Dolor and Shadow (21 page)

* * *

Kallan stared blankly at the stone ceiling above her bed. Mindlessly, she turned over her mother’s pendant, tracing each strip of metal with her fingers. Four floors below her, Rune sat in the filth of her prisons.

“Where he belongs,” she huffed and threw herself onto her side.

Kallan sighed for what must have been the hundredth time that night.

Or was it morning already?

She glanced at the black of night. Not even the moon’s crescent was visible through the heavy cloud coverage. It was barely early morning. She growled, decided not to care, and dropped her head back to the pillow. Days had been melting into each other so much now that she was losing more time than she was able to track.

Kallan looked to her pouch and dagger resting on the table beside her.

Within ten minutes, I could be cloaked and in the prison. No one would ever know.

She shook her head, shoving away the plan, and made an effort to ignore the violent tantrum her stomach was throwing. She had skipped dinner completely, save for the bowl of cloudberries she had finished off. Her abdomen rumbled.

The kitchens are always empty this time of night. There’s nothing wrong with a little midnight raid,
she decided, and started to play out an innocent trip to the pantry.
Cook always has barrels of fruit lying about. Rune would be hungry. A spell would allow easy access to the prisons. I could slip him something to eat and perhaps—

Kallan growled again and flopped onto her back. Blankly, she spun the signet ring around on her finger, studying the hammer engraved within the ring with the tri-corner knot that matched her mother’s pendant. No matter how she tried to justify a raid to the kitchens, she knew it would end in the prisons.

Pulling the furs over her nose with another sigh, she flipped onto her side, stared at the doors, and crossed her arms over her chest. Just as she settled into the silence, her chamber doors flew open, hitting the wall with a pair of bangs. Icy air engulfed her room and the light blackened. Wide-eyed, Kallan sat up from the bed.

Aaric looked as if he had just stumbled awake. Donned only in trousers, Kallan could make out every rune etched onto his torso. From his arms, to his shoulders, and down his spine, she followed the pre-ancient Ogham runes she had learned as a child. A handful of blacker, newer images she could not decipher appeared to be a variant of the Glagolitic runes used by the Sklavinians.

The sword at his side, unsheathed and reddened with fresh blood, told her everything she needed to know. With fluid movement, she snatched her dagger and the pouch from her bedside table and followed him out of her chambers, leaving her boots, her cloak, and her clothes behind.

* * *

“The Ljosalfar are attacking the front gate,” Aaric lied as he led Kallan down the hall. “Most of the men are there now.”

“So it is to the front we must go,” Kallan said, securing her pouch and dagger to her waist and falling in step beside him.

“Not yet,” he said. “There are reports that the enemy slipped in through the stables.”

“That passage is unknown,” she said. “How did they—”

“The Dark One is with them.”

Aaric watched the blood drain from her face and he doubled his pace. She was taking the news as he had hoped: with a cool head pushing and, as expected, she followed with a surge of excitement that sharpened her focus. With renewed determination, she descended the stairs, taking the steps two at a time alongside him.

“We have reason to think the troops at the front gate are a diversion to buy the Dark One some time. We think he’s here to get Rune.”

“Rune,” Kallan whispered as Aaric rounded a sharp corner. “I can not take them both, Aaric!” She pulled on Aaric’s arm, bringing him to a sudden stop. “The Dark One and the king must not unite!”

As if we have the time to stop.

“I can’t take them together, Aaric. We’ll never defeat them.”

“Which is why we need Rune,” Aaric said. “We can use him to negotiate a trade with the Dark One.” Aaric watched her eyes widen even more with worry. “Get to the prisons,” he said. “Get Rune.”

She paused as if preparing to argue, but the air had changed. Aaric held up his hand, silencing her.

“We are not alone,” he whispered.

Kallan put a hand to her dagger and shifted her gaze to the corridor behind him. The Seidr was familiar, but nothing he could place.

