Page 31 of The Last Valkyrie (Vikingrune Academy #4)

Chapter 31

Ravinica

LIKE THE REST OF THE academy, we hurried over to the western gate where the light elves were gathering. Ascending a set of stairs that led up to the battlements wrapping around the academy, we stared down at the throng of sharp-eared, gold-armored warriors.

The Ljosalfar were a sight for sore eyes. Their armor shone in the morning glow, even with the sun pushed back behind cloud cover. There had to be at least two hundred of the deadly fighters, looking completely uniform and homogenous.

The fact I think they all look the same . . . does that make me racist? I cringed at the thought. Granted, they were quite far away from where I stood, and their skin tone was nearly identical for each person—male, female, or in’kylin.

Glancing out the corner of my eyes at my mates, I saw Corym was smiling proudly.

I took my elf lover’s hand next to me, squeezing tight. “You did it, Cor.” My voice was soft, caring. “You united people who have hated each other for centuries. Brought the elves here to fight for humans. No, fight with humans.”

“ We did it, lunis’ai ,” Corym answered with a soft smile.

When he grinned like that, so radiant and glimmering, so handsome, he certainly didn’t look like the other Ljosalfar outside the gates. His shoulders seemed broader, his height taller than the others. I was aware it could have been my bias making me think those things.

To Corym’s right, Sven grumbled. “They haven’t agreed to anything yet. Until they draw swords against the draug, dark elves, and jotnar, they haven’t fought for shit or joined anything.”

“Gods,” Arne mumbled, “can’t you just take the win, wolfie? This is the first good news we’ve had in ages.”

I agreed with both of them, sadly.

Magnus rested his arms over the stone parapet. “They will, Sven. I can see it in their eyes.”

Sven scoffed. He was particularly surly today. “I’m the one with the good senses and vision, bloodrender, and all I see are a lot of frowns and stern faces.”

Grim, towering over everyone behind our line at the wall, said, “Those are the frowns of focused warriors, Sven. You may not know anything about what a warrior looks like, but—”

“Okay, okay,” I said, hushing them so they’d stop bickering. “I think we can all agree the elves look dashing and dangerous at the same time. Sven is right though, we won’t know their intentions until we speak to them. Corym, do you see who’s leading them?”

He squinted, looking out past the initial congregation of elves nearest the gate. They were on foot, no cavalry to be seen, with white and red cloaks flapping against their burnished armor. Some soldiers were still walking up the winding mountainside path, out of sight.

“Not yet. Soon. Perhaps I should go down to get a better look. It would be wise to have an emissary to greet them.”

I nodded. “Right. One of their own. Good idea.”

With that, Corym took off, hurrying down the stairs behind us. He seemed like a kid in a candy shop, excited to provide aid and see the faces of his people again in Midgard.

I shouldered Sven once he was gone, glowering at him. “Do you have to be an asshole all the time? Even if you’re right? Saying shit like that dims Corym’s light. Makes him feel like nothing he can do is enough.”

He returned my glower twofold. “Are you speaking for the elf now, little menace? He’s a grown-ass man, and he can handle himself. Besides, look around us.” He motioned with his chin, trying not to make a scene at the students standing at the walls to our left and right.

I glanced both ways, leaning forward over the parapet, and grimaced.

“The humans have nastier frowns on their faces than the elves even do,” Sven said. “They look ready for blood.”

Damn. He’s not wrong.

Grim said, “They’ve been taught to hate the elves their entire lives. Of course they—”

“Exactly,” Sven cut in sharply. “Which is why we must be cautious. You saw what happened to us half an hour ago with Ayla and that crew. And those were humans—comrades. Now we’re adding a whole new element to the powder keg.”

I chewed the inside of my cheek as my mates fell quiet. As oppositional as Sven acted, he was turning out to be quite the leader, knocking us down a peg when we were getting on our high horses. I respected it, even if I didn’t enjoy it.

I caught Corym down below among the elves, pushing past the Huscarls at the gate to embrace the first row of them. He spoke excitedly, hands circling, saluting, and it made me smile. At least someone sees the potential of what this means. If the light elves are here, we might have a chance.

