Dolor and Shadow (57 page)

CHAPTER 66

The next morning, sunlight spilled over the mountains. Seated atop Astrid, Rune and Kallan made their way along the river streaked with beams of light. Desperate for the first glimpse of Alfheim in nearly a full moon and a fortnight, Kallan beamed with an eagerness she couldn’t contain. Her wide-eyed zeal had become anxious jitters as she looked from the horizon, to the waters, to the forested land. As if worried they had somehow strayed and lost their way, she looked about in search for a road or land bridge that would open up and carry them into Alfheim.

“Soon enough,” he said and wrapped an arm around her, forcing her still.

Astrid’s steady pace carried them through the forests along the river’s edge, dragging the day behind them.

“Where is she?” Kallan asked as the mid-day sun began to rise.

“Eager to get underway?” Rune asked with a grin.

“Our deal stands, Ljosalfr.”

Kallan sensed the continued battle that brewed as Rune tightened his hold on her waist.

“What will you have me do…to convince you to come to Gunir?” Rune’s voice was near a whisper.

Kallan scoffed then glanced over her shoulder to better direct her insults toward him.

“Only a fool would willingly follow an enemy to their home,” she said.

“Am I still your enemy?” Rune asked, pulling his eyes from the road.

With mouth agape, Kallan spun around to rebutt, but Rune suddenly fell forward, dropping his weight onto her. Clenching his teeth, Rune bit back a howl and pushed himself up again as Kallan caught a glimpse of an arrow’s shaft protruding from his shoulder.

With a slap of the reins, Rune sent Astrid galloping in and out between the trees down the riverbank ahead of a volley of arrows. Reaching around, Rune grasped the arrow and broke the shaft in two, leaving half of the arrow still embedded in his shoulder and that was when he saw them: lines of archers in the distance standing behind lines of spearmen, who charged them. And in the distance, atop his horse, sat Olaf among his archers.

“Olaf,” Rune said and, before the color finished draining from Kallan’s face, Rune had untied Freyja’s reins from the saddle horn and sent her galloping into the forest along with most of their possessions.

Rune whipped Astrid’s reins, and the stallion fired into a torrent. The pines thickened and Rune veered Astrid away from the river where the banks rose into sharp cliffs. The woodland thickened, hiding them from Olaf’s arrows and forcing Rune to ease up on the gallop. A sliver of light pierced the wood, beckoning them on ahead. With a final bound through the trees, Astrid emerged from the wood and Rune pulled back hard on the bridle, putting an immediate end to their chase.

“The river…” Kallan muttered.

The river they had followed east for two days, the river that should have led them to the open fields of Alfheim, abruptly ended as it joined with a second river that flowed from the north. The waters of the Raumelfr, wide enough to comfortably hold three longships, stretched out in front of them.

With his legs jellied, Rune slid down from Astrid, and briskly walked along the land that hugged the banks of the Raumelfr, forming a blunt point before trailing up the other side of the east river and shaping the land into a peninsula. Together they stared out across the conjunction, gaping at the other side.

“We’re blocked in,” Rune said. His heart pounded like a drum, burning his shoulder where the arrow rested. The charge of soldiers behind them grew louder.

“Rune?” Kallan said. She looked to him, awaiting an answer, but his attention had settled on the land across the Raumelfr.

“That’s Alfheim,” Rune said.

“What?”

“We’re on the wrong side.”

“What?”

“We’re on the wrong side,” Rune’s voice rose the more the realization settled in.

“We’re on the wrong side?”

“We’re on the wrong side! Alfheim is there!” Rune pointed to the wooded plains ahead.

“We have to cross this?” Kallan shrieked. “That’s the width of an arrow’s shot!”

“We have to cross this,” Rune said.

“We can’t cross this!”

“I know we can’t cross this!” Rune shouted back.

“We can’t cross this,” Kallan said. “How can we be on the wrong side?”

“We were at the wrong lake.” Rune’s voice sharpened as he realized his error.

“The lake?” Kallan said.

“I thought it was Lake Mjerso.”

“Then what was it?” Kallan asked.

“We must have been further west.”

“What do you mean further west? You didn’t know?”

“No, I didn’t know!” Rune shouted back.

“I thought you’ve been here!”

“I was, but that was a long time ago!”

“You mean you don’t remember?” Kallan said.

“No! I don’t remember!” Rune shouted.

“Rune…” Kallan gasped. “We can’t cross this.”

The march of the soldiers grew louder, forcing them to abandon their argument. Before she could disagree, Rune grabbed Kallan’s hand and bolted up the west bank of the Raumelfr.

“Rune,” Kallan managed between breaths, “we can’t run all the way up the Raumelfr.”

“I know that.”

Rune came to a stop and looked about for a place to escape, a place to cross, a place to hide.

“What do we do?” Kallan asked.

“I don’t know.” Rune looked from left to right for a solution. Deciding on one, he pulled Kallan back to Astrid. “Come on.”

Lifting her up, Rune hoisted Kallan into the saddle. After pulling himself up behind her, Rune looked about for Olaf’s men then snapped the reins, forcing Astrid into a full gallop up the banks of the Raumelfr.

Undaunted by the advantage Kallan and Rune gained from atop their mount, Olaf’s men charged with spear and axe. Rune pulled back on the reins and studied the far side where the spearmen left an opening. Directing Astrid toward the banks of the Raumelfr, Rune steered the horse to the only opening ahead. Within moments, more spearman moved in, closing ranks and forcing Rune to reconfigure his escape.

