Page 11 of The Last Valkyrie (Vikingrune Academy #4)

Chapter 11

Ravinica

OUR ARMY brOKE TOWARD Delaveer Forest to the southeast, avoiding the dangerous Niflbog so its swampy, suction-like terrain couldn’t hold us back.

It was every man for himself, and I saw more than a few cadets stumble and fall. I stopped for a few of them, hoisting them up by their shoulders so they could keep running.

It wasn’t until we made it two-hundred yards out that I took the first glance over my shoulder. My mates were all around me, fleeing with determined and angry expressions on their faces.

The jotnar weren’t giving charge. They were lost to the mists behind us, in a corner of the shrouded Isle I never wanted to visit again.

Delaveer was merely a stopping point. No one felt safe enough to stay for long and try to regroup—we only wanted to be here long enough to get a count of our numbers and losses. Plus, pockets of the forest were still on fire, sending great plumes of black smoke into the air.

After what we had to initially deal with against the draug in that dark, foreboding wood, everyone was hesitant to push into the tree line.

At the edge of the tress, the Hersirs convened—Sigmund, Canute, Axel, Gudleif, Kelvar, and a few others. They spoke in angry tones, arms gesticulating wildly as they argued.

I scooted in closer with my mates beside me, and tried to listen.

“. . . in over our heads, Sigmund!” Kelvar yelled.

“. . . Whisperer is right, regrouping will only lead to more death,” Axel said.

“. . . can’t believe Thorvi is gone,” Gudleif mused, her head bowed in apparent shame and grief.

“For her honor, we must continue fighting!” Sigmund insisted.

“For her honor, we must live , Gothi!” Kelvar argued back.

Axel spoke logically, lowering his voice when he noticed other cadets and soldiers getting closer to listen to the blow-up. “Dawn is here, Sigmund. We have no telling what the jotnar have planned for daylight, or how strong they’ll be.”

Gudleif Selken sniffled and shook her head. She didn’t look quite as menacing with her golden armor and shield-maiden vibes as she had during the Dorymir Hall introduction the other night.

“I remember from one of Thorvi’s tomes that draug are allegedly weaker during the day. It’s nighttime when they’re at their strongest, under the moon.”

“We can’t know that for certain,” Axel snapped back. “And Thorvi’s dead. She can’t help us now.”

Gudleif’s shoulders sank. She nodded dumbly.

Axel paused, body going taut. He reached a hand out and placed it on the taller woman’s arm. “I’m sorry, Gudleif. That was unkind, and my temper got the better of me. We will mourn her loss properly, I swear it.”

It wasn’t good optics to have the Hersirs at each other’s throats like this, clearly bewildered at the outcome of the fight and not trusting each other. It didn’t speak well to morale.

Still, there was nothing to do to stop it. Tempers were high, fear was higher, and the leaders of Vikingrune Academy needed to figure out the next plan of attack.

“A contingency would have been nice,” Grim muttered next to me, burly arms crossed over his chest.

I took one glance at him and then double took, realizing he was stark naked as he stood there, bare-assed, big-cocked, and getting more than a little attention from other cadets.

I clenched my jaw, biting the inside of my cheek. We need to invent something to help him with these bear shifts. Damn. Everyone’s getting a free show.

Magnus walked up and tossed a cloak to Grim, saying, “You’re scaring the initiates.”

Sven chuckled, and Arne shook his head, the iceshaper’s face pale and gaunt.

Grim wrapped the cloak around his lower half, a frown deep-set in his face. He saw no levity in the situation, and neither did I. It was a gruesome, sorrowful time. There was no telling how many of us had perished in the fight.

Gothi turned to Thane Canute. “What do you think, commander?”

The quiet, one-eyed Huscarl leader said, “We need to regroup properly, sir. A dash to the forest isn’t enough. Hersirs Jorthyr and Anfinn can help, perhaps. Reinforcements will be necessary.”

Heads nodded around the leadership circle.

“We have no idea our death tally, Sigmund,” Axel said, still trying to convince the Gothi that blindly charging back into the fray was a bad move. He glanced over his shoulder conspicuously, blinking at some nearby soldiers. “Look at these kids’ faces. We’ve put them through enough. I daresay they won’t follow you with any strength if you decide on this course.”

“ We’ve put them through enough?” Sigmund scoffed. “ We didn’t do this, Osfen! The jotnar and draug did.”

Kelvar said, “We led them here, Sigmund. This was your battle, to prove our might. And we’ve come up wanting.”

Gudleif said, “The initiates need more training.”

“We may not have time for that!” Sigmund complained, throwing up his arms. “Who is to say when the jotnar might strike our walls?”

“They may never strike our walls, sir,” Canute pointed out. “We don’t know their minds. Which is another reason we need better intelligence and a better plan, in my opinion, sir.”

Sigmund eyed each Hersir in turn with a scowl, his chest-length beard whipping up in the breeze. The sharp scents of blood, fire, ash, and pungent swampland wafted on the wind.

I made a face, scrunching my nose, and looked back toward the west. The jotnar still had not emerged. I couldn’t hear any hissing or wheezing draug in the forest, now that sunlight was creeping over the eastern side of the Isle.

