Free Fire and Lies by Angela Chrysler Page B

to her bosom a chest fastened with nine locks. Upon closer assessment, Sigyn saw that the locks had been opened. As she drew nearer, Sinmara lifted the lid to reveal a large bundle wrapped in amadou.
    Sigyn wiped the tears from her eyes as if ashamed, and forced her composure.
    “Shortly after the waters flowed from the Gap of Ginnunga and formed our worlds, before the Great War that unified the gods, Loptr lent his aid to Surtr against Niflheim. Surtr’s stubbornness is fixed, but his interest brews.”
    Sigyn held her attention, piqued with curiosity and restored hope.
    “I give you the blade Loptr left in my keep, won with the price I set.”
    Sigyn shifted her eyes to the strands of fine-spun gold that flowed from Sinmara’s head, knowing, full well, they were once the locks of Sif that Loptr had taken from her.
    “Surtr desires to fulfill your request, but can not so long as he stands alone. If it is Surtr’s support you seek, go with Laevateinn and return with Loptr beside you.”
    Sinmara passed the bundle to Sigyn. Cold permeated the bundle, snapping and crackling against the heat, and forcing her body to shudder with a chill that flowed up her spine like Nordic lake water. Ingratiated, she held tightly to Laevateinn and called out as Sinmara walked up the stairs.
    “Sinmara.”
    With elegance, the giantess turned. The locks rippled down her back like a sheet of golden water.
    “Thank you.”
    Sinmara smiled gently and re-collected her skirts as she continued up the steps.
    With haste, Sigyn snapped around and secured the bundle beneath the saddle. She climbed atop Svadilfari without delay and rode past the dragons, out through the gates of Muspellsheim to return to Loptr’s side once more.
     

 
    T he next morning came with a nip in the air that blanketed the camp with a chill. The rare streaks of sunlight that permeated the clouds did little to heat the ground. Blankets were bundled, tents were folded, and the camp reloaded onto the decks of the ships.
    With a heavy heart that weighed down Kallan’s spirit, she trudged to her pile of hides on board and hugged her legs close to calm the sick that flipped her stomach. Knowing Gunir was only hours away, Kallan pressed her face into her knees as Bergen barked the order that sent the ships to sea.
    The Ljosalfar buzzed with an eagerness that recharged their enthusiasm, fueling their good humor. At the sight of the approaching shores, a series of whoops and cheers erupted, sending a new energy through the ships. A second wave of nausea rippled through Kallan.
    Never waning from his seat at the trestle, Rune kept a fervent eye on his vassal. Balling her hands into fists, Kallan attempted to ease her shaking. Her complexion grew paler with her increasing worry as the Ljosalfar bubbled with a contagious joy Kallan couldn’t catch.
    The trees thinned as the rolling mountains at the lake’s edge opened to the grassy plains and the Klarelfr’s delta. Amid the delta, a vast island rose up from the waters. The whole of its earth held the most ancient city of Alfheim: Gunir, house of Lodewuk, the High King. To the north of the city island, the Klarelfr split in two and flowed along the banks of Gunir. On the east side, beside the docks, a dry bridge blocked all ships from passage and provided a road from Gunir to a barren plain that led to the edge of Alfheim Wood and Swann Dalr. On the west bank, the Klarelfr emptied undisturbed into Lake Wanern.
    Gray and granite stones of the crenelated wall encased Gunir’s keep, which towered over the entire city. Sleek runs of steps flowed down the high mount where the keep rose up over a sea of homes encompassing the island. Thatch roofs stretched down to the river. There, the houses stopped with the slope of the land, which greeted hundreds of long ships docked where the island met the lake on the east side.
    The men erupted into greetings that carried over the city. Kallan jerked her head from her knees, her insides knotted