Page 2 of The Last Valkyrie (Vikingrune Academy #4)

Chapter 2

Ravinica

GOTHI SIGMUND CALLADAN , the chieftain of Vikingrune Academy, was a large man. He commanded the stage, moving slowly across it while speaking in a loud, booming voice. He wore a heavy coat and dark armor underneath, making him broad and intimidating.

He put on a show, neglecting his academy robes for a combat uniform. His dark hair swept over his shoulders, his beard reached his chest, and he spoke with a voice that echoed off the auditorium halls.

In front, just below the lip of the raised stage, stood the rest of the Hersirs staring out at the packed assembly. A dozen mean men and women, half of whom I didn’t recognize.

“These are unprecedented times at Vikingrune Academy,” Sigmund began, hands moving in tandem with his words, gesturing the air like a politician at a podium. “For those of you who have only recently joined us, the initiates who have not gotten to experience the splendor and camaraderie of Vikingrune Academy as it’s meant to be experienced aboveground, I apologize.”

I tilted my head, confused where he was going with that. Other students shared looks with their peers.

“I apologize because this endeavor will require assistance from every student at the academy. Initiates included.”

A wave of worried murmurs swept through the crowd.

My stomach sank. I chewed the inside of my cheek. He’s going to get people killed. It was my first and only thought.

“Never before have jotnar come to our realm. At least not in a thousand years, I’m aware of.” He spoke deliberately, slowly, bowing his head as he paced from one side of the stage to the other. “We must head them off so they don’t think they have jurisdiction to roam our realm unbidden. We will fight the giants. Some of us will die. It is the nature of battle.”

The wave of murmurs turned into a tsunami of shocked cries. I understood their outrage and grief. For the initiates, they had just arrived here from their respective villages. Back home, things had been quiet, probably peaceful. Now this? Being thrown into the lion’s den with fucking giants , when they didn’t know the first thing about war or Shaping the runes to use the magic coursing through their veins?

After a long pause, the Gothi held up a palm to silence the crowd. The scared hall fell to a hush.

“The jotun race is a menace to our people. If able, they’ll break our wards and traverse the seas to the corners of the world, leaving death and destruction in their wake.” His palm, still held up, closed into a fist of confidence. “The recruits of this academy have something few others possess. Runeshaping is a powerful tool. A noble heritage empowers you all. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

He flared his nostrils as he finished. I didn’t appreciate his small dig at the Lepers Who Leapt—men and women whose powers had never come to fruition, exiled from the academy. Maybe he didn’t mean it as an insult and I’m reading too much into it.

I found myself leaning forward in my seat, elbows on my knees, clasping my hands together. A hand fell on my shoulder to try and ease my tension. Grim’s hand. The usual suspect when I was starting to spiral.

“You come from strong stock and powerful families. Though you haven’t had the time to train properly and unlock your full potential and capabilities, you must place trust in your brothers and sisters at the academy. Listen to the Hersirs to guide you, initiates, and do not stray from our pack.”

Our pack? I found it an interesting way of putting it. As if Sigmund regarded Vikingrune as one big, happy family. When, if you’d been here for any length of time, you understood that was clearly not the case. Rivalries were intense here, violent, and even led to death.

I wondered how many initiates from the winter crop knew of the deaths of Astrid Dahlmyrr and Corta Gamdeen, or Anders Rennarfen from the previous term before I’d arrived, or the two-dozen dead Huscarls littering the fields and forests outside these protective walls.

“The academy marches tomorrow at dawn,” Sigmund announced, stunning the crowd. He stopped pacing, facing the sea of shocked students. “We head northwest through Delaveer Forest and the Niflbog, with our final destination the Selfsky Plains. There, we make our stand. Our army marches in three regiments—three paths around the Isle—to keep our numbers vague to any enemy scouts. Second- and third-year cadets will fall under the command of Hersir Axel Osfen, our battlelord. These proven warriors will be our primary fighting force, the largest of our company, and will make up the center of our attack force.”

With a motion of his hand, he beckoned the stout general standing at the base of the stage. Axel Osfen marched expectantly up the platform, standing next to his chieftain. He clasped his hands in front of him with a stern frown marring his red-and-gray beard, his bald head shiny as a bowling ball.

Sigmund said, “Huscarls will follow Thane Canute, commander of the guard. I will be among that troop. We will be the vanguard unit.”

The one-eyed, gnarly-looking soldier who never left Sigmund’s side stepped onto the stage next. He was a scary, huge man, nearly Grim’s equal in size. Somehow, the Thane made even Sigmund Calladan seem small by comparison.

“Bringing up the rear will be the initiates, led by Hersirs Gudleif Selken, our runeshaping expert, and Thorvi Kardeen, our historian.”

When the two women stepped onto the stage it became quite crowded. Thorvi was a frizzy-haired professor with big glasses, and didn’t look like she belonged anywhere near a battlefield. I also knew looks could be deceiving. Gudleif was taller, fierce with battle armor instead of her teaching robes, making her look like a shield maiden. I wouldn’t want to fuck with her, knowing her ability with runeshaping.

