Dolor and Shadow

by Angela Chrysler

  “Too long I’ve hunted you,” she said. “Too long I’ve dreamt of pouring my Seidr-flame onto you until all that is left are the charred pieces of your blackened remains.” She shoved her weight into him, knowing the stone scraped his back. He didn’t wince, but a twinge of guilt pierced her chest. “Do not forget this, Ljosalfr. Nothing is keeping you alive right now except my good humor.”

  The words were there, but she couldn’t stop staring at his mouth and wondering how it tasted. With much asserted effort, she forced her attention to his eyes where she saw the lone hunter who admired the harmless peasant alone in the wood and, at once, she doubted that such a man could be responsible for all the terror beset on her kin.

  “You won’t,” he said.

  Kallan blinked, unsure what to do with his declaration.

  “How do you know I won’t?” she asked. She could break him. Too easily, she could break him. Isn’t that what you want? To break him? But something was holding her back, as if a part of her was protecting him from herself.

  “Because I’ve already pushed you,” he said. Kallan eased off his chest. “If you were going to hit me with that…” He nodded to her hand filled with Seidr. “…you already would have.”

  There was no doubt, no worry, no hesitation in his voice. Only trust. Pure and simple, and she felt the last of her rage ebb.

  “Deny it,” he said as if egging her on, taunting her to fire the Seidr-flame at him and the anger he provoked flooded back.

  In response, she extinguished her Seidr and dropped her arm from his chest.

  “I should kill you,” she said, shoving a finger into his chest.

  “But you won’t.”

  And she wouldn’t. But she hated that he knew that. She hated more that he was right.

  Without an answer, Kallan continued through the dark. Her fire would have ended and the Dark One would have continued to Rune’s cell. If he knew where he was going, she had another ten minutes before the Dark One discovered Rune was gone. By the time the Dark One returned to the barracks, she would be at the front and Rune would be…she wasn’t sure yet.

  Kallan dragged Rune on through the labyrinth. At every blind corner, she verified the way was clear before picking up pace again. Taking the steps three at a time, Kallan led Rune to the barracks where she threw open the door with a bang. Empty tables and upturned chairs littered the room where she had found them earlier. The guard’s corpse still sagged against the wall.

  Shoving aside a chair, Kallan made her way to the armory. She felt Rune watching her and glanced over her shoulder in time to see him shift his eyes up to meet hers and he grinned. She blushed and decided instead to inspect the fuller of an iron blade too chipped and cracked to withstand another battle. The elding dagger next to it was in far better condition to take into battle, but too small to be of any use aside from a rabbit skinning. She wrapped her hand around the hilt of the sword.

  “I would expect more from the legendary Dokkalfar armory,” Rune said as she raised the blade then thrust to test its balance.

  “The armory has been stripped,” she said.

  “Odd habit, don’t you think?”

  There was that jovial tone again that urged her to kill him. She hated herself more for not doing so. His lack of danger was disheartening. He had no sense of trouble, or hid it well. Perhaps he didn’t care. His only consistent purpose seemed to be finding new ways to push her. She decided he did want to die and, the moment she had nothing better to do, she’d be sure to oblige.

  “My guards have reported to the front gate to hold back the attack your precious berserker has led on Lorlenalin.”

  Her words wiped the jocularity from his face.

  “Bergen is here?” he asked.

  Kallan ignored the question and studied the sword’s fuller, judging its quality before lowering the blade to her side. “They’re here for you.”

  “Where is he? Take me to him!” Rune slammed his hands onto the table between them. “I can order him to stand down! Bergen will listen to me!”

  Oh, something can bother the pompous King of Gunir.

  Kallan scoffed as she scanned the armory for a suitable weapon.

  “And stand by while my executioner removes your head tomorrow night?” she said, keeping her eyes on the wall that had been stripped of all axes and most of the swords. Only a handful of daggers remained aside from the mediocre sword in her hand.

  Rune straightened his back.

  “Do you desire my death so much?” he asked.

  He seriously sounds hurt. “My people will have your head whether I give it or not.”