“Go,” he said. When Kallan didn’t move, he took her by the arm and walked her back several paces. “Whatever is there will detain us,” Aaric said. “I will take care of the front until you get back.” He was certain she was picking up on the same Seidr, but she seemed unable to focus. He pulled her closer and dropped his voice. “We have no time. Circle back to the Hall and head down to the prisons.”

She met his eyes, clear at the moment and as if she had no memory of what just happened.

“To the prisons,” he pressed. “Get Rune.”

Slightly conflicted, but convinced, Kallan nodded and fled down the hall, leaving Aaric to breathe a little easier. He tightened his grip on his sword and turned toward the corridor. The air was thick. The Seidr was strong. She was there. Aaric shifted his position so his sword covered his head and the tip dropped slightly, guarding his face and torso.

He waited, sustaining the tension, and then he pivoted, bringing down his blade right onto Gudrun’s Seidr-shield.

“What in blazes—Woman!” Aaric dropped his sword.

“Don’t bark at me,” Gudrun said, extinguishing her Seidr shield. “You’re the one who’s got this place in an uproar!”

The tincture
, he remembered.
The Seidr from Under Earth was sure to alter Gudrun’s own Seidr until it wore off.

“For crying out loud, Aaric! Why is the entire army stationed at the front gate?”

The tincture he had slipped her earlier certainly had done little to sedate her ornery disposition.

“There’s been a siege,” Aaric said, never so relieved to see Gudrun. “The Dark One’s here.”

Gudrun straightened her spine and pressed her thin lips together.

“You would have known that had you not fallen asleep in your chambers,” he added and watched as she tried to recall the order of events.

Based on the scrunch of her face, he confirmed she had no memory of him paying her a brief visit and certainly no knowledge of the tincture she drank or of the effects it had on her own Seidr at the moment.

By Odinn. What did Fand give me?

“I don’t have time for this,” Aaric said and shoved his way past Gudrun, who stood puzzling over the events.

“I never…”

Aaric looked back, feigning boredom. “Hm? What’s that?” 

“I…” She shook her head and rubbed her temples in duress.

A twinge of guilt pinched at Aaric’s chest.

Keep Kallan alive. Nothing else matters so long as Kallan lives through this night. Get Gudrun to the front with the guard, then get to the stables and meet up with Kallan…So long as Kallan lives…

In silence, Gudrun made her way to the courtyard and the front gate. Behind her, Aaric followed, cursing Fand, the tincture, and the evening that lay before him.

CHAPTER 28

Kallan ran down the corridor lit with torches. After descending the flight of stairs where the room widened, she slowed and approached the Great Hall. Standing just beyond the threshold, she peered around the stone doorframe.

The fire pits were cold, leaving the throne submerged in darkness. The tables laden with devoured carcasses, food remnants, and barrels and flasks of mead were empty. She could easily see where, only moments ago, most of her war-men had passed out at the table or onto the floor.

Quietly, Kallan slipped into the Hall, crossing the large room as she swept her gaze from the tables to the throne. Reaching the end of the room, she peered into the hall that would take her to the stables, the barracks, or the courtyard. Silence found her and she stopped on the threshold.

To reach the stables from the barracks, the Dark One would have to take this hall. Kallan swallowed a chill that tasted too much like fear. No matter the training—her Seidr, her spells—he managed to outfight her every time. Each of their battles ended with a close brush with death and an impasse that forced them both to bail. Tightening her grip on her dagger, Kallan forced her breath steady and left the shelter of the Great Hall, slipping into the corridor toward the barracks.

The abandoned barracks housed a constant chill that always swept in from the prisons below. The prisons had been the oldest and first mines dug ages before by the Dokkalfar. The first stones of Lorlenalin had been built from the slab pulled from the mountain. When the mines dried up, they were made into prisons. And the old counting room, the barracks.

The guard was dead. Slumped against the wall with his eyes wide open, blood stained the side of his mouth. Giving no thought to the armory, Kallan yanked open the heavy iron door, eager to secure her bartering stone.

