Fire and Lies (5 page)

“I will not,” Aaric said as soon as he found she was allowing him to speak.

“Shhhh.” Fand placed a finger to Aaric’s mouth and resumed her smile as she slid her hand over his cheek then down the back of his neck.

Aaric tried to move, to slap her hand away and fight against the Seidr that bound him.

“You have no choice,” she said.

For a moment, she studied the runes she had etched upon his neck ages ago. They remained black and vibrant, and now reached the strong line of his jaw. Fand gazed into his eyes as if she stared into the eyes of a lover.

“Such hate,” she whispered. “It wasn’t always like this.”

“You’re vile,” Fand permitted Aaric to say.

In response, she slid her fingers too gently into his hair and slid her mouth over his. She kissed him slow and deep. When she slid her tongue into his mouth, Aaric felt her Seidr strings force his response, reminding him how little he could control. He pushed against her Seidr that froze him, forcibly holding his own Seidr inside him. Only the sick in his gut and his rage still flowed within his control.

At long last, Fand released his mouth and slid her cheek alongside his. Aaric ached to cut out her eyes with the blade she wouldn’t let him reach.

“I will march the troops to Gunir,” Fand whispered in his ear. “I will lure her out of her keeper’s care.”

He had no choice. Like this, she could puppet him if she wanted to—if it came down to it, she would take that risk. It would leave him no room to run. And running was the only option he had left.

Not without Kallan.

“I will march the troops to Gunir,” Aaric answered.

Fand smiled in victory.

“I’ll have the papers signed and sent out at once,” he said, doing his best to sound defeated. Aaric felt Fand’s Seidr withdraw and he fell to the floor.

“See that you do,” Fand said, and before Aaric could pull out a blade and slice her throat, her body became a raven and she took flight.

Aaric lay on the floor of his chambers. The clear air confirmed the Fae was gone. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth, as if to undo her kiss, and stared into the night.

He’d have no choice now but to march the Dokkalfar into battle, right to Gunir’s walls. If Kallan still lived, she would find a way to escape, and he would meet her there. That was the only way.

Aaric picked himself off the floor and returned to his table. Within the hour he had the orders written, sealed, and in the hands of the courier.

“
Y
ou look like
uskit
.”

Rune flashed Bergen a worn out gaze from beneath the dried blood smeared across his face. Silently, Rune trudged to Astrid, passed the horse the apple’s core, then found a bowl beside a barrel filled with water.

“Well?” Bergen asked, once Rune finished washing his face.

In silence, Rune finished scrubbing then walked toward the mass of firelight. Bergen followed, falling in behind Rune.

“Go to sleep, Bergen,” Rune said, trudging to his bed.

“Is she dead?”

“She isn’t dead,” Rune said.

Matching his brother’s pace, Bergen twisted back to the forest as if the trees would tell him what he desired to know. His grip tightened on the hilt of his sword.

“Where is she?” Bergen asked. Slowing his pace, he fell behind.

“She’s coming,” Rune said, not bothering to look back or stop. He kept his head bowed and continued to his bedroll.

Bergen stopped to search the empty woods. The night encased the space between each tree with shadows that stretched like deep pools of black. With moistened palms, he quietly cursed his unforgotten ghosts.

“No, she isn’t,” Bergen called back to Rune.

“She will,” Rune said. His voice was barely audible as he clomped from view into the sea of bedrolls and campfires.

Perplexed, Bergen searched the shadows a while longer. Alone, he stood in the darkness, waiting for a sign that the Dokkalfr followed and not entirely certain why he didn’t go in after her. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword and, for a moment, contemplated defying orders and hunting her down himself.

“Bergen,” Rune said, settling into his bedroll. “Leave her.”

After waiting a while longer, Bergen abandoned his judgment to that of his brother’s and sulked to bed, plagued by too many shadows to sleep.

* * *

“Daggon.”

Gudrun delivered a well-placed kick to the captain’s legs. He didn’t move. The surrounding forest, thick with fern and foliage, remained as black as it was quiet. Sunrise was still hours away. Even the last of the frogs had ended their croaking for the night.

Grumbling impatiently, she wadded up a blanket and threw it at his head.

“Daggon!”

Daggon groaned back and, muffling her racket with a bare arm, clamped his head beneath the blanket Gudrun had thrown at him.

“Daggon! Wake up!”

She kicked him again.

With a groan of protest, the captain rolled onto his back and plopped his arm to the ground. The firelight flickered, casting black shadows into the deep gouges that etched his face.

“She’s here, Daggon!”

Daggon’s eyes flew open. He was up in an instant as if the ground had suddenly burned him.

“Where is she?” he asked as he forced himself to stand on his sleep-logged feet.

“Here, in Alfheim,” she said. “We have to move or we won’t make it!”