  “Then we’ll negotiate a bargain,” he said.

  Kallan dropped the sword on the table.

  “The King of Gunir for the lives of my people,” he said.

  Kallan mulled over his proposition.

  “Am I to believe you and your…Bergen will quietly leave once you are united?” she mocked.

  “You have my word.”

  “Your word,” she repeated and the anger came flooding back. “I’ve seen how good your word is.”

  Rune dropped his eyes to the table between them and took up the single dagger resting there.

  He turned the weapon over, examining the twelve-inch blade. Kallan watched him run his fingers along the silver-black sheen of the elding and the series of runes inscribed in the ricasso. Spinning the dagger, Rune read the inscription aloud.

  “Blakkr Ond.”

  “Black Breath,” Kallan translated as Rune admired the artisanship.

  “Your weapons are heavier than ours,” he said.

  A compliment?

  “If you can’t handle it, perhaps you would find the inadequate blades of Gunir more to your liking,” Kallan said.

  Rune peered up from the blade.

  Kallan supplied a fake grin. And there’s his soft spot. “Or, perhaps, the smaller blades on the wall behind you will better suit you.” The hint of humor vanished from Rune’s eye.

  Silence stretched between them until she extended her hand for the blade and Rune tightened his grip on the hilt. The blade was harmless, but the point was clear. This was a standoff.

  “I will take it by force,” Kallan warned.

  She summoned her Seidr flame and readied her hand. Rune shifted his gaze from the blade in his hand to the Seidr in hers.

  “Where did you find a smith who can forge elding?” he asked. She didn’t answer.

  Rune placed the weapon on the table and Kallan extinguished her flame in response, scowling as she glided past him to the barracks door. None of these weapons would hold up in battle. They were wasting their time.

  “Move it,” she said with a nod that indicated the door and he obliged. Cautiously, Kallan poked her head into the corridor. Once she was certain the way was clear, she signaled to Rune to follow and dashed into the hall just as she heard him mutter beneath his breath, “This will be interesting.”

  CHAPTER 30

  The battlement was quiet. Like sentinels, each guard stood at attention, peering into the shadows of hill and tree. Aaric walked the lines of men. He studied the worry, the anxiety, the fear held within each face. It tightened the jaw, sharpened their sights, and collected the adrenaline that would flow through them. When battle began, the surge would force them on.

  But no army waited within those trees.

  Not yet, he had told the troops. But they will. Look sharp.

  And so they had done.

  Kallan should be in the stables soon.

  Aaric entered the small stone passage of the battlement keep. He slipped down the steps to the courtyard where the second battalion waited in the open air. The warriors shifted nervously. The night had a chill, but the tension was thick, filling each Dokkalfr with raw angst that bound the nerves. The wind passed through the city with the taste of a sweet cold as if it carried the morning dew of a distant land.

  Aaric made his way across the courtyard and entered the corridor that would take him to
the stables. Within the hall, the wind shifted and a thick, warm air settled around him. Aaric paused. Something wasn’t right. The air was different. He reached with his Seidr, touching the threads around him and counted: Daggon behind…He must have followed. Kallan ahead with…Ljosalfar. His heart eased and he almost grinned when a ripple shook the strands of Seidr. There was a change in the web that he knew sent his heart hammering. She’s here. At once, Aaric charged down the hall.

  “Kallan!” he called. He felt the pull on the Seidr tighten. He turned the corner where Kallan came into sight. Beside her, the king looked as startled as she and for a moment, neither dared move.

  A second ripple shook the web and, just as Aaric felt his foot leave the floor, he pulled on the Seidr around him, throwing up a shield with it. The ripple became a solid pulse that struck the floor, throwing everything in the corridor to the air moments before Aaric wrapped his Seidr around Kallan, himself, and Rune. The pulse ejected them from the corridor into the stables, where they struck the stone hard.

  And then there was silence. Shaking off the stun that accompanied the blow, Aaric pulled himself to his knees and froze when his eyes found Kallan. On the ground beside Rune, she lay unmoving. Already, the Ljosalfr was up, trying to raise her from the ground. A bit of blood seeped where her head had struck the stone and Aaric lunged, dropping a hand to her brow. Her Seidr was strong, and he could heal her easily enough, but he couldn’t afford to wake her. Not yet.

