Page 136 of The Last Valkyrie

We charged out into the clearing together, to meet our enemies head-on. The Ljosalfar would never back down or surrender to such twisted, evil magic.

The darkness permeating through these poor creatures’ bodies was alarming—nothing I’d ever seen before. My kinfolk had never seen it either, judging by the fearful, cautious way they fought the gangly, uncoordinated draug.

“Aim for their lower spines, soldiers!” I commanded the nearest fighters. “It severs the connection with their legs, their movement. Even if it doesn’t kill them, it stops them in their tracks!”

The soldiers saluted, nodding with sweat and blood covering their faces. “Yesvarus, Company-Prince!” one of them yelled, and then staked off with his four comrades to continue the fight.

I tore through the ranks with my sister, grinding deeper into the throng of draug, unfrightened of their abilities. I knew our strength was superior, our tenacity greater than anything these undead fiends could drum up.

When I charged at a draug with my weapons raised, arrows flew into its forehead, throat, and chest with deadly accuracy, forcing the creature to stumble back.

Snapping a look over my shoulder, I noticed the Skogalfar had joined the battle. They were expert archers and hunters, sending volley after volley into the melee without striking a single Ljosalfar.

Jhaeros led them, speaking in the guttural dialect of our tongue, shooting from atop a hill in Tyr Meadow with a raisedspear. Bodies were piled near his feet, though I couldn’t tell if they were wood elves or draug.

For a split second of recognition, I realized this was the first time the Ljosalfar and Skogalfar had fought together since I’d been alive. It had likely been hundreds of years since an alliance such as this had existed, and it brought a grim, proud smile to my face.

Who ever thought the humans in Midgard would be responsible for bringing these two ailing cousins together? You’ve done it, Ravinica, without even knowing it.

My heart hurt to think of Ravinica, so I charged zealously into a battle with three draug overwhelming a single gold-armored soldier.

I went to my knee and sliced into the first draug’s back. The second was taken in the throat by arrows, lit up like a pincushion and forced onto its back, where my sister slammed her heel down on its throat. The third ghoul raged and spewed black filth on my comrade, spilling bile onto his hands and making him wince. Deitryce and I were quick to come in and tackle the monster together, saving our frightened brethren.

In my peripheral, I caught an ethereal figure fending off five draug at once, dancing a song of death that was unrivaled. They moved with expert precision, shirking strength for sheer speed, twin blades spinning and twirling and scything draug down where they stood.

TheMaltornever stoppedmoving. Even as they thrust, cut, and slashed in blurs of golden steel, with their silver-bright hair illuminated in the moonlight, Vaalnath kept a grim almost-smirk on their beautiful, androgynous face.

Just as I was beginning to notice a thinning of the draug horde—fending off the first wave of enemies and leaving piles of dismembered body parts and bload-soaked grass in our wake—Vaalnath called out to the elves in a glorious, baritone boom.

“Jotnar!”

Our ragged company swung to see where they pointed at the southern gate, where the explosion from a few minutes ago had come from.

And there stood agiant. It must have been one of the five jotnar we’d seen in Delf’avernin out west. Even from half a mile away, through the swirling smoke, fire, and gloom, I could make out its size. It towered over humans, swinging a ridiculous club the length of a man.

That’s where I need to be, for my mates!

I spun and charged in that direction, behind the order ofMaltorVaalnath.

If the Runesphere was here, it could wait. We would find it. The lives of the men I loved—Grim, Arne, Magnus, and hopefully Sven if he made it out of Fort Woden—couldnotwait.

And so I ran, a few paces behind my sister and my liege—

Until a black circle opened up under me, stealing me from reality.

I plunged into icy darkness, a tug of coolness spreading through my limbs before I blinked and found myself no longer charging for the southern gate.

No, I was surrounded by a sea of gently swaying grass, far from the battle and the cries and clash of it, flanked by silence and fallen bodies.

A midnight face stared at me ten feet away with a rictus grin, eyes burning red as blood. Dual black blades of shadow lifted from his hands.

“Hail, Corym Vaalnath-Taramore E’tar. Shall we continue our bout?”

I ground my teeth together, frustrated at this intrusion—not being able to get to my friends. “Gresh’kellen,” I seethed, bending my knees. “When will you learn?”

He charged at me in a single stride, silent and deadly, legs nearly fully extended behind him as he gracefully galloped across the grass.

Our blades met in a spark of darkness and light, energy fluttering around us with every crash of our magic steel.

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