Page 3 of The Last Valkyrie (Vikingrune Academy #4)

Chapter 3

Ravinica

EVEN A DAY OUT FROM our destination, our army could see great clouds of gray and black billowing from the peaks of the Telvos Mountains. Smoke, or disheveled dirt and grime from the mountains being moved or used for the jotnars’ purposes.

My company under Hersir Axel Osfen’s command consisted of my mates, Dagny, Randi, and countless other cadets I recognized from my classes. I wondered how many of us would make it out of this alive, if any of us.

Our middle-tier unit was tasked with staking straight through the heart of Delaveer Forest, at a northwestern route. I had no qualms since I’d traversed this vast expanse of woodlands numerous times in my adventures outside the academy walls. Other cadets who hadn’t had the luxury of experiencing Delaveer were more skittish and cautious.

The front-tier unit led by Gothi Sigmund and Thane Canute took a north-to-west route, skirting around Delaveer before planning to march onto the Selfsky fields from an eastern pass. As the front vanguard group, they would get there before any of us. I was fine with that since they had all the Huscarls.

The back-tier unit led by the two studious female powerhouses, Thorvi and Gudleif, traveled at a direct western route from Academy Hill, past Isleton, making their way through the swampy Niflbog before cutting north to reach the Selfsky Plains. They would get there last—probably for the best since they had a bunch of green initiates in their ranks. With them coming in from the west, the strategy was to create a circle of soldiers in all three directions so we couldn’t be flanked.

I worried for the rear unit the most. My mates kept reminding me that even initiates were the best of the best outside of Vikingrune Academy.

“They’re not children who will get rolled over by the first sign of a fight,” Grim told me. “We have to put faith in their abilities, like Sigmund does. Otherwise, like he said, they wouldn’t be here.”

Sven walked up alongside us. “The bear is right, much as I hate to say it. This is a cruel world, little menace. We can’t protect everyone. They’ll fight or they’ll cower and die.”

Part of me wanted to smile, because even though Sven led with a customary “hate to say it” about agreeing with Grim, they seemed to be in agreement more and more lately.

Look how far my rival shifters have come. And not to get too self-indulgent, but they’d be the first to admit I was the one who brought them together. They’re no longer looking to rip each other’s throats out.

I dropped the subject, content the initiates would be all right and would have skill on their side.

Our group continued marching through the thin pass of flat woods around us. The shuffling of boots and rustling of armor carried on the wind, our hundred-fifty-man company stretching back as far into the trees.

We neared the end of the second day of our march. We’d arrive at the plains and the northern edge of Delaveer by nightfall.

Traveling without any snow burdening your movements was a blessing I would never take for granted again. The trek through these very woods to get to the elf encampment portal site had been perilously dangerous, cold, and dismal.

With spring here, the woods were teeming with new life, chittering insects, fauna, and fresh wildflowers. The sun shone bright and chilly in the shadows of the canopies. The forest smelled lovely, like crisp dew after a thunderstorm.

I couldn’t get lost in the hazy daydream too much. The real thunderstorm awaited us on the other side of these trees.

My guys were hemmed in around me. We wore travel gear and light armor underneath, all of us preferring to favor swift movement over stilted protection. Our weapons were on our backs, ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice.

Dagny and Randi marched behind us, talking. In front, a few ranks ahead, Hersir Osfen and his chosen deputy, Hersir Kelvar the Whisperer, led us.

It was strange, but I was glad the Whisperer was with us. After all we’d been through together—something I had never expected in a million years—the “dad” of our group was turning out to be someone I admired. Sort of. He was still scary as hell. Dour, surly, prone to a vacant look on his face that made him seem like a psychopath and murderer. But he was our psychopath and murderer.

After scouts returned and told the Hersirs there was no sign of enemy encampments or trouble ahead to the end of the tree line, Hersir Kelvar excused himself from Axel’s side and lingered back to join our little group.

“Well?” Magnus asked his father—a notion that still baffled me to this day. “Any news, pops?”

“Don’t call me that,” Kelvar grunted. His straight black hair blew in the wind, making the shorter man regal. “The rest of the academy doesn’t know our relation.”

Magnus quirked a brow. He had become more animated and lively—much less sociopath-adjacent—ever since learning the truth of his heritage and the lengths Kelvar went to rescue and protect him as a babe.

“Do the Hersirs know?” Magnus asked.

I scooted a little closer to hear them better, unashamed to eavesdrop on this juicy info.

Kelvar lowered his head and gave it a quick shake.

“What!” Magnus snapped.

Cadets glanced over from the back ranks, and Kelvar scowled at his bloodrender son, hissing, “Quiet, foolish boy.”

“If Sigmund finds out without you telling him, don’t you think he’ll have your head?”

Kelvar snorted. “He can try.”

There it was again, something I’d noticed during our debriefing: Kelvar disagreeing, even insulting , the Gothi. Like he thought Sigmund incompetent or not as powerful and mighty as he appeared to the rest of us students.

