Fire and Lies

by Angela Chrysler

  “Yes.” She sighed as if she had just awakened from a deep, dream-filled sleep. “I’m sorry, dear boy, I forgot what I was saying.”

  Bergen furrowed his brow.

  “Can all Seidkona See?”

  “Only some,” she said as if there had been no interruption at all. “Very few. Almost none.”

  Gudrun shuffled to leave.

  “Can Kallan?”

  Gudrun shook her head.

  “She has never… No…” Gudrun sighed. “There was a time, when she was much younger, that her mother and I believed her Sight would surpass mine.”

  Bergen cocked his head, assessing Gudrun’s words with more caution than she was aware.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “It started small,” Gudrun explained. “She couldn’t See one particular thing, then another. After a while, it faded until it stopped and then she could See no more.”

  Content with her answer, Bergen gave a nod, concluding his questions as he mulled over each word. Sleep replaced the massive weight that seemed to drift and he felt himself wishing for his bed.

  “Goodnight, Bergen.” Gudrun grinned and shuffled herself toward Kallan’s bower.

  “Gudrun.”

  The old woman paused, knowing the request before he spoke it.

  “Please,” he bade. “About the girl… Please. Tell no one.”

  A gentle grin stretched the ancient wrinkles on Gudrun’s face and she smiled kindly.

  “I keep many secrets for many people,” she assured. “Yours are no different.”

  Bergen tried to nod his appreciation, but failed as the click of Kallan’s door filled the hallway.

  “He said what?”

  Kallan slammed her palms onto the breakfast table as she stood amid the outbursts of Geirolf, Gudrun, Daggon, and Bergen. At the door of Kallan’s solar, Torunn nodded regretfully as she relayed her conversation with Rune from the night before.

  “Where is he now, Torunn?” Geirolf asked as he raced for the next plan of combat.

  “In the war room with his breakfast,” Torunn said.

  “Another day.” Bergen rose to his feet, rearing to execute. “Indefinitely…until he breaks.”

  As if in response, Kallan stood suddenly and snatched up an assortment of fruits, breads, and berries. After piling the food onto her tray, Kallan took up the platter and breezed her way to the door. Her skirts billowed in a flourish of green.

  Wide-eyed, Kallan’s troupe watched her attempt to turn the door handle while balancing her breakfast tray.

  “Kallan?” Daggon called.

  “Where are you going, lass?” Geirolf asked as Kallan’s littlest finger caught the handle just right.

  Kallan pulled the door open.

  “To Rune’s room.”

  In a great wave, Daggon, Geirolf, and Bergen were up as Gudrun, smiling with delight, poured herself a cup of tea.

  “Oh, you’ve got to let me in on this one,” Bergen said, beaming with amusement.

  “He wants to ignore me,” Kallan said, “then I’ll go where he can’t avoid me.”

  With the hem of her skirts vanishing into the corridor, Kallan swept down the hall toward Rune’s bower. Geirolf and Bergen exchanged glances with Daggon then looked to Torunn, who looked as surprised by Kallan’s directness as they did.

  With a smirk, Gudrun blew on her steaming cup of herbs.

  “This reminds me of the time I courted a Seidr Wielder back when I was foolish enough to do such things,” she said. “Stubborn old thing he was. Smart too. He could run Seidr spells around me that left me dumbfounded out of my wits. Could brew a spell better than any Seidr User I had seen in my days too. But stupid where interests of the heart were concerned. Couldn’t take a hint if you tied it to an angry crab and shoved it down his pants.”

  Gudrun took a loud, slow sip from her tea, indifferent to the four sets of eyes fixed on her.

  “Should we tell him?” Geirolf proposed.

  A four-part chorus of harmonized pshaws filled the room.

  “No,” Daggon exclaimed as Bergen said, “I’m not.”

  “Don’t,” Torunn added. “He wants to be so stubborn… It serves him right.”

  * * *

  Rune stared from the war room window, his mind too cluttered to appreciate the evening’s clear sky. Moonlight blanketed the greens of the forests in a silver blue, but his thoughts were too distracted to see. The door creaked open and Rune turned from the window to Joren.

