Page 7 of The Last Valkyrie (Vikingrune Academy #4)
Chapter 7
Magnus
MY THREAT WENT OVER well with Damon Halldan. The nuisance blinked at me, then at his sister, nodding wordlessly with a pale face. Clearly, the lad had seen horrors beyond his imagining in the woods. I was simply the newest one.
Eirik walked up, covered head to toe in black blood and a gash across his handsome face that would leave a scar down his cheek. Of his three comrades—Ayla, Gryphon, Tyrus—only two remained. Tyrus was gone.
Sven too had suffered a loss. Once he reverted to his human form, he exchanged a quick hug with Ravinica and explained his brother Olaf was dead.
I turned around to face them, finding my silvermoon had managed to dissipate her dragon wings.
Eirik spoke in a gruff tone, his voice clipped. “Let’s get moving. We’ll discuss this later, Vini.”
“No,” I said, stopping everyone. “We won’t. There is nothing to discuss.”
Eirik, much more accomplished and battle-tested than his younger brother Damon, stepped up to me chest-to-chest. He was broader, I was taller. He seethed, clenching his jaw. “She’s my sister, you lunatic bloodrender.”
I gave him nothing—no flinch, no frown—to betray my blank face. “You don’t get to decide what Ravinica discusses. You forfeited that right when you aligned yourself with him .” I motioned toward Damon with my chin.
“I didn’t align myself with—”
“My promise to Damon applies to you as well, Eirik,” I murmured calmly. “Drengr to Drengr.”
“Enough, you two,” Ravinica said. She looked and sounded exhausted.
I wondered how much her shift into her dragon form had taxed her. That burst of energy—like lightning from the clouds. So powerful. It saved us, surely. If she could learn to control that so it didn’t hit her allies also . . . The possibilities were limitless.
We trekked north, past the worst of the fighting in the middle of our camp. Bodies littered the ground, both cadets and hissing draug that refused to die.
We lit them on fire as we passed, taking Hersir Osfen’s suggestion and setting Delaveer Forest aflame for the sake of winning the battle.
Our group was nearly twenty strong. Any errant draug that came mindlessly from the shadows were quickly hacked down and burned to cinders.
As we pushed into the Selfsky Plains, out of the tree line, I noticed the sheer fatigue on everyone’s faces. Moonlight showed gaunt faces, terror-stricken eyes, slack expressions. Pockets of cadets were emerging from other sections of the trees, making for the plains where it was understood we’d be safer from draug attacks under the pale moonlight.
Out here, with high grass in every direction, there were no trees or bushes or foliage for our enemies to hide behind. We could put together a concerted effort—a proper shield wall—if the cadets in Hersir Osfen’s group could get their bearings and summon the energy to do it.
Axel himself stepped out of the trees with a contingent of cadets a few minutes later. The Hersir breathed heavily, wiping blood off his face.
It seemed every inch of our regiment had suffered losses and seen part of the action. Everyone wore haunted expressions, as if this demented situation would stay in their dreams for years.
A few eyes glanced my way, wary and suspicious. They see me as one of the enemy, I noticed, after catching more than a few wayward looks. Because my last name is Feldraug and I’m technically undead, since I was birthed to a dead woman.
What the common Vikingruner didn’t realize was it was my blood that made me different, not my name. It was my magical blood that had kept me alive in my mother’s womb after she died. I was no more draug than they were.
Our tattered regiment converged around Hersir Osfen.
Axel’s voice had turned hoarse. “I’ve been given intelligence that both other regiments were attacked in similar fashion by undead ghouls meant to terrify us. But we are soldiers, and we aren’t scared, are we?”
A small smattering of “nay” rose up from the crowd. They didn’t sound sure. No one had their hearts in it. Even now, our numbers looked greatly dwindled. For every Olaf or Tyrus we had lost, there were countless more still dying in the forest, and we were too scared to go back for them. I could see that terror in each and every face I looked at.
“Dawn is near,” Axel said, looking to the sky. “If we can make it to daybreak, we will have survived the worst catastrophe in Vikingrune Academy history.”