I recognized even though the Whisperer was Sigmund’s spymaster and right-hand man in many things, they disliked each other. I wonder why. Could I have something to do with it? Kelvar helping me, when Gothi Sigmund would rather see me fail? Or perhaps Magnus for the same reason? Maybe they don’t despise each other, but just don’t trust each other.

I didn’t know the ins and outs of Vikingrune politics, and I didn’t care to learn. I knew enough. Sigmund, and his Hersirs by association, had propagated a lie about the academy for generations. None of them could be trusted because of that fact alone. Even Hersir Kelvar fell into that camp.

I can only hope Kelvar’s experience in Alfheim with us, where the light elves tended his wounds and showed him respect, was enough to change his mind about them. Because up until then, he regularly argued with us and showed naked hatred toward the elves.

I knew I’d find out sooner or later, when push came to shove and I made my move to try and unite the elves and humans together. Hel, this situation right now, if we’d had more time to prepare, seems like the perfect opportunity to form such an alliance.

As we continued to march, my legs became sluggish from traveling for nearly five hours, all afternoon, without a break.

Hersir Osfen finally called camp when the sun was beginning to set and we neared the edge of where the forest ended and the plains began. The trees thinned where we were, yet we still had enough foliage and cover to hide us from any spying eyes in the distance.

We rested among the trees, breaking out hardtack and drinking skins. I stayed near my guys, with Randi and Dagny joining us. Randi excused herself before long, and I saw her heading toward the Torfen and Lanfen packs, a group nearly ten strong, beelining for her beau Ulf.

Sven snarled as he watched her go, shaking his head, and I put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, my surly wolf, she might be able to help us.”

“You really are a little menace.” He leaned against a tree to bite into his food. “Using your best friend as a spy’s tool?”

Dagny perked her head up. I put a hand out to assuage the worried look on her face. “I’m doing no such thing. You’ve been incommunicado with your kin for weeks now. Randi’s the only lifeline you have toward some kind of reconciliation with them.”

Sven rolled his neck and barked a humorless laugh. “Reconciliation? I would never. Do you forget they ambushed me and put me in the infirmary? My own flesh and blood?”

I frowned, noticing the glint of pain and regret behind his eyes. Is it regret because they betrayed him by following their father’s cruel orders, or regret he didn’t take them out when he had the chance?

I rubbed his forearm lightly. “Of course I haven’t forgotten, Sven.”

Far off in another section of the woods, Eirik and his group loitered. Damon and his buddies were in the initiate regiment with Hersirs Kardeen and Selken. From this distance, I could see the worry stretched across Eirik’s face, knowing his younger brother wasn’t with him.

Been a while since I’ve had any talks of reconciliation with my own kin, too. Don’t suppose that’ll change anytime soon.

I hated that it was like this. Damon had poisoned my older brother Eirik. Now they both loathed me. For the life of me, I didn’t know why.

Where’s my lifeline to reconnect with my family? Eirik was supposed to have been that lifeline. The man who could bridge the differences between me and my younger half-brother—the one who could be the adult in the room and settle the dispute once Damon arrived.

Instead, Damon wormed his devious words into Eirik’s mind, and now I’d lost both of them.

Snarling with a hateful glare aimed at Eirik, which he didn’t see, I turned away and crossed my arms.

Magnus said, “We should be planning our battle strategy.”

Kelvar said, “It’s not your plan to make, boy.”

Magnus frowned at his father.

Kelvar glanced at me, something shining in his eyes, as if he was concerned at the look of anger and hatred toward my brothers that lingered across my features. He pointed a warning finger at me. “Don’t go letting your anger get the best of you, girl.”

“I wasn’t planning on it, guy.” If he thought I’d call him “Hersir” or “sir” after calling me “girl,” he was sorely mistaken.

“Good. This fight will be no place to show your wings.”

I cocked my head, surprised he would mention my dragon wings. What does it matter to him? “Why?” I asked. “A pitched battle across the plains seems like it would be the best time to use them. I could take to the sky and get a better understanding of the field. They could be useful for strategizing.”

A warning look crossed Kelvar’s gaunt, emotionless face. It unnerved me, making me want to glance away. The pause became awkward and stifling the longer it dragged on.

With a heavy sigh, he said, “You don’t know a thing about Sigmund Calladan, do you?”

I blinked. Where did that come from?

“Must not have been paying attention during your history classes with Thorvi,” he added, shaking his head and taking a seat on a stump next to my mates.

I leaned forward on my stump, eager to hear what Kelvar had to say when his voice lowered—especially if it pertained to my dragonkin lineage.

“Sigmund is a descendant of King Dannon.”

My head reeled. I couldn’t remember if I had learned that or not. If I had, it didn’t seem important at the time. Now, after learning my own origins, it certainly did. “Sigmund Calladan is from the same line as the man who built the academy and betrayed the elves?”