  “You wanted to see me,” Joren said from across the room.

  “Yes. Come.” Rune motioned to Joren, inviting him to stand at the table. “How long have you been in my services, Joren?”

  “A long time, sire. I entered your army shortly after…”

  Joren’s voice trailed off.

  “Speak plainly, Joren,” Rune said.

  “After the Massacre of Austramonath, sire.”

  “Seven hundred years,” Rune muttered. If he was disturbed at the mention of the massacre, he didn’t show it.

  “Nearly,” Joren said.

  Rune exhaled and leaned over the map splayed out before him.

  “I’ve reviewed the troops a hundred times over,” Rune said as he studied the span of land southwest of Lake Wanern. He tapped a finger to the north of Gunir where it rested on the name ‘West Man Land.’

  “Before the war with the Dokkalfar, our numbers exceeded thousands,” Rune said. “Hundreds of thousands. Those numbers were all that allowed us to stand a chance against the Dokkalfar’s advances in blacksmithing and metallurgy. Now, with Roald’s men at the Southern Keep, Thorold’s army vanquished in the north, and what little remains of Bergen’s army here in Gunir, we barely have fifteen thousand.”

  Rune let out a long sigh with all the years and all the weariness of those years.

  Joren remained silent, taking in the information his king provided.

  “It is with great fortune that the Dokkalfar lost their queen when they did. We don’t have the numbers left to stand against them.”

  Rune stared at the peninsula that was Dan’s Mork on the other side of the Kattegat.

  “Forkbeard,” he whispered and dropped a finger to the peninsula. “That Dani has hardly sat quiet in his halls since he snagged the rule from his father ten years ago. Since then, we’ve been forced to triple our defenses southwest of the Wanern. I sit back anxiously anticipating his next move while that Dani sits ever vigilant, marinating in his insatiable greed, waiting for the chance to extend his powers to Alfheim. If only I could be certain…”

  Rune dropped his arms and stood as he returned to the window were he stared up at the night sky.

  “If Forkbeard remains unmoved until things settle with the Dokkalfar, then I could pull in the troops without fear of where the Dani may move. If we ally ourselves with Lorlenalin’s queen—” He couldn’t bring himself to say Kallan’s name. “—we would benefit so much from that alliance.”

  “What will you have me do?” Joren asked, ready to follow where his king may lead.

  Rune returned to the table and looked over the map from Gunir to Lorlenalin to Dan’s Mork across the Kattegat.

  “Centuries ago,” Rune said, “you came to me with news of a spy.” Rune raised his eyes to Joren. “Borg,” Rune said, pondering the name with a certain distaste that wrinkled his nose. “He stayed to himself, kept in the shadows, and provided intelligence in exchange for his privacy. Until now, I have never questioned his terms. Until now, I have never had the need to do so.”

  “What does my king wish of me?” Joren asked.

  “Tell me everything,” Rune said. “Where you meet him, when you meet him, who he is, and how. Everything.”

  Joren furrowed his brow and nodded slowly.

  “If he finds out,” Joren gently reminded the king. “If he knows—”

  “I’m aware of the risks,” Rune assured him. “And in a fortnight, none of that will matter.”

  Joren inhaled deeply and thought
for a moment as he collected his centuries of data while Rune granted him the silence and waited. Several minutes had passed before Joren spoke.

  “Borg comes here once every fortnight,” he said. “Every full and new moon, he finds me.”

  Rune cocked a curious brow.

  “He finds you.”

  “I never know exactly when,” Joren said. “No meeting is ever prearranged. That was one of the stipulations. He’s cautious, and this sort of…arrangement has always ensured his privacy.”

  “And you are his only contact,” Rune said. “No one else has ever seen him? No one else knows?”

  “Well…” Joren chewed the inside of his cheek. “That’s not entirely true.”

  A wide-eyed fury flickered in Rune’s eye.

  “Bergen knows.”

  “Bergen,” Rune sighed. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Quite by accident, I assure you,” Joren said.

  Rune waited fixedly for Joren to embellish.

  “We’ve always complied with Borg’s conditions per your instructions…” Joren hastened through a flourish of words.

