies Page 32
