Bonded: Book One of the ShadowLight Saga, an Epic Fantasy Adventure (15 page)

He turned, but with a
lion’s speed Olrun jumped in front of him, her sword a hair’s breadth from his
throat.

The fog thickened—a kiss
of Loki's cold breath. A figure appeared behind Swan, grabbing her with a
length of rope, pinning her arms to her body. His sister dissolved into the
haze with her captor.

Hallad pressed forward,
only to meet Olrun’s point.

"What goes on here?"

"You’ll have to
figure that one out yourself farm boy. Or is it godhi’s son? Or is it Guardian?"
She laughed like a coyote and disappeared into the mist, her voice trailing
behind. "You decide."

Hallad threw up his
hands.

"Is there anything
that isn’t a game to you women?"

He reached for his
sword, the smooth metal meeting his skin like an old comrade, and dashed into
the haze. He dodged trees, narrowly missing front on collisions as they
materialized before him through the mist.

"This better be a
game," he muttered as he slowed his pace, feet fumbling for sure footing.

The world swirled about
him, a haze of whiteness. He stopped, catching his breath. Listening. A bird
cawed directly in front of him, to his left a squirrel chattered. Suddenly
swords clanked, hard and furious, sounding as if the gods themselves warred.

He rushed toward the
melee trusting his instincts to deliver him through the fog. Three figures
emerged, misty shadows of whiteness. Olrun’s broad-shouldered mass thrust
forward, her metal flying, clanging, and beating. Opposite of Olrun a shorter
figure clanked along in the rhythmic dance. Rota, Hallad assumed, though with
the fog wrapping around the figures, he could not be positive.  The two figures
sandwiched a central fighter, accosting her with thrusts and jabs.

The only thing Hallad
knew for sure was the central warrior was Swan. Not because her long ice-white
hair swayed with her sword strokes, or the way she glided without making a
sound. She appeared as just another blurred figure against the haze. But as
sure as he knew himself, he knew it was her. He felt her—there, inside that
spot within him. Swan opened to him again, only this time her emotions didn’t
feel like boulders crushing his chest. She rolled over him like water—a free
flowing falls gushing through him. Instead of letting the force of her suck him
under, he joined with her, rushing to her side.

Together they parried,
crossed and jabbed at their opponents. The clank of their metal warmed his
blood. His arms tensed with anticipation of the next attack. The drengmaers’
heavy swords caused devastating blows. Yet each time he rose up to meet metal,
he felt Swan rise too. If his stroke fell short, hers filled the gap. If hers
failed, he instinctively moved in, delivering the blow.

The drengmaers crowded
the twins, circling them, attempting to force them apart. Olrun stepped through
the center, pushing Hallad aside. Swan’s back opened up and Olrun screamed as
her sword zeroed in, "Never let your opponent divide you!"

Swan tucked into a ball
and rolled. Hallad didn't need to see her; he sensed her movements, felt her
skin tighten, her muscles reel. In those few candle-flicks, his body melded
with hers. And he reacted. He flipped around, pushing Olrun's bulk to the hard ground
as Swan escaped her sword point by a thread's distance. Hitting the earth with
a thud, the drengmaer rolled over to meet Hallad's steel, pointed with deadly
accuracy at her breast.

Hallad's muscles
quivered, wanting to release the sword into Olrun’s chest, but he stayed his
arm.

Olrun’s freckled face
split into a smile. She laughed, snorting on her hearty intakes of breath.

"Perhaps you are
sal drengrs after all."

Hallad loosened his grip
on his sword, letting it fall aside to find the ground. The mist had dissipated
at some point during their exercise, though Hallad couldn't recall when.

Rota tucked her sword
into the scabbard strapped over her back, her lips tighter than a royal maiden
in the king's palace as she crossed her arms over her chest. Olrun, still
chuckling, stood and dusted herself off then slapped Hallad flat on his back.

