Fire and Lies (27 page)

Aaric’s face paled with a new fear.

Gudrun.

If Daggon and Gudrun find her, if they bring back news of Kallan’s survival, the hunt would resume and this time, Danann or no, Fand would kill Kallan herself.

R
une peered down from his window into the black of night. Gunir slept soundly, leaving behind the light breeze and whistling winds. For hours he stood, staring at the night clearly ornamented with the cold light of the stars bristling around the last slice of moon that seemed to cling to the sky with all its hope.

He pushed a deep sigh through him and allowed his thoughts to wander to Kallan in her bower. He looked out over the rooftops that filled the bailey and stopped, tightening his brow. A lone, cloaked figure slipped through the courtyard. From this window, he identified Kallan’s dainty swagger and, a moment later, was out the door, flying down the back steps to the Grand Hall.

Rune arrived in the courtyard just as the hem of Kallan’s cloak vanished through the battlement. In silence, he slipped behind her, taking great care to keep his distance while keeping her in sight from where he followed in the shadows. Kallan entered the main road of the city and walked for a ways, before turning down a shallow street. With the stealth of a mercenary, Rune slipped in and out of the darkness, always several steps behind in time to see Kallan take the next turn or alley.

The streets were growing narrower and the buildings more dilapidated with every rounded corner Kallan made. She stopped frequently to cast a precarious gaze over her shoulder before proceeding deeper into the darkness until Rune was certain they had entered the poorest district of the city. There, weathered doors had all but fallen apart and rodents frequently crossed his path.

It was then, once Rune was certain the condition of the streets were as bad as they could get, that Kallan stopped abruptly. She didn’t move or turn or lower her hood, but remained in an open street where barrels and wooden crates had been dumped along with unwanted rags, piles of rotting fish heads, and heaps of mildewing hay from the stables. Bits of leather too worn for reuse or mending had been abandoned among the collection of garbage.

Rune crouched behind the side of a building, eagerly watching. The night was quiet and the stones of the street glistened in the vanishing moonlight. Rune stretched his neck out from behind the building, anticipating Kallan’s next direction, when she spun and fired a blast of blue.

As Rune flattened his back against the stone, her Seidr flame struck the corner of the wall where Rune’s hand had been moments ago.

“It’s me!” Rune cried from the darkness, hoping it would deter her attack.

Silence.

Slowly, Rune peered around the corner. Kallan was gone.

He dragged his eyes over barrels, hay, and rusted scaffolding and almost pulled his head back around when the tip of a dagger pinched his neck. Rune gulped.

Guided by the blade of the dagger and the will of its wielder, Rune ever so carefully turned back around until he pressed his back flat against the wall and gazed at Kallan. The lapis blue of her eyes held the moon’s light. With a stern stare, she assessed him quietly then smirked.

“Following me again?” she asked, with a snip of a playful tone on the edge of her voice.

“Oh, come off it,” Rune said, carefully pushing the blade from his throat.

With a muted chuckle, Kallan sheathed her blade.

“There was a time when I could put a blade to your throat and you would actually respect its weilder. I miss those times,” Kallan mused.

“What are you doing out here?” Rune asked, but Kallan had fixed her attention to a single rooftop directly behind Rune.

Creasing his brow, Rune looked in time to catch the faintest glimpse of a small hand, long, black hair caked with filth, and a dirtier face cast in shadow with his back to the moonlight.

“Come on down then,” Kallan invited warmly. “I have food.”

The boy didn’t have to be told twice. He scaled down from the rooftop, through the scaffolding and dilapidated ruins of the house so quickly that, had Rune blinked, he would have lost sight of the lad completely.

Crouched over so far that he could have run on all fours, the boy slithered along the edge of the street and was at Kallan’s heels before she had lowered the basket she had hidden quite nicely under her cloak. Another five waifs appeared and joined the one buried in Kallan’s basket.

Granting them the space to forage, Rune and Kallan backed away and allowed the children full access as they rummaged through the fruits and breads. They wasted no time devouring the pastries Kallan had swiped from the kitchens.

Stunned, Rune looked to Kallan, who stood grinning down at the children as they ate.

“How did you find them?” Rune asked by the time another two had joined the group.

“It isn’t hard,” Kallan said, delighted at the growing crowd plowing through the perishables. “Once they get wind of food, word spreads. Kaj,” Kallan called and the first lad with matted black hair poked his head up from the basket, a loaf clutched in each hand with his cheeks bursting with bread.

Crouched to the ground, Kallan pulled an apple from her pouch and began slicing it into pieces. His eyes widened in wonder as he gazed upon the Seidr that spilled like juice over Kallan’s hands.

“Let me have a look at you,” she said.

Eyeing the apple, Kaj obeyed. He swallowed the mouthful, probably too soon, and stuffed one of the breads into his mouth, freeing a hand for the apple. As he harbored his treasures, eating quickly to keep them, Kallan took a closer look at the lacerations and bruises that composed his body.

“How did you know they were here?” Rune asked as Kallan placed a hand atop Kaj’s head. Without objection, the boy began on the apple and Kallan went to work.

“They had to be,” she said. “I know how many of your men I’ve killed. I know how many of them must have had children.”

Beneath the street dirt, the purple of Kaj’s bruises faded yellow then vanished. Within his body, what old fractures and breaks he had mended as the life in his eyes filled in.

“How did you know they wouldn’t run from you?” Rune asked as Kaj finished the last of his apple and returned to the bread.