Still trying to re-establish his balance, Daggon collected the blankets and packed the bags, shaking away the dizziness left behind by too little sleep.

“How far?” he asked, looking up from his work as his hands kept busy. Gudrun didn’t bother looking up from the blankets she rolled on the other side of the campfire.

“If we hurry, we’ll be able to meet up with her. Three…” She paused in thought. “Four days, at most.”

The cinders hissed in protest as she poured a bucket of water over the campfire.

Daggon collected the rolled blankets and fastened them to the saddlebags at Thor’s rear.

“Where is she now?” he asked, giving a final yank to the saddle as Gudrun collected the last of their bags from the ground.

“To the south,” she said. “A day’s ride from Lorlenalin.”

Daggon snapped his head about.

“But Lorlenalin is seven day’s ride from here.”

Gudrun stopped beside him, her arms loaded with the last of supplies.

“She isn’t going to Lorlenalin, Daggon… She’s going to Gunir.”

“Gunir?”

“If we hurry…” Gudrun moved to lend a hand to the saddle Daggon still held. “…we can find a way into the city. We’ll need to find a way to get her out—”

“You’re proposing we storm the Ljosalfar’s main defense?” Daggon asked. “Alone?”

Gudrun kept her eyes on the saddle as she fastened her bags.

“You want us to find their most guarded prisoner and break her out?”

Gudrun huffed impatiently then peered up at Daggon.

“Are you mad,” he asked. “Or did you have one too many sips of your special brews while I was sleeping?”

“I’m going, Daggon,” Gudrun said, her eyes narrowed sleepily.

“Gudrun…” Daggon let out a series of sighs. “How by the All Father are you planning on doing this?”

The old woman shoved him aside, annoyed with his dallying as she continued to fasten his bags to the rear of the saddle herself.

“The walls of Gunir encompass the whole of the city!” Daggon pushed his face within inches from hers. Her stern stubbornness was apparent through the darkness. “We will not break through unseen,” Daggon said. “They’ll have her guarded at their highest point, in their tallest tower!”

“Are you coming?” she asked, stopping for a moment to meet his gaze.

“Of course!” Daggon grinned, all too eager to get started. “What’s the plan?”

T
he campfires hissed and spat, waking Rune to a chorus of bellows from the ships. The sun’s light beat down on him, blinding him before he opened his eyes. With a start, he sat up and turned toward the edge of the wood, where Kallan’s bedroll lay untouched.

Frustration heated his blood as he mumbled a selection of curses and clambered to his feet. The camp was empty save for a handful of warriors who loaded the last of the provisions onto the ships. A soldier rolled the last barrel up the gangplanks as a warrior barked an order at those who raised the masts. The wind was primed and eagerly whipped the rigging about.

Taking up
Gramm
, Rune sauntered to the barrel of water and empty basin still resting on its edge where he had left it last night. Scooping up a bowl full, Rune scrubbed the sleep from his face then emptied the basin’s contents into the grass before dipping the bowl into the water for a second helping that he poured down his back. Bracing himself over the barrel, he paused, recalling the night before.

Drops of water fell from his hair and he watched the ripples expand over the water’s surface as he pondered why he had kissed her and why he hadn’t ignored the Shadow Beast and continued. He was certain she wouldn’t have stopped him.

A particularly loud shout disrupted his thoughts, and Rune looked to the ships.

Heat climbed the back of Rune’s neck as ill suspicions sank to his bottommost inner dwellings. The bulk of the army had shoved themselves onto his ship. The men on the gangplank were shoving as if trying too hard to see something.

“Oh, no,” Rune muttered and was off, knowing what it was he would find before he got there.

People cleared the way as Rune made his way through the onlookers, up the gangplank, to the main deck where the last of the men stepped aside.

Bare-chested and with sword raised, Ottar stood in his massive glory towering over an opponent. Rune pushed his way to the side for a better view and locked against the sudden jolt to his senses.

With flames ablaze in upturned palms, Kallan danced, alert and at the ready, dwarfed by Ottar’s massive frame. Opposite Rune, on the other side of the make-shift arena, Bergen stood with a grin plastered across his face.

With the flick of his blade, Ottar swayed, waiting for Kallan to give him an opening. A smile tugged at his lip and Ottar jerked to thrust.

“Stop!” Rune shouted over the crowd.

From the gangplank, Rune shoved himself between Kallan and Ottar. With his lip stuck out, Bergen crossed his arms and leaned against the gunwale as if ready for a second fight about to begin.

“Ottar!” Rune spun about. “What is the meaning of this?”

“She challenged me,” Ottar said, pointing the tip of his sword toward the Dokkalfr.

“She—” Closing his eyes, Rune pinched the bridge of his nose and willed himself calm.