Hallad’s gaze settled on
Swan. He searched her icy eyes. He felt her pain, her loss of him. She too, had
a secret space inside her where she kept him close. And he had ripped that away
from her.

Guilt rushed him,
through his limbs, his breast—into every corner of his soul. How could he have
blamed her? His blood and hers mingled more closely than any he had ever known.
He wanted to grab her, tell her he would always be her brother, but his limbs
would not obey and he remained paralyzed in place.

I understand you
brother.

Swan's words danced in
his mind like a song, a melody from the gods themselves, woven with threads of
bird song, morning dew, and azure skies—everything divine. Hallad could not
fathom how beautiful her voice sounded inside his head.

"Ja, ja. I’ll
admit. You two fought well together." Olrun snapped her fingers between
brother and sister. "But that’s no reason to slack. We've work to attend
to."

With the moment broken,
Hallad’s attention returned to Thyre. He shook his head at the freckled
drengmaer.

"I have business of
my own to attend to."

Olrun sprung to block
him, but Rota stayed her, pulling her back by her arm. Understanding his need
for solace, Swan disappeared into the IronWood, her whiteness blending with the
receding mist. Hallad proceeded toward the Lion Camp where they had left Thyre
to sleep for the night.

Thyre was nowhere to be
found. Hallad hoped the drengmaers had not already taken her back to the
Hearth. He couldn’t imagine a camp full of drengmaers allowing their intruder
free reign, so he asked the twins of her whereabouts. They told him the
prisoner was allowed to clean and relieve herself in a nearby stream, motioning
in a general direction. When Hallad asked if they worried she might escape,
they laughed, telling him a rabbit in the midst of a lioness den could never
break free of the lioness’ reach.

Hallad pushed through
the brush, seeking Thyre’s path since she had said she would mark a trail. He
could hear the drengmaers in the distance in every direction and wondered how
many women populated the Lion Clan; it seemed the entire forest rustled with
their presence.

As he hiked further into
the forest, Swan’s presence weakened. The renewed bond they’d achieved during
their skirmish with the Headwomen unraveled, loosening like split twine as if
his twin undid their threads at will. Hallad heaved out a breath. Swan must be
able to control her connection to him. He wondered if he could stifle her
access to him as well. Twin or not, some mysteries should remain private. He
didn’t like the fact she manipulated his access to her, but he remained as open
as the sky in an endless plain. Would bonding as sal drengrs strengthen this
communication, or the ability to control it? Or would the bond bare his soul?

A piece of material tied
to a branch marked the path and Hallad continued, listening for clues.

"Thyre," he
hollered, though calling her by her given name instead of mother left an ache
in his chest. Her lies rumbled through his mind. His father had taught Hallad
to weigh all sides of a situation before passing judgment. By his father’s
wisdom, Hallad owed the woman the courtesy of his ear. Had her accusation been
so terrible? Hallad wondered if he would have done the same had his own
daughter been threatened. He shook his head.

Nei
.

Even so, he did not
possess the right to pass sentence on actions Thyre made out of grief.

"Thyre. Are you
here?" he called again as he spotted more broken branches.

Mist still swirled here,
clinging to tree trunks and limbs; it created a canopy of low clouds, impeding
the view. A chill ran the length of Hallad's back. He wished he had taken a
moment to don a shirt before seeking Thyre.

The nip seemed
unnatural, reminding Hallad of the cold they encountered the night Emma
disappeared. His blood pumped in response. A heartbeat later, the air burst as
if a hole ripped through the forest, sending an icy blast from Nilfheim. Hallad
spun, reaching for his sword, only to find himself weaponless.

The base of a pine tree
blurred. Hallad wiped his eyes, but the distortion continued as if his sight
remained unfocused. A man slipped through the trunk, bounding directly toward
Hallad.

Hallad squeezed his lids
again, hoping to clear the image, but the man persisted as if he emerged from
inside the tree. He charged toward Hallad, an arrow nocked in his bow. The
projectile released, spiraling toward Hallad. Jumping sideways to dodge the
oncoming point, Hallad dropped, tumbling, but heard the thump of the arrowhead
hit flesh.

