Fire and Lies

by Angela Chrysler

  Copyright © 2016 by Angela B. Chrysler

  Published by Angela B. Chrysler

  203 N Page Avenue

  Endicott, NY 13760

  Cover by Indigo Forest Designs

  Edited by Mia Darien

  Maps & Illustrations by Isaac Gooshaw

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or unauthorized use of the material or artwork contained herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

  www.angelabchrysler.com

  To my perfect love and dearest friend, my Isaac.

  And to my daughter, Emily, who not-so-secretly eavesdropped on the making of this book.

  Here’s the part where I thank a bunch of people for all they’ve done for me. They know what they’ve done for me. I know what they’ve done for me, and you probably have no idea who the hell I’m talking about. Let’s not event mention the insane amount of pressure put on an author for spelling this all out because you don’t want to offend anyone who feels they belonged in the acknowledgments. As if writing a 500 page novel wasn’t hard enough! In this sense, writing acknowledgements is a lot like triage. There are those who just aren’t gonna make it—no matter how much they want to. There are those who make the cut, and those who can wait for another book to be mentioned, because word count matters, people! And let’s face it, the more I talk, the more the word count increases, the more my readers are charged!

  Now, as a writer, I don’t want to write some half-assed sappy sonnet that bores my readers (and I’ll be the first to admit, as a reader, I never read this stuff). But as a writer, part of me feels obligated to write this all out despite being sincere about wanting to thank certain peoples. But how do I do this without boring the readers, being sincere, and not be too sappy all at the same time? Then I realized, vanity cards! Now those are entertaining! I’m the nerd who always pauses a sitcom to read each and every one of them, so here it goes! Simple, short, sincere, and sweet without losing the readers!

  The “I-am-so-grateful-that-I’ve-put-you-in-a-book” thanks goes to:

  Isaac the Husband, who matches my crazy.

  Angi the BFF for swapping the story ideas even though you don’t read a drop of epic fantasy. Thank you for sitting through my Tolkien Talk while I dumbed down Lord of the Rings for you in much the same way I gave you that crash course in anime.

  Every writer has their support group and mine is everyone on board the HMS Slush Brain—Cindy, Matt, Adam, Weech, Stanislava, Stan, Kylie “Kraken,” and Chess! Keep the booze flowing, crew!

  Thanks goes to Mia Darien the Editor for making the book beautiful on the inside.

  Thanks goes to Indigo Forest Designs for making the book beautiful on the outside.

  To my family for your ongoing encouragment, love, and support. Here! I bequeath unto you, bragging rights!

  Emily, Daniel, and Elizabeth (the author’s children)

  Adm, Alicia, Aaron, and Nikki (the author’s siblings)

  And my parents…all four of them.

  And deepest thanks to you, my dearest readers, for coming back for more.

  Fire and Lies was not written as an independent novel separate from Dolor and Shadow. They are, in fact, the same book. When I finished Fire and Lies back in 2015, I had in my hands a 270,000 word novel.

  You read right. A 270,000 word debut novel. I had a choice: either publish my novel of 270,000 words or cut the book in half and do my best to wrap up the ending. I decided to cut the book in half. Like a surgeon in Korea, I administered some crude stitching and implemented a graph to control the bleeding just long enough to get the book from the Front Lines to the nearest MASH unit. Now, a year later, I am providing the second half of a story that began with Dolor and Shadow.

  If you have not yet read Dolor and Shadow, I feel obligated to warn you that you currently have in your hands the second half of a story already begun. Fire and Lies is not intended to be read independently of Dolor and Shadow. You will be confused. You will miss a lot of the characterization, plot, and back story that was developed in Dolor and Shadow.

  If you plan to read on without first reading Dolor and Shadow, here is a brief synopsis of what you have missed.

  The story begins in Alfheim around 200 CE. There are two elf clans, the Dokkalfar and the Ljosalfar. The Dokkalfar arrive in Alfheim as refugees. Conversation suggests that the Fae gods were looking for the Drui who are now missing or dead. Kallan, the king’s eight-year-old daughter, contains the unusual power to control the Seidr—a magic or energy that creates life. Fand, one of the Fae gods, has learned of Kallan and her Seidr powers. When Fand shows up to kill Kallan, Aaric, the king’s High Marshal, pleads for Kallan’s life. Fand and Aaric make a deal: Kallan lives unless she grows too powerful too hide.

  As Kallan matures, plans of peace between the Ljosalfar and the Dokkalfar abruptly end when a Ljosalfar princess is found dead. Before killing himself in a fit of madness, the Ljosalfar king slays three hundred Dokkalfar then kills himself. As Rune inherits the Ljosalfar throne from his deceased father, the Dokkalfar declare war.