  She won’t comply. She must stay asleep until she’s gone.

  “Take her,” Aaric said, not bothering to look up at Rune although he could feel the questions he didn’t ask. “She lives. She’s fine.” This time, Aaric did look at Rune. “But you must get her out of here.”

  “Why—”

  “There is no time.” He was nearly done. Her wounds were closing fast, but the Ljosalfar king made no attempt to move from Kallan’s side. “Take her horse,” Aaric said. “The brown destrier. He rides faster than the others.”

  He could feel the moments slipping away.

  “B—

  “I’m giving her to you now go or you’ll both be dead!” Aaric cried.

  “She’s Seidkona. When she wakes…” Rune shook his head. “I won’t be able to hold her.”

  Aaric read the questions clear on Rune’s face and stared back with a look that asserted his warning. There was no time, no choice.

  Clasping his hand to Rune’s wrist, Aaric poured his Seidr to the threads that slept within the Ljosalfr. There, where the energy coursed, Aaric linked his Seidr to Rune’s and pushed the lines, coaxing them awake, forcing them through until he reversed the flow of Rune’s Seidr.

  The Ljosalfr gasped and fell, catching himself on his palm so as to not fall on Kallan. Taking him by the shoulder, Aaric shook Rune to attention.

  “It’s from the shock,” Aaric said. “You’ll get used to it. Now go.”

  “What did you do to me?” Rune asked.

  I tethered your sleeping Seidr to the Shadow that lies in the bottom-most depths of the abyss far below Under Earth. His heart will be pounding like a state of berserk. His strength won’t ebb. If anything, he’ll have a constant surge of adrenaline without end.

  “Saved your life,” Aaric said. “Now get.”

  At once, Rune moved and took Kallan up from the floor with an ease that Aaric could see came unnaturally to him. The Ljosalfr made his way to the saddled stallion and tossed Kallan onto the horse. Aaric felt the seconds slip by as if counting down the breaths to his timely death.

  “I can’t promise I’ll be giving her back,” Rune said, pulling himself into the horse.

  “Don’t bring her back here,” Aaric said. “If she does, she’ll die.”

  Without question, Rune steered Astrid from the stall.

  “And Ljosalfr,” Aaric said.

  Rune pulled back on the reins and gazed at Aaric.

  “Don’t tell her about this,” Aaric said. “She won’t listen. She won’t believe you.”

  Without a word, Rune snapped the reins and followed the path out behind Livsvann into the forest, allowing Aaric a sigh that allowed him to breathe easy.

  Aaric muttered a charm. The image of Borg that had masked his true appearance from the Ljosalfar king melted away just as the air went cold. The color drained from his face. Sweat beaded upon his brow. He knew that prick to the back of his neck, the drug-like perfumes of Under Earth.

  “How now, sweet Aaric.” Fand’s hot breath grazed his ear and his chest tightened. “She’s here,” Fand hissed. Her voice spilled down his back like honey. “I can feel her and you have fear.”

  He could hear her breathe, drawing in his scent.

  “I can smell it.”

  Her words slithered from her mouth and Aaric cringed when he felt the tips of her fingers graze his bare shoulders.

  “Stand back, witch,” he growled and watched the black of her eyes dilate with prowess.

  “Where is she, Drui?” Fand asked.

  Aaric clenched his jaw, loathing the word and she smiled. Delighted at her own cleverness, he mused.

  Fand repeated the word with a grin.

  “Drui.” It rolled off her tongue.

  “She isn’t here, Fand.”

  The Fae goddess gave a plump pout that forced all his attention to her mouth. Her spells hung heavy in the air and they worked to cloud his mind.

  “Not here?” she asked, feigning disappointment. “But I feel her. She’s near. She’s—”

  “I didn’t give her the tincture, Fand.” Aaric watched her performance change to rage as she abandoned her game. “I gave it to another. She’s gone, Fand.”

