Fire and Lies Read Free Page B

through the water.
    She exhaled, slowly releasing her breath in an attempt to remain unnoticed by Bergen’s men. The wind whipped her hair about as she looked to the vibrant greens of Alfheim along the banks of the river. Ahead, the land rose and fell with the Raumelfr, moving and twisting with the river as the winds carried the ships.
    “You’ve never set sail before?” Rune asked as drowsiness, pain, and mead took the better part of him.
    Kallan startled at the interruption, reminding her of the company she kept aboard her enemy’s vessel.
    “Of course I have,” she said. “I grew up on the banks of the Kattegat.” Kallan sat back into the pile of furs. “I could never grow tired of the sea.”
    With the sails billowed, the rowers pulled in their oars and deposited them onto the floorboards, filling the ship with a collection of clunks and thuds. Stretching out among the barrels, sea chests, and ropes strewn about on the deck, Kallan watched, horror-stricken, as the Ljosalfar men proceeded to scratch, amuse, and relieve themselves overboard.
    Quickly, Kallan readjusted her seat, settling for a view of the stern, where Bergen sat, relaxed and bare-chested. Rune’s head bobbed about sleepily as Kallan shifted her gaze from Bergen to the gunwale, to the hem of her skirts, and to Rune, who gave a sudden jerk to force himself awake. The gnawing awareness of her enemy’s presence nagged at her consciousness.
    At last, with much hesitation, Kallan raised her eyes to Bergen, who had fixed his full attention on her like a mountain cat stalking a lone, limp deer. The massive black of his eyes glared, loathing her presence on his ship as much as she hated being there. Despite shifting her position to better face Rune, Bergen’s dark eyes continued to dig into her.
    Rune dozed again. His hand clutched tightly around the empty flask as Kallan clasped her hands to contain the urge to attack. Bergen’s scowl burrowed deeper, until the side of her head burned from his glare. Abandoning all regard, and embracing her resolve, Kallan met Bergen’s eyes and mirrored his cold, dead stare.
    They glowered in silence, their scowls saying so much more than any throng of insults ever could. Both held their stance, neither willing to break and daring the other to be the first to weaken, to break the silence, to—
    “Enough!” Rune barked. “We have three days ahead of us and I’ll be damned if I spend every bit of this voyage with the two of you snarling at each other!”
    Bergen broke his grimace first and Kallan lowered her eyes. A flash of fur and the tip of a tail granted Kallan a welcome distraction as she watched a white ship cat pounce atop a rat.
    “Ottar!” Bergen called, suddenly interested on a certain point at the head of the ship.
    While picking at his fingers with the point of his dagger, the wide-shouldered man glanced up from where he leaned against the fore trestle. Pushing himself upright, Ottar ambled to the stern. A large scar in his right shoulder flashed as he moved, holding Kallan’s attention longer than she had intended.
    Stopping over Kallan, Ottar turned his hateful eye down with a cold glare.
    “What is it, Dokkalfr?” he growled. “Never seen a real man in that Mountain City of yours?”
    Kallan dug her fingers into her skirts and, with all her will, forced her head low.
    “That’s right, Dokkalfr. Bow your head to your superior.”
    Swiping her dagger from Rune’s waist, Kallan was up and  holding the blade to Ottar’s face. Once more the crew was taking up arms, waiting to attack as before.
    “Kallan! Sit! Ottar! Move along!” Rune said. “Kallan!”
    “Fine,” Kallan retorted and dropped back to the furs.
    “You’ll end up dead if you don’t keep your head about you,” Rune muttered, swiping back the dagger as the crew eased back to their places.
    “Let me go,” Kallan hissed. Rune relaxed back into the trestle, leaving Kallan’s retort unchallenged as Ottar made his way to