After re-examining the scenario for another opening, Rune sent Astrid across the peninsula. Flying ahead on his command, desperate to outrun the war-men, Astrid rounded the tip of the land and Rune veered the stallion up the banks of the east river, but the spearmen were waiting with Olaf.

Forced to a full stop, Rune looked for any opening that could lead to an escape, but the army had barricaded them in and the only open path was down a sheer drop into the Raumelfr.

Rune wrapped an arm around Kallan as she flicked her wrists. Rune snatched Kallan’s hand.

“Don’t,” he said. “There are too many.”

The first of the spearmen closed in, cutting off the last of the space between them when the blast of a war horn and a call to arms filled the wood around them.

Everyone looked to the trees.

Moving as one and clad in armor, a legion of Alfar warriors emerged from the forest sporting sword, shield, and spear. Olaf’s spearmen tightened their grips on their arms. Confusion settled in as they looked about, studying the warriors surrounding them. Untouched by the fear of man’s mortality, the faces of the Alfar were hardened with the coldness possessed only by those born to the halls of Alfheim.

Kallan looked from face to face. Rune felt her tremble as she leaned into him like she was desperate to sink through him and vanish. She slipped her hand into his and folded her fingers down with such strength as if terrified he would suddenly be ripped from her side.

Rune searched the innumerable faces and scanned the crowd of troops for a single pair of obscure eyes. From the line of Alfar, a single warrior stepped into the opening and Rune ended his search, relaxing onto Astrid with a wide grin.

Clad in black and seated, almost bored, upon a charcoal mare with an elding great sword fastened to his back, the berserker emerged from the line of Alfar. His dark eyes fell on Kallan.

“Olaf!” Bergen bellowed above the confused mass of murmurs that had fallen over the troops. “Stand down!”

Olaf addressed the challenger, throwing all of his hate to this Ljosalfr, this berserker.

“You stand on the grounds of Viken,” Olaf said and Bergen unsheathed his sword with a flourish. “With what warrant do you contest the king and lord of this land?”

“We are here for our king,” Bergen said, “and are prepared to take him back…” With a flick of his wrist, Bergen readied his great sword and grinned. “Or to avenge him.”

Olaf smiled widely from atop his horse.

“Have you so many lives to spare that you can send them to their deaths in vain?” Olaf asked.

The Dark One waited for the echo of Olaf’s taunt to fade before answering.

“Ten thousand,” Bergen said with the cold calculation of a strategist. “Ten thousand stand strong awaiting our return in Gunir. They have orders to march to your precious citadel and rend your fortress to the ground where she stands if we don’t.” The smile fell from Olaf’s face. “Are you prepared to amass your troops in defense against our vengeance?”

“Your falsehood is plain,” Olaf said. “Your numbers have significantly depleted.”

“Will you gamble your stronghold on false assumptions?”

The weighted silence fell over the troops, each awaiting their commander’s orders. Kallan and Rune shifted gazes from Man to Alfar. After a long moment in which Olaf and Bergen exchanged glances, Olaf called to his men.

“Fall back!”

In a wave that passed over Olaf’s troops, they lowered their arms and withdrew to the woods as Olaf kept his eyes fixed on his challenger. Olaf steered his horse about and rode to the front of his order without a glance behind.

Exhaling, Rune barked a loud laugh.

“Bergen,” he said, swinging a leg over Astrid and dropping his weight to the ground. With wide strides, he hustled toward the bear-like mass of Bergen, who beamed.

“Rune,” Bergen said and matched Rune’s lead.

Sliding from his horse, Bergen sauntered out to meet his king. They embraced, punched each other in the shoulder, and exploded into a set of laughs that left tears in their eyes.

Clutching Astrid’s bridle, Kallan followed a great distance behind Rune, careful to keep her guard raised and her focus on Bergen.

“The full moon was a fortnight ago!” Bergen roared, adding a second jab to Rune’s unwounded shoulder.

“We were detained,” Rune said.

Several yards behind him, Kallan came to a stop as Bergen’s eyes met hers and the grin on his face fell.

“By the fires of Muspellsheim,” the berserker cursed.

The tips of Kallan’s fingers drummed the air, aching to pull on her Seidr. The movement caught Bergen’s eye and he risked a glance to her palm, knowing very well what she was. Cautiously, his hand slid from the pommel to the hilt of his sword, his eyes ever fixed on hers and they moved in the same instant.

A flame erupted in Kallan’s hand as Bergen raised his sword and Rune jumped between them, his arms spread between them both.

“Stand down,” Rune shouted. “Stand down. Bergen, sheath your weapon. Kallan—”

Kallan glanced at Rune then restored her attention to the berserker who stood arms raised with great sword poised. After a heavy pause, Bergen slowly lowered his blade, careful to match Kallan’s pace. Rune exhaled and Kallan, ever vigilant, extinguished her Seidr.

“Now then,” Rune said with a relieved huff. “Kallan, daughter of Eyolf, Queen and Lady of Lorlenalin, this is Bergen, Son of Tryggve, Lord and heir of Gunir. He is my brother.”

Kallan looked to Rune, to Bergen, to Rune, and Bergen pulled his helmet from his head, freeing the long, black braids that fell to his waist. Kallan gazed at the berserker. Her attention lingered on the deep scar above his right eye: a souvenir of their earliest encounters. Aside from the length of his hair, his eyes, the scar, and Bergen having spent a considerable amount more time in the barracks, the berserker matched his king’s appearance in almost every detail.

“Kallan will be accompanying us to Gunir,” Rune spoke, cutting an air of regality through the tension that hovered between the lady and his brother.