The three Hersirs next to Sigmund were my favorites: Osfen, Kardeen, Selken. I had come to appreciate them. They’d all helped me in times of need, in some way. Axel Osfen had provided me with the tools to succeed in my first runeshaping test, before my powers unveiled. Thorvi Kardeen was kind and patient with me, knowing my background. She was warm where everyone else was cold. Gudleif Selken had never joined in the animosity people like Astrid Dahlmyrr had shown a half-bred bog-blood like me. She had allowed me to pass tests in unorthodox ways. She rewarded cleverness rather than scoffed at it.

I would hate to see anything happen to any of them. What about the other Hersirs? What are their roles in this?

Sigmund paused, letting everyone mull over his commands and the striking wall of strength standing before us. Pin-drop silence surrounded the assembly hall, the tension thick as a meaty steak. It had all gotten very real, very fast.

My mates and I would be with Axel Osfen, which made my blood pressure drop a little. It was relieving knowing I wouldn’t be separated from my guys, or Dagny and Randi, who were also third- and second-year cadets, respectively.

Part of me had expected Gothi Sigmund to do his usual underhanded tactics of not telling the students his plans. Instead, he was showing his cards, trying to mark a position of strength by lining up the Hersirs like the Avengers.

I was starting to see this threat was just as big and worrisome as I’d imagined, if the chieftain was throwing our whole army at the jotnar.

As I played over his words, a sick thought came to me, nagging and obtrusive. I tried to ignore but couldn’t. The initiates who showed up during winter—a good fifty of them, my brother Damon included—came early. They weren’t supposed to arrive until spring. I assumed they were brought in because of the Huscarl deaths reportedly caused by the elves to replenish our numbers.

But what if Sigmund knew something like this would happen? What if he needed cannon fodder for an upcoming war, and brought the initiates here as a preemptive measure?

My throat went dry at the prospect of Gothi Sigmund Calladan using our newest Vikingruners as human shields, to protect the stronger, verified warriors. As initiates, they didn’t even have the authority to use certain weapons, engage in specific combat drills, or Shape difficult runes.

Then again, he said they’d be the third regiment, bringing up the rear. Somewhat protected. Hopefully. I took solace in that tidbit and tried to tell myself I was being ridiculous, always assuming the worst about the Gothi’s motives.

My cynicism when it came to Sigmund didn’t come from nothing. He had a track record tainted by subterfuge and lies. The biggest lie of all, which I was determined to try and break, being that Vikingrune Academy was a place to teach humans how to fight elves, and that the elves were our most feared enemies.

Sigmund hasn’t even mentioned the Dokkalfar roaming our lands! He knows they’re here because Hersir Kelvar told him during our debriefing.

Clearly, the aim had shifted. Now, instead of elves of both light and dark variety, it was giants. They were the threat, until a new one popped up for him to train his sights on.

It dawned on me that in order to keep Vikingrune Academy running and relevant, we would always have an enemy. This was just the newest stock of them, no matter how much he said these were “unprecedented times.”

As always, the enemy comes from within. I’m certain of it.

I blinked aside my wayward thoughts. I was getting off-track. Though I loathed this man and believed he wanted me and my people compliant and submissive—if not dead—the fact remained: The jotnar were here. I couldn’t deny the risk they posed to our livelihoods, or that fighting them wasn’t the best route.

Continuing his sleepy pacing, Sigmund started up again, hands behind his back like a field sergeant.

“When you report to your respective Hersir tomorrow, you will be given a map of your route and your placement within the regiment. You will stay to your placement and not waver. Rations and water will be doled out in your travel packs. Our neighboring village of Isleton, as well as our academy storekeepers, have been working tirelessly over the past three days to make sure we have what we need for success—weapons, armor, equipment, food, water. Ten-percent of the academy will stay behind to guard our gates. I’ll be leaving Hersir Ingvus Jorthyr, our Steward, as regent in my absence. Tomekeeper Dahlia Anfinn will act as his deputy.”

A new palpitation rocked my heart. Ingvus and Dahlia. My two least favorite and the ones who hate me and my guys the most. Acting as leaders while we’re gone . . .

I could see a million ways that could turn out awfully. At the same time, I was content knowing they’d be away from us. The last thing I needed was distractions or backstabbing “allies” while on the battlefield.

Gothi Sigmund quieted, folding his hands in front of him, while students stared up at the men and women gathered on the stage. His voice lowered, causing students to lean forward to hear him as he spoke in a sage, calm way.

“I will leave you with this, students. Trust the man or woman to your right in the shield wall. Listen to your commanders. This is what Vikingrune Academy was created for by King Dannon a thousand years ago—to act as the first and last line of defense against extraplanar invaders seeking to wreak havoc on the rest of our beautiful planet.

“War is a terrible thing. Yet a necessary one. We’ve been lucky until now. Fighting has been inevitable all these centuries, and we’ve made sure not to get complacent in the invaders’ prolonged absence. We’ve always known there are beings from the other eight realms that would do everything in their power to subjugate and destroy us.

“Now that fight for survival is upon us, stomping on our doorstep. We will answer with steel, magic, and grit, and make our ancestors proud.”

The Gothi pounded a gauntleted fist to his armored chest with a clang then lifted it high in a salute.

“Long live Vikingrune Academy!”

The students switched from apprehensive to nodding, angry soldiers. I looked around as hundreds of students rose to their feet, shouting, filled with vigor and bravado, repeating the mantra until it became a booming chant.

“Long live Vikingrune Academy! Love live Vikingrune Academy!”

The entire time, I stayed quiet, seated, as a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach yawned and grew cavernous.