Fire and Lies (39 page)

A
stream of smoke rose from Rune’s pipe as Rune gazed out his chamber window. Across the Klarelfr, a handful of men collected the dead onto pyres. Rows of smoke pillars rolled to the sky. He had listened with Joren, Torunn, Geirolf, Bergen, and Kallan as Daggon quoted Gudrun’s words back perfectly.

“She said nothing more?” Rune asked, lowering the bit from his lips.

Daggon shook his large, red head. His scars flickered like shadows across the firelight.

“I did as she instructed.” Regret filled his words.

“A sleeping spell.” Rune stared with disbelief, mulling over the success rate in his head. “You want to put the entire army to sleep?”

“We’ve done it before,” Kallan assured him, remembering Thorold’s army.

“Will it cover Forkbeard’s forces as well?” Bergen asked, less concerned with the impossibility of their proposal.

“There is only enough left for one spell,” Kallan said, knowing the bundle in Daggon’s hand was all that had been left of Gudrun’s furtive supply. “If we wait for Forkbeard’s troops to arrive, it won’t cover everyone, and I can’t differentiate Ljosalfar from Dokkalfar from Dani. When I administer it, we will lose some of our own for a period.”

“Everyone will sleep,” Bergen said.

“We will still have to fight Forkbeard’s forces,” Rune said, deciding. “But there is enough to maintain Aaric’s army?” he asked, peering across his room at Kallan.

She nodded.

“How does it work?” Bergen asked, eager to hear all the details.

Kallan was quick to oblige.

“Once I release the spell, it spreads,” she began. “I have some control over where it goes, but whoever comes in contact with it—whoever breathes it in—will sleep. There is no selecting one man from the next, but with the right runes, I can protect a handful of us.”

“Will it put Aaric to sleep?” Bergen asked.

“If Aaric is as skilled in the Seidr as we think he is,” Kallan said, “he’ll be able to avoid its affects, but he’ll be alone.”

“Alone should give us the advantage to take him down,” Rune said.

“That might be all the time we need to do this,” Bergen said.

“How long will they sleep?” Rune asked from his window.

Kallan sighed as she ran the calculations over.

“A lot of this depends on the dosage, and how thin it’s spread,” she answered. “If a full batch is used for one man, he will sleep for a week. If a fraction of the usual dosage is used for a whole army, they may sleep for only moments. In one test Gudrun and I did, they only experienced a substantial case of drowsiness.”

“How much can you produce with this?” Rune asked.

“This is the last of Gudrun’s supply,” Kallan said, “It may yield half a batch for what you’re suggesting. I can guarantee the armies will sleep, but only for minutes.”

“That isn’t much,” Bergen grumbled.

“That wasn’t Gudrun’s goal.” Kallan quelled a smirk.

“What do you mean?” Rune asked, withdrawing from the window.

A gleam hardened Kallan’s eyes.

“Based on the advancement of Aaric’s abilities and the state we found Eilif in, they were under the influence of another spell…one that blinded them to me.” Kallan relaxed her shoulders. “This sleeping spell will break it.”

“How soon will it work?” Bergen asked, cutting Rune off.

“The spell immediately passes through them,” Kallan continued. “Within moments, everyone will be unconscious. It will take maybe twice that long for the affects to subside and their bodies to clear it…maybe longer, but not by much.”

“What kind of state can we expect them to be in when they wake?” Geirolf asked.

Kallan gazed at the old healer.

“Disoriented. Confused. Many may experience severe headaches. Possible nausea. One or two may not wake up,” she warned.

Releasing a plume of smoke, Rune looked to his scout. “Joren. Where are Aaric’s troops now?”

“They’re regrouping,” Joren said. “We expect them to be ready to advance at daybreak.”

“And Forkbeard?” Rune asked.

“They’ll be here by midday,” Joren said.

The coals cooled and the embers died in Rune’s pipe as he submerged himself in thought. “Only fourteen thousand stand against Forkbeard’s forces.”

“What will you have us do, Rune?” Bergen asked, desperate for any plan better than the one Daggon had.

Rune relit the coals and drew long and deep from his pipe. He blew the smoke as everyone in the room waited for an answer. Unseen, he shifted an eye to Kallan, who stood charged at the ready to fight.

“We’re waiting for your orders, sire,” Geirolf said.

Rune sighed, and fought down a smirk.

“Fall back,” Rune said. “We’ll give them Gunir.”

“—Are you mad?” Geirolf barked.

“—We’re a handful against thousands!” Bergen quipped.

“—What of the wounded?” Geirolf asked.

“—We can’t just leave them!” Torunn cried.

“We have no choice!” Rune barked through the chaos, instilling order once more. “The city has been taken! We have no alliance to fall back on! All who we have are here!”

Silence filled the room.

The fire popped as the truth of their demise settled in, weighing them down to despair.

“What if you had allies?” Kallan’s voice cut through the silence. “Would you stay to fight?”

Rune looked at her hard through the smoke, knowing the thoughts that brewed in her fickle mind. He had to force his eyes darker to keep from smiling.

Rune glowered across the room. “If we had allies, Gunir would stay to fight.”

“And win,” Kallan amended, her golden eyes brimming with determination.

“You’ve lost your power, Kallan Eyolfdottir,” Rune coldly reminded her through the smoke. “And with it your people.”

“I can reunite them,” Kallan assured him and narrowed her hardened gaze onto his. “With Aaric out of the way…”

“She’s right, Rune,” Daggon said, speaking up at last in his queen’s defense.” Her people are still loyal to her. They just can’t remember her.”