“More mouths to feed, too,” Magnus pointed out. Seemed he was leaning into Sven’s Debbie Downer routine. “Remember what the Hersirs said last night? Not having enough food to help the Isleton folk was one of the main reasons they didn’t want to let them into the academy.”

Arne nudged his sharp chin over the wall. “They brought wagons. Surely there’s food in there.”

“Yes, but how much? How long are they expecting this campaign to last? Can we count on the elves to stick with us until the bitter end, no matter how violent and deadly it gets?”

These were all great questions Magnus posed. They were also questions we couldn’t answer, because as the Hersirs had made abundantly clear last night, we were merely cadets, not leaders.

“Then we hunt,” I said.

The guys look at me askew.

“What?” Sven asked.

“We know Delaveer Forest. There’s plenty of game in there.” I shrugged, trying to stay optimistic. “If we’re worried about food supplies, we find more. If we’re worried about their allegiance, we negotiate and compromise with them. Give them things they need, whatever that may be. Money? I hear your father has a shitload of that, Sven.”

He blinked at me, astounded.

Grim chuckled. “I don’t know how far human currency of any kind will go with Ljosalfar, lass, but your point is made.”

I smiled at him. “Thank you.”

Still resting with his chin on his forearms over the parapet, Magnus tapped his chin. “I wonder if the Skogalfar are also en route, or if they got cold feet. They have even less of a reason to fight, because they hate the Dokkalfar and dislike the Ljosalfar.”

My smile flipped into a frown. “Don’t give up hope, guys. Give it a little time.”

“How much time do we have?” Sven pondered.

I took it as a rhetorical question.

I watched Corym down below embrace a beautiful female elf, and a twinge of jealousy hit me. Abruptly, I remembered what he’d done to bring the elves to our gates, promising to wed Zentha E’lain.

How in Hel do you plan to get out of that one, love? Because I would hate to have to kill that pretty handmaid, but over my dead body will I let that wedding take place.

When I squinted harder, I recognized the elf he hugged from my time in the elves’ captivity. “Oh shit. That’s Corym’s sister, Deitryce.”

Sven cocked his head. “A princess, if they’re related? Could she be leading the regiment?”

“I think they’re all called princes there, regardless of sex. I’m not sure . . .” I trailed off as elves near the back began to part, allowing a tall, cloaked, hooded man to march through the sea of bodies. “No,” I said, pointing, “I think that’s the leader.”

I believed I was staring down at Maltor Vaalnath, the in’kylin sovereign of Heira Nation. They were surprisingly unassuming, not flaring their colors like the others or showing any sort of crown or bauble to denote their status. If anything, their dark cloak seemed to hide their features and station rather than accentuate it.

It was the way the elves moved around them, however, that tipped me off to their importance. Elves saluted, bowed their heads, and showed deference. Corym kneeled and put his forehead to the ground when Vaalnath approached, in a sign of subservience that surprised me.

“The great mother-father of Heira and the Princes, eh?” Magnus said with a smirk.

“Mother-father,” Sven said, sighing. “That shit still baffles me.”

“Well, you’d better get used to it, man, because we’re going to need all the help they can give us.” I slapped Sven’s arms and grabbed Magnus’ hand next to me. “Come on, let’s skedaddle. We’ve been gawking spectators long enough. It’s time to get to work.”

Vikingrune Academy was transformed into a wartime training ground that morning. There were no more classes to teach history or learning of scholarly knowledge, sadly. It wasn’t only because Thorvi Kardeen was no longer around—Tomekeeper Dahlia easily could have taken her position as history professor.

No, it was because the situation was so dire now. The elves were here, beginning our defense operation. The Hersirs hadn’t shown themselves yet and were locked away in Fort Woden, undoubtedly discussing Gothi Sigmund’s death and who the next Gothi would be. The jotnar were creeping ever closer.

The entire academy buzzed with nervous energy. Axel Osfen’s training courses grew from a few dozen students to over a hundred per class. They were multi-age classes, with initiates and cadets of all years sparring alongside one another.

There was a sense of organized chaos to the training regimen. Thane Canute joined the sessions, adding hand-picked Huscarls as TAs and tutors to help catch everyone up to speed.

Hersir Jorthyr was notably missing as a hand-to-hand tutor, even though he’d said he would help Axel. He’s too busy politicking and vying for more power by becoming Gothi, of course.