The deafening clang of the door and the stale silence left an uneasy sickness that twisted her insides. She wasn’t alone. Kallan flicked her wrist, summoning a small ball of red flame that danced in her palm. With flame in one hand and dagger in the other, Kallan began the long descent into the black halls.

Pale orange flame from the dying torches lined the passages that snaked their way through the labyrinth. Moisture collected on the walls, and streaked the stone with minute streams of cold water. Without a guide, she forced her way through, finding her way into the impervious dark.

Adrenaline sharpened her senses as Kallan followed the path through the winding corridors. She turned a corner and descended a series of steps.

Her pace slowed, knowing they were there. She could feel it in her blood. The foreign, unmistakable scent of an earth that didn’t belong to Lorlenalin sent her heart pounding. Her foot peeked from beneath her hem as she grazed the stone with her heel. Ensuring complete silence, she made her way into the bowels of the city. The usual gusts of cold rolled up the steps, chilling her bare legs beneath the chemise. Resisting the urge to shiver, she tightened her grip on her dagger.

At the base of the steps, the hall forked to the left and right. If she took the right path, it would lead her into an open room where two additional corridors branched out. Only one would take her to Rune.

Her heart beat painfully as she neared the last step, her back pressed against the damp stone. She could wait here for them to find her and counter defensively, or avoid the delay and seize the offensive before they knew she was there.

Kallan slowed her breathing. Tension twisted her insides.

One breath. Two. She knew they were there. Three.

Kallan pivoted around the corner and fired the Seidr flame before taking aim. A sharp crack echoed the thud of a body striking the stone.

Five,
she assessed.

One lay unconscious behind the four still standing. The Ljosalfr warrior on her right charged.

With a graceful sweep, Kallan slashed her Seidr flame across his face. His hand flew up, grasping a cut while stumbling back several paces. Balancing her weight evenly on her bare feet, Kallan fired her Seidr flame into a second warrior charging her left, but the first rebounded, undeterred by the cauterized laceration that stretched from the right side of his mouth to his left eye.

Kallan raised her dagger and met a sword. Elding stone screamed against iron as the blade snapped in two. She fired a blast to the right, then to the left, sending both warriors to the wall unconscious just as a great sword came down from the front.

The metal’s deafening scream followed a sudden silence and her body reverberated beneath the strength of her opponent. Behind him, her last opponent stood with an axe at the ready.

Sweat from her palm weakened her grip, requiring both hands on her handle. His great-sword stood strong against her elding dagger, drawing Kallan’s gaze through their locked blades. Kallan froze.

Between their hilts, the cool black eyes of the Dark One stared back at her, sending a chill down to her feet. His all-too-familiar scar glistened with sweat above his right brow. He smiled, stirring a sudden irritation she couldn’t explain.

“Your Majesty,” he purred. His voice was like honey.

Kallan stared at her own hateful grimace reflected in his eyes.

He knows.

With a roar, Kallan pushed her dagger against the berserker. He stumbled back, raising his blade again while, behind him, the Ljosalfr raised his axe for the fatal blow, but she was ready for them both.

Pouring her Seidr flame into the elding handle, Kallan pushed the fire through the blade as she swung her dagger. The last Ljosalfr was just out of range, but the fire reached where her blade could not as she swung one steady swing from right to left. The line of Seidr flame whipped through the air. Cursing aloud, above the roar of fire, the berserker and the last standing warrior threw themselves back into the corridor where they had emerged from moments ago.

Kallan’s fire growled like thunder as the orange and red flames rolled over the stone. Leaving the Dark One cowering behind her still burning wall of flame, Kallan fled down the corridor, without a look back, into the darkness to Rune’s cell.

Behind the wall, Bergen and his men cowered as the stone grew hotter, but neither moved, knowing the Seidkona’s skill. Sweat dripped into the berserker’s mouth as he waited for the flames to die, all the while counting down the seconds lost.