  Centuries pass like years for the alfar, and while the world of Men evolves over the ages, the alfar fight on. Years into the war, Kallan finds her father dead and captures King Rune to avenge her father’s death. But Kallan’s power has grown drawing Fand’s attention. When Fand arrives to kill Kallan, Aaric—realizing that Kallan is safer as a prisoner of war—implants a magical creature inside Rune. The creature—a beast composed of shadow—consumes Seidr and gives Rune a chance to subdue Kallan. Rune escapes with Kallan. As Rune carries Kallan to his city, cave elves known as the Dvergar capture Kallan and take her into the mountains. Beaten and near death, Rune finds Kallan and rescues her from the Dvergar. Upon awakening, Kallan learns that she is stranded in Midgard and the only chance of survival is to team up with Rune.

  Kallan and Rune battle each other across the lands of Ancient Midgard, they escape the Dvergar and run from the rogue King Olaf who is determined to kill Kallan and claim her pouch: a magical item that once belonged to Odinn and produces an eternal supply of Idunn’s apples.

  Rune uncovers some truth about Borg, a Dokkalfar spy who compromised the messages between Rune’s and Kallan’s people. Rune and Kallan find a spring that seeps Seidr from the ground. The spring awakens the Beast within Rune and unlocks a portion of Kallan’s powers allowing her to See the rise of Loptr and the Fire Giants as they take down the gods of Asgard. With Rune’s help, Kallan accepts her father’s death and learns to trust Rune as they approach the borders of Alfheim.

  King Olaf captures Kallan and Rune and learns of their identity. As Kallan is left for dead, the Dvergar attack, scattering King Olaf’s army and Rune escapes with the aid of Ori, a Dvergar and friend from Kallan’s childhood who Kallan does not remember.

  Ori unites Rune and Kallan then directs the Dvergar off-course as Kallan and Rune make a run for the borders of Alfheim. But King Olaf has closed in, leaving them no escape when Bergen, Rune’s brother, arrives with enforcements. King Olaf retreats, but Kallan is left to the whim of Bergen.

  Immediately determined to kill each other, Bergen and Kallan argue. Given the choice of prisoner or guest, Rune coerces Kallan to sail with them back to Gunir.

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIF
TEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FORTY

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  EPILOGUE

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PRONUNCIATION GUIDE

  WINTER AND ASH (TALES OF THE DRUI BOOK #3)

  Fire

  and

  Lies

  Sink into my books with me.

  I will show you what I see.

  At the farthest ends of Midgard, where Alfheim begins, the Fae goddess Fand gazed upon Kallan’s fair city. Lorlenalin. The White Opal. The Dokkalfar citadel. Humming a ditty, she collected her skirts and idly glided through the wood surrounding the city.

  Like threads of gold, Seidr flowed from the tips of Fand’s fingers. It flowed down her gown and branched across the first autumn frost glistening in the moonlight as if the Fae gods themselves had emerged from Under Earth and touched down on the lands of Midgard. Like veins, the Seidr webbed a path to the city. The life she found there was strong, but hollow with grief for their missing queen. Fand called the Seidr back, and she smiled. Memories of the dead never survive the ages. It was only a matter of time before the Dokkalfar forgot their precious queen.

  “This won’t be too hard.”

  Fand took a step and strips of leather wove themselves around her bare foot. By the time she took a second step, she wore a pair of fine leather boots. Her gowns of Under Earth re-knitted themselves into something simpler, but just as suggestive. Just as inviting. The gems she wore to ordain her bodice became grains of golden sand that vanished with the wind. Her cheekbones rounded out. Her pearlescent skin darkened to look more like a daughter of Alfheim than the pale, jeweled complexion of a Fae goddess of Eire’s Land.

  Fand pushed a hand through her raven black hair, sending strands of Seidr streaking the black and changing it to a pale blond by the time her fingers reached the tips.

  By the time Fand stepped into a beam of moonlight where the Dokkalfar guards could see her, all that remained of her original appearance was the stunning rings of gold Seidr that encircled her pupils and the mesmermizing smile that arched her red lips.

  By dawn, only two would remember the name of Kallan, Daughter of Eyolf, Queen and Lady of Lorlenalin.

  Kallan gazed upon the six wide longships nestled within the River Raum, its water lapping at their sterns. The wood whined against the current. The keel of each ship rose up and out of the river, reaching to the skies at each end where they curled into themselves at the top of each bow and stern. Several of the men had settled the yardarms into the trestles and were preparing the sails while others raised the mast of each ship. With a series of ropes, raw strength, and the aid of the mast step, the Ljosalfar pushed the masts upright until they rose like six great monoliths to the sky.

  Bergen’s men quickly secured the masts into the keelson within the hull as the Ljosalfar collected fresh water from the river, pouring it into large barrels for drinking. Others dumped their weapons and mail into their sea chests.

  “Kallan.”

  Kallan jerked to Rune’s gentle voice and she shot him a look of loathing as he took her arm.

  “Don’t,” she said, yanking her arm free. She glanced at his wounded shoulder where the stub of an arrow shaft still protruded. Blood seeped from the wound, sending a bout of worry through Kallan. She glanced at Freyja. The white mare, with fur more than an arm in length, pawed at the ground. Deciding to leave Freyja to Rune, Kallan tugged Astrid’s reins and led him toward the ships.