I snorted at the thought, parrying two initiates with my spear when they came at me together. I pushed the lads back, spinning to make them tumble as their legs knocked together in a tangle.

As one of the guys plopped on his ass and his friend helped him up, I slammed the haft of my spear down on the grass.

Gazing out, the sun shone on Tyr Meadow, which was packed full of students locked in simulated combat.

Leveling my gaze at the two initiates, I said, “You two are the best your villages had to offer?”

“Hey, screw you, giant-slayer,” one of them said. He was a fair-faced boy with nary a hair on his chin. Didn’t even look old enough to be here.

I grinned at him despite myself. “I’m teasing. It might seem smart in theory to charge me together, to try and overwhelm your enemy.” Circling them, I kicked at the indentation of the ground where the guy’s ass had landed. “As you saw, a skilled opponent will use that against you, making you fall over each other. Footwork is everything in a fight.”

I remember Corym teaching me that.

. . . And Korvan.

I suppressed a shudder, briefly remembering with horror how the Swordbaron had transformed before my eyes into that callous, malevolent being. How he’d held his cruel sword to my mother’s neck.

Was Korvan ever the man we thought he was? Or was he a shapeshifter even when I was a whelp, pretending to act sage, wholesome, and fatherly?

“Oi, you hear him?”

I blinked, staring at the guys blankly.

The one talking nudged his chin behind me.

I turned to see Corym calling me over with a wave of his hand from the edge of the meadow. Frowning, I said to the guys, “Find another cadet to spar with. Maybe they’ll go easier on you.”

One of them scoffed, and as they walked away I heard the second one mutter, “Thank the gods. That bitch is ruthless.”

I smiled at the compliment.

Sliding my spear over my back into its holder, I approached Corym. “What’s up?”

He guided me away from the meadow and the clanking of steel and shouting students. “I have good news and bad news, lunis’ai .”

My stomach jumped to my throat. “Great. Uh. Tell me the good news first, I guess?”

He smirked at me. We were walking, weaving through crowds of students getting ready for their chance to train on the meadow. It was every man for himself at the moment. I hoped the chaotic nature of the training regimen would become more structured once a new Gothi was chosen and some order was established.

Luckily, everyone was too busy fighting and being worried to really think about Gothi Sigmund being absent recently. He had never been around much anyway, only showing himself when he had some ominous assembly to hold at Dorymir Hall.

Maybe we can get on for a while without Sigmund’s death being noticed. The questions about who was in the gurney seemed to have died since the other night, thanks to the excitement of the elves showing up.

Good timing, Ljosalfar.

“Well?” I asked. Corym hadn’t answered me.

He was leading me away from the cadets, into a pocket of emptiness near Gharvold Hall where Hersir Gudleif Selken and Kelvar the Whisperer were helping establish camps for the Ljosalfar.

We stopped walking before we got to the heavy congregation of light elves, which was much more uniform and organized than our ragtag training sessions behind us on Tyr Meadow.

“Good news is, the Skogalfar are close,” Corym said. “Kelvar told me his scouts spotted them a few hours away from the academy.”

I smiled, but it was a cautious smile. “Excellent. Magnus will be happy about that.”

“Aye.”

He hesitated, staring out at the sea of elves.

“. . . And the bad news, love?”

Corym nudged his perfect chin toward the elves in the distance. I followed his gaze to Deitryce, who was huddled with some other elves.

“You see that pack slung across my sister’s shoulder?” Corym asked.

I squinted through the sun. I noticed something there, at her side. Couldn’t tell if it was a backpack or what, though. “Um, I guess?”

“She showed me it, alone, when I spoke to her once they were inside the academy. I’ll give you one guess what’s inside the pack, lunis’ai. What Deitryce decided to bring to Midgard.”

My brow creased with wrinkles. I didn’t like this game.

But there was a clue in his words.

“What Deitryce . . . decided to bring . . . to Mid—

My heart plummeted. Color drained from my face as I looked at him with my jaw unhinged.

“ No ,” I croaked. “She wouldn’t.”

Corym nodded deeply, closing his eyes and sighing.

“My sister snuck off with the Runesphere and brought it here , Ravinica.”