It seemed, for whatever good it did, we were safe for the moment.

The expressions on my peers’ faces broke my heart. Traumatized looks, sad eyes, sallow and pale cheeks that looked like wax figures. Everyone was exhausted yet too shell-shocked to rest. We would all be having nightmares for weeks about this fight, if not for the rest of our lives.

All the mayhem, the death . . . Is there nothing I can do to give voice to the soldiers—the “kids” Axel mentioned who actually died serving out Gothi Sigmund’s ill-fated war command?

Kelvar was right: We had fought and we had been found wanting. We simply weren’t ready for such a massive-scale conflict. Not with extraplanar beings we didn’t truly understand.

What are their motives? Their wants? Their needs? Their weaknesses? Why are they here, dammit?!

Kelvar voiced that opinion a few minutes later. “We’ve seen enough to appreciate the jotun strength, poor Thorvi tasting the brunt of it. We need to learn more about these races, sir. Have Dahlia consult the tomes, have Axel train the soldiers in specific battle strategies, and I’ll train their minds.”

“I will join Hersir Osfen in training the cadets, sir,” Thane Canute added, earning a nod of respect from Kelvar. “I’m sure Hersir Jorthyr can forgo his shipbuilding exercises to train them as well. With three Hersirs tutoring our ranks, we can get stronger swiftly, I reckon.”

“Will it be enough?” Gudleif asked.

“Well, it certainly isn’t enough now ,” Axel grunted.

They were running in circles around the argument, and I sensed it coming to a close. I sure fucking hoped so, because the adrenaline was starting to wear off and I was getting dead-tired. Everyone else was too.

Then a surprising voice chimed in from my right.

“If the humans do not understand their enemy, Hersirs, then allow me to seek assistance outside the scope of humanity. From people who understand the jotnar better.”

Corym E’tar strode forward, tall and gallant, recovered from his bull-riding stint with only a few small scratches and tattered clothes to show for it.

“Mind your place, elf,” Thane Canute growled.

I frowned, losing some respect I’d gained for the huge-shielded commander while watching him fight the bull. It seemed many people’s opinions about the elves were fully set in stone, and it pained me to hear.

Kelvar said, “The elf fought for us just as hard as anyone, Canute.”

The Whisperer earned a few raised brows at that, because he had only ever been critical and nasty about elves in his lifetime, from what the other Hersirs had seen.

But I had seen another side of him—the father, the protector, the open-minded assassin willing to change his views if presented with facts that supported a change. And Corym E’tar had done nothing if not fought hard enough to deserve changed opinions about him and his people.

“Kelvar is right again,” Axel said, folding his arms. “The elf deserves listening to.”

“What is it then?” Sigmund demanded in a clipped voice.

“Let me go to Alfheim, sir,” Corym said. Gasps swept through pockets of the army. “Allow me to return to my home, where I am a commander among my people, and request assistance from my nation’s lord.”

Sigmund snorted. “You’re a commander in the elven throng?”

A prince, actually, asshole.

Corym gave a stern nod. “I am.”

I saw the calculation in Sigmund’s eyes. He didn’t want to lose the elf forever . . . then his eyes landed on me, behind the radiant elf. And I understood, in that moment, Sigmund knew he wouldn’t lose the prized elf forever as long as I stayed behind and became his reward for returning.

I gulped hard, feeling sick to my stomach, noticing the scheming on Sigmund’s face. If Corym was going to return to Alfheim and the Nation of Heira and the Fifth Company that he led, then I desperately wanted to go with him.

Sigmund wasn’t going to let me. I could tell. And this mission was more important than my own ego or desires.

“Very well, elf,” Sigmund said at last. “You will return to Alfheim and your people, but you won’t go alone. At least one human will join you, to watch over you and make sure you aren’t fleeing at the first sign of trouble.”

Corym made a disgusted, offended face. “I would never abandon people in their time of need, Gothi. The notion is insulting.”

“I don’t care. I don’t trust you. We will further discuss at Vikingrune Academy who will join you.”

Gudleif tilted her head, saying, “So we are returning to the academy then?”

Sigmund nodded morosely. “Yes, Hersirs. You have changed my mind. Thank you for your counsel.” He gave me one last glance, and was that a hint of a smirk I saw there?

As long as he didn’t see my wings when I whipped them out in Delaveer before he was there, and no one tells him about it, I should be safe.

Alfheim would have been a great place to go to avoid him. Alas, I had my own things I needed to do, here on Midgard.

Mother. I’m coming.

The Gothi of Vikingrune Academy turned to the students and cleared his throat. “We’re returning to the safety behind our walls, soldiers, so we can properly mourn the dead and train for the future. You have fought valiantly. It is regrettable that this campaign has been a loss, yet it has not been a total failure. I vow to you the next one will not end in such suffering. It will end in victory.”

His words received no cheers or hollers this time. Just sagging shoulders, drooping chins, and numb nods.

“The next one,” he says. How many people have to die to see our failure and try a new strategy? When will this madness end?