  Hate tightened her face and her chest rose and fell with increased breath.

  “Where?” she seethed.

  “Gunir.”

  Spinning on the ball of her foot, Fand stomped toward the hidden passage.

  “You can’t go, Fand!” Aaric shouted as she moved her hand to transform, his words pulling her back. “The Ljosalfar have no Seidr users. Their knowledge of the Seidr is the same as Men. You step one foot near Gunir and Danann will know.”

  “Danann can detect the girl—”

  “Danann doesn’t know the girl exists,” Aaric said, knowing he had her. “Unless something such as the Fae approaches Kallan, Danann won’t know. You’re out of options.”

  Venom twisted her face and she raised a hand filled with golden Seidr.

  “You—”

  “Lay a hand on me, Fand,” Aaric shouted over her threat. “Lay one finger and then what? You have only a few more breaths before Danann finds you here!”

  Fear stripped her rage and he watched with satisfaction as she glanced at the runes that lined his chest.

  “You wouldn’t?” she said.

  “If it means Kallan will remain safe,” Aaric said, “I will undo the spells that bind my Seidr all so that Danann can find me. Kill me and Danann will know. What then, Fand? What will you tell her when she finds you’ve killed one of her precious Drui?”

  Fand twitched with the want to kill. He had her.

  “Danann doesn’t forgive,” he said. “You have no time.”

  “There are other ways for me to find her,” Fand said. “Others who will want what she has.”

  “So long as it isn’t you.”

  “If I find her, I promise there will be no prison that awaits her,” Fand said. “I will kill her. Get in my way again, Drui, and I will kill you.”

  Aaric felt the fight in him rebound. The battle he thought he had won, he had only postponed.

  Her task having failed, she turned to leave when a step, too soft to be heard by most, earned the attention of the Drui and the goddess. There, in the shadows the Dark One stood, his longsword poised, his dark eyes fixed on Fand with such loathing as to make Aaric’s blood turn cold.

  Fand smiled. Her eyes glistened with amusement as if she had found a long lost toy.

  “You…” Bergen snarled.

  “Bergen,”
she purred, grinning and studying him up and down with a look that made Aaric’s skin peel. Bergen’s name in her mouth seemed only to darken Bergen’s temper.

  “Fae whore,” Bergen grumbled.

  “Still burning?” she asked.

  Bergen tightened his grasp on the hilt, catching a bit of light on the blade. Faint lines of gold glistened from beneath the folded, black metal where Seidr composed its core.

  “Still have my sword, I see,” Fand said.

  “Always in my grasp, Fae whore,” Bergen said.

  Fand scoffed and turned her venom to Aaric. “Drui,” she said, bidding farewell. With a flick of her wrist, she contorted herself into a raven and flew from the stables out through the corridor behind Bergen and back to the courtyard and the sky.

  Aaric leered at Bergen, who leered back while neither moved.

  “Go on then,” Aaric said, indicating the passage leading back to Livsvann and the wood. “They’ll be long gone from here, I imagine.”

  Aaric felt the tension shift as Bergen increased his guard.

  “You’re letting me go, just like that?”

  “Just like that.”

  Neither man lowered his weapon.

  Aaric assessed the Ljosalfr whose alertness hadn’t waned.

  Bergen took a step into the stables and Aaric mirrored his footwork. As Bergen shifted from the corridor, Aaric slipped into the hall to leave Bergen’s path clear and both men with a safe amount of space between them. With nerves wrought high and both men armed to attack, they stepped back, ensuring their eyes never left their opponent until Aaric was deep in the shadows of the corridor and Bergen was several paces into the stables. Only then did Bergen turn and walk from the stables, back to the Livsvann, his men, and the wood.

  Aaric drew a deep breath. The adrenaline still ran its course, leaving his awareness piqued.

  One last end to tie up.

  He made his way down the corridor, ignoring the fractures in the stone from Fand’s blast. From the hall he could see the many dead that lay there, dead or dying from the force of the Seidr Fand had brought down from Under Earth. Had Gudrun not drunk the tincture, she would have Seen all of this.