  Rune lunged forward, snatching her arm and forcing her to hault.

  “You know I have to do this,” Rune said, holding Kallan inches from his face.

  “Do you?” she said.

  “If you go back to Lorlenalin now, Bergen will follow,” Rune said. “He will kill you.”

  “You think he can kill me,” Kallan said.

  “I don’t underestimate Bergen. Neither should you.”

  “You are his kin,” Kallan said. “Order him not to.” She felt the amount of desperation that came with her words, and cursed herself for being anything but hateful toward Rune.

  “There are certain orders Bergen will not heed.”

  “Arrest him,” Kallan said.

  “He is my brother.”

  “Kill him.” Kallan attempted a stearn voice.

  Rune breathed deep, visibly steadying his nerves.

  “Not for you, nor the gods,” he said. “Not for a chance to end this war.”

  Irate with his answer, Kallan sent a surge of Seidr through her arm. Her energy flowed from her core to her flesh and into Rune’s hand that held her in place.

  Anyone else would have jumped at the pain. Anyone else would have pulled away at the sharp twinge of agony. But the Beast within Rune rose up. A shadow, much like her Seidr, took form, threw back its wolf head, and roared. It consumed Kallan’s Seidr, draining the energy, taking it in as if it needed it, craved it, and devoured it. The Beast drank of her Seidr until it disarmed her, and she broke the connection, withdrawing her powers, leaving the Beast unsated and Rune unharmed.

  Rune tightened his hold as Kallan felt the bear-sized wolf-like Beast within Rune settle back into a shapeless, silent shadow.

  “What is it?” Kallan asked.

  Rune narrowed his eyes with a thought Kallan couldn’t read.

  “I protect you by keeping you,” Rune said. “The only way I can do that is if you come with me to Gunir.”

  “I want to go home,” Kallan said. “No matter if you claim I have a choice or not…” Kallan yanked her arm again. This time, Rune released her. “So long as I go to Gunir, you take me against my will. I say again, Ljosalfar. Nothing has changed between us.”

  Taking up Astrid’s reins, Kallan marched toward the ships, sending Rune into a second lunge as he caught the reins and Kallan’s hand. She tightened her grip, refusing to relinquish her horse to her enemy.

  “If a prisoner you are, then you can’t be left alone with Astrid, now can you?” Rune said. He tried again and, succeeding this time, snatched the reins from Kallan.

  Kallan clenched her jaw and, letting Rune have her horse—for now—she proceeded to the ships.

  “Your dagger,” Rune said.

  Kallan turned back with a fire in her eyes that willed Rune dead. Unsheathing her dagger, she extended her weapon, blade first, as if to attack. She held her position in the time it took Rune to hold his breath. Just as quickly, she turned the blade around and handed it to him, hilt first.

  Rune took the blade and sheathed it in his belt.

  Again, Kallan turned back to the ships.

  “Your pouch,” Rune added.

  Kallan flashed a loathsome look.

  “You’re a prisoner after all,” he said, smirking.

  Pou
ring all her hate into the action, Kallan unfastened the belt from her waist, yanking it free before it was fully untied, and threw it into Rune’s chest.

  “Are you finished?” Kallan asked, and Rune grinned.

  “Hardly.”

  “You’ll get nothing more from me,” Kallan said.

  “A battle of wills, then?” Rune asked.

  “To the death,” Kallan said.

  Rune nodded as if understanding the challenge as he led Astrid and Freyja down to the water’s edge where a lone ship had docked parallel to the shore.

  “Your Majesty,” cried an old man with a pock-marked face who waved from the nearest ship. Rune gave a nod and led the horses to the river bank. Kallan watched Rune pull a saddlebag from Freyja’s pack then passed the horses to the old man.

  Over the side of the longboat, Freyja then Asrtrid followed the old man onto the deck. As the horses stepped in, the ship tipped high on its side. When they made their way to the mast, the ship moved with them and then violently rocked, forcing the old man to cling to the mast for balance.

  The ship steadied and Kallan watched the old man give a hearty pat to Astrid’s deep russet neck while ogling the unusual breed that was Freyja. Paying more mind to the white, silken locks of the draft horse, the old man caught his ankle on a large mass of orange and white as a cat scampered across the ship in pursuit of a rodent. With a slew of curses, he recovered his balance and tied the reins to the mast alongside a handful of fjord horses and a black courser mare—blacker than the shadow’s umbra.

  “That is Gunnar,” Rune said as he returned to Kallan’s side. “He is our horse master.”

  Kallan paid Rune no mind as she watched Gunnar hold a bucket of grains for Astrid, who buried his nose into the food.

  “Gunnar cares for horses far more than people,” Rune assured her. “Astrid is safe. Come.”

  When she refused to take his hand, Rune wrapped an arm around her back and guided her down to the boats where he stopped at the nearest ship.