  “How does Bergen know?” Rune asked, deepening his frown.

  Joren returned to chewing the inside of his cheek, doing his best to sort out the occurrence. He rushed through the explanation, eager to catch Rune up on the details.

  “It was shortly after Bergen’s return…shortly after you decided to end the conflict. King Eyolf had already declined peace and Borg had just established contact. I was on the East Road from Swann Dalr. It couldn’t have been our third meeting. We were still precarious with the details delivered from our last meeting and were waiting for Borg’s initial bit of news to check out. That day on the East Road, he provided King Eyolf’s position and strategy…that Eyolf would be declaring war.”

  “And it checked out,” Rune confirmed as he remembered it.

  “Of course,” Joren said. “We were suspicious at first and unsure if it was a trap, but Borg came through. A few weeks later, Borg showed up again with another lead.”

  “Then another,” Rune added, coming to understand fully how the situation developed.

  “He gained our confidence in no time,” Joren said, “And he’s been finding me ever since.”

  Rune crinkled his brow in thought, ensuring he missed nothing.

  “And each meeting was unplanned,” Rune surmised, looking to Joren to confirm.

  “Every time,” Joren said. “Unplanned and unscheduled, but predictable. Once every fortnight around every new and full moon, Borg showed himself.”

  “And Bergen…” Rune asked, pushing the topic back to the question. The scout looked as if he would throw up, but continued nonetheless.

  “Right, Bergen. Well, you know how Bergen is…” Joren paused to allow Rune to comment.

  He didn’t.

  “There was an afternoon when I was out on the road and Borg approached me. We spoke and exchanged the newest information and he left. The conversation went as well as it could, but when I started on down the road, once I was sure Borg was out of sight, Bergen appeared.”

  Rune arched a pensive brow.

  “He was…” Joren rolled his eyes in search of the words. “Entertaining someone.”

  “Of course he was,” Rune said.

  “Bergen was heading back to Gunir himself, when he chanced upon our meeting,” Joren said.

  “How did Borg take the news when he found out?”

  “Oh, he never did,” Joren said quickly. “Don’t get me wrong. Bergen and I fretted for a good long season before we realized Borg had come, been seen, and departed without being the wiser.”

  Rune stared at him unimpressed, bored, angry beyond expression… Joren couldn’t tell,

  “Afterwards, Bergen and I agreed to say nothing,” Joren said. “The fewer who knew, the less likely it would get out…and Bergen feared losing a powerful asset over such a stupid mistake.”

  Rune gazed out the window to the night sky.

  “The moon will be full in three days’ time.”

  Joren nodded.

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t expect him to stay long or come quietly,” Rune said. “Part of me expects him to not come at all, with Kallan’s absence.”

  Joren waited in silence as Rune slowly walked back to the window.

  “Is he ever late?” Rune asked.

  “He is always punctual.”

  Rune nodded, at last pleased with something Joren said.

  “I’ll have a small guard of my best men following you that day,” Rune said. “You will not be alone…not for a moment.”

  Joren nodded.

  “A handful of men will be entrusted to you. You are to describe his appearance. Teach them to recognize him. Too many questions hang in the balance whose answers could resolve many issues.”

  Joren exhaled as he recalled the voice always buried at a distance in the shadows. Rune returned to the table and peered over the map. His eyes rested on the peninsula of Dan’s Mork where Forkbeard occupied his throne.

  “Whatever agreement we may have had with Borg is at an end,” Rune said. “This war will not continue, which makes Borg an expired asset. I need him in our custody before he realizes his time is up. He has answers I need.”

  A stronger tone surfaced as Rune dropped a finger to Alfheim, his eyes ever fixed on Dan’s Mork.

  “Forkbeard is the new threat. A foothold here in Alfheim would ensure a clear, unforeseen passage into Midgard that no other position could grant. I can’t pull Roald’s men from the south and leave ourselves open to an attack from Forkbeard, but I fear I have no choice. It’s a risk we’ll have to take.”

  “What will you have me do?” Joren asked.