The water lapped against the ship’s side, bobbing it about in the water as Rune scoured his thoughts for a solution, something that would ensure Kallan’s survival in Gunir, something to guarantee her safety despite her own determination to die. A gleam shone in Rune’s eye, much like Bergen’s wiliness, and he heaved a sigh. His mind settled on his solution.

“Lady Kallan is a guest!” Rune paused to look upon each face, ensuring their attention was paid. “At my request!”

All was quiet save for the creaking of the boats and the water that lapped the strakes.

“As of right now…” Rune continued, daring anyone to object to his next words. “…she is my vassal!”

Kallan’s face fell white and she dropped her jaw in sync with the three hundred Ljosalfar around her. A low muttering began.

“Rune, you can’t do that!” Bergen shouted. “Are you insane?”

“I am king! Am I not?” Rune shouted, silencing any objections. “As king, I have rights to choose whomever I wish as vassal!”

Again, Rune looked to each man, daring him to raise his voice against his.

“For as long as she is on board this ship,” Rune said, ensuring all understood his command. “For as long as Kallan Eyolfdottir is in Gunir, she is my vassal!”

Rune’s attention fell to Bergen, who had the sense to keep quiet. For now.

Careful to avoid eye contact with a certain Dokkalfr, Rune snapped his head about in search of objections that never came. Once he was certain there would be no uprising, Rune stomped back down the gangplank, leaving Kallan standing on the ship, wearing a look of pure shock.

The boards creaked mercilessly beneath his feet. Bergen followed fast on his brother’s heels.

“Rune!”

The water sloshed objectionably beneath Rune’s feet.

“Rune!”

Rune stomped back to his bedroll, intent on ignoring the backlash he knew would come.

“Rune!” Bergen cut in front of Rune, who stooped to collect his bedroll. “You can’t appoint that prisoner as your vassal.”

“Guest,” Rune corrected. “And can’t I?”

“There will be an uprising,” Bergen said. “The men won’t stand for this, let alone your brother. You can’t—”

“I have no choice!” Bergen stopped and Rune knew Bergen understood as clearly as he. “Kallan heeds no one. If the men move her, she has power enough to destroy them, and believe you me, she won’t hesitate to strike them down.”

Rune watched the defeat ease Bergen’s obejections.

“We’ll have war behind Gunir’s walls. I’ll have no one left to the fight the real enemy.”

“If you make her your vassal,” Bergen said. “She will leave.”

“She won’t,” Rune said. “I am her keeper. I will ensure she stays in check.”

“Keeper?”

Bergen gave Rune a look, confirming he suspected more than he was saying. Rune turned back to his bedroll and began packing up.

“Who gave you that charge?” Bergen asked.

“If she were any other monarch from any other fylke looking for an alliance, she’d be granted the position,” Rune argued.

“Kallan Eyolfdottir isn’t just any other monarch, Rune.” All joviality had vanished from Bergen’s tone.” She’s the daughter of the king who led the slaying of our people. The Ljosalfar won’t forget that.”

“They must,” Rune said, throwing the blankets in a heap back on the ground.

Bergen stood awaiting an explanation, an absolution, anything that would confirm his brother had not just granted Kallan leadership over their father’s kin.

The crowd had cleared and resumed packing. The murmured whispers had already begun to surface throughout the army. Each indecipherable word grazed Rune with a fire fueling his irritation. The critical eyes were not lost on his brother.

“Come now, Rune. What is this really about?” Bergen asked as Rune rolled up his bed. “Your demeanor last night was not lost on me. If this is an itch, then scratch it!”

Rune thought carefully before answering.

“I suspect something, nothing more. And that is a far difference than knowing something.”

“Despite the lack of evidence,” Bergen said, unable to hold his silence any longer, “you must have something substantial now to justify this…this.”

“Kallan suspects no one,” Rune said. “She trusts everyone in her court explicitely. Whoever set things in motion is ignorant of Kallan’s whereabouts. Right now, all I can do is bide my time until I can get to Gunir.”

“And then what?” Bergen searched the pensive thoughts behind Rune’s eyes.

“I hope to find the confirmation I’m looking for.”

“And if the men ask?”

“Tell them,” Rune said, “that as of right now, we are negotiating terms for peace.”

“Are you?”

The ropes slapped the wooden masts, drowning out what little incoherent garble they could out make from the ships.

“One can hope,” Rune said, allowing Bergen a moment to digest the events.

“I will keep Kallan in check,” Rune said. “Let me handle Kallan. You handle your men.”

Nodding, Bergen lowered his eyes in thought, giving him a moment to ponder a suspicion.

“Can I still kill her?” he asked after a moment.

Panic flashed then vanished from Rune’s face, jabbing Bergen’s curiosity.

“I thought so,” Bergen muttered. With a nod, he trudged off to the ships and left Rune to his chores.