Fire and Lies Read Free Page A

shoulder.
    Rune howled, and the Shadow Beast rose up. Kallan felt the Beast fly toward Bergen’s sword, and she fired a small blast of Seidr, striking Bergen’s blade. The Shadow Beast feasted, for a moment, on Kallan’s Seidr, giving Rune time enough to recover and pull back on the Beast. But, too late, the men had jumped.
    A Ljosalfr released an arrow pinning Kallan’s skirts to the deck as another mashed a fist into Kallan’s hair. Pulling her head back, he pressed a blade to her throat.
    “Enough!” Rune shouted. “Ottar! Release her! Bergen! Sheathe that sword!”
    The large brute that was Ottar released Kallan. Coughing, she fell to the deck of the ship. A visible line of blood marked her neck as Bergen reluctantly returned the great sword to his back. With Bergen’s compliance, the crew stood down.
    Taking hold of the arrow’s tip, Kallan pulled the head through Rune’s shoulder. Rune released a second slew of curses and the wound freely bled.
    “Give me a reason, Dokkalfr,” Bergen said. “Just one.”
    With contempt, Kallan shoved her blade back into Rune’s waist.
    “Watch it,” Rune said.
    Ignoring Rune, Kallan matched Bergen’s scowl as she began tearing strips of cloth to dab at Rune’s wound.
    “You couldn’t use an apple?” Rune asked.
    Kallan glared at Rune and ripped another strip of fabric.
    “An uksit took my pouch,” she said.
    Rune frowned.
    With each strip of cloth Kallan made, a ripping sound carried over the ship. Saying nothing, she resumed her work as Rune threw his head back and gulped down the rest of Bergen’s mead. The sweat on his forehead beaded as he dropped the empty flask to his lap.
    “Where j’you find the cloth?” Rune asked, dragging his tongue through his stupor.
    Again, Kallan met Rune’s glossed eyes as she tore another strip. Behind her, Bergen led a wave of grins that passed through the ship as Kallan made rags of Rune’s tunic.
    Attempting to down the empty flask before remembering it was empty, Rune suddenly realized the severity of his drunken state.
    “Hey, Bergen,” Rune slurred. “What’s in this stuff?”
    Kallan sat down against her pile of furs as Bergen flashed a grin that matched the gleam in his eye.
    “What happened to your shirt?” Bergen asked, dropping himself at the tiller as Rune examined the frayed ends of his tunic.
    “Move out!” Bergen bellowed, failing to answer Rune’s question.
    One by one, with gangplanks raised, the ships pushed off from shore. Several men waded waist high in the water, passing the logs from shore to the rowers. With fluid precision, the rowers passed the logs overhead and laid them into the trestles. After climbing on board, the last of the men settled themselves into their places along the hides and floorboards.
    Thirty rowers lined each side of each ship. Those who climbed from the water slogged to their sea chests and settled in place. The rowers took up their oars and pushed off land while the seaside oarsmen began rowing. They found their rhythm and, within minutes, the river’s current carried them. The wind picked up and shortly thereafter, they found a favorable wind.
    “Drop the sails!” Bergen shouted from the side oar.
    In unison, a handful of those who had raised the roller logs proceeded to untie the sail fastened to the yardarm. They took up the halyards and, together, hoisted the yardarm to the tip of the mast, where the flag of Gunir, embroidered with the boar’s head encircled with runes, snapped in the wind.
    Before they could finish tying off the lines and securing the sheets, the sails billowed. The increased speed was instant and, for the moment, Kallan forgot Rune’s drunkenness, his bloody shoulder, or the Dark One sitting behind her, coddling the tiller like a boy happy with a new stick.
    The wind grazed Kallan’s face and she deeply inhaled the fresh breeze, allowing her a moment’s peace. One by one, the ships’ sails unfurled and caught the wind that pushed them