Fire and Lies (22 page)

T
he air was stiff and filled with a stagnant chill. Pulling at his tunic, Bergen stepped into the cold, dark corridor and closed the door to his brother’s bower behind him. Immediately, he stopped dead at the old woman, who seemed to appear from the air. Dressed in a chemise and dressing gown, Gudrun held two fingers upright, the tips of which fed a single orange Seidr-flame that flickered and danced with a personality all its own. Orange and black streaks decorated the wall, submerging her ancient face in a dangerous glare and catching a bit of the gold in her eye as she spoke.

“What’s the report?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

“He’s asleep,” Bergen said.

Gudrun nodded, keeping her thoughts private.

“Geirolf came back with you, I presume?” Gudrun asked.

“He’s in the larder now hanging the hares,” Bergen said.

“I’ll let Torunn know to send the servants,” she said after a moment and quietly, swiftly shuffled down the hall. A cold lingered behind her and her Seidr flame flickered. The light shuddered.

“Gudrun.”

Gudrun paused and gazed at the berserker.

“I spoke to Rune,” Bergen said.

A soft smirk pulled at the corner of Gudrun’s mouth.

“You did.”

“He said you’re a Volva.” Bergen’s throat was dry. “That you have the Sight. You can See.”

The Seidr flame flickered and Bergen studied her eyes, expecting a denial. Instead, Gudrun’s smirk grew into a small grin.

“I am,” Gudrun said. “I do. I can.”

Bergen clenched his fist.

“How much can you see?” he asked. “What do you know?”

Amused, the old woman retained her smile and narrowed her steady glare.

“You brothers… You share a lot.” The gold in her eye glistened. “He asked the same of me.”

“Did you lie?” Bergen asked and exhaled sharply through his nose. “Can you really See…or is it a guise for money?” Bergen’s breath was increasing. “Some Seidkona do that. They lie and cheat and take your money, leaving you with false premonitions.”

Gudrun kindly peered through the slits in her eyes.

“You doubt my skill?”

The chill in the air thickened.

“I see you,” Gudrun said. “Is that enough?” Bergen inhaled deeply. His large chest expanded as he stared down the short woman. “No?”

Darkness blanketed her face.

“Your eyes are different,” she said. “Like the Dvergar. I know you weren’t born that way. I know they once matched the silver-blue eyes of your brother.”

Bergen widened the black of his eyes and Gudrun entered his mind as she peered through the dark and the flickering light.

“I see the Dvergar prisons and the cage that held you,” Gudrun whispered. “I see the darkness that kept you, and the girl.”

Bergen’s palms shook as they beaded with sweat.

“And a Dvergr dying on the floor beneath your blood-soaked hands clutching the elding blade you plunged into her heart… That blade, in fact.”

Paying no mind to his white fists, Gudrun glanced at the elding handle of a dagger sheathed at his waist.

“I know, you loved her once,” she said, “I know that she—”

“Enough!” Bergen barked and, clawing at his back, he tore his shirt over his head as if the tunic itself suffocated him, as the black of those walls closed in, as the stench of those halls ate his skin. And a perfect, pale face turned up at him and her eyes implored in that moment as he watched the life drain from them.

Panting, Bergen fell to the floor on his knees. His bare shoulders shook in Gudrun’s light and he dug his fingers into his eyes. He wiped the sweat from his brow and checked his hands twice for blood. Her blood. Running his shaking hand through his hair, he regained control of his breath.

“Very well,” Gudrun obliged, saying no more on the matter. “Is there something else you’d like to know?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Bergen closed his eyes.

“Swann,” he said and raised his gaze to Gudrun.

“Swann,” Gudrun repeated, shaking her head as Bergen picked himself up off the floor.

“My sister,” he said and waited for the Volva to speak.

“If your brother told you that he spoke with me,” Gudrun said, “surely he told you my answer.” Sadly, she shook her head. “I can not see your sister’s killer. I’m sorry.”

Turning to leave, Gudrun hung her head low. The orange of the light moved with her.

“Please,” Bergen said.

Cold streams of sweat streaked his face as Gudrun looked back to see.

“What he did to her…” He shook his head. “How we found her… What it did to us… Please.”

“I can not See,” she said and took another step.

“How?” Bergen called after her. “How can a Seer not See?”

Gudrun sighed and stopped in the hall.

“Do you know how a Volva’s Sight works?” she asked.

Gazing up at the berserker, she ensured she had his attention. Bergen shook his head.

“I can look through your eyes,” Gudrun said. “Past the mask you wear, and see your memories there.” Bergen held his breath as she continued. “I can follow the memories buried in the Seidr.”

“The Seidr?” he repeated, furrowing his brow. “It has memories?”

“It lives,” Gudrun whispered. “It remembers.”

“And with it, you can See,” he asked, doing his best to forget his own ancient memories.

Gudrun smiled gently.

“But what would cause a Seer to not See?” he asked.

Gudrun shook her head.

“I don’t know,” she replied. “It requires a great amount of Seidr and strength to block a Seer’s ability and more so to block only certain visions of the Seidr while keeping other aspects and visions functioning. No one—”

At once, her eyes fogged over mid-thought as if coming to an understanding. And just as quickly, an empty blankness passed over her face, and the Seidr flame on her fingers was lost, plunging them in the darkness and the moonlit corridor.

“Gudrun?” Bergen asked. “Gudrun, are you alright?”

He clutched her arms, giving her a shake. The fog in her eyes cleared and Gudrun gasped.

“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.

“
H
e 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.”