  “I hope, with our combined forces, we have a chance to stand against Forkbeard. But, sadly, this means we will have to weaken our front lines in the process.”

  “Why not just wait until after the alliance is secure?”

  “Because I fear the Dokkalfar will make their move sooner than the alliance, and if they do, we don’t stand a chance. There will be nothing left in Gunir to negotiate. No...” Rune shook his head. “We must be ready to stand together against the Dokkalfar if the need arises. Be prepared to ride out the moment Borg is in our custody. I’d have you leave now if I could afford you. Once the queen addresses Borg, it should clear up a few misunderstandings that will allow us to unite our forces against Forkbeard. We just might have the alliance my father sought to form centuries ago. With the might of Roald’s army, Gunir’s army, and the Dokkalfar, we might just survive this.”

  “As you wish,” Joren said.

  “Good night, Joren,” Rune bid and leaned over the table once more.

  “Good night.”

  Rune listened to the door close behind Joren and he stood a while longer over the map. With a wide yawn, he straightened his back and stretched.

  Pained with exhaustion that made him long for his bed, Rune trudged out of the war room. A mild ruckus in the Hall rolled up the stairs and Rune grunted with exhaustion. Too tired to entertain but stomach twisting with hunger, he made a mental note to have Torunn bring something up from the kitchens.

  Pushing open the door to his chamber, Rune glanced about the lit room and stopped dead. Splayed out on his bed, staring at the ceiling in a daze, Kallan laid waiting. Quickly, Rune took a sharp step back into the hall and quietly closed the door.

  His hunger forgotten, Rune stood wide awake while subtle tufts of soft perfume wafted with him into the hall. For a moment, he forgot to be angry and argued with himself to go back in. Shaking his head, Rune battled to keep his sense about him, despite the blood draining from his brain. With clenched fists, he followed the narrow, spiraling stairs down to the Great Hall.

  Rune peered around the screens passage. Relieved to find Geirolf sitting alone while taking his evening meal of boiled pork, he crossed the Hall, half-crouched to hide himself from Ottar and the barracks men. The result was an abysmally botched
slink.

  “Geirolf,” Rune whispered as if Kallan could hear from his chambers.

  With an angled brow, Geirolf turned from his stew. “Your Majesty?”

  “Why is Kallan in my room?” Rune asked.

  “Uh…” Geirolf shifted his eyes. “Perhaps you should ask Bergen why a girl would be in your room.”

  “No.” Rune snapped his head to the screens passage and the side door. “How long has she been there?”

  Geirolf restored his attention to his pork.

  “All day from what I know.”

  Rune jerked his head back to Geirolf in disbelief and waited for Geirolf to move.

  “Well…” Rune paused, ready for Geirolf to take action. “Get her out!”

  “Rune.” Geirolf dropped a hunk of meat to his plate and shifted his weight to his elbow on the table. “There are two things I’ve learned about women. One: You accept their illogical idiosyncrasies.”

  Geirolf paused to think about this for a moment.

  “They’re women. It can’t be helped. And two…” He waited until Rune poked his head closer. “If there’s one you want and she’s willingly waiting in your room…” Geirolf’s bottom lip quivered with annoyance. “You don’t send her out!”

  Rune huffed with impatience.

  “I don’t…” Rune lost his voice and moved on, deciding Geirolf wouldn’t help him. “Where’s Bergen?”

  Geirolf peered over his old nose.

  “Do you really want to send Bergen in there?”

  Rune shifted his eye to the table in reflection. “Never mind,” he added with a pat to Geirolf’s back.

  With a hidden smirk, Geirolf watched as Rune crept his way to the grand steps leading up to the second floor and the bedchambers.

  As the heel of Rune’s boot vanished up the steps, Geirolf leaped from the table and dashed down to the kitchens to Bergen, Gudrun, Daggon, and Torunn.

  * * *

  Rune pushed open the door to Kallan’s empty bower. Her scent slammed his nose and twisted his nerves into knots. After running his hands over his face and through his hair repeatedly, he nearly ripped the belt from his waist. Dropping himself into a chair, Rune carefully leaned Gramm against the armrest and then unlaced his boots before tossing them to the floor.