Hallad turned. Not a
foot from where he’d stood, Thyre grabbed at the shaft driving straight though
her chest. A bright flow of blood seeped from the wound, staining her dress
with a bloom of crimson. In her right hand, she heaved a knife turned on
Hallad—meant for Hallad. Thyre’s strength gave out. She crumpled to the ground,
dropping the blade from her limp fingers.

The arrow-bearing
stranger, his sleeves embellished with a mighty ash tree digging into the
ground—a signet similar to Hallad’s father’s—bent to one knee in front of the godhi’s
son. He bowed, as if he addressed a king in his court and kissed the hem of
Hallad’s trousers.

"The strength of
the Mighty One be with you Guardian. The Mother herself relies on your
strength." He handed Hallad a gold medallion, pressing it into his palm.
"When you cross into Alvenheim, watch yourself Guardian. The Conspirators
will be waiting for you."

Without another word,
the stranger jumped through the nearest bushes and took off running. Hallad
tried to call him back, but the forest seemed to open up and swallow him.

Thyre gasped at his
feet, her hand grasping at his boot. Hallad dropped to the ground, pulling
Thyre’s head in his lap. She coughed, blood dribbling down the corners of her
pale mouth.

"Why?" Hallad
asked, unable to form any other word.

"My fault." She
coughed again, weaker this time.

Hallad sucked in his
breath, running his palm over her tangled hair.

Defeat wore in her eyes.
"You . . . "

"Shush."

All of Hallad’s contempt
for the woman released. Her blood warmed his hand as he tried to cover the
seeping wound on her breast.

"My dear husband,
Avarr. What have I done to you?" Between coughs, tears flowed. Whiteness
spread over her face. "He fought bravely. So proud of you. So proud."

Her chest heaved
underneath Hallad's bloodied hand.

"I will go get a
healer. One of the seidr-wives will be able to take care of you." Even as
he said it, he knew it wasn’t the truth.

"Nei. It’s better
this way." She opened her eyes wide, struggling with the effort. "Promise.
Promise you will return. Write the runes on your father’s gravestone. Promise."

"I promise." Hallad’s
words felt heavy, bricks inside his mouth. The confirmation of his father’s
death crushed his chest, pinning air inside his lungs. Thyre’s blood pooled on
the ground of the IronWood as Hallad ran the back of his hand across her cool
cheek.

"Evil." A
possessed look struck Thyre’s eyes, as if Loki seized her mind. "He is evil!"

"Shush now."
Hallad attempted to sooth her.

"He has her. Your
sister. Half-blood or not, still your sister."

"Who do you speak
of? Who has Emma?"

Thyre’s shoulders shook
in silent sobs.

"My fault. Oh,
Emma. Mamma's fault." Then her eyes focused, clearing, turning to
pinpoints. "You must save her. Take her from him. You don't know what he's
capable of. Promise me. Promise."

"I promise."

"You mean that
truly?"

"On my life and
honor."

Her lips formed a queer
smile then her head lulled in the crook of Hallad’s arm. Her eyes stared as the
wan shadow of death seized her. How many promises had he made? How many could
he keep?

Swan stood behind him. He
didn't need to turn to know she was there. Her presence grounded him, lifted
him as he held the lifeless body of the only woman he had ever known as mother.

"It is done as you
said. Thyre is dead and the dyrr has been delivered to the false Guardian so he
may cross into Alvenheim." The liveried man bowed, inclining his head to
the floor.

"Very good,
Weyland," replied Lothar, cracking his lank fingers at the knuckles.
"You are sure he gave his word?"

"On his honor,"
said Weyland as he rose to face his master. "He swore to save his sister."

"On his honor."
A lupine smile spread across the Lord’s face. "This so-called Guardian will
have reason to seek me and bring the girl in tow. Now that they have been
reunited, nothing can keep her from following her twin."