No one gave a shit about our school’s history. Not now. Not when their brothers and sisters and comrades were dead and dying on nameless ground. And for what? Sigmund Calladan’s pride? His legacy? Why are we fucking here ?
The earth trembled. Rumbling hooves filled the dismal silence. Eyes turned north, where steeds barreled down from the direction of the northernmost regiment.
Gothi Sigmund led the group, a sword in his hand as he held the reins with the other. Thane Canute was beside him, the massive shield the man wielded on his back making him seem even larger. Behind them were countless Huscarls and riders—our heavy cavalry and strike force.
The strike force that had shown up too late.
I flared my nostrils as the Gothi and his people arrived.
No one bowed or saluted or said a damned thing as he dismounted and joined Hersir Osfen to speak in a low tone to the battlelord.
How convenient. You miss the battle by mere minutes. Even though all three regiments were allegedly attacked, your troops don’t seem much worse for wear, do they, Gothi?
Ravinica also had angry eyes, likely reflecting the same sentiment regarding our illustrious leader.
He hasn’t been Gothi for so long by opening himself up to danger at every turn. No, I reckon he’s avoided it whenever he can.
From the side of Sigmund’s regiment, my father slunk away and came to join our side of the battlefield. Kelvar hadn’t been wounded. It didn’t look like he’d seen much fighting at all.
“Whisperer,” I said, opting to call him by his informal title rather than “Father,” so the nearby cadets wouldn’t get even more confused. “How did you fare?”
Kelvar frowned. “Much better than your regiment, I fear. I’m sorry, s—soldier.”
He had been ready to call me “son,” I realized, before catching himself. I glanced past him. Gothi Sigmund spoke with Axel but had his eyes on me and my shadowblade father.
“We shouldn’t be seen conversing with each other for long,” I said in a small voice.
“Right. Impropriety and all.” He whisked me a small smile.
I didn’t return the favor. I’d seen too much death tonight to feel any levity. The fact he tried to make me feel better was insulting.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for the fight,” he said with a sigh.
Ravinica and the others were close now, listening. Damon and Eirik were there, which I felt cautious about.
“It’s not your fault,” I said. “You were ordered to relay intelligence to the Gothi. There wasn’t much you could have done here.”
Kelvar frowned. “I suppose you’re right.”
“Did you see any fighting at all? Axel’s scouts told him all three regiments were attacked.”
“It was sparse outside the woods. Not enough to cause us any real trouble.” He looked past me, squinting into the foggy western path. “I fear for Hersirs Kardeen and Selken’s regiment, however.”
I let out a small grunt of agreement.
Ravinica said, “They’ve only just started to appear from the tree line, I think. Too hard to tell from this distance if the initiate regiment is okay.”
“We shouldn’t have split our forces,” Kelvar said. “That was a mistake on the Gothi’s part.”
Like so many other mistakes he makes in your eyes, Father.
To my surprise, Ravinica shrugged and came to Sigmund’s defense. “He couldn’t have known we would be split and attacked by undead monsters.”
Kelvar tilted his head but said nothing. His gaunt face almost seemed to say, “ Could Sigmund have known?” But even Kelvar the Whisperer, for all his disagreements with his chieftain, would never voice such a treasonous suggestion that Sigmund had somehow been responsible for this or knew about it in advance.
What would be his motive to bring vast death to Vikingrune Academy? His plan had always been to strengthen the school beyond the possibility of failing. He was ambitious and needed subordinates to follow him in order to get anything done.
Ravinica said, “I fear we’ll need more allies to take on things like the undead. We have no idea of their true numbers.”
“Aye, girl,” Kelvar replied. “You may be correct.”
A loud horn-boom broke the dim thread of conversation rolling through the plains. It pierced the night, echoing for nearly ten seconds in the cold early morning.
Heads turned slowly toward the west.
“The initiate regiment!” Ravinica called out, fear cracking her voice.
Gothi Sigmund stepped forward, clearing his throat to speak to the soldiers in his commanding tone. “This night is not over, sadly. Our brethren need our help.” The Gothi took to his saddle and pointed his sword west, striking a pose of a savior once he was astride his steed. “My regiment will lead the charge. We ride, academy!”