Kelvar flared his nostrils, glancing over at Corym. “Betrayal is a heavy-handed word. Depends who you ask.”

My elf and the Whisperer were always at odds. I had come to accept it. Kelvar wasn’t one of my mates, so I didn’t give a shit what his disposition toward my men was. Did I want him to get along with everyone? Of course. But that clearly wasn’t in the cards.

“Why does that matter?” My eyes snapped left and right to my mates. They stayed on Corym, whose perfect thin brow threaded together.

“Because it means Sigmund Calladan is from the line of Vamys,” Corym muttered.

It meant nothing to me. I vaguely recognized the name from Thorvi’s class in my first term. “Vam-who?”

“Vamys, lunis’ai. The third child and sole male heir of King Dannon and Queen Amisara. While the two daughters Elayina and Syndriel took their mother’s side and embraced their elven roots, Vamys sided with his father after Dannon was slain by Azerot the Wrathseeker.”

Wheels spun in my head, trying to find the history lesson Lady Elayina, my great-aunt to the umpteenth degree, told me. Azerot killed King Dannon. He married Dannon’s daughter, Syndriel. They had Solzena, the progenitor of my bloodline: part-dragon, part-elf, part-human.

“What did Vamys do?” I asked.

Kelvar took over for Corym. “He killed Azerot for killing his father.”

“Continuing the cycle of generational violence between the elven and human sides of that family,” Corym added.

“Continuing?” Kelvar said. “You mean starting . If Vamys hadn’t killed Azerot, the violence would have stopped. Dannon was already dead.”

Anger flared in Corym’s face. “Of course, Whisperer, blame the elf in the argument. Not the human, King Dannon, who started the whole fucking mess with his abduction and rape of—”

“Enough, you two,” I cut in, waving a hand between them. “People will hear you if you get any louder. What in Hel does this have to do with my new power, Hersir?”

Kelvar gave one more narrow-eyed glare at Corym. He faced me with his palms on his knees. “Vamys sought revenge for his father’s death. After killing Azerot he didn’t stop there. Azerot had many children—twelve, the legends say. Solzena was simply the only one who lived, and the last line to remain intact up until now.”

My lips parted, fear running through me. “How am I just learning about this now?”

“It wasn’t pertinent until now. It’s not something anyone was hiding from you, Ravinica. You simply didn’t care enough to look through the pertinent tomes.”

It was true. My studies had been focused on my mother’s side, when it was my absent father’s side that stemmed from Solzena and all those ancient royal names.

Corym put a hand on my knee, trying to soothe me, but utterly failing for once. “The Whisperer isn’t lying in that. Sigmund Calladan and his family are well-known to my people as well. I am sorry for not telling you this earlier. It wasn’t on my mind at the time.”

I gave him a small, sad smile. He didn’t deserve any blame for this. No one did, I supposed. “We’ve all had a lot of other shit on our minds recently, love.” I swallowed hard, a lump in my throat made me wince as I returned my gaze to Kelvar. “So Vamys succeeded, then?”

Kelvar nodded gravely. His gray orbs drilled into me. “Vamys and his ilk managed to slay eleven of Azerot and Syndriel’s bloodlines, through the years.”

Corym chimed. “It’s where Elayina’s moniker for you, ‘the last dragonkin,’ must stem from. The last of Azerot and Syndriel’s lineage, descendant of their only living offspring.”

Kelvar said, “Everyone born from the line of Vamys has vowed to continue his oath of ending Azerot’s bloodline, to avenge King Dannon’s death. Namely, the dragonkin line. It’s why we’re in the predicament we’re in today, because they were so effective at finding and burning anyone with dragonblood in them.”

I clenched my teeth, staring down at the grass between our circle as wind swept over it. My jaw twitched, equal parts anger and sadness and confusion. “. . . Then that means Gothi Sigmund . . . has also made that vow?”

Kelvar nodded deeply. “Which is why Elayina’s idea of you showing your true power to the academy was such a foolish notion. Clearly she wasn’t thinking straight at the time, headed toward her death.”

“Don’t assume to know Anvari ’s mind, Whisperer,” Corym snapped.

For once Kelvar didn’t argue with the elf. Corym was highly defensive about my great-aunt. She was a revered legend in Alfheim.

Things started to make sense at a rapid pace. Horrible, awful sense, spoken to me over tree stumps and a windy sunset in the forest. Told to me as if everyone else had already known this legend and I was the last to figure it out.

It explained so much .

Gothi Sigmund obviously doesn’t know my true heritage as a dragonkin descendant of Solzena. Kelvar didn’t mention any of that during our debriefing, and now I know why. The Whisperer was protecting me, protecting my secret.

Because if Sigmund did know . . .

My head snapped up. I found Kelvar staring at me under the hooded shadow of his brow. The ghastly expression on my face must have told him the pieces of the puzzle were falling together in my mind.

He said, “If you are the last dragonkin, Ravinica, then Sigmund Calladan is the last dragon slayer .”