Here is a section from Dolor and Shadow’s sequel, Lorlenalin’s Lies. My editor hasn’t seen this yet, so you know.

 

“Never mind that,” Geirolf said.” We finally have the leverage we need to demand the terms to end this. If we show Kallan to that Captain of theirs, they’ll adhere to every demand we make! It’s over! You can have her every damn night if you wish!”

“She told me to get out.”

Bergen sat up.” She did —”A grin interrupted his exclamation.

The Berserker shoved himself off the bed and clomped his way into the fire’s light to better gaze upon Rune, where he threw back his head and belted a laugh that filled the room.

Rune tipped the bottle up and glowered at his brother over the mead.

“She did you well,” Bergen said between bouts of laughter, tears wetting his eyes.

“Oh, like you’ve never seen the end of her sword.” Rune nodded indicating the deep scar that decorated his brother’s brow.

Bergen grinned.

“Well, the rate you’re going she’ll never see yours.”

“There are others, Rune,” Geirolf said.

“Yeah,” Bergen agreed, snatching the mead from Rune.” Have one of those and be done with it.”

“I would…” Rune snapped the mead back from Bergen mid-gulp, pouring the sweet drink down the front of him.” But I’m afraid I can’t drink from any local wells without finding out you’ve bathed in it.”

“What of the wandering wench?” Joren piped in, wiping the grin off Bergen’s face.

“The wandering what?” Bergen asked.

“The wandering wench.” Rune stared darkly into the fire and raised his drink in salute.

“What is the Wandering Wench?” Bergen asked, looking about from Joren to Geirolf for answers.” Has a new tavern opened up?”

“She’s a ‘who’, Bergen,” Geirolf said.

“He found some girl roaming around the woods the night before the Battle of Swann Dalr,” Joren said, perking Bergen’s interests.

“Wait, what girl?”

“One you hadn’t nailed yet,” Rune slurred, staring at the fire.

“We had to weasel it out of him.” Joren grinned.” But once he talked, he wouldn’t shut up.”

“So find her!” Bergen said with a slap to Rune’s shoulder.

“Feisty temperament,” Rune grumbled, dulled by the drink as the flames danced, “and violet eyes.”

“Yeah, that one.” Joren grinned.

“She called me obtuse, cowardly, and spoiled.” Rune threw his head back with a swig from the flask.

“Why haven’t I nailed her?” Bergen asked.

“The wandering wench, Bergen,” Rune said, “is Kallan.”

With widened eyes, Bergen dropped his smile, suddenly understanding Rune’s behavior.

“Oh, you’ve gotta’ take her,” Bergen said restoring his grin.

“You’re not going to think clearly until you do,” Joren said.

“Your brothers right, Rune.” Geirolf interjected at last, preferring to listen to the youths banter about.” Have her.” Rune downed the last of the mead.” Get your yearnings out of the way so we can send her back to Lorlenalin with our terms answered.”

“I don’t…” Rune dropped the empty bottle back to his lap.” I don’t want her!”

“So,” Bergen mused, “on a sporadic whim, you just decided to take off to Midgard —”

“—climb Jotunheim—” Geirolf added.

“—pick a fight with the Dvergar—” Bergen said, staring at the ceiling.

“—lure Tryggvason’s army to Alfheim—” Joren said.

“—and prolonged the ride home by bringing the largest pain in my ass with us.”

Bergen finished with a smirk that made Rune itch to punch him.

“Because…” Bergen’s voice trailed off as the men waited for the grandest helping of ox dung Rune could muster.