“Some did,” Kallan said then smiled back at the boy. “Go. Eat.” Still clutching his bread, Kaj ran back to the basket.

“Vibeke,” Kallan called and held out another apple.

The dulled, hazel eyes of a girl barely six winters old peered over the heads that still rummaged through the basket.

With a gleam in her eye, Kallan smiled and wiggled her finger encouraging Vibeke to approach. At the sight of the apple, Vibeke’s eyes glowed and, forgetting the basket, she charged Kallan, who surrendered the apple and scooped up the tot in a series of fluid movements.

By the time Kallan turned to answer Rune, the child had eagerly sunk her teeth into the apple with a crisp crunch that snapped the air.

“But… Why are you here?” Rune asked as Kallan bounced Vibeke on her hip. “Why would y—”

“Well, it isn’t there fault their king is an obstinate war-monger,” Kallan said and spotted a fresh cut, red and inflamed with infection, on an older boy who had pulled his head up from the basket.

“Here,” Kallan said, dropping Vibeke into Rune’s arms. “Make yourself useful.”

* * *

Within the hour, Kallan had nearly finished sorting through the children, administering spells and herbs to each where needed and mending scrapes, lacerations, and broken bones before sending each off clutching an apple.

“Sit still, Haas,” Kallan scolded gently as an eight year old squirmed in her hands.

“It hurts,” he whined and Kallan narrowed her eyes to better see the depth of the cut behind his ear. Rune leaned closer over her shoulder, eager to get a better look at Kallan’s work.

“How did you get this?” Kallan asked and wiped the wound clean with a bit of dry cloth.

“I fell,” Haas answered, bored.

Kallan released his ear and wetted the cloth with the juice of her apple then returned to the sight of the injury.

“From where?” she asked.

“From the roof of Thor’s Shadow,” he answered. As he spoke, Kallan siphoned a thread of Seidr into him.

“What were you doing at the tavern?” she asked and Haas shrugged.

“Looking for food.”

“Well,” Kallan answered with worry, “don’t. I’ll be back tomorrow with more food.”

She scrutinized her work and lowered him back to the ground. As soon as he snatched his apple from Kallan, he was off and made a comfortable seat out of a pile of soiled hay nearby.

“Where did you learn to heal?” Rune asked as Haas began his apple.

“Gudrun,” Kallan said. “Mandatory Seidr skills. Just the basics in the event you ever improve your aim.”

Kallan flashed Rune a quick smile and picked up the basket before he could protest.

“She wanted to be sure I would live,” Kallan said and watched as, one by one, the children returned to their homes in the shadow.

“You underestimate my skills,” Rune said and a little hand pulled at his pant leg.

Large, round eyes buried in a dirty face stared up at him. One of the orphans, no more than five, donned a glower she had learned from Kallan.

“Are you Rune?” the child asked.

“I am,” Rune said. And as swift as the whooper flies, she pulled back her leg and landed a kick in the middle of his shin.

The child was off before Rune could howl.

“What th—?” Rune said, holding his leg with a slew of curses at the ready, but Kallan had gone on ahead without him, leaving him alone in the street with his wound. Forced to use his freshly bruised shin to catch up, Rune limped after her.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Kallan said, gazing up at the sky and delighted for no apparent reason. “Maybe she doesn’t care for your politics.”

With a glower, Rune shook off the piercing pain in his shin and hobbled alongside Kallan as they made their way back through the streets.

The night was clear, permitting a full view of the moon. A cold wind rushed through the stone streets and Kallan pulled her cloak tighter.

“Winter is on the horizon,” Rune said, staring into the distance. “You can smell the frost in the air.”

“Hm.” Kallan grinned, breathing in the crisp scent of ice in the wind. “I love the winter. It’s like curling inside a wonderful warm blanket against the cold.”

“And spring?” Rune asked, looking upon Kallan as they rounded another corner.

Kallan inhaled deeply the night chill and grinned.

“Spring feels like I’ve been wearing the same old blanket for six months and I finally get to throw it back and enjoy the fresh air.”

The streets widened.

“Why didn’t you give them your cloak?” Rune asked as Kallan pulled the wool closer.

“Something like a cloak would launch a small war in a place like the warrens,” she explained as darkness descended upon her jolly mood. “The children would go as far as to kill for it.” Her voice fell barely above a whisper. “Eilif and I learned that the hard way.”

They said nothing for several more alleys.

“How did you find them?” Rune asked.

“It isn’t hard,” she said. “Once they find food, blankets, and medicine, the information spreads like wild fire. You only need to find one really. The rest will find you.”

“Have you always been welcomed in the warrens?” Rune asked, eager to keep her talking.

Kallan shook her head.

“Not at first.” They turned another corner. “When my father led us to Lorlenalin, there was little for me to do. The settlement was barely a fortress then. I would slip out with Eilif and we would run the streets while my father carved the city into the mountain. We found the children quite by accident, I assure you.”

Rune’s sudden bought of laughter filled the sleeping alley, pulling Kallan’s eyes from the night moon.

“What’s so funny?” she asked defensively.

“You,” Rune answered, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Just imagining you as a child, running about.”

Kallan crunched up her face.

“Well, I was probably a fright better than you!”

“Bergen and I both, mind you,” Rune corrected. “He took to the women right away…always the women with him.”

“Your poor mother,” Kallan chuckled aloud, but her gentle amusement ended abruptly. “I lost my mother in the Dvergar Wars.”