Rune matched Kallan’s scowl as he lowered his pipe.

“If Aaric should fall, and you lift this spell, can you guarantee your people will know you?”

“I will make them know me,” Kallan said, refusing to let him doubt her, “I will make them hear me.”

“And if they know you, what assurance can you give me that you will fight alongside Gunir?”

“Don’t be foolish to think this only affects you,” Kallan said. “If Forkbeard were to take you, and the walls of Gunir should fall, what assurance can you give
me
that he won’t look to Lorlenalin next?”

Rune sighed, milking his role for all he was worth. He stared into the fire for added effect.

“A gamble on an ancient enemy that rests on a single promise following years of deceit…” Rune raised his eyes to Kallan. “What will you have me do?”

“Join me.”

Rune rested the bit of his pipe on his lip as everyone looked to Kallan, waiting with sustained breath for a reply from their king. With a huff, Kallan suddenly stood, head erect and shoulders back as she took a step closer, presenting all she had to Gunir’s king.

“Son of Tryggve!” Kallan addressed Rune as if she stood before the king in his court for the first time wearing gowns of gold instead of bloodied rags—as if there never had been the Dvergar or Aaric or the centuries of bloodshed.

“Lord of Gunir! I am Kallan, daughter of Eyolf, Queen of Lorlenalin and Lady of the White Opal! I come before you on behalf of my people. We look to you now for an alliance. I implore you, please…forge this alliance with me. Help me win back my army so that we may stand together against our foes who look to annihilate us.”

Rune lowered his pipe. Holding Kallan’s gaze, he came to stand at full height before her.

A suspended pause gripped the air as they waited and Kallan stood her ground, matching the hardened glare in Rune’s eyes as he assessed her.

Without a word, Rune extended his hand. With regal composure, Kallan took his hand and sealed their alliance.

“Do it,” Rune decreed. “It’s the only shot we’ve got and I’m not about to squander it on naysaying.”

He released Kallan’s hand.

Without a thought, Kallan left for her bower, snatching Gudrun’s bag from Daggon and rolling up her sleeves as she dragged Torunn along beside her.

“Well…” Geirolf stood from his seat. “I’ll make my rounds. If you need me, Rune, I’ll be with the wounded.”

Rune nodded as Geirolf departed.

“Why do we have to put our troops to sleep, Rune?” Bergen asked. “Why can’t we keep them back and wait for the spell to pass?”

“Because, Bergen,” Rune said, “if something goes wrong with the spell, we’ll have the whole of the Dokkalfar army charging at Kallan and I. As much as I’d love the advantage, the risk is too great. Joren.” Rune looked to the scout.

“My king.”

“Ready every man who can raise a sword. Spread the word. Let them know of the plan. We can’t afford to have them caught off guard. That may help to decrease the confusion when they wake.”

“Yes, my lord.” Joren nodded, accepting his orders, and swept out of the room, leaving Daggon with Bergen and Rune.

The final click of the door cued Bergen to stand with a groan.

“I need a drink,” he said and trudged to the tray picked over of meats and mead.

“Can she do it?” Rune asked Daggon, cutting Bergen’s celebrations short.

With the flagon in hand, Bergen gazed at Daggon, eager for the answer as much as Rune.

“Kallan has always been sharper than the blade she wields,” Daggon said with a sigh, settling himself into a chair. He rested his large arms on his knee in thought. “She took her studies as serious as her instructors…when she bothered to show up. But she seemed to harbor a natural gift for the spells.”

Daggon stared into the flames, lost in thought and unwilling to give voice to the countless memories that gave him hope.

“Yes.” He nodded with a gentle grin as he meandered through ancient memories. “Kallan can do it.”

A bit more relaxed than he had been moments before, Bergen picked over the tray of food while Rune relit his pipe. Neither caught the smile on Daggon’s mouth.

“There are things Kallan can do that not even she knows she can do,” Daggon added.

Torunn stood over Kallan’s shoulders, entranced by the speed of Kallan’s hands. The fire crackled behind them, mingling its light with the candles she had lit and casting as much light as possible onto Kallan’s makeshift worktable in her sitting room.

“What is a spell?” Torunn finally asked as Kallan finished crushing the foreign, white root within the grindstone. Fine powder now settled into the base of the stone.

“A spell is one of the three uses of Seidr that can be mastered,” Kallan said as the water she heated over the single flame beside her began to boil. “A Seidkona can wield the Seidr, using it as it passes through the earth, the air, or the waters. Sight is the gift and art of Vision one can hone with the use of the Seidr. A Voluspa is a Seer’s Vision.”

“The Seidr doesn’t pass through fire?” Torunn asked in hopes to better understand the concoction Kallan brewed.

“Fire is energy. Enery is Seidr. A compacted form of Seidr…and is only one of Seidr’s many forms.”

Kallan didn’t look up as she dropped a handful of leaves into the water to better extract the oils. “Spells are powders, gases, or liquids infused with the Seidr to attain a desired effect. With further study, runes can be used to siphon the Seidr, direct it, or enclose it within an object.” Kallan glanced up from her work for a moment. “That’s how my pouch works.”

Torunn watched, still engrossed with Kallan’s hands as she began tracing a set of runes into the fine powdered root with her finger.

“One must be sensitive to the Seidr to pull it from its natural source and wield it at will,” she continued. “More study is required to mold it into a substance, but the Sight…” Kallan shook her head. “That is only passed on through blood. Either you have it or you don’t. And you don’t stand a chance of having it unless you are of the bloodline.”